Would ya do it yourself would ya?

I want you to picture the scene. You’re a young British test driver in a huge Formula 1 team. You have progressed through the ranks of motorsport and now, there is a chance, albeit a miniscule one, that you might get a shot at the big time. You know the chances of it happening are hovering around zero. You haven’t the millions needed, you need a huge slice of luck. Then, on the weekend of the British Grand Prix, your phone rings. The lead driver and current world champion has phoned in sick (or whatever Formula 1 drivers do) and they need you to drive for the weekend at Silverstone. You nearly get sick with excitement, all your friends hear about it and your phone and social media pages can’t cope with the traffic from well-wishers and new found hangers on. Sky News Sport are frantically putting together a special, on this new sporting hero. The papers have your name all over the front pages. You’re the next big thing.

You qualify the car on the front row of the grid. On race day, everything goes like a dream. The car runs better than perfect, the pit crew do the job of their lives, the engineers and management out perform themselves and the tactics are perfect also. It’s the last lap, you’re in the lead. You come through Stowe corner flat out, the crew are in your earpiece guiding you. You can hear the 120,000 delirious fans over the screaming V8 engine just behind you. Through Vale and then, into Club Corner. Now, it’s a mad dash to the chequered flag. However, something stirs in your mirror, it’s another car and he’s closing fast, mighty fast. He has also had the race of his life and if anything, his car is better and faster than yours. What can you do, your dream is unravelling. If you were to give him the slightest nudge, it would be all over and you would claim the victory and stardom. Would you do it?

It’s the 80^th minute of the Champions League Final. It’s 1 – 1 and you’re sitting on the substitutes bench. There are 10 minutes left and suddenly, the manager calls your name. You do a very quick warm up on the touchline. The TV cameras pick up on you and the commentators begin to spew out a few facts. You’re out of contract in a week or two and there is no discernible interest from anybody. The match officials raise the board with your number on it and you run to your position on the field.  With 2 minutes to play, you run onto a pass. You skin the full back, get a lucky bounce and you’re through, one on one with the keeper. The 80,000 fans in the stadium scream. Time stands still, it’s like one of those moments in a film, where the sound becomes muffled and the picture blurs. You feign one way and switch the other way. The goalkeeper does his job, stays on his feet as long as possible, before diving towards your feet to get the ball. All you need to do is let your foot trail a little and it will touch the keeper. You will get the penalty, a possible win, a Champions League medal, but most important, that new contract is a given. Would you do it? Would you leave your foot in there.

Rugby wouldn’t be my strongest point, in fact I’d have zero interest. However, I read during the week about the “spear tackle” (sounds like something from Game of Thrones. Is this really sport?), perpetrated a few years ago on Brian O’Driscoll, during the Lions Tour match against The All Blacks. The All Blacks “Legend” Keven Mealamu spoke about the infamous tackle this week. He didn’t seem all that perturbed, despite having taken out one of the best players in the world. Would you do it?

Channel hopping here yesterday, I happened upon a football match on Eurosport. It was Argentina V England and England were leading 2 – 0 when I tuned in. In the last moment, a young lad playing for England, did exactly as described above and left his foot in. The commentator described it as thus. “Brilliant play by the young man. All he had to do was leave his foot in there and he did it perfectly”. Would you do it?

I’ve read Sam Bennetts daily diary every day, since the Giro began 2 weeks ago. It’s a no nonsense account of life in the peloton of a major cycle race. It’s tough, frenetic, incredibly dangerous and not a place for the faint hearted. Sean Kelly once said that to be a sprinter, you need to have a screw loose. Sam must have a few of them loose, I’d say. He described the finishing sprint on Friday, where another rider seemed to be more intent on disrupting Sam’s team, than doing the job he’s paid to do, which is to work with his own team. If he could take out an opposing rider, it would ensure a win for his own rider. Would you do it?

There is a questionnaire doing the rounds at the moment on social media. It asks people to name their favourite sportsperson of all time, in a wide range of sports. Some of the “sports” are a bit questionable in my mind though. Whoever decided that Darts was a sport for example, must have been after a few. Snooker, is a great cure for insomnia in my book. Wrestling looks more like a circus act, MMA should be renamed GBH and try as I may, I cannot make head nor tail of American Football or Baseball.

I completed the questionnaire over the weekend. It’s good fun and guaranteed to get a bit of conversation going, which is the very essence of social media for me. An opinion, argue your point or have a good honest debate.

I had to name my favourite cyclist of all time. I thought long and hard about it. All my friends were more or less along the same line. It had to be Kelly or Roche, but as I said, I thought long and hard and then my fingers started typing, L-a-n-c-e. Then I pressed the return key and my selections were gone out onto the interweb, for all to see.

Almost immediately, a few heads turned. “Did he really say Lance?”. That b*stard ruined the sport, destroyed careers, lied to the world and cheated.

Yeah, he cheated, big time. He turned his arse to the world and gave everybody the two fingers. Possibly one of the most hated sportspeople of all time and he was my favourite cyclist.

Well yes. The questionnaire didn’t ask me who I considered the best, or the greatest (that’s Kelly) or who I admired. It asked my favourite and no more.

I can remember racing home from work to watch Lance at the TDF. I marvelled at his exploits on the toughest sporting event in the world. Lance overcame cancer and through his foundation, raised hundreds of millions for cancer treatment. Lance was a man, a real man, he didn’t accept second best, winning was everything. (Watch the film “Stop at nothing” on Netflix). It’s a sickening film for a fan of the sport, but as a fan of Lance, it’s even more sickening.

He let down millions of fans like me. I sat up in disbelief that fateful night watching Oprah and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could he do that?

But, deep down,  I remember those evenings, marvelling at the telly as he became a legend. I still follow him on Strava and Twitter. Because, there is another way of looking at it.

I have watched lots of other sportspeople cheat. In 1994, at the Australian Grand Prix, if Damon Hill didn’t finish, Michael Schumacher was world champion. Schumacher crashed into him and he didn’t finish, result. Michael Schumacher was my favourite F1 driver of all time. Nobody questioned that at the weekend.

Diego Maradona and his hand of god” goal versus England in the 1986 World cup. That was cheating, let’s be honest, but because it was against England, it was a good thing. Nobody questioned that either.

The sporting world and life in general is littered with cheats, people that will do anything to come first. Is there a difference in the type of cheating we will accept and the type of cheating we won’t.

Would ya do it yourself would ya?

 

Almost becoming Number 9

5000 bike riders will cross the start line in Belfast, next Sunday fortnight. Some of them will be trying to complete the 180km as quickly as they can. The rest, like me, will just be trying and hoping to get around in one piece

I’ve trained like a dog for it though, covering almost 7000km and the equivalent of the height of Everest 6 times. I’ve gone out in all weathers, from -5⁰ in November to 16⁰ this evening. I’ve trained in the rain throughout the winter to the err, rain this evening (at least it was warmer rain today).

I’ve noticed the muscle build up on my legs and how my strength has improved. I’ve learned how to train according to my heart rate, how to raise it under effort, how to allow it normalise, before raising it again.  I’ve learned how to preserve energy and how to recover quickly. I’ve learned the importance of diet, the proper foods to eat and the foods to avoid. In my younger days, I smoked heavily; I now despise smoking with a passion. I used to drink pretty heavily; now, I haven’t had a drink in almost 2 years. I gave 20 years on blood pressure medication; I haven’t needed it with over 2 years.  At my last visit to the Doc, he said to me “whatever you’re doing, just keep doing it”.

I’ve made some great friends from the various clubs in the locality. I’ve sat in “The Bean” with Tom Dalton, as he tried to explain some of the science involved in bike set-up and training plans. I’ve gotten a few bollockings from Mick Kelly, for not following advice, or for overdoing it and not listening to my body as it advised me to take it easy for a few days. I read Barry Meehan’s Blogs with enthusiasm. I read every Sticky Bottle article and the diaries of Nicolas Roche and Sam Bennett. At night, I watch the GCN programmes on YouTube and of course, there’s nothing to beat Carlton Kirby and Sean Kelly commentating on the classics, on Eurosport.

As a late comer to the sport of cycling, you can see that it plays a big part of my life. I love everything to do with the sport, even when I come home frozen and soaked through. However, if our club was entering a team in The Rás, I doubt they would call on me. You see, you still need a little bit of ability, so I’ll never win any races or compete at any level. I just haven’t got that ability and indeed, age isn’t on my side either.

As a person that enjoys writing, I love to stretch out like this evening and write about my experiences. Recently, I have started to make my own movies of my experiences and also recently, I have been very kindly invited to talk about my experiences on radio, something that I thoroughly enjoy.

However, there is a dark side to the sport too. A tragic side that is threatening to spiral out of control. The roads in Ireland have become death traps for people like me, that just enjoy riding their bikes.

Earlier this evening, I set out from home. I only had about 2 hours available, so I planned about 50km of a route. There was a strong breeze and heavy showers; it was cloudy, but very humid. My route included hills, so lights, front and rear, were a prerequisite. I also wore hi viz clothing and used my Garmin Connect App, so the lads at home would know my whereabouts at all times. Better safe than sorry.

About 5km out the road, on a twisty bit, a car approached. Behind me, I could hear another car approaching. After a few moments, I noticed that the car behind was not slowing down. Now, please bear in mind the following: I’m alone, so I’m obviously not “two abreast”. I’m well in on the left. I have my hi-viz jacket on and my lights front and rear are on pulse mode, i.e.: they are emitting a strong pulse of light, for increased visibility. The car coming from behind flashes between me and the oncoming car, totally oblivious to the danger for me. If I hit a hole, skidded or swerved, I would have been number 9.

“What’s number 9?” you ask. Well, you see 8 cyclists have been killed on Irish roads this year, 2 in the past week alone. Innocent people that chose to ride their bikes and died in the process. 8 people that didn’t come home from a fucking bike spin.

I stopped in Ardfinnan this evening, at the traffic lights on the bridge. There was a line of traffic in front and behind me. I signalled to the motorists behind to go ahead, as there was no point in me holding them up. The lights went green, some of the cars moved, except for the lady on her phone, who didn’t notice the lights. Eventually, she copped it and moved.

As I left Clogheen, to head for home, I approached my last junction on the Ardfinnan road. I signalled that I was turning left, heading for Cahir, but the lady in the Ford Galaxy, coming against me, never as much as looked at me, as she cut straight across in front of me. So much for my hi viz, my front light and it’s extremely strong pulse mode.

So that was my Monday evening training spin. I kept to the quietest roads I could, conducted myself, took every precaution I could and what did it achieve?? Nothing, pure and simple.

Can people not accept that a 75kg cyclist, sitting on 6 or 7kg of Carbon Fibre, versus 2 tonnes of metal / steel, travelling at 80kph is no contest? Can people not accept that you have the potential to kill a human being, every time you go out on the road?? Can people not accept that the bike rider, or pedestrian for that matter, is a father, mother, son, daughter, husband or wife?? Can people not just bloody accept that the person is a human being?? What, in the name of god is happening??

I for one, am sick of reading the same old comments about bike riders holding them up on a Sunday morning. I’m sick of the same old nonsense about bike riders running through red lights for example. I don’t know one person that would run through a light, but I’ve seen it happen. I’m sick of the argument that the promised legislation about 1.5m passing distance is unworkable. Why is it unworkable? How come it works all over the world, but not here? How come, it can work for the vast majority of motorists, but it can’t work for some? How come it’s acceptable to tarnish everybody for the actions of a few? For instance, I drive a Ford Mondeo. If I am caught speeding on the road, does that mean that all Mondeo drivers are speeders? That would be a nonsensical thing to even suggest. I saw a guy in Clonmel last weekend, cycling through Irishtown on the footpath. Is he typical of the bike riders in the town? More nonsense, of the highest order. I’m sick of the RHA talking nonsense. How many truck drivers have been killed by bikes? The IFA, asking for cycling licenses. (Psst lads, call down to the mart in Cahir next Wednesday and take a look at the cycle lanes) I’m sick of the Garda Traffic Corps and their contribution to road safety that cyclists wear a helmet and hi viz. Great stuff lads, nothing like a plastic cap and a luminous jacket to stop a 40 tonne truck. Waterford Whispers couldn’t come up with this stuff.

A few years ago, I had a job as a driver. I walked away from it, as I absolutely hated every second of it. It was nothing to do with a fine reputable employer that I had at the time. It just wasn’t for me and I would go hungry before I would drive for a living again. My heart would go out to any truck driver or any professional driver, facing Irish roads every day.

In the meantime, what can be done, if anything? That’s the 6 million dollar question. Recently, there have been videos of close passes and ridiculous driving posted onto YouTube and social media. I asked a Solicitor friend of mine if that could jeopardise a potential court case. Her answer was “Yes, it would. It’s called prejudicial trial by media”.

So, the carnage will continue. People will still drive to their driving test, fail the test, then get back in the car that they are considered incapable of driving and drive it home again. In Ireland, a driving licence is considered a birthright, not a valuable skill that has to be learned and improved upon. The woman that passed me, in her fancy Audi A6 last week, at a very dangerous junction, glued to her mobile phone, is probably out on the road tonight.

A few years ago, I had a boat. Nothing fancy, just a rib, but I had great times on it. I did my Powerboat Level 1 course and exam in Bray and I’ll always remember the brilliant tuition I received from Damien and his gang up there. A few months later, I was with a large group of other boat enthusiasts on Lough Corrib. As we headed through the lake towards Maam, I remember looking around and the sight was something else. There were speed boats, ribs, motor cruisers and jet skis in the flotilla. I never felt so safe in my life. Why is that? Simple. Training, respect, common sense and a feeling throughout the group, of concern for the greater good. “If anything happens out here, it would or could be serious”, was on everybody’s mind. A great weekend was had, without any incident, in a so called inhospitable environment.

If it can be done on a lake, or at sea, why can’t it be done on the road. I wish I could answer that.

So, thats my blog for now. No answers, lots of questions, just more knocks on doors with tragic news to come.

Today, the day I almost became number 9.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They are all trying to kill us.

The title of my site is “the unknown bike rider”, for obvious reasons. The chances of a call up for the Rás, or a shot at the national championships are less than zero. Even a local league race is a little bit beyond my abilities or capacity. However, I train hard, very hard in fact, for the few endurance events that I take part in. There is absolutely no credit, no applause, no recognition or prizes. My achievements will never make the sports section of the paper, Sticky Bottle won’t notice them, my name doesn’t roll off the tongue of the Eurosport commentators either. Hence, I’m the unknown bike rider.

That is however, until I head out onto the road. Now, if recent media hysteria, YouTube videos or social media commentary are to be believed, I’m very well known. I’m a “pain in the arse” on the affore mentioned road, I have no idea of the rules of the road, I pay no taxes, I am arrogant and ignorant. All this from people I’ve never even met. The RHA, the IFA, even the Gardaí, have brought me onto their radar recently.

As a bike rider, I feel a little bit hard done by too. Everybody is out to get me, most of them want to harm me, or cause me serious injury. As an unknown bike rider, I’m quickly becoming less anonymous.

This week, I decided to carry out an experiment. I’ve just enrolled on a training course, that will keep me occupied for the next year, so I had my last week of freedom, before I begin setting the clock again at night. The weather was going to be changeable, ranging from bright sunshine, to hailstones, to wind and of course, rain. In essence, a typical week in Ireland as summer approaches. I was going to ride my bike, over long distances, over hills, valleys, towns, good roads, bad roads and of course, in all weathers. If all the stuff we have been reading about recently was to be believed, I most likely wouldn’t survive. The potential for abuse, harassment, bullying, discrimination, you name it, was huge.

Day 1 (Wednesday 26 April 2017)

So, Wednesday, I headed out on my first trip. The plan was 100km, down through the Nire Valley, returning home through Clonmel, Fethard and Cashel. This would be a tough day, on poor roads, with a few hard climbs thrown in for good measure. Did I mention the wind and hailstones? Anyway, I fitted my lights (they say that bike riders don’t use them), my bright clothes (they say that bike riders don’t wear them), put on my helmet (they say that bike riders don’t wear them either) and headed out. My first few miles were on a busy road between Cahir and Clonmel. Approaching my first major roundabout, there was an articulated truck coming on my left. “This is it” I thought, “truck drivers are maniacs, I’m dead”. This lad hadn’t read the script though, as he stopped to leave me across. Then, as he overtook me, I moved well in, aware that his trailer will cut in slightly. A quick flash of his warning lights, a wave from me and we both went about our business. As I cycled along, I was very aware that there are some very dangerous parts of the road. I took alternative roads instead, which actually tested my legs even more and gave me a good workout. At one stage, I was confronted by a man in a huge bulldozer yoke, as I descended a very steep climb. Instead of driving through me, as the reports suggest, he moved over, to let me past. He obviously hadn’t read the script either. I counted the amount of cars I met on these quiet country roads and the total was 2. Yep, that’s right, 2. No hold ups, no arguments, nothing. I crested the Nire Valley, over Powers The Pot and I was actually more worried about my heart rate, than the few sporadic motorists I encountered. As I descended, my speed crept up towards 70kph. If anything happened here, it would be my fault, not any motorists. I travelled on through Clonmel, towards Fethard. A poor enough road, but there was nothing to worry about. You see, all the cars are passing me on the other side of the road. That’s right, they are over on the other side. I’m actually beginning to wonder will anything happen. Just as I approach Fethard, there is a bit of a close pass, from a lady in a 151 Skoda Octavia. Look, I have to be honest, I need something to complain about, so this is the best I can do. As I head through Fethard a guy in a 07 TN “yoke” blows at me, to get the f*ck out of the way. I call him back (nicely), to discuss the problem, but all I can hear are expletives. I’d say he had anger issues about more than me. The road from Fethard to Cashel is hard and has a few dangerous spots. The traffic is overtaking me on the other side though, so there is nothing to complain about. The rise at Mocklers Hill is about the only problem I faced, as my tired legs started to feel the strain. Through Cashel, a friendly wave from a lady as I stopped at the pedestrian crossing (they say that bike riders don’t observe them either) and on towards Cahir. The hard shoulder is very poor on the road, so I stay out a bit on the actual road. This is guaranteed to attract irritation from motorists, but no, nothing happening, they are all giving me a wide berth. I arrive home, 95km on the legs, close passes (1), angry motorists (1),

Day 2 (Thursday 27 April 2017)

I was in “school” for most of the day, but the teacher said that because we were all so good, we could finish half an hour early. I put on my gear and decided to do a fast hour or so. The Cahir – Ardfinnan road is dangerous at the best of times, even in a car, but for some reason, I’m through it in no time, even picking up a Strava PR in the process. The hill out of Ardfinnan drives up the heart rate again, before I travel through Goatenbridge and up onto The Vee. The “dead man’s road” up to Loughlins Bridge is hard and very narrow. The two cars I meet give me loads of room, so there are no problems. The descent into Clogheen, onto Ballylooby, turn left out to Tincurry and a quick blast in the Cork Road, sees me complete the 42km in an hour and a half. Close Passes (0), Angry motorists (0)

Day 3 (Friday 28 April 2017)

Today was going to be a “recovery” day, just a simple spin out the Cork Road and back. However, as I headed out, I felt strong and ended up getting over 70km on the legs again. I managed Cahir – Mitchelstown and back, over my favourite local route “The Loughloher Loop”. The spin to Mitchelstown and back is safe, due to the big wide road, but traffic is still giving me a very wide berth. If ever there was the potential for an accident, it’s out the Clonmel Rd, where you turn right, to head for Loughloher, on my way home. It’s an accident black spot, very busy on a Friday and today was no exception. Nervously, I moved out, signalling my intentions. There is a line of traffic coming, cars, buses and of course lorries. Traffic is coming from behind me too. For a few moments, I’m sitting in the turn off lane of a very busy road, on a few kilograms of Carbon Fibre as the traffic passes me on both sides. There’s no need to worry, I’m very visible, they all slow down a bit and in no time, I make my turn and again, the hardest part of the day is climbing Loughloher Hill, oh yeah and a little f*cker of a dog who decided to take issue with me. Close Passes (0), Angry Motorists (0)

Day 4 (Saturday 29th April 2017)

One of the good things about this experiment, is that it’s giving me the incentive to go out and train. Today, the weather is miserable. There is a very strong wind blowing in off the Knockmeal Downs and there are really heavy showers of wind and hail. Nothing like cycling in Ireland. My plan today is to stay local, mainly due to the conditions. I have a local loop, it’s 10km in length and it has a bit of everything. My original plan is to complete it 13 times, but I have to abandon after 10 loops, due to the wind. (There’s no point in being too stupid). The loop takes me through Cahir Town 10 times, over the hill in Loughloher 10 times and back in the Clonmel Road 10 times. There is loads of potential for an accident or at least some agro, especially in the worsening weather conditions. The cycle lane on the Clonmel Rd, entering Cahir is lethal, especially in the wet. There are a few manhole covers, children walk on it, there are a few tight turns, it passes directly in front of the Garda Station and then merges directly onto the main road. I actually avoid it, for those reasons, often to the annoyance of motorists. To compensate, I keep my speed up entering town, so I don’t hold anybody up. In total, I manage 101km, all within 10 minutes of home. I’m soaked, frozen solid, but in one piece. Close Passes (0), Angry Motorists (0).

So, 4 days on the bike, 309km distance, 3391m climbed, sunshine, wind, hailstones and rain. Highways, byways, good roads and bad.

Results:  Close Passes (1). Angry Motorists (1). Arguments (0). Traffic Holdups (0) Accidents (0). Mechanicals (0).

We live in times of 24hr news coverage, where channels are competing for the same stories. National newspapers actually pay a “journalist” to tell us that it’s going to be cold in the dead of Winter, or that the sun will shine in Summer. Anything can become “sensational”, mainly based on an editor who is more interested in advertising space. People with smartphones will always look for the “big exclusive”.

I said recently, on a radio interview, that a lot of this stuff about cyclists is social media driven and I stand by that. There are people out there that have absolutely no common sense, whether behind the wheel, or sitting on a saddle. Common, basic manners and courtesy has sadly disappeared. One video, one photograph can make you famous.

Over the 4 days of my experiment, I used my lights (even in daylight), I wore bright clothing, I conducted myself, I adhered to the rules of the road and I displayed that one thing, manners. Other road users did the same, with very, very few exceptions. The other evening, I walked to our local shop for milk. On the way home, a guy dressed in black, without any lights whatsoever, cycled up the middle of the road in the darkness. Is he indicative of the cycling community? Absolutely not and it would be nonsense to think he is. The guy that shouted expletives at me in Fethard, is he indicative of all motorists? Of course not, more nonsense.

There have been bikes on the road since well before I started cycling. They will continue well after I have hung up my lycra. Modern cars and lorries are the safest and most economical vehicles ever created. Modern roads are a marvel of engineering, safer than ever.

However, the weakest link, will always be the person in control of the bike or car. We live in a time where anybody can be an expert on law, where everybody has a “right”, where it’s okay to abuse a person online from the safety of a computer keyboard. Maybe, if we all learned a small bit of manners and have a small bit of courtesy, it would be more in our line.

Cycling is the greatest sport I have ever encountered. I love the pain, the misery, the achievement and that sense of freedom on the open road. As I said at the outset, I’ll never win anything. It’s not about winning.

Saturday 29 April 2017

Friday 28 April 2017

Thursday 27 April 2017

Wednesday 26 April 2017