Yep, it was tough, but I’m f*ckin’ tougher.

I stood in the car park in Dungarvan last Sunday morning. It was just after 7.30am, the rain was beginning to fall and the sky had that look about it, where you just knew, it was going to be a miserable suffer fest for the next 6 or 7 hours. I overheard one man say about how times had changed. As he walked out the front door at 6.15am, his son was coming in against him, after his night out. It lifted the gloom a little and I had a little laugh to myself. As a musician, normally I’m not long home at that stage. I call anything before 10am on a Sunday, “stupid O’clock”. 6am is still the middle of the night, by my clock.

However, here we were, middle aged men, some would say in the middle of a crisis, about to tackle the mean and hard roads of Waterford and Tipperary. We were following in the tyre tracks of the great Sean Kelly, one of the greatest sportsmen this country has ever produced. It was time for the SportIreland Sean Kelly Tour of Waterford 2017.

Personally, I have given 12 months preparing for this day. I have amassed over 8000km (5000 miles in old money), in training. I have ridden the height of Everest 7 times. I’ve used my own training regime to get here, which is simply riding my bike in all weathers, regardless of how tired I feel, to push my body and mind beyond its comfort zone. I don’t bother with training plans. I use distance, elevation and heart rate. I’ve learned how to predict a cold or illness, by how hard my heart is working. To be a climber, you have to climb hills, lots of them in fact, a simple enough explanation. Distance, speaks for itself, just get out there, you’ll get back at some stage. Temperatures of -5⁰ in November, to 25⁰ in May and June, it makes no difference. My regime was to just get out there, build endurance, build stamina, get into the zone of mind over matter, forget pain and just be a tough bastard. If you’re feeling okay, ride your bike, if not, stay at home and think about riding your bike. People often saw me heading out through town and at times they must have said that I might need my head examined. You know looking back, maybe I did.

A few weeks ago, I was one of the luckiest bike riders in the country, when I won a new bike in a competition. It’s an Aqua Blue Sport, Team Edition Ridley Noah SL. In non biking terms, it’s like winning as Aston Martin or a Ferrari.  The bonus though, was getting to meet one of the Irish legends of the sport, Martyn Irvine.  I got to spend an hour talking to him about training, nutrition and all the technical stuff.  He told me that one of the most important things, is to get your body used to long hours on the bike. If it’s good enough for a former World Champion, full time Pro and genuine nice guy, it was sure good enough for me.

So, Sunday morning, I find myself riding down to the start line and the first thing I notice is the cold. The lads on the start line don’t keep us waiting for too long and at 8am, to the signature tune of “Where the streets have no name”, we’re off. By the time we get onto the old Waterford road, we’re soaked through. This is going to be a long, long day. My plan is to go non-stop, anything within 7 hours will be good, especially with the dreadful weather conditions.

Immediately, I’m searching for a group of my ability and standard (it’ll be hard to find anybody that bad Ted). I’m hopping around, into groups, onto wheels, it’s too fast, and it’s too slow. The constant spray of road filth on my face is a nuisance and already, my feet feel like ice. My lovely new Clonmel CC kit is getting a baptism of fire. The roads are lethal, the wind is picking up and my lovely deep section carbon fibre wheels are attracting the wind like a magnet. I have to be very careful on open areas as one gust of wind will have me on the flat of my arse very quickly.

One thing I always do before an event is change my tyres and tubes. I use the older ones throughout the Winter or on the Turbo Trainer if I’m in a masochistic state of mind, come January. One thing I have done this year is to use a CO² pump and if there’s one thing to recommend, it’s that. As for the rest of my bike, the lads in Worldwide Cycles in Clonmel keep it running perfect. It would be unfair not to give a shout to OK Cycles in Clonmel and Cyclesports in Dungarvan. They all do a great job in keeping our bikes running perfect. I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it, keep your business local. You cannot beat your local bike shop and mechanic. Once you walk in the front door, you’re addressed by your name, not a reference number. All this online stuff is great, but there’s nothing like local. So, remember this, you might save a few bob online, but every penny spent locally, stays locally.

The road takes us into the beautiful seaside town of Bunmahon, but it sure isn’t very summery today. The rain is incessant, the roads are slippery as hell and they seem to constantly head skywards. Lots of legs are feeling the strain and the grinding, as people struggle to find their climbing gears is a regular sound. There’s a sign post for Carrick on Suir, 31km. My mind is doing the maths, that’s about an hour and a half. Well over two hours later, it’s Carrick on Suir 16km. Where the f*ck is Carrick gone. It’s pure misery, through Kill, Kilmacthomas and then Portlaw. Then there’s the drag towards Clonea Power and eventually, we reach Rathgormac. The pull up into the village is punishing and my legs are beginning to ache a little. It’s nothing though, to what is still to be done.

I have my first close call, where on the descent to Carrick, there’s a sudden right turn. I should have known about it, but a few of us get caught out and nearly overshoot. Did I mention that none of our brakes are working, due to the rain. We survive (just) and I’m glad that the other lads are fairly good bike handlers too, as we hammer down into Carrick.

Along the “back road to Roubaix” from Carrick, I ease off a little and stock up on a few ZipVit energy bars. We have the little matter of Tickincor and Powers the Pot, a few miles up ahead, so save energy and replace energy seems like a good idea. The hill outside the Rosminians takes a few more casualties and there’s a mini explosion as somebody’s tyre gives up. The wind is starting to swirl a bit now and the promised “warm and humid” conditions from Met Éireann haven’t materialised. I’m deliberately watching around me, as I know that some people are going to get caught out in the severity of the upcoming climbs. I want to create as much space in front as I can, to allow myself to stay in my own rhythm and get to the top in one piece. (My only fall this year was on Dree Hill during the Gran Fondo, where a wally stopped dead in front of me on the steepest bit. I couldn’t disengage from my pedals in time and over I went, taking another rider with me. The worst part was the scratch on my chainring.)

Tickincor and Powers the Pot demand respect and common sense. There are no medals or prizes here. There’s a little child down near the bottom cheering us on, with his parents. No matter how tired you are, you always acknowledge a child, it’s one of the unwritten rules. Local artist Conor is out, offering encouragement, a few girls up near the top are cheering the riders on. At Harney’s Cross, it’s a case of keep going, skywards again. Legs are giving up all over the place, some people are on the brink, but one more turn of the pedals is followed by one more turn of the pedals, as survival mode is engaged. At the TV transmitter the gradient is 20%, the road is slippery, so standing on the pedals isn’t advisable. Stay sitting, because if that back wheel slips, you’re in the ditch. I’m in a group of about 5 and we get over the top, the worst is over, or so I think.

The weather is warmer at the top, funnily enough, so I remove my raincoat, stick on my glasses and head down the descent. It’s a pure adrenaline rush on the way down and I actually record one of my fastest times. As I know the area, I avoid the gravel on the inside at the bottom, turn right and go back up again. I just keep it in my climbing gear and complete the 5km climb. I’m counting it down, from the markings from the recent Suir Valley race, on the road. (I’d say Mark Dowling has nothing to worry about in me).

It’s downhill again, almost 10km, to Clonmel and I’m sitting with another rider. We hammer it down the road and eventually, the food stop at Hillview beckons. He pulls in, I keep going, as regardless, I’m doing this non stop. I race through the Old Bridge onto the Dungarvan Road, where the sign post reads 41km to go. It’s a struggle all the way to Kilmanahan, as the wind is in my face and the rain and cold have returned.  Then, just when I don’t want it, my lights go out, I’ve nothing left, just dead empty legs. A group passes, with one of the lads from Clonmel CC. He beckons at me to jump on, but I can’t. I make a few efforts to stay with them, but it’s no use, all I’m doing is wasting the small bit of energy that I have.

Over the humps and bumps, through my home village of Ballymacarbery and I’m totally wasted. A few riders pass me and I try to stay with them. It works for a few minutes, but then I notice myself drifting back and I can’t catch up. Some of these groups would be well within my ability, but it’s no use, I just can’t stay with them.

The pull from Ballymacarbery to Beary’s Cross is like nothing I have ever experienced. The wind is blowing me all over the place, my mind is drifting and at one stage, I have a near miss with a car, totally my own fault, as I just lose concentration and drift out. People are passing me on the way home, safe and snug in their cars. I look at my speed and it’s a mind boggling 17kph, mighty stuff. I really want to quit, I know the lads are coming behind me in the car. One phone call and it can all be over, but I know I’ll feel worse if I do.

On the descent through Colligan, I join another group and we blast down through the bends. The speeds are up and it’s another adrenaline rush. At the bottom, I’m blown out the back again, but now, I don’t care, I know I’ll make it.

On the last bit into Dungarvan, I can hear the PA, where Eamonn and Martin are welcoming the riders home. My gang pass in the car, always there, no matter where the event. It means so much to get their support.

The last few hundred meters to the finish are where the tears begin to well. You’ve drained your body and mind, you have refused to quit and now you have achieved your goal. It has taken 12 months, and untold hard work, but I persevered and I have finished my sixth SportIreland Sean Kelly Tour of Waterford. I’m inside my 7 hours target time and I’ve managed it non stop.

One thing I missed this year, was the phone call from dad on Sunday evening. He’d always give a quick ring to know how I got on, wherever the event.  We didn’t do all the bells and whistles. “I went out and got back”, I’d say. “Good, was it tough”, he’d ask. “Yep, but I’m f*ckin’ tougher,” I’d reply with a laugh and that would be it.

I’m dedicating this one to you dad, we miss you so much.

A few stats:

Distance: 160.8km (100 miles)

Elevation Gain: 2091mtrs

Calories Burned: 3394

Moving Time: 6:55:18

Av Heart Rate: 140bpm

Max Heart Rate: 179bpm (Guess where)

 

Roll on 2018

 

 

 

Waterford …….. Greenway and Vikings

On Tuesday last, I left home on my bike. My destination was Waterford city, via Dungarvan and the Greenway. As I headed out the Clonmel road, the first of many rain showers rolled in behind me from the Knockmealdowns. The shower catches up with me, so, a few miles from home, I’m soaked and there’s still quite a long way to go.

There’s a joke in Ireland that you know it’s summer, when the rain gets warmer. Irish people just get on with things. It’s Ireland, it rains, get over it. So, undaunted and unbowed, I ploughed on.

Through Ballymacarbery village, with the Comeragh mountains threatening more wet stuff, I made good progress, aided by the prevailing trade winds on my back. In no time at all, I was heading in to one of my favourite towns, Dungarvan. Dungarvan is an absolute jewel of a town. You could visit in darkest November and there’s a buzz there, I love it.

The sound of the chain rubbing against my front derailleur was annoying me, so a quick pitstop in Cyclesports was necessary for an adjustment. The lads had me sorted in no time and after a quick chat about the upcoming Sean Kelly Tour of Waterford, I was on my way again. Talking to the lads, I couldn’t believe how busy they were. The jobs board was full to capacity and that’s before the oncoming rush before next weekend. I asked the lads if the Greenway had been beneficial to them and the answer was a resounding yes. New builds, maintenance and the “do your best to keep it going” request is keeping the lads on their toes.

After a while, I was on my way again, in to my second soaking of the day. As I entered the greenway in Abbeyside, I had a few jokes with tourists, as they headed for cover from the deluge. “There’s no such thing as bad weather folks, just bad clothes”. Soon, as I headed out over Clonea, the sun reappeared and I quickly dried off again. Once again, we were enjoying another phenomenon exclusive to Ireland, the 4 seasons in one day.

As I headed along the Greenway, I met every kind of person imaginable. The small children, with their stabilisers attached, roller bladders, the affore mentioned tourists (lots of them), people just out for a walk and everybody with a cheery hello and a wave. Through the Ballyvoyle Tunnel, the Viaduct in Kilmacthomas, the wonderful Kilmeaden railway, it was a pure joy. Tom O’Mahony was doing a great trade at the pub, the Coach House was full, there was a buzz all along the route and it was brilliant.

I had a small hiccup just after Kilmeaden, as my carbon fibre racing machine didn’t take too kindly to the loose chippings on the road. I had to stop a few times to clear the offending stones from my brake callipers and frame. It was no big deal though and very soon, as I whizzed along the banks of the river, the magnificent River Suir Bridge came into view. The bridge is an absolute gem and a marvel of modern engineering and architecture. It’s awe inspiring.

Soon, I leave the Greenway and I’m in Waterford City. The first person to welcome me is a gentleman inviting me for Bacon and Cabbage at his pub. He has the most distinctive Dublin accent and we have great fun, as I ask him if he’s lost or of I’m in the wrong city. I scoot down the quays, on the perfect cycle lane, even having the audacity to pass a Garda on the way. Another pitstop at the Kiosk in the city centre for a well deserved coffee and I just stretch out and soak in the atmosphere. There’s no rush at all and I enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city and  the people as they go about their business.

Did I mention the fact that we’re actually staying in Waterford for a few nights. Yep, an hour from home and we’re staying. Our son is out at the Adventure Centre in Dunmore East with his friends from the local youth club, we all have a few days off, so we might as well stay.

We are booked into the Tower Hotel, right beside the river, with the marina and the boats for company. After a proper shower (no rain involved in this one) and a change of clothing, we head out for a stroll and some retail therapy.

The lads in Cyclesports had told me about the Viking development in the city and all I can say is “Wow”. Okay, pure and simple here, if you haven’t seen it, just go down there. Nothing else I can say, just do it. Google “Waterford Viking Triangle” and you’ll get all the information you need. It’s brilliant, with attractions for all ages, stop a coffee, visit the museums, theres’ virtual reality, you name it, it’s here. There’s even a huge open air Chess game to play (if you understand chess). You could spend so much time here and then, you’ll just come back tomorrow for more.

The other evening, I decided to head out on a training spin. Taking the bypass, skirting the city, I was quickly in Tramore, enjoying fine cycle lanes for practically the entire route. One of the first things I noticed was The “Beach Patrol”. These are young teenagers, going around the beach and the streets picking up litter. Taking pride in their community, they are a credit to themselves and their families. Out along the coast road, to the small village of Fenor, I’m using my inbuilt satnav (all men have it, a refusal to get lost), but I’m quickly heading in the completely wrong direction. A few local lads point me in the proper direction and after a little more mileage than planned, I’m back to the city. I also get a taste of what’s to come on the roads of Waterford next weekend, as I follow in the footsteps of King Kelly

After a few nights in Waterford, we’re heading for home. In a little over an hour, we’re opening the front door, after having a ball and a few bargains picked up too, in the summer sales.

Earlier this week, Aer Lingus and the DAA recommended that people arrive at Dublin airport 3 hours before their flight. As I stretched out the other night, I was thinking about it. Arriving at the airport at stupid o clock, getting a free feel from security staff, exhorbitant parking charges, a flight to the sun, where you have to stay in from the sun because you could get skin cancer, don’t drink the water and there’s lot s of creepy crawly things. That’s not a holiday, that’s a bloody nightmare.

Me, I’ll take the Greenway, the Vikings and Waterford.