Picking and Choosing

It’s been a strange few days in Ireland. As the fallout from the court case in Belfast, involving some very high profile figures continues, it’s time to ask a question. Do we like some parts of the law more than others?

 

I’m not going to go into the details of the Belfast case for one very simple reason. I wasn’t there, I wasn’t in that courtroom, I didn’t hear one solitary word of evidence, only what I read on social media or heard on TV and radio. I never heard of the defendants and if they walked into a room, I genuinely wouldn’t have a clue who they are.

I have zero interest in Rugby and I actually poke a good bit of fun at it on my media channels. I’d safely say that I am the remotest possible person on this planet from the game of Rugby. I can distinctly remember as a child, playing “in goal”, when the rest of the boys played Rugby at lunch time. That knowledge and interest in the game hasn’t changed one single iota.

 

As for the girl at the centre of the case, what can I say? I’m a husband, a father, a parent, a brother and a son. My family are very important to me and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them. What that girl went through is beyond comprehension and as a parent, I feel so much sympathy for her.

 

First, she endures the night of the incident and then, the trauma of 9 weeks in court, facing the accused across a packed courtroom. To have your private life torn to shreds in that same courtroom is the stuff of nightmares and I honestly and sincerely sympathise with her. I have no idea who the girl is, but god speed to her.

 

I grew up in the 80’s, where there was no Whatsap or Snapchat or anything of the sort. We were lucky to have a bloody telephone and we headed to Clonmel on a Saturday night, in the hope of a “shift”. Many’s a night we came home single and the following morning, the affore mentioned phone would ring, where the person on the other end, enquired if you had “any luck last night”.

There are no Facebook timelines to remind us of those days, no Whatsap groups, nothing. Believe me, there are plenty skeletons from 1980’s Ireland, locked firmly in closets and they will never see the light of day. I often wonder if there had been a Social Media in those days, what it would be like, looking back on it all. There would be some great times, some even better memories, but there would be plenty of presses on the “delete” button. Lots of “temporary internet files”, history folders and caches would be emptied, very quickly.

 

So, let’s go back to “that case” in the light of everything that has occurred in the last 24 hours. Today, we had page after page of print, writing about how wrong the verdict was. We had special programmes on TV and radio, dedicating hundreds of hours broadcasting time to the verdict. We had studio experts and help lines being set up, in case people are affected by what they heard. Then, to top it all off, we had the ”hash tag I believe her” marches across the country, where thousands of people marched in solidarity with the young lady at the centre of the case.

 

One of the questions on my mind all day is this. Suppose the accused had been found guilty yesterday and the show was on the other foot. What would have been the reaction, if there were marches using the “hash tag I believe them”, in solidarity. I can practically guarantee that there would be outcry, arrests would be made and politicians would be diving for cover, rather than addressing the masses like we saw today.

 

Now, I’m not for one moment even trying to trivialise the crime of rape, or sexual assault of any kind. The actual thought of such a crime is beyond the imagination of any rationally minded human being. Anybody reading this, who has been the victim of such a heinous attack, has my full, unqualified support and best wishes. I believe that the sentencing for perpetrators of such an act should be severe and every support should be available to the victim.

 

My generation were brought up to respect members of the opposite sex. Contrary to some of the nonsense spoken today, not all men see women as “objects” of desire or anything else. Every man I know gets up in the morning, goes to work, supports his family and does his bit for society. Some of the stuff being printed today suggests that most men are lecherous pieces of dirt, walking around with only “one thing on their mind”. Nonsense like this needs to be treated with the contempt it deserves.

 

As for the law and the outcome of the case. I believe that every person is innocent until proven guilty and it doesn’t matter whether you are a person who has fallen through the cracks in life, or whether you are the person that considers the world your oyster. Law and order is the very basis on how our society works and we all have a duty to accept it and adhere to it. We are very lucky in Ireland, that the law seems to work most or all of the time. Before some smart Alec reminds me that the case in question occurred outside our jurisdiction, I’m well aware of that.

Of course there have been miscarriages of justice and times where the law has failed, but I do believe that those occasions have been very much more the exception than the rule.

So, as the dust begins to settle on “that case”, I would appeal to people to sit back and think of their actions. We can’t pick out what parts of the law we like or which parts we don’t like. People much better qualified than us are chosen to prosecute and defend cases like we have seen this week. We have a judiciary that sits with integrity and people who serve on juries with the same integrity and professionalism.

 

Bear one thing in mind after “that case”. There have been no winners on any side. Lives and careers are ruined forever, on both sides and the individuals on both those sides will never recover. Remember that, they will never recover.

 

It’s time now, to build a bridge and get over it. In a few days, the front pages will move to a new story. News editors will look at the next “exclusive” and god knows we have enough potential “exclusives” to come in Ireland before the Summer is over.

 

In the meantime, our society relies on the rule of law. We can’t pick out the bits we like or the bits we don’t like.

Watch your back

Recently, I bumped into an old friend, whom I hadn’t met with some time. My friend is a retired Garda and is what people affectionately call “old stock”. It’s a term of endearment in Ireland, normally applied to people from an older generation, who have lots of experience, have seen it all and people whom you wouldn’t hesitate to call on for advice. My friend asked me, as he always does, how our own child is getting on. He was surprised when I told him that the “child” is now 12 years of age and will be starting secondary school this September. “That’s when the fun starts” my friend commented, “youngsters are under a lot of pressure nowadays”. Remember, as a former Garda, my friend has seen a lot and has a fine knowledge of life and its tribulations.

After a good chat, I left my friend, but my mind started thinking about children, teenagers, young adults and growing up. The lure of drugs, alcohol, peer pressure, relationships and god knows what else, entered my mind. I arrived home to where our 12 year old was fast asleep in his bed. I wanted to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him there and deep down, I still do. It’s a ridiculous thought however, as they have to fly the nest, spread their wings, get hurt, fall in love, fall out of love and ultimately, make their own way in life. We can only keep the door open and hope to god that they will feel confident enough to come in, sit down and trust us as parents. We can only hope they will see us as somebody to listen, not be judgemental and to advise them. There is nothing more we can do, as I said, we can’t hold their hands.

One of the traits I have noticed among young modern adults however is their fascination with drink and alcohol. Make no mistake; alcohol is deeply embedded in Irish society and quite possibly one of our biggest marketing tools. Sure, we love the craic and the photo op with a VIP normally involves a certain beer and playing to the galleries.  Personally, I’m not over enthusiastic about the country portrayed that way, as I believe we have plenty more characteristics, but people on a much better salaries than mine decide that it works, so who am I to argue.

I don’t wish to sound disingenuous either, I make my living playing music in pubs and hotels, so a good drinking trade means a full diary for me. I also drank plenty alcohol in my time and I woke with many a sore head the following morning swearing “never again”. It was only when I decided to give it up, that I realised how much a part it played in my life and indeed how “fond of the stuff” I had become.

Stopping drinking was simple; staying stopped is where it got problematic. I found myself in a relationship with a very difficult “femme fatale” and she wasn’t in the mood to be given her marching orders. She refused to leave without a fight and even now, over two and a half  years later, she likes to make her presence felt, just when I least expect it.  It’s for that reason that I’m now scared of it a little and it’s something that I have a very deep respect for.

For youngsters however, I often wonder if they aware of just how powerful alcohol is and how they need to be careful in its use. Alcohol is often referred to as “insidious” meaning it is very sneaky and cunning. Alcohol can give you great courage and it can also cause you to let your guard down a little or in some cases a lot. It needs to be respected and I cannot stress enough just how much.

One evening not so long ago, I was in a small local convenience store. A young lad in front of me was buying bottles of beer, as there was an underage event being held nearby. The man working there served him and let him go on his way. I enquired from the man if it might have been an idea to look for ID, as the young lad most certainly didn’t look the legal age. As usual in those situations, you get the dirty look for having the cheek to ask a pertinent question. The shopkeeper assured me that the young lad was legal, but I had and still have my doubts. Another man in the queue backed me up, so I wasn’t the only one with concerns.

I read an article recently by a renowned expert in emergency medicine Dr Chris Luke, from the Mercy Hospital in Cork. The article involves an underage teenage disco in Bandon Co Cork, where an emergency field hospital needed to be set up to cater for teenagers.  Children and that’s what they are, presented with severe alcohol intoxication and breathing difficulties. It’s a shocking account of the reality faced by emergency personnel every weekend of the year.

(Read the full article here[1]).

Children have to grow up and they have to make mistakes, god knows I’m still making mistakes myself. However, I wonder if it is quickly becoming a badge of honour as to how much you can drink, how quick you can drink or indeed, how sick you can be the following morning. More of these events will occur, as we approach Easter and I wonder just how many parents are concerned about what happens once they drop children off and when they turn the corner.

Lots of children go out and have a great time every weekend and they can head home with memories of a great night in their young minds. Some children will wake up in an A&E unit, with their stomach being pumped.

This week, the newspapers were filled with the images of celebrity figure Ant McPartlin and his ongoing battles against alcohol. In the age of the smart phone and amateur newscasters, it didn’t take long for images of Mr McPartlin to be splashed across the front pages and our social media feeds. The comments from people who live the perfect life, who have never made a single mistake in those lives, were awful and a lesson in blissful ignorance “He should be ashamed of himself”, “hanging is too good for him” they screamed. I for one would absolutely love to have a perfect existence, free from all mistakes and fallibility.

One thing that the perfect people might not have noticed is how Mr McPartlin is no different to millions of other people on the planet. You may be the greatest celebrity the world has ever seen, or the poor misfortunate who has taken a few wrong turns in life, it means nothing when alcohol decides to dig in its claws.  It will pick you out of a crowded room and will consume your life.

For youngsters, there are many issues and pressures to face up to, as I’m sure they are all too well aware. Exams, relationships and other pressures can make life very tough and a challenge. I would plead with any youngster that reads this and urge them to be careful. That thing is very strong, much stronger than you think, so watch your back.

[1] https://radio.rte.ie/radio1highlights/cork-underage-disco-sean-orourke/

A bike won’t do it itself.

This blog, the Unknown Bike Rider is named for a very good reason. It’s dedicated to the people who train, work, try and do their best in sport. Make no mistake about it, cycling a bike is tough, very tough. Whether you are down in Carrick on Suir today, racing the Bobby Power memorial, whether you are on Eurosport, racing Milan – San Remo  or whether you are like me, preparing for the Wicklow 200 on June 10^th, there is one pre-requisite needed, an ability to suffer and work like a dog. Some people suffer more than others and it’s that ability that seems to get you over the line in an event. They say that Kelly could suffer more than most and reading his book “Hunger”, you would quickly realise that it was the case.

I have never been blessed with sporting talent or ability and at age 53, I doubt any of the professional teams will be giving me a shout anytime soon. I’m a pretty below average bike rider, involved in a sport that I love and a sport that I’m committed to. Weather conditions in Ireland this year have been far from cycling friendly, there was a recent crash, where my confidence was dented and I’m struggling with motivation issues. Wicklow is a huge target and I won’t be ready for it sitting at home thinking about it. For events like that, you have to train, rest, train, rest and then, train again. No matter where you are in the cycling world, no bike will push itself.

I headed out on a very hard training spin yesterday and I found how much I am prepared to suffer and the impact it has on my body, mind and health. I found myself in a pretty dark place and it wasn’t pretty.

My route was simple enough, leave Cahir, down through Ballymacarbery, onto Dungarvan and then, I’d  take the Waterford Greenway to Waterford City. It’s simple enough, with no serious climbs on the way. It’s also about 100km, weather is reasonable enough and with the exception of the wind, I should manage it easily. There are a few long drags and one or two hard bits that I’m worried about at the same time, but nothing I’m not well capable of.

I’m also riding a World Tour bike, an AquaBlue Sport Ridley Noah SL. This thing is complete with all the trimmings, full Dura Ace groupset, carbon frame and Knight Composite wheels. The bike is quite possibly  more expensive than most of the cars that will pass me during the day and maybe, the only one of this spec in the entire country.

Leaving Cahir can be an achievement in itself, as recent legislation making it law to allow 1.5m of overtaking space doesn’t seem to have filtered down to most motorists yet. I’m reminded of this on the outskirts of town, as a Bus Éireann driver makes his presence felt, skimming past me, through the “traffic calming” area. I often wonder if these people have any idea what happens in the event of them killing somebody.

Immediately, the wind is playing havoc with my deep section wheels. One of the perils of these wheels is that they are so light, the slightest breeze will take you out and you can be on the flat of your arse in seconds. The wind is switching from side on, then into my face, everywhere but on my back, where I would like it to be. Throw in a few showers of really cold rain just make it all more pleasant and my apparent easy day will be anything but.

My first big challenge is The Colonel’s Hill, near Knocklofty. It’s only about 700m in length, but it reaches a gradient of 10% in places and my gearing of 38 X 28 is much more suited for a rider of a better and younger ability. I have an added problem of a little Jack Russell, who takes exception to my presence, just on the hardest bit. Normally, I’d tell him to piss off or a splash of water into the face normally sends them packing. However, on this occasion, my heart rate is at 175bpm, my legs are burning, I haven’t the strength to react and eventually, the little guy gets tired of barking at me. Cresting the top of the hill, I’m a bit proud of myself, as this is the first time I’ve pushed a big gear up there.

The road to Dungarvan is about 30km and once I reach “Beary’s Cross” all the climbing will be complete and I can enjoy the spin down to “the sea”. The drags out from Ballymacarbery are tough and the wind continues to whirl around, going everywhere rather where I want it to be. It’s uneventful however and within an hour and a half, I’m heading down to town.

People often ask why cyclists don’t use the bike lanes in towns. There’s a simple reason why and it’s because the lanes are in very poor condition, with moss, stones, leaves, glass and of course, this is Ireland, so expect plenty dog shit.  The stones cutting into and damaging my tyres remind me that maybe I should have checked the pressures before I left home. With that in mind, I called in to see Cian in Cycle Sports. “They’re low enough” he informs me, meaning that they are flat. I always enjoy calling in to Cycle Sports, as they are among the nicest people you could meet. So, after a good chat with Cian about all things cycling, I’m on my merry way again. The Waterford Greenway is all that lies between me and Waterford.

The Waterford Greenway, has surpassed all expectations already. With well over 250,000 visitors last year, it has been a runaway success and I for one am delighted. However yesterday, I practically had it all to myself, with only the occasional joggers or walkers for company. Out over Clonea, through the Durrow Tunnel, the Ballyvoile Viaduct, Kilmacthomas, the Kilmeaden railway and eventually, the sight of the River Suir bridge in Waterford comes into view. However, all is not well in the camp and I’m suffering much more than I expected. All my supplies are used up and my muscles are starting to tense up. Energy levels are gone and I’m actually wondering if I can get to Waterford at all. The Greenway is well signposted with markers regularly posted, to let everybody know how far they have left. Once I saw the 6km marker, it was actually like a knife through my heart.

When you are totally wasted, another 6km feels like a lifetime and you need to dig in to get to the finish. Despite having one of the best bikes in the world, it comes down to one thing, a will to get over the line and it all becomes a case of “mind over matter”.

The Greenway ends at the Quays in Waterford and I stand waiting at the pedestrian lights to cross the road. Immediately, the shadows and flashing lights begin in my head. Anybody who has been there knows the ominous signs of a migraine attack. As if my day hasn’t been miserable enough, fate has one more kick left for me. The scariest thing about a migraine attack is that it is quite possible to forget where you are and you get very disorientated. Immediately I stop, get off the road and phone the lads. They are just across the road at the City Square, so in a few seconds, my bike is packed away into the car and I’m safe and sound. Thank god the attack didn’t occur further out the Greenway, it would have been a long walk out to the road.

So, with almost 97km on my legs, I’m out battered, tired and very, very ill. We headed down town, to get some food and some medication for my headache and I was never so happy to see the back of the day.

Still, it wasn’t all bad, as I managed to push a World Tour bike for almost 100km and I got there in one piece. However, despite saying to myself that I would never do it again, I’m here today planning my next training spin.

I might have no ability, but I sure have that ability to suffer, so it’s not all bad. Wicklow will test every bit of that tenacity and masochism to the last. With just short of three months to go, it’ll take a little bit of effort too.

Losing the love

Thursday morning, the doorbell rings. It’s a friend, asking me if I’m going out for a spin. Admittedly, I’m just out of bed, I don’t really “do mornings” and I have a few bits of work to catch up on. I’ve to do the school run and the dog really needs to be let out, as she can’t hold her bladder any longer. All this before any coffee enters my system, so cycling isn’t really very high on my list of priorities.

I’m having a bad start to 2018. My form is struggling, the weather is awful, enthusiasm is on the wane, but the biggest concern for me, is losing the love for the sport of cycling. Over Christmas, I picked up a bad flu from the cold, recently I suffered a heavy crash, where my head literally bounced off the road. For a skinny, miserable looking git, I actually have to watch my weight, which defies all logic at my age. I’m not going to win anything and while I’m doing the Wicklow 200 in a few months time, if I get around the course in 7 hours or 7 days, it’s the same end result, nothing. Hardly the most motivational speech, you the reader will ever enjoy.

Last year was a year to remember for me, as I completed every challenge I set myself and ticked every box. The obvious highlight of the year was Aquablue Sport, going out of their way to present me with one of their bikes and making it a day to remember.  The added bonus of meeting Martyn Irvine and finding him to be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met was the icing on the cake. Despite what the critics say, the Gran Fondo in Belfast was a superb experience and the Sean Kelly Tour, despite monsoon like conditions and a dreadful headwind, is always the highlight.

My abiding memory of 2017 is the Kelly Tour and it occurred as we faced onto Tickincor, possibly the hardest hill in Munster. Everybody was soaked, cold, tired and scared of the hill. There was a small little child there with his parents, cheering everybody on. One of the unwritten rules of the sport for me is to always acknowledge somebody who stands on the side of the road offering encouragement. I wonder how many people crested “The Pot” with the words of that little child still ringing in their ears, I know I did.

There is nothing like arriving back in Dungarvan, broken both emotionally and physically, but as you turn down towards the finish, you hear Eamon on the microphone and you see Martin Power standing there with the chequered flag, you grow a lot in stature.

Sadly, for 2018, there will be no Sean Kelly Tour, which for me is devastating. When I first took up the sport in 2011, the Kelly Tour was my primary focus every year. Everybody has their favourite event and they give the year preparing for it, the Kelly was mine. I graduated from the 100km route, to being one of the tougher types, completing the 160km twice. I wonder could I be considered a “man of the Kelly Tour”. When I heard that there would be no Kelly Tour this year, I was simply devastated, as nothing can compare to it.

So, it’s against that backdrop that I’m facing into 2018. A 2017 that can never be repeated, the loss of my favourite event and there’s also the dangers of cycling in Ireland.

Recently, legislation has been passed in Ireland, which makes a minimum safe passing distance of 1.5m the law. If it saves just one life, it will be worth it, because the sensation of a “close pass” when you are on a bike is scary. Some people have been quick to point out that it is unworkable and that it will be impossible to enforce. It’s a typical reaction in Ireland and I’m often amazed at how many people on social media for example, seem to have a better idea of law, than the entire judiciary and our Gardaí put together. It’s very simple and very easily explained and there is no need for some of the nonsense talk about measuring tapes and the like. When you approach a cyclist, just slow down for a moment, make sure you can pass safely and give them a small bit of room. That’s all it is, it’s not rocket science.

Cyclists, on the other hand, can play their part too. Social media feeds are full of cyclists, declaring “their right” to cycle two abreast for example. Is it that big a deal to go single file when the road is narrow, or if there is a big tailback of traffic, pull over and stop, to allow the traffic through? How many average people out training will ever compete in the Rás or the TDF? Answer, none. Yet, the furore goes on between “us and them”, motorists and cyclists, at each other’s throat. I’ve written before about my experience of sitting in a Garda interview room and it wasn’t bloody nice. If you’re a motorist, read it, before you take a chance. Cyclists, cop on or as a good friend of mine told me once, you can have it on your headstone, here lies whoever, “he / she had the right to cycle two abreast”.

It’s for this very reason that I have stopped riding in a group, as I consider it not worth the hassle. I’m tired of listening to two sides constantly at each other’s throats, acting like schoolchildren. A few weeks ago, I cycled through Cork City and was actually ashamed to consider myself a cyclist, when I saw some of the carry on down there. A week or two later, the Gardaí in Cork did a “clamp down” on cyclists, making them aware of their responsibilities on the road. They were slated on social media (as usual) for having the audacity to pick on a “vulnerable group of road users”.  If I was a cop, I think I’d ask why I bother.

One thing I have noticed is how quiet traditional people of the sport stay, while all this nonsense goes on. I know people who have cycling in their blood, who have more ability in their little fingers than newbies like me have in our entire bodies. They stay quiet and I often wonder how they feel as the constant nonsense goes on around them.

As a musician, there is a saying in the business, where you declare to a newbie that “you played music when it was dangerous to do so”. I wonder if people steeped in the traditions of cycling have a similar saying.

I wonder if those people go through the same loss of interest or enthusiasm. I wonder if they ever lose the love.