Out training with the group last night, all the talk was of a young man from Carrick on Suir, Co.Tipperary, Ireland, who had steamrolled onto the world stage earlier in the day. “I thought he had gone too early”, “jaysus, he’s a great youngfella”, “imagine Kelly and himself on the same team”, “it couldn’t happen to a nicer person”, were some of the comments and observations made.
Sam Bennett had won his second Giro Italia stage in a week and the cycling community in Ireland were just thrilled for him. Sam had displayed awesome power, winning at Imola and the words of Eurosport commentator Carlton Kirby “You want power, have some of this“ were still ringing in our ears.
Other talk is about events of the day and it’s actually quite strange, how national issues can be sorted by half a dozen people on bikes. Some talk stays out on the road, a long way out on the road in fact and if it ever came back, the “5th” would be required.
Once we reach Mushroom Hill, the talking has a tendency to stop. The hill is around 700 metres long, with an average grade of around 6 – 8%. The hill has a tendency to concentrate the mind on other things. There’s your heart rate, pushing into dangerous territory at our age and the gasping for a little bit of air, as you think you can see the top, only for another 50 metres to suddenly appear.
Somebody will always “have a go” at the hill. Immediately, allegations of hidden motors are made, with others resorting to more colourful reactions. Some people declare themselves as asthmatic and of course your bike is always to blame. “This yoke could do with a service”, “Ah, my gearing is wrong”, “I’m not a climber” are some of the excuses for the fact that if we were to be honest, we’re not really all that good at this lark.
Then, there’s the descent on the other side as gravity propels you towards the village of Burncourt in Co. Tipperary. If you’re confident enough, you might afford yourself the occasional glance at your Garmin and sometimes the speed can be a little crazy.
Once it reaches 65 or 70kph, your bike handling skills are tested. The surface is uneven and it’s our little bit of “Paris-Roubaix”. Every bone in your body shakes and now you know why carbon fibre is so expensive, as the frame underneath does its best to absorb the vibrations.
Then, there’s your fancy deep section carbon wheels. They probably cost you the price of a good holiday and you lost the receipt, in case your other half saw how much they really cost. The wheels do their best to throw you off as well, since the smallest breeze seems to affect them, and it always seems to come from one side or the other, just to make it more awkward.
A local dog or cat coming out to introduce themselves doesn’t bear thinking about, so we’ll move on from that.
Oddly enough, one of the things you think about is the fact that if something does go wrong; you hope your bike will be okay. “I’ll recover, the bike will cost a f*cking fortune” is part of the twisted logic in this sport.
Once you’re through the village, there’s the final drag up to the old Cork Road. The heart rate increases once more, before finally, the road levels out, the climbs are over with and the way home comes into view. The sign post assures us that Cahir is 13km away and it’s pan flat the entire way.
Once upon a time, this road was one of the busiest roads in the country, but an adjoining motorway takes all the heavy traffic now. There are big, wide hard shoulders, the surface is perfect and 90% of the time, the “trade winds” are on your back as they sweep through the valley created by the Knockmealdown mountains on one side, the Galtee Mountains on the other.
The old road is ideal for athletes, walkers and cyclists alike. Top level cyclists use the road for motor pacing, there are regular TT efforts, tractors are chased (when the health and safety brigade are otherwise engaged), children learn the basics in road safety and you’ll always meet somebody out and about. On the off chance of something going wrong, you’re never far from home.
Then, of course, there’s “the gallop”. The gallop is the final part of a training spin, where the speed increases, where the talking stops and where everybody is in a line, taking turns to drive the group forward.
It takes a lot of practice to do it right, as well as huge trust in the other riders. You “sit in” as close as you can to the rider in front, with your eyes trained on his or her rear wheel. You concentrate on what you’re doing, as a mistake can be dangerous. Nobody wants to be responsible for an accident, so it is highly controlled with no messing and everybody conducting themselves.
The first gallop normally runs past Kilcoran Hotel and finishes just beyond Jim Carey’s garage. At this stage, breathing is regulated and drinks are taken on board. Checks are made to see who’s feeling strong, who’s hiding and who couldn’t be arsed. Through the roundabout at Tincurry, there’s 5km (around 2 miles in old money) to go and after a small drag, the second gallop begins. Now, it’s everyone for themselves, waiting, watching, conniving and being cute.
The final 200 metres or so is where the sprint takes place, with the finish line being a sign-post at a secret part on the road (about 500m before the Cahir turn off, on the left as you approach from the Cork side). At this stage, somebody will attempt to pass the finish in first place. There’s no hand raising and all that nonsense, try that and you’ll be very quickly “persona non gratis”
However, for amateurs, this is their Rás, Giro stage or a grand finish on the Champs-Élysées. For that few seconds, the Sam Bennett effect takes over but instead of podium girls, champagne and the World’s press, you get bragging rights for a few days, until invariably somebody will give you “your arse on a plate”.
The gallop is followed by more excuses, “I was hemmed in and couldn’t get out”, “I was in the wrong gear” and the old reliable “I ran out of road, another 50 yards, I’d have had it”.
Cycling is a very solitary sport, with lots of hours on your own, struggling through poor weather, poor form, crashes, injury and motivation.
In the words of the great Jean de Gribaldy, who was so influential in the career of Sean Kelly:
“Cycling isn’t a game, it’s a sport. Tough, hard and unpitying, and it requires great sacrifices. One plays football, or tennis, or hockey. One doesn’t play at cycling”
But one thing is for certain. The camaraderie, the fun, the friendship that you meet in that group of people, makes it one of the best places you can be.
I wonder does Sam Bennett realise the effect he has on the overall cycling community.
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The Unknown Bike Rider 