The Wicklow 200 (2019)

“Fail to prepare, prepare to fail” is my way of doing things. I’m of the belief that it takes as much energy to do something wrong, as it takes to do something correctly in the first place.

Mistakes are part and parcel in life, failure happens; strong people get up off the ground, dust themselves off and go again. I take this attitude with me to work, my life as a musician and I urge our 13 year old child to practice the same. In our home, success and failure are measured in the same way, they don’t matter. What does matter is that you tried and did your best.

“Look yourself in the mirror and if you see honesty, you’ll do okay”

No sport personifies this attitude more than cycling. Whether you’re at the top of the world in a professional team or the bottom of the ladder like I am, how you apply yourself to the sport is all important.

Anything less than commitment and hard work will result in failure and will find you sitting on a lonely road, possibly a long way from home, waiting for a lift.

There are no team mates to hold your hand in this sport and definitely no place to hide.

So, with my training of 10 months behind me, a car packed with every conceivable spare part imaginable, I find myself eating a packet of pasta at 6.30am on a Sunday morning, in Bray, Co Wicklow, Ireland. My second Wicklow 200 is about to start.

I get an immediate boost when a man working as a marshal commends me on my preparations and shortly after 7am, I head out and it’s not long before we’re onto our first hill of the day.

“The old long hill” it’s called and it’s approximately 4km in length. It’s 11% gradient in places and I’m a bit surprised to see people walking already. “They are in for a long day” I think to myself.

Through the village of Roundwood, riders get a glimpse of how dangerous this sport is. A medical team are surrounding a rider on the ground. Wrapped in a blanket, with his friends looking stunned, it’s a sobering thought. I sincerely hope the rider made a full recovery; nobody wishes to see anybody getting injured in any sport. We’re all amateurs after all, with jobs to go to the following morning.

The village of Laragh gives people the choice. Turn left and do the Wicklow 100 or straight ahead, onto the Wicklow Gap and attempt the 200. Straight ahead is the obvious decision.

The “Gap” isn’t all that difficult and my training is standing to me. I’ve trained in The Nire Valley Co Waterford, The Vee in Co Tipperary / Waterford, so it doesn’t pose me any problems. The descent down the other side is crazy though. A few years ago, fear was my biggest enemy on high speed descents, but I’ve learned to overcome the fear. Let the bike do what it was designed to do, brake properly, pick your lines, see your exit on bends and most importantly, ride safely.

After the Gap, the ride takes us through the village of Hollywood onto Baltinglass. This is where I feel like I’m in the Rás, our national bike race, which sadly isn’t happening this year. I’m in a group of about 10 riders and with everybody “doing a turn” into a strong headwind, we make short work of the 25 or so kilometres. There’s a food stop in Baltinglass, but I’m planning on doing this on one stop, so I keep going. The other riders are stopping, which is a pity, I enjoyed their company.

A thunder storm (this is Ireland after all) leaves me drenched and freezing cold, as I head on towards the hardest part of the day, with the climbs of Slieve Maan and Glenmalure coming up. Both the climbs arrive in quick succession and all that hard training throughout the winter months will be tested.

Slieve Maan averages almost 8% for 3 kilometres, with a maximum of 13%. At one stage I’m convinced that I have a puncture, because no matter how much power I apply to my pedals, my bike seems to refuse to move. I reach the top, trying to keep my heart rate in check.

The descent is another hair raising ride and a small bit of respite before Glenmalure comes into sight almost immediately. A man at the bottom warns us to “keep those pedals turning” and tells us that there’s a coffee trailer at the top. Noticing my Rás Tailteann kit, commemorating our national race, he shouts that he completed three Rasanna, so he deserves respect. Most riders don’t manage one. My kit has the names of every winner of the Rás printed on it, so I’m carrying a lot of history on my back.

Glenmalure begins to break riders and many are falling by the wayside as it’s just too hard. One man sits on the grass margin, bereft of energy, with that 1000 yard stare of total bewilderment. “I ask him if he’s okay”, he attempts to answer. Near the top, another rider points out a drone flying and suggests we should smile for the camera. I don’t even answer him, I haven’t the energy

After 3km, I reach the top and the hardest of the climbs are now behind me, there’s “only” 75 km to go.

A food stop in Rathdrum gives me the chance to replenish my energy reserves and a much needed break. A selfie is taken, posted onto social media and I’m away again.

In a group of 4 riders and a slight tailwind, we head out in the direction of Avoca. The lead rider turns right after about 2km and we follow. Arriving in the small village of Ballinaclash, he stops and informs us that he has taken a wrong turn and we need to head back.

An Italian rider laughs and informs me that “at least now, we can do the Wicklow 210km”. I hope he doesn’t mind me saying that it wasn’t all that funny.

Wicklow gives riders another kick, when just outside Avoca, the course turns north and another climb at Kilmacurragh drains any energy the riders have in reserve. I’m stuck on my own at this stage and can’t bridge the gap to a group of riders about 100m ahead. It’s the loneliest feeling in the world, when you just can’t get across to a group.

The villages of Newcastle and Kilcoole come in quick succession and it’s at this stage I allow myself to think I might finish this thing.

Into Greystones, another climb at Windgates and into Enniskerry, my Garmin reaches 200km. I’ve completed the Wicklow 200, but thanks to our earlier “tour guide” I still have about 6km to go. I relax however and allow myself to enjoy the last few km and as usual, a few tears begin to well up with pure relief and achievement.

The turn into Bray Emmets GAA club is greeted with shouts of “well done” from local people, marshals and a local Garda.

As usual, Caroline and Kian are there to welcome me home. My second Wicklow 200 is now under my belt and I punch the air in pure delight.

It’s the toughest event of them all, but that feeling when you cross the finish line makes it so worthwhile. Roll on 2020 and we’ll try to make it three in a row.

My thanks to the IVCA for organising an absolutely brilliant event, the marshals and volunteers that kept every junction safe. The Gardaí, Red Cross and emergency personnel, who turn up for every event and watch over people.

The people of Wicklow for their patience and understanding on the roads for the day.

A special word of thanks to the lads in our own little training group here in Cahir, Co Tipperary. For a small group, we’re represented all over the country, taking in some of the hardest and most prestigious events available.