I Cheated

I’m not a particular fan of Zwift. It’s a computer game, a bit of fun and much safer than running the gauntlet of Winter roads in Ireland.

For me, cycling is meeting up with the local group for our summer mid-week spin, where we solve the worries of the world, laugh, argue, and have fun. The sprint to the finish line, a signpost just outside town, means bragging rights until the next night.

Sunday spins are longer, normally involving some local climbs, with a coffee stop at the finish, the icing on the proverbial cake.

This year however, I invested a little in my Zwift set up. I bought a new smart trainer, an iPad, I connected everything to a big screen HD telly and even more incredibly, I managed to get everything to work.

I’m beginning to enjoy Zwift rides, I’m getting stronger and weekly events are good fun. I’ve scaled “Ven Top” and I’ve managed to finish “Alpe Du Zwift” and its 21 switchbacks, in just under an hour.

Last month, Ireland’s governing body Cycling Ireland and RWB (Racing Without Borders) announced their plans for a Winter league and for the first time ever, I signed up.

There were a few prologue spins, giving people a taste of what online racing is like and I must say, I enjoyed it. There was never any doubt that I wouldn’t win the thing, but a race on Friday evenings, would be a nice way to start the weekend.

My first race was a shock to the system. These people are fast and despite having watched a few online videos of what to expect, especially the frenetic first few minutes, I was well and truly blown out the back. I finished a long way down, but in a masochistic way, I enjoyed my first ever proper race.

The second race and there was an issue with my hardware and internet connections. As the clock counted down, I was sitting on the start line. As the other riders faded into the distance, I was still there, motionless. If Eurosport were displaying the results, I’d be a DNS (did not start).

The third race was my time to shine. I finished in third place, my FTP increased, I had points on the board and was even elevated to category B for the remaining league races. Not bad for an almost 60-year-old, whose sporting pedigree would fit on the back of a very small postage stamp.

For a few hours, I basked in the glory of a good performance in a Zwift race. It felt good to see my name up at the pointy end of the results.

Unfortunately, deep down, I knew something was wrong, this can’t be possible. An example was my sprinting, which in real life, is non-existent. Prior to this race, reaching 500 or 600 watts would have me draped over the handlebars, gasping for oxygen. This time I was reaching 800 watts, with more in the tank.

I was fighting among people with much better ability than me, which was incredible, as my previous best cycling performance, was 5^th in a local league a few years ago.

On the following Monday evening, I put on my commissaire hat and carried out an investigation, to see where my new ability had come from.

Over the previous week, I had connected my Assioma Uno power meter to my Zwift set up. It was a simple enough process, and the online search assured me that the results from a power meter will be much more accurate than a smart trainer.

On the evening of the race, I used my new set up for the first time and it was more than a coincidence that my new found ability and my power meter were linked somewhere.

It didn’t take long to find the issue and I faced the dreadful realisation that I had cheated. My results were due to a setting on my power meter app, which meant all my efforts were doubled.

Many people will understand this, but for me, it was new.

An Assioma Uno, means you have one power meter on your bike. (Assioma Duo, means two, so that’s today’s lesson in Italian over with). To compensate, the APP doubles the power reading from the single power meter, which gives you a result, as if you had two.

However, on Zwift, this is already accounted for, it doubles the power for you. Therefore, before use, you need to go into the app and turn off the “double the power” option.

I hadn’t done this, so Zwift was doubling my power, while the Assioma App was doubling it again.

I felt uncomfortable. I was up the front in the race, competing with riders much better than me, but it wasn’t based on merit, I was cheating.

I had to bite the bullet, contact the organisers, explain what happened and ask them to have my result removed. I could have carried on, maybe managed even better performances, but it’s a hollow victory.

The organisers were really good about it and I managed to pick up a bit of kudos for my honesty and integrity. That felt a bit better than storming to victory, based on deceit and lies.

Over the last few days, I can’t help but think about professional sports people, who have been found guilty of cheating. How did they feel standing on the podium, knowing it wasn’t real? If they speak with young children, who look at them as heroes, do they feel even the slightest bit uneasy?

I guess these are questions that we can never answer, but I know one thing, as my late dad used to tell us “If your name isn’t good, you’re at nothing”.

How cycling helped me through a crisis

This article was published in the November edition UK based website Bike-Mag.com https://www.bike-mag.com/november-2020

Growing up in a small village in Ireland, there was one thing that every young boy or girl had in common, the ability to ride a bicycle. When your parents bought you a bike, you immediately became independent, you could go places and have fun.

You always knew where a group of children were congregating, as there was normally a pile of bikes on the ground, so they were never too far away.

We had our heroes too. Sean Kelly, Stephen Roche, Martin Earley and Paul Kimmage were competing on the international stage. Kelly was local, coming from the town of Carrick on Suir, a 40 minute drive away. Everybody wanted to be Kelly.

Fast forward a good number of years and people of my age still possess that sense of freedom and exhilaration that riding a bike brings.

There are few experiences in life that can match the sense of achievement when you reach the top of a steep hill on a bike. We’ve all been there, when your computer warns you that your heart rate is dangerously high, when your legs are screaming for a break or when your mind tries to say, “you can’t do it”.

I was out for a spin one day, in the company of another rider. This fella had a great pedigree in the sport and as usual, was always willing to pass on advice, even to a total no hoper like me.

 He told me of the suffering during a race and to always bear in mind that it’s the same for everybody.

“I would turn to the fella beside me and ask him if he has any holiday plans or something stupid just as I’m about to crack” he laughed, explaining that it would sometimes be enough to make the other rider crack first.

This rider was Irish national champion in the mid nineties, so he knew what he was talking about.

Life can sometimes be similar to riding a bike. You can roll along without too much strain, but eventually the road will head skywards and you have your own mountain to climb.

Some years ago, I went in for a health check up with my doctor. It was routine, check my blood pressure, cholesterol, liver function and answer a few questions:

• Do you smoke? No.
• Do you drink? A little.
• How much is a little? Ah sure you know, the same as everybody. (A typical Irish answer)
• Are you aware of the health risks associated with alcohol? Yes

My doctor suggested I cut down substantially, if not cut it out completely.  You see drinking plays a huge role in Irish society and now my doctor was becoming the ultimate party pooper.

There’s an insidious side to alcohol and many, many people are unaware of it. It will tell you all is okay, but in reality it’s not. I found out just how insidious it is, the moment I stopped.

Quitting was easy, staying stopped was much, much more difficult, as it became clear that my bed-mate didn’t wish to leave my side.

The impact of alcohol on a person’s mental health cannot be understated. Your body doesn’t particularly like alcohol, that’s why you get sick and suffer hangovers. Your brain however loves the stuff and craves it and that’s what makes it so difficult to quit.

Ask anybody that struggles and they will tell you how important it is to keep your head in a good place. If your mind is busy thinking about other stuff, it hasn’t time to think about negativity or crave stuff. It’s so simple and in my case, it worked.

I had taken up cycling a few years previously and I was enjoying the sport. I was in a club and looked forward to the Sunday morning spin, where I slowly built up my fitness and knowledge of the sport.

It was with the club that I managed 100km for the very first time.

Like all cyclists, my first 100km will forever remain on my mind, as it’s a milestone we all strive for. For me, it was suffering punctures and how other more experienced members of the club gave up their day, stayed with me, supported me, literally put a hand on my back and pushed me, until my computer displayed 100km.

Our club has a huge diversity of members, from those in professional careers, others through one reason or another don’t work at all, some are enjoying retirement and some are in college, still waiting to head out into the big bad world.

However, once the group hits the road on a Sunday morning, what you do for a living doesn’t make one bit of difference.

On your very first morning, you’re made aware of one simple rule. “We’re as fast as our slowest rider and most importantly, nobody gets left behind”.

As cycling has evolved and people get fitter, with better bikes and improving ability, the rule is sadly beginning to diminish in importance. It’s possibly one of the reasons you see so many people on their own on the roads and the group ride is suffering as a consequence.

There are plenty of opportunities for people to race bikes, the Sunday group spin isn’t one of them. Okay, lecture over.

My love for the sport was growing and instead of spending my spare money on cheap wine and cans of alcohol, I was heading to our local bike shop to treat myself to something nice.

I saved up and bought my first proper bike. It was full carbon, with Shimano RS81 wheels and an Ultegra groupset. It wouldn’t make me one bit better or faster, but it made me “look fast”, which is just as important.

In July 2018, I checked my phone and noticed a voicemail. The message was from Irish Pro-Continental team, Aqua Blue Sport and they had exciting news.

They had run an online competition a few months previously, with the prize being a Ridley Noah SL roadbike. This was no ordinary bike, it was full professional spec, with all the trimmings such as handmade wheels, Di2 groupset and emblazoned in the team livery. They would ride the exact same bikes a few months later at La Vuelta D’Espana.

To cut a long story short, I had won the bike.

A few weeks later, they arrived to present me with the new bike, even sending former Irish World track champion and icon of the sport, Martyn Irvine along, to make it even more special.

The bike is only used in the height of summer, when there hasn’t been any rain and it doesn’t look like there will be any rain. In Ireland, that’s about 4 days per year.

This year has been devastating to the cycling community with the cancellation of events due to the pandemic, but they will return and as cyclists, we’ll all be ready.

In the meantime, I’ve turned to Zwift and discovered a complete new range of challenges and an entirely new community, from the comfort of the garage.

It’s now over 5 years since I last touched a drop of alcohol and as they say here in Ireland ,”I’m all the better for it”.

My last health check finished with my GP saying, “whatever you’re doing, just keep doing it”, a long way from a lecture about potential liver damage.

The part cycling played in that transformation cannot be underestimated. As I said earlier, alcohol attacks the mind and in order for a sufferer to fight back, it’s important to keep that mind in a good place.

I live in an area surrounded by spectacular mountains, quiet roads and an opportunity to test both my head and my body to their fullest. Most importantly however, those very mountains and roads give me the chance to get away from it all and find that bit of peace mind that we all need.

On a Winter morning, it’s not uncommon to hear shouts of “well, how’s it going” as a large group arrive from behind. It’s the group from Carrick on Suir, as they head for home. In the middle of the group, you will notice Sean Kelly and Sam Bennett, riding along with lads they’ve known since they were children. That doesn’t happen in many sports.

If you feel you might have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, I would suggest you speak to your GP and they will advise you of the wide range of treatments and help that is available. One of the suggestions they will make is to stay active, to keep yourself active and keep your head in a good place.

A few drinks with your friends can be one of the greatest pleasures in life. It should be enjoyed and kept under control. If you lose control, you’re in dangerous territory, so be careful.

It’s referred to as cunning, baffling and powerful for a very good reason.

A tonic for the troops

A few years ago, I had a few pound left over at the end of the month. I decided to treat myself to a new set of wheels for my bike. Nothing fancy, but they were new and the experts say the best upgrade you can make, is wheels.

They got their maiden voyage on a Sunday morning in biblical rain. It was a local route from our hometown of Cahir, to Ballylooby, Clogheen. Ballyporeen, out to the millionaires and home.

My partner that morning wasn’t having the best of days. That happens in every sport, when the body is willing, but the head isn’t. As we passed the hotel at Kilcoran, he was about 50 yards behind me, struggling and looking forward to a shower, dry clothes and a latte.

Suddenly, there was a “whoosh” sound and shouts of “How’s it going” as a large group passed me. It was the Carrick lads, heading for home. They still had about 40 km to go, but they were flying along and as is the usual, they were loving the conditions. In fact they were reveling in them.

“Why didn’t you jump on with them?” my friend asked, admitting that he was now officially “f*cked”.

“Ah will you give over. Those lads are too good for me. Anyway, we head out together, we come home together”.

Meeting the Carrick crowd is a regular occurrence on the roads and it’s not uncommon to see Sean Kelly and Sam Bennett in their ranks. There’s no bullshit in that group, no place for egos or notions. In that group, they are just two of the lads.

That principle applies to Carrick as a whole. It’s a sports mad town and they have produced a few musicians as well. I’ve played many gigs in Carrick and I’ve made friends for life down there. There’s an old saying, “if you do well in Carrick, you’ll do well any place”.

It’s a tough town, but they would give their lives for you and I like it down there. Sam Bennett is from Carrick and he has just created history, taking home the green jersey from the Tour De France. He has given the cycling community and Irish sports fans one hell of a lift over the three weeks this year.

It’s been a horrible year, with a pandemic, lock downs and uncertainly about our futures. As usual, our sportspeople bring us that bit of hope and pride as a small nation.

When he stood on the podium wearing that jersey, having won that final stage, I’m convinced he could hear the roar from Carrick.

In a few weeks, he’ll be home and he’ll be with that cycling group on a Sunday morning as they travel the roads of Tipperary and Waterford. There will still be the shouts of “how’s it going” to lads, as they pass.

How many sports can will that happen in? Very few. We’re lucky to have cycling as our sport and even luckier to have sportspeople like Sam.

Welcome to my new world

It’s been a miserable few months for sports fans, as the Covid 19 restrictions have put a huge dent in our participation and enjoyment of events.

Cycling has escaped the worst of the lock down, as many people have been able to use the 2 km rule to devise their own little training route, keeping within the recommended guidelines and most importantly, keeping themselves and others safe.

I’ve used a local route on a few occasions and explored new roads but being mindful of the strain a potential accident such as a fall would put on our health services, I’ve kept it to the bare minimum. I wouldn’t expect much sympathy should I present myself in A&E under the current situation.

To compensate, I bought what they call a “smart trainer”, which speaks to my computer somehow, I’ve connected my bike to it, signed up to Zwift and my training takes place in the garage.

My family and passing neighbours are asking themselves, “has he finally lost the plot?” as a few faint swear words penetrate the evening and a substantial pool of sweat forms on the floor.

However, there’s a bigger story, because inside that garage, I’ve climbed a virtual Alpe d’Huez, I’ve passed a five time TDF winner on a hill outside London (okay, it’s not confirmed it was Miguel Indurain, but I believe it was, so that’s all that matters). Some of the best riders in the country have given me a “ride on”, which is an online way of saying “well done Ted” as they pass.  I’ve even met Irish heroes Nico Roche and Eddie Dunbar on my travels.

The Irish cycling community seems to have embraced the format and it’s even been mentioned on the national news. The governing body is involved, so it’s all positive and long may it continue.

As for me, I’ve become interested in my FTP, my watts per kilo and stuff that only a sports scientist would understand. I haven’t a clue what it means, but hey, it looks cool and makes me seem like I could be fast. The dogs on the street know I’m not fast, but it’s important to look fast, whether in real life or in this new virtual world.

Yesterday, I did my first ever online race and I’m still trying to work out exactly where I finished, as lots of stuff has to be deciphered to ascertain the exact result. There was an extensive amount of information available, but so far, the biggest talking point is my height, which I had incorrectly entered onto the computer. As far as it was concerned, I’m 3 foot tall.

I’d say Sam Bennetts racing data isn’t as well analysed as mine at the moment.

I’ve met a completely new group of cyclists. Some of them are top professionals, capable of mixing it with anybody in the world. During this lockdown, they are mixing it with a total no hoper and you know what, they are nice lads, willing to help and give you a bit of confidence.

So, as a noob into the world of online cycling, what do I see as the future of it and is it for me?

Will it rival the thrill of cycling the Nire Valley and the achievement as you reach the top? Will it equal the fear as you cling on for dear life descending the hill from Mellary to Newcastle? Will it make up for a Sunday morning spin with the gang and a coffee at “The Bean” when we get back?

Not a hope, cycling is a sport best enjoyed with friends. Some of the greatest problems Ireland has faced have been sorted out by a few of us while out on our bikes. Indeed many stories have gone out the Cork Road and will stay out there. Legal proceedings would surely be initiated if those stories ever came back in.

Will it substitute a cold winter evening in November, as I trudge out that same Cork Road with wind howling through the valley created by the Galtee and Knockmealdown mountains? Will it be more appetising than heading out in the rain on a cold January morning, as I remind myself, this will be worth it when the Wicklow 200 comes around?

You can bet your life it will.

Of course it’s not perfect. The purists will laugh it off as a computer game and my family will laugh “are you cycling around the garage again this evening?”

No, it’s not perfect, but it’s pretty damn close.

For people in lock down and living through these times, please stay safe and my very best wishes to you and your famlies.

 

 

The Professional Driver

Recently in Ireland, new legislation was passed, which makes the unsafe passing of a cyclist an offence. Many people welcome the legislation, but there has been the expected criticism from the usual suspects and the keyboard warriors report increased activity.

I was invited onto a radio programme recently to discuss the legislation and made the point that while it is welcome, more needs to be done. I was also critical of some cyclists during the interview, citing our own town, where cycling on footpaths, not using proper lighting and refusing to obey traffic laws is common.

This behaviour gives the critics much needed ammunition and does nothing to help the cause.

At the end of the interview, the radio host asked me what other measures I would suggest to help make our roads a little safer.

“That’s easy” I told him, “we need to go back to basic manners and respect, qualities that Irish people are world renowned for”

You can introduce all the legislation in the world, but it amounts for nothing, if basic manners are missing.

Fast forward a few nights and I was sitting at home flicking through the “57 channels and nothing on”, so I switched to YouTube on my Xbox.

YouTube is huge and gives people an opportunity to “Broadcast Themselves”. With modern action cameras, dash cams, your phone and a simple app, high quality films are possible.

I found a recent film produced by an Irish truck driver. Now, I have a strong affinity with truck drivers, as my dad drove a truck. His dad before him was involved in transport, albeit with a horse on the railways. It’s a known fact the horse was better looked after than himself.

Anyway, back to YouTube, so this guy, who labels himself as a “professional driver” has produced his latest video, of a typical working day and involves his activities in our nation’s capital, Dublin.

This guy has a tendency to rant and rave a bit, or “calling it like it is” as he describes it. In his little world, everybody else on the road is wrong, doesn’t know how to drive, doesn’t understand the rules of the road, you get my point.

Why he doesn’t leave traffic enforcement to the authorities tasked with such responsibility is beyond me, but I guess he gets plenty “hits” on his channel and makes lots of new “friends”.

He also works for a major international haulage company. On their website, they describe themselves as “a specialist provider of Transport & Logistics services throughout Ireland, the UK & Europe”.

Specialist drivers must be a little harder to come by I’d say, as I’m about to explain.

While driving through the city, he approaches a cyclist from behind and immediately gets annoyed. Now, the cyclist is well up the road in front of him, he’s using the proper lighting, he’s conducting himself and in my opinion, he’s doing nothing wrong.

The guy in the truck has lots of time to adjust his speed, pass safely and go about his business. The road isn’t that busy, it seems wide enough, so a professional driver will do what professional drivers do, act professionally and do things correctly. I mean, that’s what makes them better than the rest of us mere mortals, right?

However, this guy hasn’t read the script and rather than being the professional you would expect, he carries out the unsafe pass, to “teach this ***** a lesson” causes the rider to get annoyed, a shouting match ensues with the obligatory blame game and profanities.

The language is disgusting and people like my late dad would turn in their grave at the conduct of this alleged “professional driver”.

As a bike rider myself, I drew consolation from the fact this all happened in Dublin, over a hundred miles from my door.

“While there’s a hundred miles between that guy and me, I’m happy and I feel a lot safer” I thought.

This week, the “professional driver” produced another video, which turned up in my “recommended” section on YouTube. Against my better judgement, I decided to watch it and that’s when my worst fears were realised.

“I recognise this road” I thought, as he turned off the motorway, telling viewers he was delivering to a concrete company.

“There’s a concrete company just outside this town” I thought, “surely not, no, it can’t be”

Incredibly, he was in our town and he’’ on the where we live. That’s why I recognised it.

“I can’t believe this, that’s our house” I gasped, as he trundled past. My 100 miles of safety from this guy was no more.

We live in a very small town, definitely not suitable for these lorries and with schools and shops in the area, I also wondered if people were aware of the maniac outside their doors.

Shortly after arriving in the town centre, there’s a mix up with his sat-nav and his alternative route takes him “cross country” on quiet country roads, to reach his destination.

Not much happens on these roads and the most likely cause of a traffic jam would be somebody moving farm animals or maybe a few people out walking together.

Roads like this were never designed for articulated trucks, but that means nothing to “professional driver” as he rolls along, with the occasional effing and blinding.

Of all the things people in that area expect on an average day, this is not one of them.

Eventually, he reaches his destination, makes his delivery and one of the people working there advises him of the easiest way back out, thereby avoiding the same road.

However, our “professional driver” wasn’t listening correctly and finds himself on those same roads again

Inevitably, he meets a cyclist (It wasn’t me), out on his bike, using these roads to keep out of people’s way, rather than hold them up, because that’s what people want. He’s on his own, rather than bothering with a large group, because that’s what people want as well.

I use the same road myself for all the above reasons. The days of cycling in a large group are gone for me. The hostility, danger and confrontation makes it not worth the bother.

The last thing any cyclist expects to see on this road is a 40 foot articulated truck coming for him and that’s exactly what happens.

If it was me on the bike, I would have thought this guy is obviously lost, aware that these roads are not suitable for his vehicle and I’d console myself that the driver is a “professional”.

I would just nip past, keeping well in out of his way and be gone. It’s called manners and that’s exactly what the cyclist did.

However, our professional driver obviously didn’t think along those terms and screams past the cyclist, complaining that “he never slowed down for me”. For good measure, he labels the person on the bike, who he has never met, a “prick” (my apologies for using that word. It’s not my usual conduct).

This was another cyclist, doing nothing wrong, going about his business and trying to stay safe, by keeping well off the beaten track, but encounters a maniac, because that’s what this guy is.

So, back to my radio interview and the host asking me what other measures need to be taken.

It’s too late, I’m afraid. Respect, manners, courtesy and common decency are long gone. The modern “professional driver” are not worthy of the title.

In the meantime, people like this guy could turn up anywhere, even on a quiet back road and just when you least expect them, so be careful out there. The sad part is, they’re winning as a cyclist versus an articulated truck is no contest.

As an after thought I’ve started asking myself whether cycling is worth it anymore? The simple answer is no, it’s not.

As for the “professional drivers?” My dad would turn in his grave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

Away from my regular day job, I also work as a musician. I’ll never be famous or any of that stuff, but it’s something I’ve done with over 30 years now, so it actually becomes part of your life.

One of the downsides to this life, is late nights and when you reach mid-fifties, like I have, feeling tired at the end of a night. I often think about the younger me, where a gig was followed by a trip to the local night club, going to watch professional bands and copying them the next night myself.

Another annoying part is coming home and the buzzing in your ears as you try to sleep.

“later in the evening as you lie awake in bed, with the echoes of the amplifiers ringin’  in your head” – Bob Seger, Turn the Page, (1973)

This weekend was no exception, arriving home at close to 2am, packing equipment away, waiting for the dog to come back after chasing a cat, meant I was still looking at the clock at 3am.

I had signed up for a 200km sportif on Sunday, but reality dictated that I may need a little more than 3 hours sleep to complete such event. Reality also told me to “wake up, it’s not possible, stay in bed and do something else”.

So, instead of struggling out at 6am, a more acceptable Sunday began at 11am and as the Indian Summer arrived in Ireland, I decided that while I’ve missed the sportif, it would be a shame to waste the day, so I’d take a trip to the coast, Tramore in Co Waterford. It’s about 100km and involves the Waterford Greenway, one of the newest and most successful pieces of infrastructure in Ireland.

Just after midday, I set out at a nice leisurely pace, with my first port of call, the village where I was brought up. The village looks wonderful, with particular thanks due to the local Tidy Towns people, who work tirelessly for their community.

A call to see my mother for half an hour and I was back on my bike, heading for my favourite town in the world, Dungarvan.

The rest of my family are coming down in the car, so we should arrive around the same time, or “in time for the chips” as we say. One thing you have to get in Tramore, is chips.

On my way towards Dungarvan, I met the earlier mentioned Sportif riders, as they headed towards their final climb of the day, before the finish in Clonmel. Well done to them all, 200km is some achievement on a bike.

A tail wind kept me going at a nice steady pace and it wasn’t long before I was descending Colligan, towards Dungarvan town. Arriving on the Waterford – Cork road, I turned left at “the Master McGrath” monument and began the short distance to town.

There’s a bike lane running alongside the road, but I don’t use it. It’s covered in grit, leaves, stones and my bike is a Ridley Noah SL, which isn’t cheap. I have Knight hand built wheels underneath, so I don’t want scratches or stone chips. The only chips I’m interested in today come in a bag with salt and vinegar.

I’m travelling along at about 35km/h, on the hard shoulder, so there’s no need to worry, or so I think.

As I approach a busy junction, it happens. It only takes one person to ruin a day, maybe I was spoiled, it was all going too well. A car arrives beside me and cuts straight in front of me to turn at the junction. I jam on my brakes, scrubbing off my speed as quick as I can.

Okay, a small admission to make here, but the words “hey, for f*ck sake, what are you up to” were shouted,

I got the usual, expletives in return and despite my calls to come back and explain themselves, my unwanted friends carried on.

Now this isn’t unusual and is one of the downsides of riding a bike in Ireland. Respect, courtesy, manners, attributes that I was brought up with, are well gone I’m afraid and nowhere is this more evident than on our roads. We live in a time of miraculous engineering, where vehicles are safer than ever, our road network, while not perfect, is a long way from the roads I learned to drive on back in the 1980’s. The weakest link is the person driving I’m afraid.

It was this lack of respect and the expletives that just got me yesterday and rather than doing Facebook posts and that nonsense, I was taking it a step further. I’m sick of this, I’m taking no more of it, so the decision was made …. I’m going to the Gardaí, I’m going to make a complaint and report these people. I had their registration number, hard to miss it really, it was about 4 feet from my face at one stage.

Arriving at the Garda station, I had a few moments to think “is this necessary?”, “come on you’re making a mountain out of a molehill”, “The Gardaí have enough to be doing”, but I also thought of my family en-route behind me and I thought of the same Gardaí having to contact them if I’m seriously injured or worse, on the road.

So, with that in mind, I entered the Garda station. No going back no, I was going to make a report and I have to admit, it didn’t feel nice.

I met a young Garda and I explained my case to him. I explained that I didn’t wish to get anybody into trouble, as I was brought up better than that, but as a cyclist, I’m sick and tired of this conduct from people, who don’t give one damn about me and my safety.

I’m also a motorist, who pays for the very roads I was nearly hurt on, I feel I have a right to use those roads and most importantly, I demand to be treated with respect and if I hold you up for a moment, well that’s just tough.

I told the Garda that I had called the individuals in the car to come back, where I would have invited them accompany me to the station and state their own case, but they kept going.

I told him that I didn’t use the bike lane because of its condition and that I was well in off the road, was not holding anybody up and was conducting myself.

He took my complaint on board, took the registration number and of course, my own details as well.

He told me that the standard procedure is that the Gardaí will run the registration number, find out who the people are and a member will call to their home. They will get an opportunity to explain themselves, but they will get a caution and a warning that their future driving needs to improve.

As I headed off and reached the sanctity of the nearby Greenway, I thought about what I had just done. I thought of the people in that car, who only had to respect my rights on the road, drive with due care and consideration and if they make a mistake, as many of us do at some stage, put your hand up and simply say “sorry. I made a mistake”.

The individuals can now expect a call from the Gardaí, will get a caution and no doubt, will feel very aggrieved. I can also expect their hostility towards cyclists to increase, but that’s part of it.

I really hope that the next time they see a cyclist on the road, they might use a small bit of common sense and realise, it’s another human being, a husband, a wife, son or daughter.

I completed my 100km journey to Tramore, but the good was gone out of it. I met the family, we got chips and pizza and guess what, they were horrible, the worst ever.

 

 

Why do some people hate cyclists?? Read on.

A few weeks ago one of the lads at work said to me “Hey, they’re talking about you on Tipp FM”, our local radio station. Now, I love radio and I’ve been given many opportunities to speak about subjects. The station has been very good to me in the past and I’m one of those people that appreciate stuff like that.

Anyway, the programme producer contacted me a little later, asking if I was free the following morning to speak about an issue.

However, there’s an added problem, as the boss at work pays my wages and he expects me to do a bit of work for him and leave my radio stuff for my own time. I had to decline the station, but I sent them an email, which they referred to in my absence the following day.

The issue to be discussed? Cyclists and how some of them are a menace on our roads, footpaths, operating with impunity, with little or no regards for other road users.

I have spoken on many occasions, pleading for acceptance, share the road, treat each other with respect and I have been hugely critical of other road users. However, sometimes you begin to ask yourself if it’s worth it.

“I tried” I told the radio producer, “but you know what, I don’t care anymore. Let people do as they wish, I can’t change the world”.

Fast forward to last night, stretched out watching the Tour of Utah on telly, when my phone blinked. It was a good friend calling, so I answered.

“Are you on WhatsApp?” my friend asked, “I have a video to send you and I’d like your opinion”

“Yep, send it on, is it juicy?”

“God be with the days” he laughed and we had a good chat for a while.

My friend runs a business, pays rates, taxes, creates employment, pays wages, pays more taxes, you get my meaning.

Anyway, standing on the footpath outside his premises this week, he was confronted by a cyclist travelling at speed, heading the wrong way on a one way street, on the footpath. My friend stopped the cyclist, explaining how dangerous it is, telling him how he is causing a potential threat to pedestrians and most importantly for him, people leaving his business.

My friend is an easy going person and not the type to lose his temper and ironically enough, he has a strong interest in cycling and has pushed many a pedal in his day. However, I don’t think he expected to be treated with in the way he was and took a video as proof.

The belligerence of the guy on the bicycle left me stunned, as I watched the video of the confrontation.

Contempt, couldn’t care less and downright ignorance, are adjectives that also come to mind to describe his attitude.

Both my friend and I agreed that a “few slaps of a hurley wouldn’t go astray on him”. Strangely enough, there was a time in Ireland where such actions were actively encouraged.

“Take that to the Gardaí” I advised.

“I did” was the answer.

I attempted to reassure my friend that this guy isn’t a proper cyclist. In my opinion, he’s just an arsehole, who has the ability to cycle a bike.

Is he representative of our sport? Of course not. He’s just a lout and an ignoramus who could do with an introduction to the affore mentioned hurley.

So far this year, I have cycled almost 6,000km, with a target of 10,000km by the end of the year. Only recently, during our holidays I managed almost 1000km, climbing the equivalent of Mount Everest in the process.

In that length of time, I would say my altercations with other road users have been minimal. If I had to count them, I would easily manage it on one hand. You see, I’m a motorist as well, I own a car and at one stage in my life, I actually drove for a living. Contrary to popular belief, I pay for my use of the roads, as all my other cycling friends do and also contrary to popular belief, I have insurance and a licence to ride my bike.

“What??? A licence to ride a bike??? Are you joking??”

“Nope, I have full membership of Cycling Ireland”

I also possess that unique of qualities, I was brought up by my parents to have respect and to have a good name.

My dad always told us as we grew up “You might have a hole in the arse of your trousers, but if your name is good, you can walk any street or in any door, with your head held high”

Those are qualities we try to instill into our own child.

So far this year, millions has been raised by cycling and cycling clubs for good causes across the country.

On Sunday week next, I will be among the riders taking on another 200km, raising funds for cancer care. Already this year, I raised over €500 for Motor Neurone.

The actions of the guy my friend confronted do absolutely nothing for cycling, for the participants or for the sport in general. If anything, it sets the sport back and gives the critics more ammunition and more reasons to complain.

As a further result, people like me, who do their very best to participate in a sport are tarred with the same brush.

It’s wrong and unacceptable.

I sent the video to one of our local councillors, who has done huge work in providing proper cycling infrastructure in the town and I could sense his disappointment.

I also sent it to Tipp FM, with an explanation “that’s another reason why I didn’t speak on the airwaves recently”. You cannot defend the indefensible.

I would love to publish the video for everybody in the town to see, but under data protection, the guy in question has many more rights than I have, so I could end up on the wrong end of the law.

In the meantime, that guy will tear around the footpaths of our town today. He will display the same arrogance, ignorance and sheer contempt for people. Eventually, somebody will get seriously hurt and the “effing cyclist” brigade will have a field day.

He’s not the only one, its endemic across the nation, putting a strain on scarce Garda resources and creating more animosity.

And they wonder why so many people hate cyclists.

 

 

vlogs

Introducing some of the vlogs I’ve published recently on my YouTube channel, titled The Unknown Bike Rider.

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The Wicklow 200 (2019)

Wicklow 200 2019 (Prologue)

Wicklow 200 2019 (Prologue)

Wicklow 200 2019 (Prologue)

Wicklow 200 2019 (Prologue)

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.

 

 

 

Wicklow 200 2019 (Prologue)

I don’t do mornings, never have and I never will at this stage of my life. So, when the clock goes off at 5.45am on a Sunday morning, my immediate reaction is not pleasant.

As a musician, on a normal weekend, that ungodly hour of the day wouldn’t see me long in bed. Here I am, getting up in what most people would consider still the middle of the night.

We’re in Dublin for the weekend, as I’m taking part in the annual Wicklow 200. It’s Ireland’s premier cycling challenge and widely considered the hardest. It’s 200km in length, which isn’t any particular problem, but it entails almost 3000m of climbing, which is a problem.

The route takes in some of the most iconic climbs in Ireland and the finisher’s medal at the end is well deserved and hard earned.

I’ve worked hard for this event, having trained throughout the Winter in all kinds of weather. Frost, snow, hail and of course rain, this is Ireland after all, have made no difference. If you don’t put in the miles, you won’t finish the “200”, in fact you might as well just stay at home.

One of my hero’s , Sean Kelly is on record as saying that the best way to learn how to ride your bike in bad weather, is to just ride your bike in bad weather.

For the first time ever, I’ve also prepared my bikes myself. I got into the habit during the Winter months and I take great satisfaction out in the garage on a cold night working on them and having them running well. So many people train for an event and never think of looking after their bikes.

I believe that a new chain, bottom bracket, tyres, tubes, brake pads and having your gears indexed properly are the “minimum” you need to do. Remember that on the Wicklow Gap or Slieve Mann, you will easily reach speeds of 65 or 70 km per hour on the descent. There are many sharp corners as well, so it’s not the time to find your brakes are not working as an example. If you’re not suitably skilled, bring it to your local bike shop and they’ll have it running like new. I cannot stress the importance of this enough.

I always bring a second bike. The horror of walking down stairs on the morning and realise you have a puncture is enough to start you off on a poor footing, so I always carry a spare. My second bike is normally used for Winter riding, but it’s meticulously maintained and the gearing is almost exactly the same as my “good bike”.

The booth of the car is a bit like something you would see on the Tour De France. Spare tubes, helmets, glasses, shoes and tools are all laid out, so all I need to do is put my hand on stuff and it’s there.

My bikes are loaded onto the roof rack the night before, locked and secured. We are in Dublin after all.

Actually, excuse me while I go off point here for a few moments. On Saturday evening, I took a quick warm up spin in our capital city. Starting at North Bull Island in the north of the city, I rode the handy 10km to O’Connell Bridge in the centre of the city. It’s an immaculate cycle lane for most of the route and at one stage, where I needed to cross a busy round about, a man in a car stopped to wave me through. Onto the quays and more cycle lanes, down past the Jeannie Johnson famine ship, past the Samuel Beckett Bridge and in no time, I’m at the heart of the city.

To people from down the country, nightly news reports would make you ask, why would anybody go to that place. Sure it’s all murder, drugs, gangs, lawlessness and so on. My experience is standing with my phone, taking selfies, surrounded by tourists, shoppers and people going home from work, all smiling, content and happy. The news programmes don’t report that stuff very often. I’ve never had a bad time in Dublin, quite the opposite in fact. Of course, the reports of people enjoying themselves aren’t quite as newsworthy as murder and mayhem.

On Saturday night, we all went to the cinema and I’m a bag of nerves. That’s what cycling does to you, it gets into your head and “the bad person” as I call him, tries to tell you that you can’t do it. I’m trying to raise funds for the Irish Motor Neurone Disease Association, so there’s a little added pressure. Many of my friends have donated and I don’t want to let them down.

AS quick trip to a fast food restaurant, into a late night supermarket to pick up a few bits for breakfast and it’s back to the hotel for final preparations.

Everything is laid out, ready for an early start. Sleep doesn’t come easily that night as all I can see is the suffering that’s coming up in a few short hours time.

I’ve a slight sore throat and a cough, but even if one of my legs was hanging off, it wouldn’t stop me heading to that start line in a few hours time.

In no time at all, I hear the clock buzzing. It’s time to do this thing.