Lifestyle and cycling

“We want more, we want more”, “One more song, come on the night is young” were the calls from a packed dance floor at 1 am on Saturday night / Sunday morning. For a small time musician these nights can be a bit of a rarity, as the normal reaction from people is “when will this guy shut up and give our ears a break”.

So, a few encores are played, the wagon is loaded, there’s an hour of a drive home, unload everything, leave the dog out for a pee, get my bike ready for the 9am spin and oh yeah, a few hours’ sleep would be handy.

I think I nodded off about 3am, but I kept waking up, thinking I’d slept it out and eventually, looked at the clock, it’s 8.30, damn it, I’m late. I rush through the kitchen, stick on the kettle while putting on my bib shorts, turn off the intruder system, leave the dog out again, with that “hey, I only had a pee while ago” look about her, stick my water bottles on the bike, while making a quick coffee and shock horror, there’s a puncture. It’s now 8.50am, the group leaves in 10 minutes.

Cycling groups don’t wait. 9am is 9am and if you’re too tired or can’t get out of bed, the suggestion is that you take up a different sport.

A hurried bike change, thanks to my luck winning a pro bike a few years ago, where’s that flippin’ dog after going and I’m tearing down the road to meet the gang.

“You look tired”, “you’re mad, you should have stayed in bed and gone out later”. There’s a small bit of sympathy from the group, but sympathy won’t get me through the Wicklow 200 in a few weeks’ time. The only way to climb the Wicklow gap is work and effort, anything else, you’re only fooling yourself.

The one thing that the bike rider at the very bottom has in common with the top professional is the fact that you will have to dig deep at times and suffer. The road isn’t easy and it’s what makes the sport so hard.

Today’s training route is tough, including a climb of the beautiful Nire Valley in the Comeragh Mountains. Rising to over 450m above sea level, it’s one of the highest points in Munster, but the 8km will have the Garmin informing you that the gradient in in excess of 8% in places.

My bike today has a massive 53 X 39 chain ring, with an 11 X 28 cassette. It’s meant for much better, younger and stronger legs than mine. Slowly but surely, I head up with one of the group for company. It’s raining, there’s a strong side wind, it’s cold and nasty, typical of Summer in Ireland. Soon enough, I’m on my own and it’s a struggle, me against the road, against the elements.

It’s one of the reasons we’ve produced some of the best cyclists the world has ever seen. Kelly and Bennett still train on these roads.

The descent on the Mountain Road to Clonmel is dangerous in the wet and I have a few slips and a few altercations with potholes on the way down. I’m soaked through and my feet are freezing by the time I reach the town, so I decide that a coffee is needed. A slip on a manhole cover on the Old Bridge area almost has me on my arse, but eventually I reach Applegreen and a welcome shot of warm caffeine.

I’m a strong enough climber and I’ve put a good bit of time on the group, so eventually they arrive, frozen through, with one rider having encountered seat post problems, that could have hurt.

The last 20km on the route is on back roads, with little or no traffic, but lots of small hard little climbs that just sap the last bit of energy out of your legs.

I award myself a few selfies and manage to drop my brand new phone. Thank god I listened to the girl in the phone shop and bought a protective case as well, as the case did its job.

Towards the finish, you need to be prepared for “the gallop”. It’s the final sprint to the imaginary finish on the Convent Road, a show of strength to the other riders and bragging rights until the next night. Somebody will “lead it out”, the sprinters will line up behind, before it’s eyeballs out for the final 50 meters. There’s none of this “arms in the air nonsense” only a small bit of satisfaction and a guarantee that if I was 35 years younger, I’d match Sam Bennett handy enough.

I had planned to keep going for an hour, to get a bit more mileage on my legs, but tiredness has now kicked in and I’ve used up my luck for the day, so I head for home.

The Giro on telly, a steaming cup of coffee and a message on “the gram” from Canyon dhb p/b Bloor Homes professional Robert John McCarthy cheers me up. Robert has his own vlog on You Tube and asks people for questions.

I asked him about motivation during the week and what keeps a professional bike rider putting themselves through torture every single day. He replied, with advice for an amateur like me and wished me the best of luck in the upcoming Wicklow 200. Chapeau to him, the fact that a professional athlete bothers to take a few moments means a lot.

Three weeks until Wicklow, it’s in the lap of the gods now. I have thousands of kilometres trained, I’ve climbed the height of Everest god knows how many times. However, no matter how hard you work and train, if you don’t give your body time to recover and rest, you’re going nowhere.

However, cycling won’t pay the bills, so my lifestyle won’t be changing any time soon.

 

 

 

So, it begins

It’s a busy evening for the sport of cycling. At home in Ireland, social media is filled with photographs of race numbers and race kits. Bikes have been prepared, some with new upgrades and in some cases, new bikes are ready to be used in anger. Status updates are counting down the hours till the racing season begins and there’s a nervousness, from the newcomers in A4, to those at the top, in A1.

It’s been busy on the international stage too, where Sam Bennett and Mark Downey have done their bit in the last 24 hours. Mark claimed a bronze medal in the World Indoor Championships and earlier today, Sam beat some of the best sprinters in the world in Dubai.

Down at the bottom end of the ladder, the Unknown Bike Riders are also preparing for the year ahead. There’s no recognition down there and in some cases, the only time groups of unknowns get a mention, is an impatient driver screaming at them to get off the effing road.

However, unperturbed, goals have been set and as the evenings get a little longer, mid week spins are kicking off again. There’s the usual “ah sure, I’ve nothing done” laments as the groups meet up, whereas some unknown riders have kept going through Winter.

Sean Kelly advised that people should “do something” through the Winter, whether it’s a spinning class, the turbo trainer or handy short spins. If Kelly says it, it’s gospel, so many riders have heeded that advice and will hit the ground running.

Many people wonder what drives the unknown bike rider on. For example, on Christmas morning, my family did a double take, as they saw me putting on my gear to go training. “But the Rapha 500 is on” I protested, “if I lose a day, I’ll never make it up”

There are many reasons why people ride their bikes, ranging from the obvious health benefits, the buzz of being fit or maybe the freedom of just getting out on the road.

There are people battling against more important issues such as illness.

I ride my bike following  a close escape that I had with with alcohol. Alcohol attacks your brain and your mind. Your mind can be a strong ally and an even stronger adversary. Riding my bike keeps my mind in a good place.

The natural painkillers or natural high’s that hard exercise creates are called endorphins and they are nature’s way of assisting people to cope and to keep their health good. “Do they work?” You bet they do.

So what events are people targeting? In our little group, we have riders heading for most or all of the major events in the country. We have one rider doing his 20th Ring of Kerry ride, which must be a record. My main target is in Wicklow on June 9th, when I’ll attempt my second Wicklow 200.

There are no easy days on a bike and there’s nobody to hold your hand. People will suffer on Molls Gap in Kerry and they’ll suffer on the Wicklow Gap on the other side of the country.

However, that moment, that one solitary moment when you cross the finish line is what it’s all about. You’ve willed yourself through it, you’ve trained like a person possessed and quitting was never an option. That’s why it’s done.

There is a lot of tough training ahead, both in groups and people on their own. Personally, I enjoy the solitude of solo training spins, as I can go as hard or as easy as I wish. I can stop when I wish or keep going if I wish. Others prefer the group, as it keeps them on their toes and the company is good.

This is Ireland though and one thing you can guarantee, is bad weather at some stage. In other sports, there’s an easy option to stay home during torrential wind and rain, you have the option to go back under the duvet as the rain hammers the window on a Sunday morning. Those options aren’t there in cycling.

Fear of the cold, or just plain fear, on a 70kph descent down The Nire Valley, are not an option.

“You only get out what you put in” the saying goes.

It’s why I believe that a small country like Ireland has produced so many world class cyclists, from the great Shay Elliot, King Kelly, Roche to Bennett. Ireland breeds them tough.

The Rás, is a huge loss to cycling fans this year, as the excitement of a stage finish is something to behold. All fans of the sport hope that sponsorship can be found for 2020.

So, it’s time now to start getting in the miles, as “the Summer will be here in no time”.

My very best wishes to the people out racing from this weekend on. Stay safe, mind yourselves and chapeau, I wish I had the courage to pin on race numbers, or even a bit of talent at that.

To the unknown bike riders, have a great year, see you out there. There’s a weather warning for the morning, if you’re worried about whether it’s too wet to go out, I’ll leave you with this final nugget from Sean Kelly.

“I check the weather, I put on my gear, I go out and do my spin, then when I’m back do I decide if it was too wet or not”

Have a great year.

 

 

“Imagine if the bailout was for the poor”

Ireland in the 1970’s and 1980’s was a much different place to the Ireland of today. In my opinion, it was a better Ireland and I’ve often written about the things we did as we grew up.

People born in the countryside could use quite possibly one of the most lethal machines ever created, a chainsaw, at 12 years of age, for example. I knocked down my first tree at about age 14.

You honed your bike handling skills by falling off and remembering the hard way, not to make the same mistake again.

(I still have a wry smile how the modern “health and safety internet police” feel “shocked” when they see a cyclist racing a tractor. We were chasing tractors 40 years ago and to this day, the sound of an approaching tractor is still too hard to resist. An approaching tractor causes an unexplainable force, where your finger is immediately drawn to your right STI lever. You drop the chain onto a lower sprocket, match the tractor’s speed, get into the slipstream and the chase is on. It’s an art, learned almost a half century ago.)

In the countryside, if you didn’t have a bike, you had nothing. Parents always knew where children were, as a pile of bikes somewhere, (quite literally) was a giveaway. Internet chat rooms or game lobby’s were still the work of fiction.

We played Cowboys and Indians; we recreated the battle of the Somme. Everybody had a replica gun and if you didn’t have one, you made one. The PC brigade hadn’t been invented yet.

As children, we went out in the morning, came in for a while at lunch time, disappeared again, came back for dinner and got a few more hours exploring done before bed. We climbed trees without harnesses, without hi-viz jackets and without safety nets. The health and safety people would have had a coronary if they had been around in those days.

There were fights, punches were thrown and there were fallouts. There were children that excelled on the field of sport and some children had a singing voice. There was no “You’re a star” television nonsense; we were too busy to be thinking of becoming famous.

Our parents worked and worked bloody hard. My dad was a truck driver and my mam worked in a local business. They worked long hours and thanks to their hard work, as we often said in later years, “Santa always came”.

As children, we learned life skills such as like lighting the fire, putting on the dinner, using a Hoover, cutting lawns, operating a twin tub washing machine, ironing a shirt (one skill I never quite mastered). At weekends during the summer, we cut turf at the bog, as oil fired central heating was a long way off. “Stop complaining, you’ll toast your arse to it for the winter” we were regularly reminded.

Without good neighbours, you had nothing. When the turf was brought home, all the neighbours helped to take it in. In turn, their day came when people repaid the compliment. How many children ran down to the neighbour’s house to get a packet of biscuits or a jug of milk when visitors arrived unexpectedly and there was “nothing in the house”? Many neighbours had the loan of a fiver until payday and if it took an extra few days, it didn’t matter. “Sure, you’re hardly leaving the country are you” was the reply when people explained that they may not be able to repay it as soon as they had planned.

This week, we saw photographs of children sleeping in a Garda station. Their mother, for reasons best known to herself, saw it as her only option. The online police were onto it in a flash. “Sure she’s only a knacker” they screamed, as their hateful spite emerged. “Should be ashamed of herself” they bleated. Some people, I kid you not, wrote up charts and excel spreadsheets of the amount of money the children’s mother makes in “handouts” every week. Quick question here, how do they know all this stuff? How many people know what I earn every week or month, that’s my business, nobody else’s. By the way, the Minister for housing, tasked with addressing problems like this, is on his holidays.

Some time ago, I wrote an article here about a local radio programme I listened to. A mother was in a hospital with her 14 year old child, who has physiological problems and is on 24hr watch. Vital services were closing for the weekend, so the mother had to do what mothers do and would sit with her child for the weekend. That same day, our Taoiseach (Prime Minister) arrived in our town, wearing designer sunglasses and the “great and the good” were out to declare their unwavering devotion. The lady sat with her child, unaware of the “celebrations” being held a few short miles away. Our health system hasn’t quite lived up to its expectations for families like hers.

Over the last few years, I have lost touch with many people, as live evolves. I was shocked yesterday, to hear that a person I hold in huge regard took his life a few months ago. I refused to believe it, until a friend confirmed it today. I have to build up the courage to phone his dad to pass on my condolences, a hard call to make. A wonderful person and one of the good guys, I am so saddened that he saw this as a way out from his pain.

I read quite possibly the greatest internet comment ever last week. A person wrote the following or similar:

“Imagine the outcry, if the bailout had been for the poor” he wrote.

I can’t get those words, from that person I’ve never met, out of my mind, because they are so true and so powerful.

Irish people travelled all over the world and built most of it. They were accepted everywhere they went and were damn glad of Great Britain, Australia and the USA. Many a few pound was sent home to “keep the wolves from the door”.

As human beings drown in the Mediterranean Sea, we now refer to them as “migrants”. As they flee persecution, death and horror most people would struggle to comprehend, we see them as a threat for some reason. Nightly videos emerge of alleged “migrants” flooding Europe, intent on our destruction. As I write, there is still no evidence to support the claims.

My grandparents told me stories of how hard they worked. My grand dad cut turf  in the above mentioned bog, as his job with Waterford County Council. He cycled to work, through some of the steepest hills in the country. For the record, his bike didn’t have a carbon fibre frame or Di2 Dura Ace gearing.

They told me of how Ireland coped during the Second World War and during the war of independence here at home. They told me of the resistance Irish people showed to the Black and Tans and how you helped your neighbour and friends.

Our affluent society has given rise to an Irish person and a society that I don’t like anymore. We live in a time where people are more interested in phoning a confidential phone number to report their neighbour for breaking a phoney hose pipe ban. Would the same people knock on their neighbour’s door and ask their neighbour if all is okay I wonder?

I wonder will today’s children get to the stage where they can write about their childhood like I do. Sleeping on a hard chair at a Garda station, won’t make easy reading, that’s for sure.

Will children write about how their mother was ostracised and shunned by sociely, because she brought them up alone. Not too long ago, those little children would have been taken from her arms by a sickening collusion between church and state. Some of those children would end up in homes of wealthy American families, the unlucky children would live in fear, cast aside in institutions. Some of the dinosaurs from that time still live among us, I’m sorry to say.

Hopefully, countries and people that are affected by western influence and horrendously wrong decisions can recover and displaced people can return to their homelands. Will they write positively about their experiences in countries like Ireland? Will they recall their great days in direct provision centres with great gusto, I doubt it.

It’s not the Ireland I grew up in and I am rapidly losing pride in it.

 

 

Wicklow 200 – 2018

It’s Sunday morning and it’s 6.00am, not my favourite time of the day. I’m in Dublin city and today, I’m going to attempt an event billed as Ireland’s toughest sportive, the Wicklow 200.

I’m going to test my toughness, both physically and mentally, over some of the steepest and toughest hills in Ireland. I’ll be following in the tyre trails of some of the greatest cyclists this country has ever produced.

After a quick trip down the motorway from our hotel in Stilorgan, I’m arriving at the start in Bray Emmets GAA Club. There are marshals everywhere, doing an exceptional job, getting people in off the road, directing them to the pitch area where there’s loads of parking available. The sun is shining; winds are light, omens are good.

The Wicklow 200 doesn’t have a “mass start”, which I prefer as it’s much safer. I roll down to the start, press the button on my Garmin and head out. This event for me is about completion; I won’t be setting a spectacular time or putting my name in the history books.

The Wicklow 200, according to their website has 15 climbs, ranging in severity from a handy 4% gradient like The Vee, to hard leg breakers of 10% to even 13%, similar to the Nire Valley. I’ve trained in those areas, so I have an idea of what to expect.

What they don’t mention on the website however, are the dozens of “smaller” climbs and drags that absolutely tear the last bit of energy from your legs and has your mind screaming at you to just give up.

After about an hour, I’m joined by Brian O’Sullivan from our club in Clonmel and the bit of company is good. Normally, I like to just “poke away” on my own at these events, but this is a long, long day and it’s easy to get tired of your own company. Brian has done it before and he warns me to avail of the food stops and to make sure I eat well. I’ve managed the Sean Kelly Tour of Waterford non-stop and really buried myself in the process. “DO NOT EVEN CONSIDER THAT TODAY” is the advice from Brian.

Once we approach the village of Laragh, it’s decision time. You can turn left, head for Rathdrum and just do the 100km. Alternatively; you can stay straight, head for the Wicklow Gap and suffer for the day. Straight on is the obvious decision.

The Wicklow Gap is almost 7km in length and strangely enough, I don’t find it too difficult. The scenery is spectacular and Brian is encouraging me along. There are a few hard bits, but I spin an easy gear, keep my cadence up and stay hydrated. At the top, there are photo ops, but I prefer to stay going. The descent is brilliant, a little scary at times, but an adrenaline rush.

We join up with a fairly strong group and make it to the first feed stop in Baltinglass. I’ve plenty of refreshments with me, so I avoid the long queue. I’ve also forced down a huge breakfast in Dublin and gave most of the Saturday eating high protein foods. I’m over 70km in and feeling good, little do I know what’s ahead.

This is where the Wicklow 200 really begins to test riders. The climbs are never ending and seem to be getting harder. We reach Slieve Mann and it’s time to see if the incessant training throughout Winter was worth it. The hill, just over 3km, at averages of almost 8% is torture and even with my 34 -32 gear ratio, I’m struggling.

I reach the top, through pure determination, stubbornness and a refusal to quit. I sit at the top, gasping for breath, already swigging my second bottle of High 5. Brian rolls up beside me and recommends I take a break. “If I do, I’ll never f*cking start again” I reply. I hop back on and blast down the hill, immediately into another monster, Glenmalure, or the Shay Elliot, in memory of the first Irishman to wear the yellow jersey at the Tour De France.

If Slieve Mann was tough, it’s nothing compared to this. There are people walking up, having given up on it, but albeit close to falling over, I persevere and reach the top again. I collapse on the side of the road, asking myself why I bother with this insanity at this stage of my life.

I’ve lost Brian somewhere and I’m afraid of waiting around for too long, because if I get cold, I might just as well quit. I make a decision to head out on my own. Brian is much stronger than me, so he’ll catch up. After another scary descent, I hop onto the back of a few groups and make it to the next foodstop in Rathdrum, 140km in.

Even the entrance to the stop is up a flipping hill and people are starting to get cranky. Two lads have a go at each other over something silly. In my case, my legs are done for, my feet are killing me, my shoulders hurt and I’m sick of the whole thing. However, there’s nothing like a sit down, a few coffees, a few tasty sandwiches and a chill for half an hour to prepare you to go again.

The mind starts playing up at this stage, telling me that I still have 60km to go and how hard it’s going to be. I keep reminding myself that I have over two thirds of it done, but it’s strange how strong the mind can be. I also think of professional cyclists and wonder how they face this every bloody day. I’d hate it and days like this make me value my day job a lot more. The Giro, The Tour or the Vuelta wouldn’t be for me.

I join up with a really fast group from Dromore CC and we make short work of the next 40km or so. At times however, I’m willing the whole lot to be over, because my body hurts so much. However, we conquer hill after hill and eventually, I find myself back in Greystones and heading towards the finish. The road heads out towards Bray head and the entire group are wondering if there can be any flipping hills left.

Then, the route cuts back again towards Enniskerry and the final few km’s back to Bray Emmets is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before. Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, the finish line approaches.

As usual, tears begin as 10 months of hard work, pays dividends.

Cycling is bloody hard, but all that hard work goes into that one solitary moment, when you cross the finish line, having done what you thought you couldn’t do. Remember this, the biggest obstacle to achievement in life is yourself.

Can I give my thanks to the IVCA for their organisation of the event, the marshals that stood at every junction over 200km, making the whole lot possible. The people that made sandwiches and kept riders fed and watered. The Wicklow 200 was the best organised event I’ve ever entered.

My thanks to Clonmel Cycling Club and club mate Brian O’Sullivan.

As always, Caroline and Kian, who come along to all the events, to support me.

Oh yeah, Wicklow 200 – 2019???? You bet.

 

 

The local group – an update

The local training group is probably as fit as it’s going to get, so every training ride is now our miniature “Classic” or “Grand Tour stage”.  We have all the necessary requirements to make each spin memorable.

The road to Clogheen from Burncourt would match the Pavé of France for roughness and even the best carbon fibre frame will struggle to absorb the vibrations. We have a few hills to struggle over, which are our miniature Pyrenees or Alps. Talking stops on the hill up by the mushroom farm, replaced by panting and gasping for breath.  A few riders tried the Colonels Hill recently, their heart rates are slowly returning to normal.

The speed has increased too and we’re now averaging close to 30kph over a 60km route, which for a group with a combined age almost as old as the Rolling Stones, isn’t too bad.

We have the different groups within the group. Everybody wants to be a sprinter, as first past the finish line, which is the signpost on the Cork Rd, just outside Cahir, gets bragging rights for a night or two. There is no champagne, or pretty podium girls, but that feeling, arriving back at the square in Cahir, knowing you’ve kicked a few arses, more than compensates.

Climbers are a breed apart and I think we have one or two. Somebody will always make an effort on Mocklers Hill near Cashel, or on the Vee. Immediately, allegations of mechanical doping are made.

Domestiques are in short supply. Ask one of our lot to get you a water bottle, you’ll get your answer and you’ll be a laughing stock in no time. Somebody will stand you a coffee at “The Bean” if you forget to bring money, but that’s about as far as it goes. There’s no room for fancy stuff I’m afraid.

New bikes have arrived this summer too. Old bikes are being kept, as they will be “my Winter bike”, as nobody in their right mind will take a Giant Propel out onto the road, once the Summer is over.

We have flashy Di2 set ups, extra speedy wheels and some people have availed of a bike fit. Recommendations have been made however, that certain individuals need to invest in a new pair of bib shorts. Less said about that the better.

Recently, a new rider turned up, with a Specialized S-Works. “Jaysus, he must be good” was the overall consensus. We’ll manage to catch him one of these nights.

Another rider turned up recently with a full TT set up. We sat on his wheel for 60km and nearly got a few “Strava’s” in the process. “Who needs a tractor when this lad comes along”, somebody quipped.

This summer in Ireland, we’ve been spoiled with exceptional weather. Clear blue skies, light winds and temperatures more akin with the south of France have greeted the group. However, that came to an end last Sunday morning. Opening the curtains, riders were greeted with a more normal sight, as it was “p*ssing down rain”.  A diminished group headed out regardless, although care was taken as the roads were lethal.

A lot of events have been completed this year, but there is one notable exception. Every year at this stage, all the talk would be about “the Kelly”. Held in Dungarvan, Co Waterford on the final Sunday of August every year, it was our local event and the one we all looked forward to.

Decisions would be made around now, about which route to take, would it be the 100 or “will I attempt the 160”. Even the children’s event on the Saturday was always a great occasion, for families and something to look forward to.

Alas, this year there’s no Kelly Tour and its left a huge void in local cycling. Personally, I’ve completed the Ring of Kerry, The Grand Fondo in Belfast and the Wicklow 200, but nothing compares to the Kelly Tour. If, by any chance the organisers of the event read this, all I can say is please………..

Anyway, as I finalise this article, the WhatsApp is flickering into life here beside me, as tomorrow night’s training spin is being organised.

To me, that’s the best part about cycling, the common interest, the fun, the friendship and the little bit of competition.

 

 

 

 

 

The Wicklow 200 – Prologue

On the bike, 2017 had been really good for me. I completed my first ever Grand Fondo in Northern Ireland and of course, completed the 160km Sean Kelly Tour, held in the most atrocious weather conditions imaginable. Winning an online competition, where I became the owner of an AquaBlue Sport professional bike, presented to me by Martyn Irvine, was the icing on the cake.

During the autumn, a good friend sent me a social media link. It concerned an event, labelled as “Ireland’s premier cycling challenge”. “Here’s one for you” he commented. “If you think you’re tough, do the Wicklow 200 and prove it”.

As the description states, the Wicklow 200 challenges riders to complete a 200km route, over some of the toughest climbs in Ireland. It’s not all that suitable for beginners to the sport and even people with plenty miles in the legs will struggle. The profile of the route made it very clear just what to expect, with over 3,000m of climbing in one day. I had never completed that distance or that amount of climbing in one day, so on to the interweb I went and signed up. I had plenty time to train and due to global warming, we’re getting milder winters in Ireland now, so with a good base of training since 2017, in my legs, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

Once upon a time, I was advised to “work back” from your targeted date. So, with my intention to be in optimum shape by June 10^th 2018, the plan was formulated to build up slowly. Winter would be all about base miles and lots of them. 3000m of climbing is way beyond my normal capabilities, so lots of time on the hills will be required. Having put on a bit of weight, I needed to lose 4 or 5 kg as well, as weight is a killer on climbs. Then, there’s my biggest problem and that’s my head, as the small “inner chimp” regularly tells me that I can’t do something. Silencing this guy is the toughest part.

Tuesday and Thursday nights was spent on the road between Cahir and Mitchelstown. A few years ago, I invested in a winter bike and it’s worth its weight in gold. As winter roads are covered with all kind of unmentionables, it makes sense to use a cheaper bike, which makes any repair bills a little easier on the pocket.

Christmas morning was a normal morning training and my abiding memory will be the cold. I couldn’t even operate my brakes on the way home, as my hands were frozen solid. All over Christmas the cold weather continued and I ended up with flu for my sins.

Winter training increases your potential for falling and getting injured. This was brought home to me one evening in February, when I hit a fuel spill on the road and all I can remember is my head literally bouncing off the road, as I fell. I cannot stress the importance of wearing a helmet enough, as my helmet saved me from a serious injury that evening.

My confidence took a severe dent following the fall and as the nice mild winters we enjoy in Ireland, failed to materialise, I very quickly began to fall out of love with the sport. Rain with freezing winds, was followed by snow with freezing winds and back to rain, with the same freezing winds. In between, subzero temperatures with frost,  made the possibility of training impossible. Establishing a routine was impossible and at times, I actually began to wonder if it was worth it and I considered giving up.

One evening, I left home to meet with the family in Waterford later on that evening. Cycling to Waterford is easy enough, thanks to the Waterford Greenway, but when you’re struggling with form, there are no hiding places. I arrived in Waterford that evening and almost collapsed off my bike, with exhaustion. Three months to go, I needed a miracle to even consider going to Wicklow.

Sometimes, you just need to work through the pain and keep going.  There’s an old saying in the cycling community that “if it was easy, they’d call it football”. One morning I headed out in beautiful sunshine, where my route would take me alongside the Galtee mountains. As I reached the half way point, the clouds arrived over the mountains, with rain, hailstones and snow for good measure. I arrived home battered, bruised and frozen once again.

I got a text from a friend one evening, about a local group that head out a few evenings a week and asking me if I’d like to come along. This proved to be the pivotal part of the season for me, as my interest in the sport returned, thanks to the fun, jokes and conversation with the lads on our training spins. If you attacked a hill, you were immediately labelled as a “mechanical doper”, win a gallop, you’re asked if you have “asthma”. There is no feeling like being out on a bike with a group of people, just having fun. The few hours pass by so quickly and that most important skill, of riding at high speeds in a group safely is honed and improved.

So, with my times improving, my recovery improving and my love of the sport returning, the Wicklow 200 was back on the horizon.

One week before Wicklow, I went out on a training spin, with Dungarvan my destination. I went the hard way, over the Nire Valley, where my climbing legs would be tested. Then, the first monsoon of the day arrived and my bike handling was tested on the crazy descent, through rivers of water.

About 15km from my destination, my phone rang. I had applied for a new job a few weeks earlier and thought the interview process had gone well. It was the owner of the company on the line, offering me a new full time job. My luck was changing and whatever the weather gods threw at me would mean nothing. The second monsoon arrived at Colligan, but it didn’t matter, I thrived on it. That evening, when I reached Dungarvan, the clouds parted and the sun shone.

That weekend, I entered an 80km sportif. We covered over 33km in the first hour that day, so I now had a bit of speed in my legs, my luck had changed, I was back in love with the sport and at this point there was no turning back.

So, on Friday evening,  June 8^th, we arrived in Dublin.  I signed on for the Wicklow 200, it was now time to see if I had one more requirement. Was I was tough enough?

 

A cry for help

Last night, our local group left town on our latest training spin. It’s coming close to the business end of the season now, as sportifs arrive thick and fast. The group will be split up for a few weeks, as targeted events are attempted.  We have one member heading off to the Sierra Nevada Mountains in Spain, while others, like me, will attempt the Wicklow 200 others will take on the Ring of Kerry. It will be our Olympic games, or our TDF and it will define whether all the hard winter miles and effort have been worth it.

As a consequence of our new found fitness and the final arrival of summer, speeds have increased, efforts are prolonged and the talking has been replaced by long periods of silence and gasping for breath. With this new speed and commitment, comes danger. There is the danger of a fall, a crash, which could lead to serious injury. As a result, everybody has their own insurance and as the group is vastly experienced, there is a great deal of trust in each other. Nothing is left to chance as speeds of 60kph are regularly reached.

Like any sport, the thought of “what if” sometimes enters your mind. I asked this question of one of the greatest sprinters in the world and winner of 3 Grand Tour stages, Carrick man Sam Bennett. He told me that while you think about it potentially happening, the threat of a crash is one of the hazards of his job. However, even at his level, he told me how you rely on the other riders to be safe, capable and sensible. So, that small group of riders on Tuesday and Thursday nights have something in common with a top level pro.

Take a look at most cyclists and you’ll see scars, bruises and cuts, a reminder when things went awry and went wrong. The evidence is obvious and normally means hospital, stitches and in some cases, much more.

It’s an injury that you can see and sometimes, people are more worried about their bike and how they will keep the repair bill secret from their better half, than their own health. “I’ll recover, but the credit card won’t” is a regular excuse.

Sometimes, an injury isn’t all that obvious however. Not all injuries require stitches and not all are visible to the naked eye. I’m talking here about mental health and how important it is in our lives.

A few weeks ago, I listened to a mother speaking on local radio. Sometimes, you hear a story that roots you to the spot and leaves an indelible mark. It was a Friday morning, the sun was shining and rather than being outside enjoying it, this lady was sitting in a hospital ward with her 14 year old daughter. The child has serious physiological problems, but services are shut down at the weekend and beds are not available. So, while the rest of us went about our business, enjoying our weekend with friends and family, this woman held her daughter’s hand, as that’s what parents do. At the end of her tether, she reached out on a radio station, pleading for help.

I spoke to a good friend recently, who suffered the ultimate loss, that of her brother. My friend has been very courageous in telling me her story, as her family struggle with the void in their lives that can never be filled. Her brother went to the hospital and asked them to keep him, but they sent him away, with a date for an appointment with the relevant services. A week later, he had taken his own life, still waiting for his appointment date. A young man, with a life ahead of him, taken way ahead of his time.

In April 2005, the entire country was shocked, when a young mother, Sharon Grace walked into the water in Kaats Strand, Co Wexford, with her children Mikahla (4) and Abby (3). The young separated mother was in distress and called to Ely Hospital on a Saturday evening asking to speak to a social worker. The receptionist working there told her that there was nobody available to talk, until Monday. The bodies were removed from the water the following morning.

Between January 2000 and April 2010, 196 children known to the HSE lost their lives. A further examination of the figures, give the following statistics, that 36 children in care; 32 children and young people in after care and 128 children who were known to child protection services died.

In my research for this article, I came across multiple reports and press releases of more tragedies, some too upsetting to read, let alone write about. One of the saddest comments came from a coroner, who declared that in these tragic situations, the parents believe that they are taking their children to a “better place” and that some people cannot bear the pain and believe that their loved ones would be better off without them.

We are parents of a 12 year old boy. His friend’s dad took a gang of them to the cinema last Friday night. For the first time in years, we found ourselves home alone, waiting for him to be dropped back. Our house was so quiet without him and we commented that even if you’re only giving out to him, or he’s being cheeky, a child is what makes a house a home. When he arrived home, there was a relief in us both, because I genuinely don’t think we could cope without him.

Mental health services in Ireland are at a crisis point. A&E departments are struggling to cope with people, presenting themselves with mental issues. Services have been seriously curtailed over recent years, meaning the closure of many units and a “re-organisation” of available resources. A typical closure was St Michaels Psychiatric Unit, based in Clonmel, in 2012.

We have a huge alcohol problem in Ireland, which is feeding the mental health problem. We have people in huge swathes of society that do not understand addiction and the problems it creates.

Mental Health Services and the lack of are very quickly becoming a huge issue in rural Ireland and will undoubtedly become an election issue. People are getting tired of being told that we are in a state of recovery, while basic services are denied to the most vulnerable.

You would have to wonder about a society where a person can get access to treatment having fallen off their bike, quicker than a person who wants to end their life.

On June 9^th, there will be a march in Clonmel, demanding a restoration of mental health services. “Tipperary Fights for Mental Health” was set up in an effort to restore the services and have already had high profile meetings.

This is a time for people to pull together and fight for those that may not have any fight left to give. Only recently, we have stood up and showed our outrage, following the mistreatment of animals and quite rightly so. The majority of people in this country went to the polls last week and voted for better rights for women. Agree or don’t agree, the people spoke out in overwhelming numbers. We now have a duty to show the same compassion for people who are struggling with mental health issues.

Please, don’t suffer alone and please reach out to somebody. Everybody needs to get out on June 9^th and march in Clonmel, to demand the proper services and that when a person does reach out, those services will be readily available.

My sincerest thanks to Caroline for her honesty and openness in compiling this article.

Below is a link to a recent interview Caroline did on Tipp FM radio. Well worth a listen:

http://www.mixcloud.com/TippFM/caroline-on-lack-of-supports/

 

 

Change is coming

So, in the aftermath of the repeal the 8th referendum, the fallout continues, blame games are played, political recriminations continue, certain sections crawl back under their rocks and of course, this is Ireland, so expect a fine helping of nonsense.

I voted Yes in the referendum. I am a strong believer in human rights and I consider those rights as fundamental in any society. In particular, I believe that a woman, any person in fact, should have full autonomy over their own body. It was also my small objection to the collusion between church and state, which has blighted the history of our country. I also objected to some of the tactics used by the NO campaign, which were in my mind, disgusting and at times, downright sickening.

I didn’t celebrate when the exit poll was published on Friday night, I don’t know anybody that did.

One of the things that surprised me the most however, was the size of the majority. All the predictions and opinion polls, had it much closer, with some even predicting a 50 – 50 result. Allowing an error margin of +/- 1%, it could have gone either way. I don’t think anybody expected 66.4% – 34.6%, being the final result.

I wonder how much of the final result was a “protest vote” though, I wonder how many voters are fed up with the status quo in Ireland and saw this as an opportunity to give the establishment a bloody nose. Has anybody noticed the following trend?

In 2011, Ireland was on its knees, following an economic catastrophe, caused by political and regulatory ineptitude. Ireland’s international reputation was in ruins, its financial sovereignty lay in tatters and most tragically, its people were disillusioned and weary.

Irish people went to the polls on March 11th and returned Fine Gael with one of the biggest majorities in the history of the state. They were returned with a massive 76 seats, taking over 36% of the vote.

The Labour party, had a record breaking campaign too, where they increased their seats by 17, to a record 37 and 19% of the vote. A coalition was formed between the two parties, taking with them the hopes and the biggest mandate in the history of the state.

We were advised that “hard decisions” would be required to fix the public purse and that the medicine for our “partying” would be difficult. We were also assured of a new way in doing things and that Ireland would soon be “the best small country in the world to do business”. Spin doctors drew up a “contract with the people” and we had 5 point plans. However, any improvements were slow in finding their way down to a beleaguered working class.

In 2014, Irish people returned to the polls again, this time for the local elections. It was a wipe out for the two parties, where Labour lost 81 seats, while Fine Gael lost 105. The mandate they had been given by the Irish people had been squandered and people had revenge on their minds. The Labour party were accused of forgetting their core principles and their core support.

February, May 22nd, 2015 was when Ireland next went to the polls. This time, it was the Thirty fourth Amendment of the Constitution of Ireland at stake. The “marriage equality referendum”, would be decisive once again and a snapshot at a new, emerging, modern Ireland. With a church, which was rapidly losing influence getting involved and certain sections of society, warning against change, a new and younger Ireland went to the polls. The referendum was passed by 62% – 38%, causing wide spread jubilation and celebration. A new emerging Ireland was awakening.

In next general election in 2016, was a further wipe-out for the two parties. Fine Gael lost 16 seats, while Labour had a catastrophic campaign, losing 26 seats, with some of their most high profile candidates stumbling over the line.

Ireland ended up in a situation of a hung Dáil, where a government could not be successfully formed. Following extensive negotiations, an unlikely partnership between Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil was formed. A “confidence and supply” agreement was formed in an effort to form a government, with stability and the “good of the country” at its core. Many people saw it as a desperate attempt to hold onto power, at any cost.

In the meantime, Ireland seems to have stumbled from one crisis to another. High profile cases of ineptitude in our national Police force, the horrific recent revelations of misdiagnosed cancer screening and an apparent culture of cronyism, seems to be wearing thin with a new, younger electorate.

Former politicians have walked off with gilt edged pensions, while many questions remain unanswered. Financial regulators have disappeared from view, enjoying similar lavish lifestyles. Bankers, who gambled and lost, walk around with their heads in the air, while the consequences of their malfeasance, sit on the backs of people who are not responsible.

A homeless crisis, Vulture funds, enforced evictions of families, the worry of Brexit and the catastrophic health system remain some of the most pressing issues any government will face. Many people doubt their ability to address the problems.

In the UK, Theresa May went to the country in an attempt to show a strong government, in the face of Brexit. It backfired spectacularly and she relied on the unlikeliest of bed-mates, the DUP, in Northern Ireland, to hold onto power.

In France, an emerging National front party, lead by Marine Le Pen, commanded 34% of the vote in the last Presidential election in 2017.

In Spain, people were horrified earlier this year, at the brutality inflicted by the establishment, on protestors seeking Catalonian independence.

Even in Germany, an emerging AfD party, representing a hard right, earned their first ever seats in parliament, casting a shadow over Angela Merkel’s government.

I haven’t mentioned developments in the US, where even Donald Trump himself was surprised at his election. Social and economic problems, international isolation and domestic issues such as healthcare, immigration and gun control, seem to be adding to a more inward thinking America.

So, with a groundswell of change occurring right across the world, why would Ireland be any different?

Certain sections of our society don’t like it and there is regular scaremongering, in an effort to keep people fearful and scared. These sections will not give up without a fight; I believe that we have seen some of their tactics recently. The ballot box seems to be the only place to make feelings known and to keep these sections in check. 125,000 extra people registered to vote in this referendum, making turn out the third highest ever.

So, it looks like a new, young, well educated and fresh faced electorate is emerging. It doesn’t look like they scare easily either and you know what, good luck to them.

A Political Will?

Like all decent people, I was disgusted and sickened at the treatment of a little pony in Clonmel on Wednesday last. To make matters worse, a young woman, with a little baby in her car was subjected to treatment that is unacceptable in any society. The young woman showed huge courage in confronting the situation and should be commended.

Before I go any further, let me make it crystal clear that I have NO political connections, I have NO expertise in animal welfare and I have NO affiliations with any groupings.

I’m just an average Joe soap, who likes animals, nothing more. I’m very active on social media, where I do a bit of blogging and I run my own website. I possess a slight ability to string a few words together at times and I produce a few articles here and there. Some of them work, some don’t, that’s the way this thing goes. Some people like it; others wish I would just shut up and disappear. There isn’t the slightest chance I’ll win a  Pulitzer Prize however.

In a democracy, we entrust our elected representatives to legislate and to operate on our behalf.

Therefore, with a worsening animal welfare situation here on our doorstep, with cases of cruelty endemic and with individuals operating with total impunity, giving two fingers to society, I decided an attempt at measuring the political will in addressing the problem.

So, I devised  an experiment. As Baldrick would say, “I came up with a cunning plan.” I drew up a list of all the councillors and TD’s in Tipperary, composed an email, outlining my concerns on animal welfare and pleaded for immediate action.

The next part of the plan was to forward the email to each and wait for the replies. I got the list of county councillors here [1] and a list of our sitting TD’s here [2]. There were a total of 38 councillors and 5 TD’s, who each got the exact same email. I included my own phone numbers and my full home address, should anybody wish to speak to me in private.

For fairness, I copied the email onto my social media feed as well as my own website.[3]

I wouldn’t tell anybody what my plan was, that’s what made it “cunning”. I would wait 24 hours and measure the responses.

Now, people have been very critical of the authorities in regards to animal welfare in Clonmel. There were dreadful scenes at Christmas, when horses and ponies starved to death, causing national outrage. The powers that be rushed in, promising immediate action, but still, 6 months later, people in Clonmel are witnessing cases of cruelty almost on a daily basis.

So, is there a political will to tackle the problem? Here are the results of my experiment.

Tipperary County Councillors

E-Mails Sent	38
Replies	7
Percentage replies	18%

 

 

Tipperary TD’s

Emails Sent	5
Replies	3 (one reply was automated, so it doesn’t count)
Percentage replies	60%

 

One TD is remaining in close contact and is giving me regular updates on progress. Another TD has given me full details of proposed Prohibition of Sulky Racing Legislation 2018. The bill still hasn’t been heard by the Dáil. I’ve been told of death threats that were made against a TD, following his criticism of a certain section of society.

Some councillors are just as shocked and as disgusted as I am with the events of the last few days. Some of the replies have been very detailed, with offers to meet me, to talk about possible solutions, to look at the way forward and to attempt solutions. Councillors have been unanimous in their strong desire to see this problem sorted.

Other councillors are very active “on the ground” and are getting their hands dirty, doing the practical stuff.

I don’t expect people to be sitting in front of their computers every day, waiting to reply to each and every email immediately. This experiment is in no way meant to be a slight or to be judgemental on anybody. I don’t agree with the constant back biting and criticism of elected representatives either.

It’s very easy to sit at a computer keyboard and criticise, but my opinion is, if you think you can do better, put your name on a ballot paper at the next local elections and knock on a few doors. I hold huge respect for anybody that has the courage to put themselves before the electorate and allow them to judge them.

With that in mind, I would ask people to keep the negativity at bay.

Gardaí have been criticised also, with allegations of a failure to act. I am not a solicitor, but remember this, the law is there to protect “everybody” and any suspected perpetrator of a potential criminal act is “innocent until proven guilty”. Therefore, evidence has to be obtained, investigations completed, statements taken and a final decision has to be made by a Superintendent or Detective, before a file goes to the DPP. This doesn’t happen overnight and be mindful that online comments or statements can very easily jeopardise an entire case. It could be considered “prejudicial trial by media” so be careful making comments on the Garda FB page.

I’ll keep an eye on this thing for a few more days, but one thing is for certain, this is a very big problem, made bigger by some of the individuals we are dealing with.

As for the political will to address the problem, I hope it increases from 18%.

 

[1] https://www.tipperarycoco.ie/your-council/tipperary-county-councillors

[2] http://www.whoismytd.com/constituency/tipperary

[3] http://paullafford.com/my-blog.php

Decision Time

This weekend, Ireland will head to the polls in the Repeal the 8^th referendum. Following a campaign nearly as dirty as a Presidential election, both sides are evenly divided.

However for many people like me, we are asking will it ever be over, as we are sick of it.

Both sides have done a pretty brilliant job in contributing to this malaise and genuine apathy, so on a personal level, can I just say “well done folks, you’ve surpassed yourselves”.

During the campaign, some strange things have happened. The Catholic Bishops have declared that “all human life is worth cherishing equally”, which I found rather puzzling.

Not so long ago, the same organisation protected paedophiles and church run schools were a place of fear and dread for many young Irish children.

In my lifetime, young Irish girls were considered “fallen women” and shunned by society, as church and state conspired against them. The lucky little babies were sold on to wealthy American families, the not so lucky ended up in institutions, where even Stephen King would struggle to write a novel containing such evil.

In my time, I can remember a young girl, having to leave her home. Her “crime”, she got pregnant and the “shame”, was too much for her family. They put their own flesh and blood out of her own home and she went “somewhere” to have her baby, alone and on her own.

I told the story to some young women one day recently and they thought I was making it up.

I can remember a Late Late Show programme, where the host, Gay Byrne produced a condom in front of a shocked studio and television audience. The reaction from the studio and television audience was staggering. If you think I’m joking, watch it here [1]

That’s how far Ireland was behind the rest of the world.

Recently, I spoke to some highly respected people and the topic of the referendum came up in our conversation. One lady told me of “canvassers” who called to a home, with a rubber mock up, of a foetus. They placed it into the hands of the lady who answered the door, remember now, this is at her OWN home.

I heard a story of a lady that opened her door, with her three children alongside. “Which of them would you kill” was the opening question.

If somebody said or did that to me at my home, it wouldn’t end very well for them and that’s putting it mildly.

As I type this article, the news is on. The News Anchor Keelin Shanley has just asked a politician the following question and I quote her verbatim:

“Why should a state have the right to say to a woman, who does not want to be pregnant for whatever reason, rape, incest, whatever, social reasons, financial reasons. Why should the state have the right to say to her, it doesn’t matter what you think, feel or believe, it doesn’t matter about your bodily autonomy, you will proceed with this pregnancy”

To me, this is the crux of the matter, as a woman should have full autonomy of her own body. Should it be a medical issue, it is between that woman and her GP or medical specialist, nobody else. Every available assistance, counselling and service that this state has, should be made available to her. At the end of the day however, she should make her own decisions and nobody, has any right to interfere.

Politicians and Political parties have made the Referendum a political issue, which I don’t agree with. This should NOT be a political issue and politicians should steer well clear of it. Photo shoots of politicians endorsing one vote or the other is wrong and they should do the decent thing and shut up.

It defies logic that next Friday, people will walk into a polling booth and do what a political party told them to do. Issues like this should transcend politics, it’s above it.

I grew up in a time where people were afraid to express their sexuality. Men and women who were unsure of their sexuality were referred to as “queers” or “dykes” and other less flattering terms. Even writing those words is disgusting and I’ve actually considered deleting them. However, we cannot delete our past, because this happened and we can never forget it.

Not too long ago, Ireland was thankfully one of the first countries on earth to recognise same sex marriage and it was a time for huge celebration, as we emerged as a 21^st century nation.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog and spoke on radio of our journey to adopt a little child from Russia, 10 years ago. This fella is the very reason for our existence and every single decision we make is made with him in mind. Remember, in Russia, abortion is legal, but his birth mother made a decision, to give him a chance with life. We will be forever in her debt and as I said before, if we could have one wish, it would be to meet her someday.

Ireland is finally beginning to shake off the shackles of its past, but there are certain parts of our society that are fearful of losing their influence and support. The power is in our hands and as people, we have a duty to use that power.

So, on Friday, make sure you take the few moments to use your vote. It was hard fought for and hard won. Make up your own mind and follow your own heart.

[1] https://www.rte.ie/archives/category/society/2017/0504/872557-condom-controversy/