The “Sam Bennett” effect

Out training with the group last night, all the talk was of a young man from Carrick on Suir, Co.Tipperary, Ireland, who had steamrolled onto the world stage earlier in the day. “I thought he had gone too early”, “jaysus, he’s a great youngfella”, “imagine Kelly and himself on the same team”, “it couldn’t happen to a nicer person”, were some of the comments and observations made.

Sam Bennett had won his second Giro Italia stage in a week and the cycling community in Ireland were just thrilled for him. Sam had displayed awesome power, winning at Imola and the words of Eurosport commentator Carlton Kirby “You want power, have some of this“ were still ringing in our ears.

Other talk is about events of the day and it’s actually quite strange, how national issues can be sorted by half a dozen people on bikes. Some talk stays out on the road, a long way out on the road in fact and if it ever came back, the “5^th” would be required.

Once we reach Mushroom Hill, the talking has a tendency to stop. The hill is around 700 metres long, with an average grade of around 6 – 8%. The hill has a tendency to concentrate the mind on other things. There’s your heart rate, pushing into dangerous territory at our age and the gasping for a little bit of air, as you think you can see the top, only for another 50 metres to suddenly appear.

Somebody will always “have a go” at the hill. Immediately, allegations of hidden motors are made, with others resorting to more colourful reactions. Some people declare themselves as asthmatic and of course your bike is always to blame. “This yoke could do with a service”, “Ah, my gearing is wrong”, “I’m not a climber” are some of the excuses for the fact that if we were to be honest, we’re not really all that good at this lark.

Then, there’s the descent on the other side as gravity propels you towards the village of Burncourt in Co. Tipperary. If you’re confident enough, you might afford yourself the occasional glance at your Garmin and sometimes the speed can be a little crazy.

Once it reaches 65 or 70kph, your bike handling skills are tested. The surface is uneven and it’s our little bit of “Paris-Roubaix”. Every bone in your body shakes and now you know why carbon fibre is so expensive, as the frame underneath does its best to absorb the vibrations.

Then, there’s your fancy deep section carbon wheels. They probably cost you the price of a good holiday and you lost the receipt, in case your other half saw how much they really cost. The wheels do their best to throw you off as well, since the smallest breeze seems to affect them, and it always seems to come from one side or the other, just to make it more awkward.

A local dog or cat coming out to introduce themselves doesn’t bear thinking about, so we’ll move on from that.

Oddly enough, one of the things you think about is the fact that if something does go wrong; you hope your bike will be okay. “I’ll recover, the bike will cost a f*cking fortune” is part of the twisted logic in this sport.

Once you’re through the village, there’s the final drag up to the old Cork Road. The heart rate increases once more, before finally, the road levels out, the climbs are over with and the way home comes into view. The sign post assures us that Cahir is 13km away and it’s pan flat the entire way.

Once upon a time, this road was one of the busiest roads in the country, but an adjoining motorway takes all the heavy traffic now. There are big, wide hard shoulders, the surface is perfect and 90% of the time, the “trade winds” are on your back as they sweep through the valley created by the Knockmealdown mountains on one side, the Galtee Mountains on the other.

The old road is ideal for athletes, walkers and cyclists alike. Top level cyclists use the road for motor pacing, there are regular TT efforts, tractors are chased (when the health and safety brigade are otherwise engaged), children learn the basics in road safety and you’ll always meet somebody out and about. On the off chance of something going wrong, you’re never far from home.

Then, of course, there’s “the gallop”. The gallop is the final part of a training spin, where the speed increases, where the talking stops and where everybody is in a line, taking turns to drive the group forward.

It takes a lot of practice to do it right, as well as huge trust in the other riders. You “sit in” as close as you can to the rider in front, with your eyes trained on his or her rear wheel. You concentrate on what you’re doing, as a mistake can be dangerous. Nobody wants to be responsible for an accident, so it is highly controlled with no messing and everybody conducting themselves.

The first gallop normally runs past Kilcoran Hotel and finishes just beyond Jim Carey’s garage. At this stage, breathing is regulated and drinks are taken on board. Checks are made to see who’s feeling strong, who’s hiding and who couldn’t be  arsed. Through the roundabout at Tincurry, there’s 5km (around 2 miles in old money) to go and after a small drag, the second gallop begins. Now, it’s everyone for themselves, waiting, watching, conniving and being cute.

The final 200 metres or so is where the sprint takes place, with the finish line being a sign-post at a secret part on the road (about 500m before the Cahir turn off, on the left as you approach from the Cork side). At this stage, somebody will attempt to pass the finish in first place. There’s no hand raising and all that nonsense, try that and you’ll be very quickly “persona non gratis”

However, for amateurs, this is their Rás, Giro stage or a grand finish on the Champs-Élysées. For that few seconds, the Sam Bennett effect takes over but instead of podium girls, champagne and the World’s press, you get bragging rights for a few days, until invariably somebody will give you “your arse on a plate”.

The gallop is followed by more excuses, “I was hemmed in and couldn’t get out”, “I was in the wrong gear” and the old reliable “I ran out of road, another 50 yards, I’d have had it”.

Cycling is a very solitary sport, with lots of hours on your own, struggling through poor weather, poor form, crashes, injury and motivation.

 In the words of the great Jean de Gribaldy, who was so influential in the career of Sean Kelly:

“Cycling isn’t a game, it’s a sport. Tough, hard and unpitying, and it requires great sacrifices. One plays football, or tennis, or hockey. One doesn’t play at cycling”

But one thing is for certain. The camaraderie, the fun, the friendship that you meet in that group of people, makes it one of the best places you can be.

I wonder does Sam Bennett realise the effect he has on the overall cycling community.

(Image may be subject to copyright)

 

A little bit for humanity

Here’s an email that I sent to Tánaiste (Deputy head of the Irish government) and Irish Minister for Foreign Affairs, Mr Simon Coveney earlier this morning.

Dear Tánaiste,

Like the rest of humanity, I have awoken this morning to pictures and reports of yesterday’s massacre in Gaza.

Let me make the following crystal clear Tánaiste. I have NO political leanings and I have NO connections with groupings of any sort. I am a son, a brother, a husband, a parent, but most importantly, I am a human being. I believe that every person, regardless of their nationality or skin colour, has the right to a peaceful existence on this planet and also, the right to stand up and make their feelings known, when they feel oppressed or mistreated.

Yesterday was a dark day for humanity Tánaiste, as innocent people felt the full weight of an oppressive military machine. A sling shot, against the latest automatic weaponry, isn’t even David versus Goliath. This is a massacre, with no end in sight.

As I watched the Six-One News on RTE, I sat helpless and angry, as the Israeli Ambassador to Ireland, Mr Zeev Boker, spoke to news anchor, Caitriona Perry. Ms Perry repeatedly asked him, how he can justify the massacre which was unfolding before our eyes. Instead, Mr Boker read the usual script that the rest of the world seems to be accustomed to. There wasn’t the slightest bit of remorse in his voice, as Israel continues to attempt justification, for what I consider crimes against humanity.

Tánaiste, as Irish people, we have a history written in blood. Men and women, much braver than I, stood up to an oppressive regime, fought and gave their lives for the freedoms that I enjoy today. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten by Irish people.

As a proud Irish person, I feel deeply uncomfortable that the Israeli ambassador enjoys those same freedoms in my country today, while his counterparts exert their brutality on the innocents.

Why should he be accepted in our country Tánaiste? Can we, as Irish people, show the rest of the world that we will NOT stand idly by, as innocent people are murdered?

Therefore Tánaiste, I ask you to please consider expelling the Israeli Ambassador, as an act of solidarity with humanity.

My kindest rgds etc…………

 

At times you wonder

During a recent radio discussion, the topic of rural Ireland came into the conversation. I have been very critical of rural Ireland in recent times and the reaction to my comments and opinions did nothing to change my attitudes.

Let’s cut to the chase here and get the obvious stuff out of the way first.

Ireland, in the 21^st century, is a much different place than the Ireland of yesteryear. I see Ireland as a progressive nation, entering a crucial stage in its economic and social development. The world around us is changing on a daily basis and whether we like it or not, we are at their mercy. Issues such as Brexit, global issues, such as the upheaval in the Middle East for example, have the capacity to derail any progress we have made as a nation.

We also live in a nation, where most economic activity, government, media and major investment is city based, in particular towards our capital city Dublin.

There is a general consensus among Dublin based people that once you reach the M7 or M8 motorway, Ireland ceases to exist. Lots of people, in our capital city for example, don’t realise that they are only half an hour from a field of cows themselves. London, Paris or New York, they are not I’m afraid.

Some city people like to come across as sophisticated and it can be a little bit irritating. However, by and large, this is the fact of the matter and there’s no escaping it, so most people accept it and get on with it. Most of our population is urban based, the rest of us live in the country, so just build a bridge and get over it.

I say most people, because some people don’t seem to “get” it. Now, in the following, I’m going to be critical of certain parts of rural Ireland, so if you don’t mind, we’ll get another bit of obvious stuff out of the way once again.

The public transport system is non-existent, mainly due to massive underfunding and a failure by successive governments to accept the problem. Crime is on the increase, people are scared in their homes, as criminal gangs operate with impunity. Garda stations are closed down, local focal points such as the Post Office are being closed down. Small businesses, the very fabric of society are struggling, as red tape and astronomical costs, stifle their growth. Farmers are facing a very uncertain future, due to shrinking incomes and issues such as a fodder crisis and increasing costs.

Rural life is NOT the idyllic existence it once was and lots of people are feeling the effects.

These are real issues, affecting real people, living in the real world. Elected representatives have a mandate from the people, in some cases a huge mandate, to bring those issues to cabinet, to highlight the importance of the issues and to attempt in brokering a solution.

Why then, do certain individuals enter our national parliament and behave like village idiots, left out for the day? There is an old Irish saying, which states that “it takes a smart man to act the fool”. Some of these people are pass masters in what some people call “sleeveenism” and while they might appeal to lots of people in the “heartland”, they do a great job in making the rest of us look like mugs and fools.

On the radio program, I was asked for my opinion on drink driving levels and I replied that the only safe drink driving level is ZERO. I don’t believe that there is any possible way to argue this point cohesively and in my opinion, it’s simple and it’s cut and dry. If something impairs your ability to drive safely, it has to be stopped and cut out, end of argument.

This isn’t the “nanny state” talking or attempting to infringe on a person’s “human rights” to have a few pints.  This is about road safety, where in 2017, 159 people were killed on Irish roads. Since records began in 1959, 23,752 people have lost their lives on our roads (Source: http://www.rsa.ie).

As a driver with almost 40 years’ experience on Irish roads, I expect and demand my right to drive in the safest conditions possible. I also expect and demand that the driver approaching me is travelling at a safe speed, that they understand the rules of the road, that their vehicle is in top working order and that they are well and truly lucid and capable.

The Irish road network has improved massively in the last 20 years and we now have a motorway network on a par with anything in the world. Our roads are much safer and while there are exceptions and while lots of work still needs to be done, overall they are a far cry from the roads  I learned to drive on.

It still beggars belief that in an age where the modern vehicle is quite possibly the safest ever created and is an extraordinary feat of human engineering and ingenuity, that ANY people should lose their lives on ANY road. It proves that the weakest link in the chain is indeed, the human at the controls, i.e. the driver.

So, why do politicians deliberately block proposed legislation, to lower the drink driving laws and to cross off another link in the chain of weakness. Arguments are put forward that it might “decimate our small rural communities”. Suggestions are made that people in rural communities can’t exist without a pub to go to. Old men and women are sitting at home looking at the four walls, lonely and bored, because they can’t drive to the local pub, have a few pints and drive home again.

If this isn’t so serious and a downright insult to the people who have lost their lives due to drink driving, or to the families devastated forever, I don’t know what is.

Now before the detractors begin sharpening their pens, or before the keyboard warriors start hammering their keyboards in temper, there are plenty more factors involved in our shocking road carnage statistics. Speed is one of the biggest factors, with mobile phone use and a general inability to drive among the others.

I’ve said this ad infinitum, that Ireland is the only country where you can “fail” your driving test and then drive home again.

No doubt, the politicians return to their communities at the weekends to plenty of backslapping and being told how great they are.  They  went up to the big city and told all the big bad people up there how we are all hard done by “out in the sticks”. “Those meanies in Dublin don’t care about us” they moan and “if we haven’t a few pints to enjoy, sure what’s the point in even getting up in the morning”.

They played the game perfectly, doing the right thing, staying popular and not rocking the boat.

Meanwhile, on planet Earth, where most of us live, it’s another week of nauseating, cringe worthy  embarrassing performances from the corridors of power.

North and South Korea show the first tentative signs of peace, following decades of conflict. In Syria, the innocents play the parts of unwilling pawns, in a deadly game of power and greed. Our nearest neighbours in the UK, wonder how the hell they can solve the Brexit crisis. Even here at home, parents of children with extreme psychological problems, wait until Monday to see a specialist, as the doctors don’t work weekends. Those same parents hold their children’s hands, sitting on a hard chair in a hospital corridor. There are no beds available, nurses are at their wit’s end.

Meanwhile, “the right to drink a few pints and drive home” is what’s considered to be important. “Sure what harm are they doing?”

At times you wonder.

 

 

 

 

Where are they now?

Remember the “migrants” who were drowning on a daily basis in the waters of the Mediterranean Sea last summer. Where are they now?

The migrants, or human beings as we prefer to call them, were displaced from their homes in countries like Afghanistan, Syria, Libya and Yemen. Living through a daily barrage of barrel bombs, missiles and gunfire became a bit of a pain, especially if you had young children or family.

They were continuously advised that it was all for their own good, by Western governments / War Mongers (delete as appropriate). However, witnessing the destruction of their homes and the skin regularly ripped from their children’s bones, as another “smart bomb” missed its target, hitting a school or hospital, they got a bit cheesed off with things and decided to  move.

Surely anything is better than burying a few generations of your family at the same time or watching your child scream, as shrapnel is removed from their frail body.

The West looked like a good option, as they were always saying how much better it was there, so if they could get across the sea, they were home and hosed. Problem was, the Mediterranean is a bit deep, cold, hard to navigate and their sailing skills were a little questionable. Their boats weren’t much cop either, mainly of the type on sale for 10.99 in German discount stores.

2017 was a fairly tough year to be a migrant, with more than 3,100 of them drowning in the waters. Western Governments sent out military vessels, in an effort to help with the crisis that they had created themselves. It was comforting, as a migrant, to hand over your child to a sailor in a haz chem suit, wearing full breathing apparatus, in case he or she was infected by your bugs, or god forbid should you breathe in their general direction. Most people were taken to the mainland, where they were “documented” and in a lot of cases, sent back to where they came from.

Alienated, in a strange country, it wasn’t long until these “migrants” were referred to as Terrorists. You see, the West screwed up their homeland and now they were here, hell bent on revenge and they would blow us all up. Far right groups and media outlets saw an opportunity to whip up hysteria and an already scared population fell for it.

Newsfeeds are filled with video and reports of scores of “migrants” running amok, wreaking havoc on the countries that took them in, despite the fact that they never really wanted to move there in the first place. “All those guys are in fine fettle and should be sent back to wherever they came from” is a regular contribution in the comments section, normally from “anonymous” with an “Ireland for the Irish” profile pic.

Anyway, isn’t it great to know that it’s all finished with, as there are no reports of any “migrants” drowning in the Mediterranean recently. The Western media have stopped reporting on it, so it must be all okay now. Sky News have long taken their reporters home, as it’s a non –story and there are no hour long specials on the crisis.

We’re glad it’s all over and done with and maybe there’s hope for humanity after all.

Oh no, since we finished writing this article, we’ve done some research. According to various websites, a reported 570 “migrants” have drowned so far in 2018. The UNHCR have published a new report, where they estimate it’s 520, According to human rights groups, the numbers of “migrants” reaching Europe is down, but the problem persists.

So, where are they now? Still being bombed in their own country for “their own good”, living in fear, or lying in a watery grave at the bottom of a cruel uncaring sea.

 

A right to choose

This weeks blog has nothing to do with cycling, so my apologies to regular readers in the cycling fraternity. Normal service will resume next issue.

Were you ever driving along in your car, with the radio on, listening to the programme, but still a million miles away? It’s a strange feeling of your body doing all the motions, your mind and brain are doing all the necessary skills required to drive the car, but you’re still that million miles away. It’s like a parallel universe or something and very strange.

The other morning, I was driving to Clonmel (a local town about 10 miles away) and I was listening to a young woman speaking on the radio. The woman’s name is Claire and her story is so fascinating, I’ll post the link on this post, as people really ought to listen to it. It’s tragic, scary and it actually brought a tear to my eye. The interview was also very relevant, as it referred to abortion and to the ongoing debate about the upcoming referendum in Ireland. I would urge people to listen to Claire’s story as it is an eye opener. [1] However, in my case, as I listened, my mind began to wander and therein, my “out of body experience occurred”.

I looked at our own lives, as the proud parents of the most wonderful little boy in the world. I suppose he’s no longer a little boy, as he’s 12 years old now. As he grows, he’s beginning to get a bit of an attitude and you know what, he’s also a bit of a rogue. He loves going to school, has his little circle of close friends and is very popular with his teachers and pupils alike. He loves nothing more than being at home and he is very attached to the family. Family means a lot to him and every day, the same question is asked “Are we all home tonight?” Even the family dog, is included in the family group, as he loves animals too.

Then, my mind began to wander a little bit further away.  I found myself in Omsk, Russia,[2] on March 16^th, 2006. A woman entered a hospital, gave birth to a baby boy and later on, she walked away, leaving him behind in the care of the hospital and ultimately, the state. Nobody knows why she left him behind, or her circumstances. She made a decision, based on her state of mind or god knows what else, she then walked away and we often wonder whether or not she looked back. It still saddens us that this woman had no other options but to walk away and leave him..

At that very same time in 2006, both of us, not a very young couple in Ireland were heading out on the long path of adoption. The adoption path is not for the faint hearted and if you’re not 100% committed to it, stay clear.  It will test your resolve, your togetherness and your commitment and there are as many lows as there are highs.

However, in this case, fate would intervene, and this twist of fate would ultimately lead to that little baby boy ending up living in Ireland, with that very same couple. It’s a long, long story that would actually fill a book, let alone a few pages on an internet blog. It’s a deeply personal story of profound sadness, of incredible highs, plenty tears and lots of laughter.

Our lives were transformed by this little boy. Sure, there were problems as he tried desperately to settle down on the other side of the planet. There was the frustration that we felt, struggling to cope. Of course there were times when we asked, what the hell have we left ourselves in for and if we were to look inside that little mind, I’ve no doubt he said, what the hell am I doing here.

However, life always finds a way and fate doesn’t intervene for the sake of things. Everybody worked hard and as they say, “love conquers all”. We settled as a family and the greatest word any adult can hear is “mammy or daddy”. When that little child looks at you with a puzzled face, or that mischievous look, when they have misbehaved and they know they are in trouble. When they go down with a pain or an ache and as a parent, you would wish that you could feel their pain instead.  I heard a man on radio recently referring to a parents love as something you cannot quantify or even explain. It’s a different kind of love, without any conditions.

All this was still going through my mind, as I approached my destination in Clonmel. I stopped the car and sat for a while, alone with my thoughts. I thought of that woman in Russia, all those years ago and I imagined if something similar happened in Ireland, what would happen.

The authorities would plead for the woman to come forward, where every assistance the state could provide would quite rightly be made readily available for her welfare and well being. In Ireland, it is very rare that a person would find themselves in a similar situation as that woman and that is something we should be very happy about.

I thought of the options available to the woman at that stage in her life.  When did she reach the tipping point in her life and decide to walk away, leaving her flesh and blood behind? Does she ever think of him, as his birthday comes around every year? I even wondered if she is even still alive? In our case, that little boy has known of his origins since he could first understand it. He sometimes refers to his natural mother in jest, sometimes there is a serious edge to it. We have a duty to answer every question he asks, make every resource available to him, should he ever decide to attempt in tracking her down. It will be an impossible task for him, we know that, in time he will know that too. Our greatest wish would be that some day he would meet her and that we would get to shake her hand and thank her

At this stage, there were a few more tears in my eyes, moments before a meeting that could be very influential in determining the next year of my life.

As the rain that we have become accustomed to in Ireland this year, hammered off my car once again, I thought about the choices that a woman will have to make at stages in their lives. I thought of those decisions that only a woman can make. I don’t believe that anybody has a right to tell anybody what they can and cannot do. A woman should make up her mind herself and it should be her right.

Finally, I thought of Claire in the interview I thought of her mother, at age 13 going in to an abortion clinic. Then, I thought of our little boy, the intervention of fate and how much we love him and how our lives would be totally meaningless without him.

When I got home, I gave him a hug and told him I loved him so much. He was playing his Playstation with his friends and didn’t need to hear it. 12 year olds don’t really do kisses and cuddles, especially when their friends are listening in.

One thing is for sure, he’ll never know the half of it. We surely will, his natural mother will and thankfully, she chose life.

 

[1] https://soundcloud.com/tippfmradio/the-amazing-story-of-a-woman-who-survived-an-abortion

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omsk_Oblast

Picking and Choosing

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Watch your back

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Read the full article here[1]).

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bike won’t do it itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Losing the love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Getting out of the rut (Part 2)

A few weeks ago, I wrote an article here about people taking control of their working lives. We all need to work, the bills will not pay themselves and work is actually quite good for you. However, it should not be at “any” cost and in my opinion, there should be a healthy balance between work and life, especially family life and even more importantly, relationships with children.

I often wonder how many people dread the clock going off in the morning, as they face another day “at the mill”. My own dad was a truck driver and as we were growing up, he was away a lot of the time. In later years he often commented on how much he missed out on and how much he regretted not being around more. He was lucky however in having plenty of grand-children to keep him busy during his retirement and he loved the role of being a “second time dad”.

Over the last few years and especially since the recession, work patterns in Ireland have changed greatly. The traditional 9 to 5 job is slowly giving way to shift work, night work and even weekend work. Terms and conditions are a shadow of what they once were, with little gems such as zero hour contracts, split shifts, flexibility and whatever employers will come up with next. As I said before, those employers hold all the aces and they are not one bit afraid to use them.

A few years ago, the Irish government introduced an initiative to assist people in finding jobs. The initiative was called “Jobsbridge” and despite what the critics will say, I actually think it was a good idea. Through Jobsbridge, an unemployed person, in receipt of social welfare, took a job, where they were paid an extra €50 per week. They picked up training on vital skills, got themselves back into a work environment and got routine back into their lives. If a person found themselves in a job that they didn’t like, the door was open; they could move on and try something else. Employers on the other hand gained as well. They got an opportunity to see if a person was suitable for a role and if they were as good as they purported themselves to be. In lots of cases, people who entered Jobsbridge actually got full time jobs and in some cases, the initiative actually worked.

However, this is Ireland and as usual, some people saw Jobsbridge as a handy way of saving a few quid. Nothing can be straightforward in Ireland, be assured of that and there will always be somebody looking to cash in on things. Jobsbridge was manna from heaven to unscrupulous employers, where they could get people to do jobs, for €50 per week. As I said in an earlier article, many of them were afraid to waste a good recession. Every job that was advertised, from factories, hotels, bars and supermarkets, was through Jobsbridge. Instead of looking at a person’s education or qualifications, entry criteria were “being in receipt of social welfare”. The entire system was ripe for easy pickings and with 13% of an unemployment rate; there was no shortage of fruit. Needless to say, Jobsbridge failed miserably as it was slated by politicians and the public which it was meant to help, turned against it in their droves. Once again, certain sections of Irish business put greed at the top of their list and capitalised on the misfortune of others. Not like that ever happened before, right?

So, what opportunities are available for Irish workers? Can they better themselves? Can they find a way into a better job, without being exploited? Is there such a thing as a job that fits in around a person’s life, instead of it being the other way round? The answer is yes, there is and it’s much more available than you think.

Last Friday, I qualified from an adult education programme with a QQI Level 5 Major award in E-Business and Administration. Throughout the last 10 months, I have committed myself to the course, with one thing on my mind, to better myself, make myself more employable, to build my confidence and to prove that I am capable of a lot more than I previously thought. I have sat in a classroom with people much younger than me and I have thrived on the energy and positivity. I have made great friends and loved every moment of it. I was shown how to build a website from scratch, I’ve been instructed on Sage Book-Keeping software, how to use MS Word and Excel properly, how to complete assignments on time and to certain standards. It doesn’t stop there, as I was encouraged to do more such as looking at media as a potential way forward in my life. The high point for me was a two week stint in our local radio station Tipp FM, where I was given access to their entire social media presence and encouraged to work on it.

My end of the bargain was just to turn up every day, work hard, commit myself to the project and strive to achieve the best results I was capable of. Every conceivable assistance I could think of was provided to me and I would want for nothing. The facilitators were available 24/7 and the tutors were at my beck and call. Every question, query and suggestion I had was listened to and either expanded upon or improved upon. I did well, with distinctions in all modules and I am most definitely much more employable now, than I was 12 months ago. I have the skills to look towards doing what “I” want to do in my working life and wherever I go from now, “I” will hold a lot more of the aces.

We hear a lot in Ireland that there are no options available to people and that there is no hope. Lots of people actually go into a job every morning and they just wish for the day to end. On the other hand, there are lots of people out of work, who can’t see the woods for the trees. Some people face the unemployment office to “sign on” and it drains their strength and saps their will to improve. They feel useless, that they have failed themselves or their families, especially their children. It doesn’t have to be that way. Work should compliment life and it should provide a happy equilibrium for a person, where they can balance their private life with paying their bills.

So, what can people do? Courses like mine are available all the time and are done with one end goal, to prepare people to do better for themselves and to make themselves more employable. The single most important asset any company will have, is its people.

So, with that in mind, I would encourage everybody to look into the possibility of an adult education programme and you just never know what the future may hold.

For me, it’s now time to begin paying back the investment that Ireland has spent on me. I would love to work in media, writing, website marketing or administration. Not bad for a 52 year old, who never bothered with college.