Back in one of the chasing groups on the second lap of the circuit (Photo credit: Emmanuel Schockaert)

Back in one of the chasing groups on the second lap of the circuit (Photo credit: Emmanuel Schockaert)

Morning of the 22nd of February and I’m standing on my balcony with a coffee in my hand. Unbelievably, it’s looking like a great day, bright and clear and nothing like the cold wintry weather of the preceding weeks. Filled with optimism I just don a base layer and knee warmers under my club kit and head off for the first race of the year.

With the weather like this it’s easy to forget the nerves. My training after all hadn’t been ideal over the past few weeks and I’d fallen off the wagon again with regard to smoking. How bad could it be though?

Out on the road on the way to the start in Dunboyne, the rain starts and I’m beginning to regret not bringing more gear. On the dual carriageway I run into a bunch of my club mates who have stopped to fix a puncture. Everyone’s decked out in jackets and tights. As long as I keep moving, I tell myself, I needn’t worry about the cold.

At the sign on I meet my club’s president who asks me if I’ve been bumped out of the limit group yet. Not yet, I say. Most of the races in our clubs league are run on a handicapped basis and the limit group gets the biggest handicap. I’m a strong enough rider and probably could survive in the next group up. But I only joined the club midway through last year and then only showed up for a handful of races for which I was ill-prepared. In other words, I’m still very new to this. I’ll settle for the limit group for the moment.

Once signed on I take off up the road to warm up. The weather is pretty nasty and it looks like it’s down for day. Riders are whizzing up and down the road trying to get the lungs working and the blood flowing. I’m just trying not to freeze to death.

Once back in Dunboyne it isn’t long before my group is called. I’ve got company in the limit group in the form of three guys I know who’ve joined the club this year: Aidan, Barry and Ivan. However, at the start line only Aidan is in evidence. Our group is sent off and I’m wondering if the other two lads have missed the start. I get my answer when they both suddenly ride up to the front alongside me. They’d just missed the start and had to quickly chase up to us.

The group meanwhile isn’t moving terribly quickly and isn’t very organised. Aside from the three guys and myself, only a couple are coming up to take a pull. I was damned if I was pulling these guys around all day and so, even though I’m a novice myself, I start shouting and trying to get a regular up and over paceline going. If nobody works together, the group has no hope of staying away. Soon things begin to improve. Some of the passengers have slipped off the back, others are still refusing to budge, but at least half the group is doing some work now. The first little drag of the course and the chat from behind starts. “Take it easy” someone is shouting. The pace drops off a little and the group remains intact.

The road is quite waterlogged and, to make matters worse, there are clods of earth all over it, as if they’ve fallen off the back of a lorry. I’m not too worried though since the nobody is doing anything dumb. That’s until I do something dumb myself. Approaching what is probably the tightest bend on the course I’m a the front and call it. I then proceed to take a much tighter line than anyone else. The back wheel goes out from beneath me and I’m on the ground. Why I did that is anybody’s guess. I’m usually a very cautious rider, haven’t crashed in years and I’m not in the habit of screaming around corners. Maybe I hit one of those patches of muck and the wheel lost traction? I’ll never know.

Dazed on the ground, the marshals rush over to me to see if I’m OK. I think so. My elbow is cut, my hand is cut and my hip is sore. Is my elbow broken? No it isn’t. In an instant I decide that I’m going to rejoin the race. Back on my bike and I realise my shoe is open, which I have to stop to fix. I’ve lost a lot of time and the group is way out of sight.

Looking over my shoulder there is no sign of any of the other groups so I decide to push ahead on my own. My bike has been damaged in the crash, the shifting has gone awry, most likely down to a bent derailleur hanger. One shift, two shifts, nothing. Then it jumps three cogs. Just what I need.

Turning out on to the main road for Trim at Batterstown I can see the bunch in the distance. I close up on a group of three who have fallen off the back and decide not to latch on but go straight past. Nobody takes my wheel. I’ve got the group in my sights but I’m killing myself to get there. They can share the work, but I’m out on my own in the wind.

Turning left at Dorey’s Forge we approach the stiffest drag of the course. Grinding up it in the big ring, I don’t appear to be getting any closer but I know if I stay close I’ll catch them shortly afterwards. Once over the top, two breakaway riders from one of the faster groups tear by and I latch on their wheels to get pulled up to the bunch. Riding up to Ivan’s shoulder he glances at me and asks if we should give chase to two who have just passed us. I shrug but we get our answer very soon as their pursuers come flying by us. Ivan and then Barry manage to jump on. I’m cooked after the effort of getting back on. My race is run.

After the inevitable sorting out that occurs when the groups start to come together I find myself in a bunch of seven or eight riders. We’ve no hope of getting back on, but we work well together to finish out the race at a decent pace.

Within minutes of stopping, I realise how sore I am. I’ve lost a lot of skin from my thigh and it’s beginning to swell up. Thankfully Barry takes pity on me and gives me a lift home. I’m left hobbling around for the next week and off the bike for a little longer. Not a great start to the season.

POSTSCRIPT: I had intended blogging all of my races this year but with a good few under my belt, I’ve a bit of catching up to do. As someone new to racing, it’s mainly going to be a diary of pain and humiliation.

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