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“There’s hills in Carlow?” a friend asked when I told him about this race. One glance at my computer file for race confirms that there most certainly is.
The Des Hanlon Memorial is one of the big ones on the calendar and although patently not my kind of race, I still ventured down to Carlow on Sunday to give it a go. Although I knew I was going to get dropped early in the day, at least I would get a decent workout over the seemingly endless sucession of hills that characterises this race.
To minimise the pain, the A4 race only had to complete one lap of the 65km circuit. That didn’t make it feel much easier though. After sign-on at the Eire Og clubhouse in Carlow we rolled out behind a pace car to the start line. One rider from Killorglin who was obviously keen to get a gap before the climbing started even attacked before the start, oblivious to the fact that we weren’t even racing yet.
Once underway properly, the pace in the bunch was far more relaxed than at any open race I’ve done to date. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be too cooked before the hills. Well aware that I wasn’t going to be in contention by the finished, I decided to make the most of the race by trying an attack in the opening kilometres. After moving up to near the front of the bunch I took a look around and moved off. I wasn’t going particularly hard but got a gap. When I glanced back, I discovered that no one was going to come with me. No point in going all out in that case, so I rolled along for a while until I was reeled in.
Once the climbing started I was in trouble. I clung on for the first one but was dropped like a stone on the second. Once I recovered a bit I caught and passed a group of five or six riders and kept pushing it in the hope of bridging up to a bigger group.
The guys I passed eventually caught up, with one rider rolling up beside me and shouting at me to keep it steady . This kind of irked me. If you can’t hold someone’s wheel while they’re trying to chase back on, it isn’t their fault. All of the group though seemed to be willing to push it a bit so I fell in with their rotation, which collapsed once we hit the next hill and Mr. Steady decided to hare off by himself. To be honest, I can hardly blame him, since the rest of the race featured so much climbing that there was little point in trying to work together. Soon I’d left the others behind and began passing riders in ones and twos before hitting the top of the final climb and the spectacular dive down to the finish outside Carlow.
Up ahead, my club mate Diarmuid (who definitely can climb) managed to stay with the leading bunch all the way to a dramatic finished, which featured one of the most hair raising crashes I’ve ever seen in a race. Fortunately, the rider involved escaped with only a broken wrist.
Taking a corner, fourth from the left (Credit: Amy-Norah Farrell)
I’m tucked in behind the wheel of the rider in front of me. On my right a stream of riders file past. Soon I’m at the back of the line and I drift out to the right and join the line of riders moving forward. Near the front, I get into the drops and when my turn comes I take the wind, pedalling hard as I move over to the left. The next rider moves in front of me and I instantly feel the effect of riding in his slipstream. And so the routine starts again, the perpetual motion of the paceline.
Ahead of us we can already spot one or two riders who’ve been shelled out of the limit group. Behind, there is no doubt that the faster riders from the scratch and semi-scratch groups are working hard to catch us. At this stage in the race our job is simiple, to share the work involved in catching everyone in front of us and staying ahead of everyone behind.
I like the paceline. There’s something slightly comforting about metronomic order of it, the effortless speed. The whole is greater than the sum of the parts.
After the abortive first round, our Inter-Club League finally got going last Thursday night. The usual routine is that we alternate between two circuits, one near Brittas and the other around Batterstown in Meath. Last week’s race was scheduled for the former and over the past few years we’ve usually done the same circuit, leaving Brittas up the N81, turning left into Kilbride and then running along the south side of the resevoir until the first bridge, before crossing it and heading back to Kilbride and doing another lap.
However, the roads on the usual circuit have taken a hammering during the winter and sections of them look like they’ve been shelled. This prompted a rethink of the circuit by the league organisers and on Thursday we tried a new route. After Brittas we ran right down the N81 until taking a left a few kilometres after Kilbride. This brought us down to a sharp right hander to join the road for the bridge, after which we went back around the other side of the resevoir before going through Kilbride and rejoining the N81 again for another lap.
The finish was also changed and was now at the top of a drag on the far side of the resevoir. While I can understand the changes, I still prefer the old circuit. The uphill finish doesn’t suit me and some of the worst stretches of road are still present.
The league uses its own handicap system, with riders divided into four groups based on ability. First off is the limit group, which is given a decent handicap of three minutes. Semi-limit, the group I race in, is let off next, with semi-scratch and scratch then following us.
On the first lap our group works remarkably well together, with every single rider joining the paceline and contributing to the work. I feel we could probably move a bit faster, especially on the main road and some obviously feel the same as well, upping the pace a bit when they hit the front, which is countered by barks from a few older riders to keep it steady. On the drags on the back part of the course, some of the juniors drive the pace, but the group reforms nicely once the ground levels out again.
Midway through the second lap and just as we are about to catch what looks like the remains of the limit group, we are joined by semi-scratch, making it quite a big group for a league race. The bunch hurtles downhill, heading for the only right hand bend on the course. Just as we take the bend, a rider from St Tiernans crashes in front of me. For a second I’m sure I’m going to hit him but manage to correct my line through the corner to stay upright.
After crossing the bridge again, we’re on the final stretch and there’s a noticeable surge in the pace. This one’s going to come down to a sprint finish. I’m too far back in the bunch and start slowly moving forward, but as we hit the start of the final drag I realise I’m starting to feel a bit cooked. No point in going for the sprint if I know I’m not going to be competitive. I settle in for a bunch finish while at up at the head of affairs those with fresher legs fight it out for a placing.
It was all in vain though, because after the finish we discover that six of the limit group had broken away before we caught them and sown up the places among themselves. It was an excellent performance by a group who are all new to racing and five of the six riders come from my club Orwell Wheelers. My club mate Sandra manages to finish up in the bunch and is the first woman across the line, netting herself an early lead in the women’s competition.
“Like coming across a traffic cone in the middle of the road”. That’s how one of my club mates described a mid-race encounter with the medicore climbing abilities of another rider. And that’s probably how I appeared on the hills at the Newbridge GP.
Newbridge came in the middle of a two week period during which I was pretty busy and only really had time to race once. I picked this race thinking that since it was in Kildare, it was bound to be fairly flat. After hearing from a few who’d done it before, I discovered I was wrong but at that stage it was too late to change my mind and I resigned myself to another day of desperately trying to hang on up the hills.
Once again, there was a separate A4 race, which was quite short, only two laps of a 17km circuit. The rollout was done at something of a frantic pace and even before the flag dropped a few riders seemed to have gone out the back. I found myself in the middle of the bunch and worked my way up to the front in anticipation of the hills to come. There were a few attacks which were reeled in and then a Lucan rider jumped and I followed. He looked around, I went in front and took a pull and then looked around again to find the bunch had followed us.
It was then that we turned a corner and I had my traffic light moment. The road rose upwards and a steady stream of riders drifted up the hill past me. The same happened on the next hill except this time I was dropped and left with the long slog to the line.
I managed to pick up a decent number of dropped riders and got into a group of around 10 by the end of the lap. The only problem was that I was the one doing all the work and they were constantly letting gaps open. After this happened a few times I pressed ahead alone, coming across riders in ones and twos. If you’re doing a race like this for training, there’s no point in easing your way around.
8th from the left, sitting comfortably in the bunch (Credit: Diarmuid Collins)
The sun is shining in Dunboyne and a massive field of riders is waiting for the roll out to the start line. I’m looking at Martyn Irvine’s legs. In fact, I notice that everyone around me is looking at Irvine’s legs. The man is the cycling equivalent of a Panzer tank and I’m glad that I won’t be going up against him today. He and the other A1 and A2 riders will be racing the Mick Lally Memorial. The A3 and A4 categories will be doing the shorter Dublin Wheelers GP.
The race was originally meant to be run over the Dorey’s Forge circuit, something I wasn’t looking forward to revisiting since I always seem to struggle on the long drag there. However, a late change means that both races will now be run around a course known in Dublin racing circles as “The Sheds”. Largely flat and fast, this one suits me just fine.
At the start line, my A4 group is given a few minutes handicap over the A3s. The A4 bunch alone is big, probably one of the biggest I’ve raced in to date and I’m tucked in the middle as it leaves Dunboyne. The race swings off the Summerhill road towards Batterstown and then right onto the Trim Road before turning right again onto the loop that we will race around twice before heading back to Dunboyne.
Near Batterstown, I move up the bunch, expecting that there will be some attacks out of the corners and the series of roundabouts approaching, but nothing goes. More riders filter up the right hand side of the road after me and soon I find myself back near the middle of the bunch. Before the road narrows, I take the wind on the right hand side and move almost right up to the front of the bunch. I can feel my heart pounding as I push it up but it’s nothing major and, as I settle in and find a wheel, I’m happy that I can make an effort and not suffer too badly.
This is the pattern for the first lap, staying sheltered, moving up if I find myself drifting too far back. It’s too early to attack. I’m not even sure if I want to attack. My history in open races to date has been miserable and to be honest I’m just looking for a respectable finish.
At the start of the second lap we’re joined by the A3s. The pace picks up a little but the big difference is that the bunch is now enormous. Once we reach the narrower roads on the back of the circuit things get very sketchy. Riders are crossing the white line and trying to move up on the outside even before blind bends or with traffic approaching. People are slamming on the brakes as the bunch is funelled back into one lane on sight of an oncoming car. The air is peppered with shouting and cursing and I’m surprised that there hasn’t been any crashes. Despite the near misses, a lot of people are still riding pretty recklessly and the second half of the race becomes a bit nerve wracking.
It’s a relief to swing out onto the main Trim Road for the second time and feel the pace pick up again. Up in front, my team mate Ivan has gotten into a break with a few other riders and this has probably helped string the bunch out a bit. At this stage I’m struggling a bit. I haven’t eaten enough and I can feel that slight drain in my body. I’m near the back of the bunch now but hanging on. Ahead of me I can see my friend John suddenly come off his bike and topple over into the grass verge in what looks like a touch of wheels. I don’t have time to shout out to him as I pass, but he looks alright.
Shortly before the finish the elastic snaps and I run out of gas and get dropped. I don’t really care though. I’d survived this far, which was a big improvement on other days. After last week, it feels nice to even just finish.
After rolling across the finish line I find out that Ivan’s break had stayed away and he managed to secure 6th place, while my club mate Martin Ridge nabbed 5th. It’s the beginning of a great run of results for Ivan, who would get 4th in the A4 race at the Cycleways Cup the next day and win Ras Naomh Finnian a week later. He and Martin are both among the first riders to be promoted to A3 this season.
Back in Dunboyne we wait for the finish of the Mick Lally. Once again, Philip Lavery wins in impressive style, with Sean Lacey taking 2nd and Irvine coming in 3rd.
Third from the left, I still manged to make it into the photos despite only lasting a few km. (Credit: Cuchulainn Cycling Club)
I’ve done most of my racing to date in my local inter-club league. Open races are another step up, attracting riders from across the country and generally run over harder courses and often at a higher speed. I did my first few open races last year and it was a bit of a baptism of fire, having been dropped early in every single race. This year the set-up has changed somewhat, with the introduction of the new fourth category, dubbed A4, for newcomers like me. The intention is that race organisers will run separate A4 races whenever possible, which hopefully will mean novices can ease their way into open races without getting spat out by the top riders in handicapped races. Nevertheless, I was still a bit apprehensive heading up to Dundalk for the Paddy Neary Memorial, especially given my lacklustre performance the day before.
I hitched a ride up with my club mate Aidan, who is also relatively new to open races but, having enjoyed a strong debut season last year, decided to register as an A3 this year with a view to riding the Gorey Three Day.
We arrived in Dundalk with plenty of time to spare and, after signing on, put the bikes together and went for a few trips up and down the road to get warmed up. Back at the sign-on, we stripped down into our race gear and joined the rollout to the start line a few kilometres outside the town. The A race went off first and then it was our turn.
I slotted in near the front of the bunch and immediately realised I was feeling much better than yesterday. In the opening few kilometres there was the usual ebb and flow as guys moved off the front a bit and others chased to follow. On a bit of a drag a Lucan rider attacks and I immediately close it down. Yes, this is going better than yesterday. A few seconds later there is loud hiss and that sinking realisation that it was my tyre that had gone. A few kilometres in and my race was over.
I stick my hand up and pull over. It’s my first flat on tubular tyres so at least I’m going to get to find out how easy it is to fix one. With a bit of effort I pull the tyre off the rim and remove the valve core. I’ve got a bottle of Tufo sealant, something which I’ve never used before but reckon might be a bit more efficient that the Vittoria Pit Stop I’ve previously used on clincher punctures with mixed results. Getting the sealant into the tyre is kind of messy as it bubbles back out of the valve if you try and put too much in at once. After emptying half the bottle in I try to pump up the tyre only to see the white sealant escaping from the puncture. I decide to wait a little while to see if it just needs time to set. The A bunch pass me, going at a decent clip. Then the B race passes, my club mate Declan gesturing to me as he goes by. “Puncture” I shout. Another few minutes and I try pumping again. It’s sealed, so I whack the tyre back on the rim and pump it back to full pressure.
I’m a lap down and I’m two minds about even finishing the race since I’m a bit trepditatious about riding hard on an unglued tub. I decide to finish out the lap and then watch the rest of the race from the finish line. The course itself proves to be real treat. Lots of nice roads with a good series of drags thrown in.
Back at the finish, I get to see the races unfold. The A bunch is being driven along by Philip Lavery, who’s looking incredibly strong. Aidan though is hanging in there, looking comfortable in the bunch. Meanwhile, in my own race my club mates Martin Ridge and Declan Quigley are both sitting pretty near the front. When they come around on the final lap, a lone rider appears first but is frantically looking over his shoulder, obviously cooked. Martin is bearing down on him and passes him easily before the line. Declan was less fortunate, cramping up just as the race reached its finale. In the A race Lavery breaks free from the bunch and solos for the line. My club mate Michael Barry managed to grab sixth. A good day for the club even if it was a bit of a disaster for me.
Snowed off (Credit: Ivan McAvinchey)
The first race of the year for my club is usually our inter-club league preview race. While the league proper doesn’t getting going until April, a weekend race is usually held at the end of February to give people a chance to stretch their legs before open races start the following week.
This year’s race was scheduled for Sunday February 21. Unfortunately the weather intruded with snow showers on Friday night. Still, on Saturday morning things were looking up. The snow around my area at least hadn’t really lodged and a message from the club’s Twitter feed indicated that the race was going ahead. Well wrapped up, I went to meet a few of my club mates and headed out to the start at Batterstown.
However, the further we went, the more snow we encountered. By the time we left the Phoenix Park, there was a thin covering on the ground next to the road. Once we turned off the dual carriageway onto the Trim Road for Batterstown, there was snow on the edges and in the middle of the road. There was no way in hell this was going ahead, something which was confirmed at that start line. While there were a few hardy bucks who still wanted to press on with the race, wiser head prevailed and the possibilty was held out of rescheduling the race for the following Saturday.
Given the limited time involved, it proved impossible to reschedule, so my club, Orwell Wheelers, decided to run its own race the following Saturday instead, over one lap of the Dorey’s Forge circuit. The short notice meant that there was a small enough turnout, which required some rejigging of the handicapped groups. Tom, John and Ian, friends who are all new to the club but already very strong riders were bumped up into the semi-limit group with me and another rider, with a few other friends in the five man limit bunch breathing a sigh of relief that they hadn’t been singled out for impromptu promotion. Behind us, a relatively strong four man semi-scratch group would be chasing.
After giving the limit group a few minutes headstart, my own group was let go. Right from the gun we were moving at a blistering pace, in a rotating double line with everyone taking quick turns at the front. However, the small group meant there wasn’t much shelter from the wind and very quickly the fifth man from our group was dropped, leaving me with John, Tom and Ian.
I knew we didn’t have to push it quite so hard to catch the limit guys before the end and shouted at the others that this was probably the fastest start to a race I’ve ever had, which was confirmed by the fact that we were already passing stragglers from the limit group. Perhaps I could have been more emphatic, but the other lads seemed comfortable so I kept with it. Right before the turn for the Dorey’s Forge climb though I’d had enough and stayed at the back as I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer.
Sure enough, by the time we were on the climb, we could already see the limit guys up ahead and we were only half way into the race. I knew I just had to hang in there on the climb and if I could recover the race would slow a bit by the time we caught the others. It wasn’t to be. The other three are much better climbers and near the top I was blowing hard and let a gap open. Coming off it I chased but had forgotten about the subsequent drag. I was feeling lousy and just had to let them go.
The rest of the race was uneventful. I caught another straggler and worked with him for a while until we were caught by the semi-scratch group and I tagged on with them. Up at the head of the race, John was the first to make a move, launching an attack shortly before the finish. Tom was strong enough to jump on his wheel and come around him before the line. It was a great result for the pair of them, given that it was their first road race and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Needless to say I was disappointed about getting dropped. I’d quit the smokes again, done a decent bit of training over the winter and had been going well. But the week leading up to the race had been very tough for a few reasons so I wasn’t feeling that great on the day. In addition, I knew that I’m still a bit too heavy to contest races with any sort of climb, as Dorey’s Forge once again proved. It was early in the year though and there’d be other races.
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.
