Thursday, October 28, 2021

Single track mind

As an event title,  'Nire Valley Drop' just doesn't do it. I suggest calling it 'AWESOME' instead. Let me explain;

To start with I need to confess to my ignorance. Not only did I not know what the event entailed, I didn't even know where it was really. My sister had done a lot of walking up around there but really I knew nothing. I was to learn fast. In no time I was slack-jawed at the hospitality, the camaraderie and the scenery. The Nire Valley is God's country. 

But don't let me bore you. Ever met an Irish DJ stripped to the waist in October and getting the crowd going like a night out at Manumission? Me neither. Ever met one at 9.30AM of a Sunday in Ballymacarbry, County Waterford? Definitely not! As we rolled into the carpark we were greeted by the smiling faces of 200 like-minded mountain bikers being entertained by said epic DJ. This may have set the tone....

 Everyone was smiling, some out of innocence, some from knowledge of what was to come. Sign on was a similarly light-hearted, uncomplicated affair. Chipped number attached to our bikes, we just soaked up the craic and the familiar faces until roll out. In terms of participants, of course there were the whippets ready to eat up the tracks and trails and be back before the last cyclist left the start. Behind them were the seasoned knobby-tired crew that did this stuff most weekends anyway. Then there were us. Myself and Mick were both going to treat this event with respect. I'd never done 'The Drop' and just knew it was a long event and climb-heavy. I had no idea there was a huge amount of single track. Mick knew the event but was worried about his fitness. I was to find out that we both needed each other's encouragement a lot that day.

Of course, rolling out towards the first trails two things struck me. One, the equipment around me made me nervous about my 480 euro Halfords hard tail. Would my Cambodian-made 29er be up to the second thing I noticed? Water. The rivers and streams we criss crossed were in flood. What would the trails be like? My budget tyres had limited grip. Think golf balls. Anyhoo... no turning back. We climbed slowly for the first third, chatting and encouraging with only occasional relief showing up in the form of easy bits. But once that first hour was done it was single track craziness/ fire road climb/ single track craziness/ fire road climb for nearly 3 whole hours. 

Mick had started out as a downhiller and as we shuddered uphill, fatigued and flat, as soon as single track snaked off into the woods he was on it like a mongoose. He came alive and I had to follow. Walking your bike was simply not an option so I switched my inner chimp off and dived after Mick into the undergrowth. That's ok but did I mention it had rained? Incessantly? Biblically? I actually don't know how I stayed up. Probably speed. A couple of early sections were probably made by a turf cutter going in a straight line for hours. Six inch deep ruts, six inches wide. With mud. Remember when you nearly lost your welly in a sucky, sloppy quagmire at the Ploughing Championships when you were ten? Yep. That. On a bike. And just when physics was about to stop you dead, the woods spat you out onto a fire road and up you went again. Smiling. You just had that feeling that you were being pursued by slop and water and gloop and it would get you if you slowed. Honestly, the hairs were up on the back of my neck for most of the afternoon.

Wet feet. Miserable wet feet. Nobody likes wet feet. And then you get on a mountain bike and you're disappointed at spin's end if anyone can identify the brand of shoes you began the day with. If they ain't brown and squelchy you really should be golfing. I knew there were a number of stream crossings. I'd seen YouTube videos and everything was fairly conservative. Nothing 'GNARLY' as Mick put it. And then I shot into one that wasn't a stream but a torrent in full spate. Ever watch your tyres disappear, quickly followed by your brake discs, chainset, shoes and both gear changers? Only for momentum I'd be washing up in America around about now. I'd passed a fellow competitor a minute before and as I tried desperately to climb up and over the other side I was treated to the blood-curdling shriek of her surprise at the depth and cold of said crossing. I laughed out loud. And promptly hit a tree in a wet, wooded, rooty section. This Nire Valley gift just kept on giving.

After some incredible little loops we realised we were  getting there, but getting cold and getting hungry. Mick rifled the banana stop and refilled on water while I wolfed jelly babies. A friend of mine reckons 4 jelly babies equals a gel. A quick calculation with ten kilometres left said I had eaten 13 gels at the last stop.

Some of the trails were high up now, flat and 100% rideable. Some were low down trails through wet pasture, slinking around saplings, logs and roots. You got the feeling your body could go on but your concentrated mind was tiring, the alertness to danger flashing red lights constantly. There was a fantastic last real run of nearly a kilometre with rocks, water, drops and a stream and it was sublime. We knew we were getting to the end and everything just fell [literally] together. I felt proud as hell of my budget bike as we passed more than one dual-suspension jewel. We both let loose down there, gravity being our friend for a change, and headed off to the last, super-mucky challenge through the woods. 

About 150 participants had gone through ahead of us and slowly the last section through those woods had been churned to a bad butter consistency. Now don't forget that I'd mentioned that my tyres had the grip of an eel on speed. So I watched in horror as Mick [Whose tyres were really knobbly] sailed down in slow motion and headed through the ticker tape at the end without being able to stop. I grabbed both brakes to prevent myself sharing the same fate. Too late! I shimmied to the left and kept her up, dabbing my foot to regain balance. Honestly, Strictly Come Dancing hasn't seen a similar move. My weight shifted to the other side, while my tyres laughed at my hopes they would grip anything. Over I went, and down I went... into the shite and pine needles. My only fall in nearly 40 kilometres! The bike was a bit twisted but ran perfectly and I got going again 10 metres down below where it levelled. 

And then we were out and directed onto the hardtop road to the finish. We laughed and congratulated each other for we had both had bad moments up there where the self-belief had deserted. But we'd come through. We rolled back into town where we could wash the bikes, shower, have a meal or a catch up. Everyone in the queue to wash the bikes laughed and congratulated and couldn't believe their luck. That had been an AWESOME day! We laughed as we hosed ourselves clean as much as the bikes.

On the drive home we got to thinking about how the event caught the imagination. The setting and challenging terrain obviously. But really it was the community. Every group or club in the area had something to gain from our entry or our presence. That explained how everyone got involved. From the trail makers to the caterers and commitee, to the marshals standing in multiple middles-of-nowhere to direct or feed or encourage us. Everyone smiled. And as a result I haven't stopped smiling myself since.

Anyhoo, when does next year's entry open?





















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