Noah

I wonder did Noah ever go to the rail on his rather large roll-on, roll-off ark, peer through the murk at the biblical monsoon that was flooding his whole world and utter the famous words "What the f**k?". Surely he was fairly sick of having pairs of every creature stuck in the hold going berserk at the drumming cacophony of rain above decks, squawking, howling, roaring and snorting their discontent? Until today when I saw the code red warning for rain over the weekend, I had never really thought about Noah's headache. He couldn't moor his ship of creatures anywhere because the water was still rising. And its no different around here. I was running like a Viet Cong soldier in the woods yesterday, the trails one large, never ending paddy field. Brown water cascaded down the roads and stream and as I ran, it just got heavier and heavier until it seemed to be the end of everything. But it wasn't. I have washed my bike after every spin for weeks, a rime of grit and shit there each time. I feel sorry for my kit, my components, my mental well-being. All of them have taken a sound beating from the weather. Three hours last Sunday just got progressively nastier. If I hadn't had good company I'd have scooted home and hit the claret. But to be honest, rain is rain. They won't cancel a bike race cause its raining. Bad weather is good. Rode to Wexford with Miz in the snow this time five years ago. No problem. There wasn't a sinner out. It was cold. Rode the Madrono climb out of Puerto Banus in 38 degree heat years ago. So it was hot. Have ridden 9 hour epics in pouring rain. It was wet. You just have to suck it up. Weather is weather. Theres a lot of it around. What makes weather bad is non-cyclist's attitude to it. Irish drivers don't slow down unless a cop waves a blue light at them. They won't see you cycle or run despite wearing a shed load of fluoro, believe that driving fast is the only answer to a deluge. Cars are cocoons, drivers believe they are safe inside and nothing can hurt them. Not even a dude on a push bike going over the bonnet. When I cycled to Wexford in the snow with Miz that time there was a foot of snow banked in the laybys and centre line, yet a Nolan's artic still passed us at 60mph, slid the trailer and made us change our collective underpants. That was in a virtual white-out. As a bicycle messenger we all had one day, black Wednesday, that was sleet, gales and pneumonic. Generic November day gone wrong. I had lost the feeling in my hands by 10 a.m. The forecast had got it wrong. I stole rubber gloves from the base's kitchen, cut old socks as hand warmers and still couldn't radio in signatures or open doors. A wheelie-bin blew across a deserted Leeson street and just about wiped me out. Nobody smiled. When envelopes got delivered, Receptionists gasped and muttered 'holy f**k' in disbelief. And when I got home to my gaff in Fairview I defrosted in the shower for the evening. And life went on. Descending into Bunclody off Mount Leinster in a May monsoon, watching my hat peak slowly dip downwards until it blocked my line of sight was some craic. I had to cycle like a meerkat for 35 more miles. And the sun came out about a mile from home. And that blustery day not two years ago I did my intervals up the hill to the Brandon House Hotel ten times and then watched 15 minutes later as the roof peeled off the local swimming pool and frightened ten bells of sh*t out of everybody. Its all relative ain't it? Some of us will be wound around a log fire for the coming Winter season, some others will be ice-climbing in Scotland. Everybody deals with it their own way. But those of us out in the worst of it will usually be smiling at our fortune. Clearing our heads or getting one over on our imagined rivals or putting in the miles because indoors is akin to heartache. I love those that venture outdoors. Pema Chodron puts it nicely..."You are the sky. Everything else-its just the weather."