Hardy Bucks

Everyone was sick. Nobody was racing. Nobody felt good. Chest infections, sinusitis, tummy bugs and tiredness. Add to that the hail, cold, wet roads. And then they all showed up. Like ghosts out of the weak grey light, rolling around, getting warmed up against the odds. You have to applaud people's dedication. Racing around a 22 km circuit four times is a tall order. Racing full gas even taller. Couple that to fitter athletes, more competitive ambitions, let alone rivalries, club pride and sheer Irish doggedness and you get the picture! A random Sunday in May can be a lot more exciting than having a quick fag outside the Cloch Ban before rushing back in to finish your pint. Theres no point in trying to explain the intricacies of bike racing to the outsider. It's way too general. But lets look inside the average Joe's head. That...would be me!#################################################################################################################################### Friendship means a lot. Up and going in a bike race, apart from settling into your usual spot, you become aware of your friends and rivals. I'm always gonna give at least a quick check-in to my mates as we go up and down the pace line. Not necessary right up at the front as, obviously, your mate is doing just fine or wouldn't be there. But further back you want to make sure they know they are counted and sometimes, when going badly, you need to take their mind off the pain. A hand on the back of a good guy, a word of encouragement, a swift joke maybe. Non-friends can get the works. Barging their space. Stony silence or a glare when passing, letting the wheel in front go in order to make those behind you close it, taking up more space than you need or leaving someone in the wind and attacking them to add insult to injury. But really a bike race is a good-hearted affair with little in the way of argy-bargy. There might be the odd arrogant kid but nobody pays them any attention as they give it all to themselves anyway. Positioning, as the actress once said to the bishop, is key. I like to keep an eye on things, therefore I'm a sit-in-the-sweet-spot type of animal, top thirty, away from the twitchy tri-athletes that think handling is squeezing their quads at night. Also away from the juicers, caffeine or PWO-ed out of their skins, fine motor skills resembling an electrocuted rhino. But some like the rear, having a chat, keeping their powder dry with the off-chance of catching a crash or two as the penalty for taking a gamble. It takes a bit of getting used to. Countless races trying to hold your position, akin to a chinook fighting the falls. Its a tiring process but once its right you save yourself oodles of calories and watts [whatever they are]. Sometimes clubs can work really well, pretty much a unit, defending a position or keeping a high pace to dissuade Jacky Durand types. When they do its an endorphin high. When it goes wrong, its a learning curve. But you'll spend more time going over all the minutiae than you spend training. And then there is yesterday. The Frank O'Rourke race. You try to get it all right but get a sinus infection the previous week and swallow a pharmacy to get yourself right, stay out of trouble for 87 kilometres in sketchy conditions. Then find yourself fighting to stay upright withthin sight of the line, in the right hand ditch, yup, right hand ditch, so far right I started panicking in French! Soon you find yourself passing your team mate with 80 metres left, he on the ground, you holding out for maybe 15th place and a less crampy thigh. Of course theres always an unknown gobshite that tries to pass you for 14th place and doesn't care if he switches you doing it. You cross the line, swing around back down the finishing straight and try to use your sense of humour to regail your fallen comrade who looks BAD on the ground. Thankfully he isn't. And you go home empty handed, after doing everything right, and beat yourself up about it all. And plan the next race. Report card says 'room for improvement.' I wish my team mate hadn't gone down. I wish a chunk of the 40 boyos behind me had raced instead of trained. I wish rivalries were put to better effect. I wish a couple of my good mates had gotten to race instead of spectate. I wish ,I wish, I wish!