Hope

Why do you ride a bike? There's complex answers to that one. And I'm only asking because of late I realised that there's every possible avenue into our sport. I'm reminded that cycling doesn't have to follow the traditional routes of many sports. I'm reminded of Dutchman Steven Rook's drunken bet in a bar that he could win a race despite not riding a bike at all. And later rode the Tour regularly. Or all those ski/biathlon/triathlon/runners/GAA players with injuries that did more than take up cycling, they took it over. And we are surrounded by people who inspire without knowing it, simply because there is no hallowed path into cycling, no sure fire system like a lot of mainstream sports with their apprenticeship approach. Truck drivers, teachers, accountants, dentists, farm contractors,fitters, joiners, builders, salespeople, gangers, are the first people to mind that cycle in my world. That makes for some eclectic mix of personalities and mindsets! Get the picture?
I got into cycling through my brother Stephen and also my friend Adrian. Let's be honest. When your bro brings home Tour magazines in French from, of all places, well...France... you are only going to fall in love. He was off in France for parts of college when cycling was on the rise in Ireland. I was absorbed by Phil Liggett-voiced American cycling tales on RTE but Stephen taught me 'La tete et les jambes' (the head and the legs). Of course it didn't stop me from ignoring the 'tete' bit for the next 20 years but as they say in Brittany... actually I don't know what they say because I didn't learn much of that language! Roughly translated they would say "Imbecile! You are as useful as a teapot du chocolat! Mon dieu!" And besides, the shit-cool photos of Laurent Fignon and his ponytail or backdrops of open, heat-shimmered roads caressed with echelons in the mags sold my soul forever.
Adrian brought me out clubbing. Before you ring the drug squad or Greenpeace I should point out that it was bike-clubbing. Hard-as-nails chain-gang torture in the muck and wet of winter. Joyce described plunging into the Forty Foot in Sandycove as 'snot green and scrotum tightening'. That also defines our local roads. Just replace snot-green with slurry brown. Adrian was up for long spins of the return-home-buckled variety. I can honestly say that I was lost on his bike rides. And never as happy. And then I was hooked. Fast sprints around the town on friday night's when Stephen got off the bus followed by character building Sunday spins with Adriano where you came back with a beard.
Other club members came from handball or cross country running. Grass-track champion DNA or the Belgian school of hard knocks.
That was back in the Ark compared with today. And this is where cycling is beautiful. You can't pick up a Hurley at thirty and rock up to the GAA club but you can cycle with any club. You might like to think the local rugby club might accept a 25-year-old newbie that doesn't know their ruck from their try but really you'd be better off on a bike. Only a golf club will be as accepting. (Of your cash). So cycling it is then...! As an example, look at the crowds that participate in the Cycle Against Suicide or any large Sportif for that matter. They haven't come through the system in most cases. They needed an outlet and found most other sports inaccessible. Seriously though, Like drops of rain draining into streams until they become an ocean, it thankfully doesn't matter where we come from anymore as long as we get out cycling. Snobbery exists everywhere but thankfully in cycling it's being slowly swamped by a tide of MAMILS and smiling young folk that are of the zero-tolerance-of-BS generation.

Is this too chirpy for you? Too endorphinated? Seriously?! Sunday I met a bloke called Garrett and had a great social chat in a snow flurry as we cycled along at 8am. By 9.30 I was talking to a lady by the name of Mia who happens to be part of the National set up and is a track rider and good company too. But neither cyclist started with a club as a 12-year-old and learned the nutty, prohibitive rules. And both are definitely better for it. Instantly sociable will always trump the silence new cyclists used to receive. There is no longer a pecking order. Can you ride a bike without knocking me off? Fair enough, no need for an apprenticeship then, or, the 457 grey rules to accompany it. Why shouldn't you enjoy the same event as everyone else?
Mindfulness has probably, single-handedly re-shaped Irish cycling. We need our break. We need to re-connect. We want to enjoy the Irish countryside without a book of rules that basically shuts the door on day one.

So an average club cyclist equates to an average club member in any sport, right? No way! Look at what we are; Super social; apart from the odd grommet in your ear, we can instantly connect with most fellow cyclists. A Sunday group ride is basically manic speed dating in lycra. Had a mechanical? You might sit in your car waiting for the tow-truck but as a cyclist you'll be surrounded by helpful people instantly, like a benevolent pit-crew. Want to push yourself? Then you'll find events with hundreds of people (just like you) lining up, all with diverse backgrounds and circuitous routes into the sport. Cycling is a beautiful activity, a passion and a lifestyle. You are less ordinary. You are a rarity. You are a deity in a world of worshippers. You may not feel it when the trolls pass too close on the road but its blind jealousy that brings them close. They want to be you. They have drifted from soccer at 30 or hurling at 32, felt betrayed at 34 in rugby or dropped their gym membership at 36. They want your will and your resolve. They want your heart too. Pity them. They don't cycle.