Love ya back

Where to start? Why at the beginning of course!! Twenty years ago I rode up to oylegate to a five mile time trial with my best mate Adrian and won the bloody thing! It was only five miles but.... Well there's a lot of buts. But it began a sequence of local and national races that were my happy times. Today I rode the same event as a last hurrah but in the intervening years my life has been enriched beyond belief by cycling's incredible people and events. Stuff I remember in the wee hours. Up to that point two decades ago I was a drifter. Emotionally and physically I did what felt right rather than what was just right. A couple of years as a bike messenger for example, meant more than years of cycling dreams and lack of direction.

It took until three or four years ago to stop dreaming about my courier days. I wonder now will I spend midnight hours thinking over races? Maybe. But it's more the people isn't it? We've all met those that had a profound effect on us. I don't have enough space in a blog to scribe a list from my life. How about a sample?


Pat Dobbs is someone I'll always have affection for. Some may have seen us as rivals but I only remember both of us getting down to work and killing everyone around us from start line to finish line. I can't recall both of us ever contesting the sharp end of a race with many left around us. Full gas, to my mind was invented by myself and Pat. I don't think we knew that southeast cycling was taking off as we raced but I know there's a cohort of damn fine cyclists still knocking about from those times. Pat threw everything at me. He would attack anywhere. It was like he had read the manual on 'how to break your rival's'. He taught me a lot about unpredictability and the element of surprise. And that has won me races.

Mizgajski. My Polish mate is a triple espresso in life. He'll get your heart rate up through effort or laughter or a coffee stop. That Eastern European no-bullshit frame of mind is something I relate to. And the sarcasm. In the ten years we randomly trained or raced together he helped me develop as a rider. We shared awesome training rides... white outs in the snow, job-risking recon rides in far-flung counties and raids on races (with one-day licences) I'll never forget. Dominating league races or training for awesome things... Miz has the vision. And training NEVER got cancelled. Boonen said "sometimes you don't need a plan you just need big balls". He was talking about Marcin Mizgajski.


And what about that Adrian from the time trial? We used to cycle in school. Not TO school. IN school! And while the years may have come and gone Adrian has been a cycling icon. The first to have a power-meter. First to build bikes too. He is a mechanic too, with more than 30 years experience. He has taken his spannering with him to international races on road and track. Oh, and he has cycled in just about any European terrain you might dream about. He is an icon because holistically he has achieved more than any cyclist I know. If he wasn't riding in it he was mechanic at it or organising it or integral in some way. The time might be long gone when we shared his Mum's Christmas cake on Mt Leinster in the Spring or tackled the Muur in Geraardsbergen together but if there's someone in my cycling sphere that has done it all while under the radar, it's Adrian.


And there's the anonymous. Anyone that waved at me while headed the other way on lonesome country roads. Anyone that let my handlebars into spaces in races that a surgeon couldn't work with. The old people that spoke to me while they herded cattle across the road or said something nice at a shop counter instead of reverting too easily to hurling/football/ignorance mode. I have to remember the countless faces that looked disappointed in bars and restaurants, on buses and in shops when they asked me what my favourite sport happened to be. Favourite??? And I'd have to explain how my heart rate rose and my serotonin spiked when I even thought about cycling. And then I lost them.... Funny that. Countless dead conversations.And I guess I have to think of those that gave me space on the road instead of a space in a graveyard.



Of course there's a cast of characters that made my time in cycle racing a truly awesome production; The protagonists [both heroes and villains alike] and the background staff that often got me ready for my role with a focussed sound bite or wardrobe change. All I know as I get older is that behind most of us that share that road-hunger lie incredible stories. Some awesome, some harrowing, some from the darkest places. All awe-inspiring. Those who shared the stories behind the race face I salute. Those that listened to mine, Chapeau! You know who you are.

Barney

I'm a dinosaur. I belong in the Jurassic period, 65 million years ago. Or at least I belong with hairy-nosed old men in shebeens drinking whiskey and talking about the grain of hurleys. Or maybe I'm a scab-kneed troglodyte building a stone wall up a Donegal hillside many millenia ago? That's how I felt at 7am this morning. Stepped out the front door, locked it behind me and saw frost. 1 degree on the Garmin. And out popped my inner cave dweller. I shrugged and said feckit. So I'm wearing fingerless gloves and a smile as I drop down the hill to the river. And I realise it's VERY cold. Tips of my fingers like McCain oven chips. Nether regions shrinking away. By the time I'm on the quayside you could use my nipples as coat hooks.
And that inner chimp whispered something in my ear about Stephen Roche. Our intrepid Tour de France winner used to start his winter training on January first with no gloves. It helped him "toughen up "!!!!!

In my mind some caveman set foot outside and went to kill lunch. He was probably wearing the equivalent of 3 or 4 roadkills and a beard. Cold? What cold? Must kill dinner or die.

I felt like that. To hell with gloves. So I felt a little Cold? So my butt resembles ALDI frozen turkey crown? Just get on with it!

See? A dinosaur!

But it goes further. It must have been the spin to Hook lighthouse but I thought a lot about how far I've come yet stayed in the past.

I still eat bananas out training and racing. A pocket full of them. I can't be dealing with bars that taste like squirrel and bubble gum. Likewise gels. Like licking a sweet shop counter, those things stick like gorilla glue to everything. And God forbid if you pocket the empty wrapper. They ooze into the corners of your jersey, needing a crowbar to remove the goo.

And for millions of years we've eaten what we could hunt and gather and farm. What must our colons be thinking when we pour factory-made, chemical-tasting artificiality down our gullets? Besides, Mick Finn says you should never trust yourself to pass wind after 9 gels and 100km.

Similarly with technology. I've seen too many cyclists with bikes worth ten grand but no clue about wind direction or positioning. And I've seen a few dudes this year on bikes that amount to shopping trolleys making fools of lads cycling on mortgages. Call me ancient but I've always raced on something I could replace. And as for power meters and wattage? I always admired those who used technology to advance up the ranks. But isn't there a huge number of watt-heads and power punks that can't win a point despite all their technology? I think there's a lot of snake oil out there to add to your diet but a hearty helping of road-hunger is the only sustenance you need.

Do I need blood tests and this year's supplement? Nope. Just common sense and a bike to ride.

I must be old school. I just need a slate and a stick of chalk to chart my progress. Apps and graphs just bore me.

I guess I should just shuffle off now, drag my knuckles on the ground, get a chain-stain on my calf and head off into the dusk to hunt miles. I'll be doing laps of Jurassic park if you need me.