Urban myth 10

We were having too much fun to notice. The DJ set was sublime for the venue, the crowd was hopping considering it was mid-week at the Ormond, Club UFO. I'd come from work via the pub and I was letting loose, knowing I'd pay for my few hours of physical efforts on the dance floor the next day. 

I wasn't high. Probably half the crowd were the same. Anyone that had a job to go to wouldn't be high in a club on a Wednesday. I was there that night because I worked with one of the DJs, John D. And he had spun up an old-skool storm. I don't have rhythm on a dance floor but I can move to rave 'til the lights are switched off. 

And that was how we didn't notice them. Two near the speakers and two near the toilets. Wearing an Hawaiian shirt uniform. I had a pain in my face from smiling, my mates were giving it large and then the music stopped abruptly just before the bass dropped on a 'toon. There were shouts of disappointment followed by shouts of disbelief followed by fear. In ten seconds we were face down on the floor, hands by our heads. Bass buzzed in my ears still. I remember thinking how stupid the drug squad was to raid a midweek rave with hardly any ecstasy. Big clubs were awash with the stuff at weekends. Nobody I was with had necked a pill except Baz. And that was Aspirin because he had a toothache. I felt relief.

Then I turned to my right. Ed. A sheer look of horror on his face. He was a motorcycle courier from the westside and had been involved in a few dodgy moves around town. I'd seen him at the rave but we weren't hanging out together. I could see he had a right to be horrified. He was gripping a tiny bag, one of those you get the tiny IKEA washers in now. The bag contained 3-4 pills. He was going down for possession, no doubt about it. The guards were going through the crowd, getting everyone to empty pockets. They were getting close. I stared at Ed, feeling sorry for him although not too much because I was pretty sure he'd helped stage a robbery weeks earlier when the wages drop in work was taken at gun point.

He looked to see where the four Magnum P.I.s were in the room. Closer. And with a sleight of hand you wouldn't see in a poker game, he flicked the tiny bag at my head. Now I was going down for possession. Ed's head turned away from me. He had just completely done me over and didn't want to look at me. My peripheral vision told me I had five seconds before the cops would get to me. I covered the bag with my hand, and moved it down by my side  I glanced for that one second to make sure there were no eyes on me. With a twitch that resembled the tiniest frisbee in the world being thrown I skimmed the bag through the air and watched it land between Ed's legs. What had probably taken a couple of seconds felt like an eternity. My heart rate was so high it was as though I'd swallowed every one of those pills.

Ed twitched and moved his legs in panic. His face was turned away from me but I could picture his expression. And because he twitched and spasmed with pure fear, the detectives were on him quickly. Latex-gloved hands found the baggy. Ed was hoisted to his feet. He managed to give me a brutal heel into the ribs as he stood, without the cops noticing but the damage was done. He and two others left in cuffs. 

I helped John D pack up his stuff. Our sullen group discussed the whole episode. I thought about Ed as I nursed my ribs. Couldn't believe he'd do that. But then reality woke me up and I knew he could do worse. 

I freewheeled into work the next morning, called dispatch over the radio as I sipped my coffee outside Bendini and Shaw. As I waited for my first job Ed pulled up on his clapped out Honda, fag in mouth. I glared at him. I put my bike down and started across towards him, red rage guiding me. Another motorbike courier pulled up beside him. I stopped. Ed spoke.

"Ah Jaysus! How's the ribs?" He flicked the fag out into the oncoming traffic and drove away.

Monday motivation

1. If like me, you have trouble trying to get up and go today or difficulty trying to get your week's training off the start line, then let me throw some ideas at you. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ But first remember that everyone is in the same boat. 'Tis the season; the one where light is in short supply, the best road is paved with Quality Street, our DNA flips our calorific intake making us consume more than we expend. It is tough. Wine is more welcome than a protein shake, we are cold putting on our gear and the cartoon cloud outside forces the hardiest to re-think their motivation. Maybe some of the following ideas will get you biking before mid-week.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Overdress; Yes, the weather is unpredictable, and by that I mean its 11 degrees and you don't need gloves or overshoes. Then you get one biblical shower that turns your breath to fog, fills your shorts with a plunge pool and gives you an ice-cream headache without the vanilla. But think of how you are getting one over on your enemies. Always nicer to remove layers from overheating rather than go home hypothermic.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Maintenance and GT-80; So you spend a long time cleaning your bike, to the point where you feel a little agri-spec? Muck has built up in the back yard and pansies are sprouting? Think about what you are doing for the environment. But lubing, oiling and cleaning your steed will keep you moving and make your sessions easier. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$4 Mind your eyes; You have more lenses than an optician. Fakelys, Lidl and Rudys protect your delicate vision. Dark for the low level sun, yellow for the half-murk of grey days. Clear for a typical winter hotchpotch. Wear them. Your reflection in the coffee shop window will be sexier too.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Fuel up; Winter has an appetite. Bring more. A chimp's supply of bananas, more fig rolls than a Jacobs factory, enough gels to lubricate the PTO on a tractor. Better than getting the bonk in the cold and being found days later talking to yourself in a field. Cold and wind need feeding.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Buddy up; Winter is the time to catch up and remember those whom you've neglected over the summer because you were too pro to say hello. Slow down and have the banter. Your face should hurt more from laughing than your legs do from cycling. And when you pass other solo cyclists they'll think you are laughing at them. Win/ win! $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Human bean; Get that coffee inta ya! Coffee is the cyclists thing, like Yorkies for truckers, Jumbo breakfast rolls for builders or doughnuts for the police. An espresso puts lead in your mental and physical pencil. Makes you alert, switches on your electrics, helps you push further. And no, Kenco is not coffee. It is the same to the coffee world as wavin is to hurling. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ STRAVA. Or some App that gives you focus. Bored doing Winter miles? Check yourself out on STRAVA and beat your time the next day. Even a FitBit will show the 'steps' you have amassed. At worst you can check up on your virtual friends and see who is doing what. At best you can try to beat their time on a segment all Winter. Win or lose, you will get faster.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Contact points are important too. Your hands, feet and ass will thank you for a little pampering. Especially with the materials available today. Spend a little above entry level and the pad in your shorts will no longer turn to the consistency of wet toilet paper at the hint of rain. Winter gloves are slim and toasty these days, so banish that image of you with lobster-sized hands unable to remove a banana from your rear pocket. And shoes dry quickly, eliminating the use of your familys fan oven to get you ready for the next ride.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ And lastly porridge. A huge bowl of the wonderstuff will get you a long way into the day. You might be hitting the road at any time yet your energy levels will be good for hours. Yes, I know it has the texture of horse feed and can be as palatable as a bedsit carpet but it will fuel you well and feed your Goldilocks fetish simultaneously.$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Any of these ideas help? Good. Lastly, whether you are male or female, a liberal helping of cojones must be added to the above ingredients. Just get out there. Unless you think it is physically dangerous, then going out there will be worth it. On returning, your happy hormones will explode, your sense of belonging in the crazy sport of cycling will increase and you'll draw nods and knowing glances of admiration from your peers. "There's that hardy f**ker." they'll be thinking as you scoot past, "He cycles in the Winter".$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Day release

I was lucky to spend Thursday on a hill a few miles from here, mountain bike in hand. I was out accompanying students as they learned skills and had a scoot around the fire roads. And within a few minutes of checking out the trails I was in my mid twenties again and reliving adventures. ########################################## I got into dirt trails and mud when I lived in Dublin city centre. Strange, right? I picked up a lurid green hacker when I was in 2nd year in college. My Dad had passed and the four walls of UCD were painful. So biking, as always, was the Xanax for me. The funny thing about Dublin is that it has the Phoenix Park. It is huge. It fits a lot in. Of course it has the president's house, although he may find it too big. Of course it has the Zoo, although from what I remember some people living nearby on the North Circular Road should have been in it. In 1979 the park played host to Pope John Paul 2 and a million people. And a stones throw away was the rent-boy enclave of the Khyber Pass. How do I know? Because right in the middle of it was a fantastic mountain bike course that ran over ridges, a stream, down into the magazine fort and up through the woods. It was spectacular and relatively unknown. Mountain biking wasn't big, the park was though, so I could pop over from Rathmines, thrash myself stupid and let off some steam, usually alone unless the rent boys were up in the trees. Some craic. ########################################### Eventually I got better at the sport and drifted in and out of it as I have done with most things in life. I even raced once on that same course in the Phoenix Park. Minus the rent boys. But I got as far as riding two National Championships. And they were night and day. The first one was somewhere in Tipperary I think in '96. I dragged the girlfriend down to it on the bus and she dragged her sister with her. We stayed in a B+B and I got an early night because I was working as a bicycle courier 5 days a week and was knackered. The girlfriend and her sister headed out for a beer and I slept like a lamb... until 3am when she came back and climbed in the window so as not to wake the house. I wouldn't sleep another wink as her elephant-trumpet, drink-induced snoring rattled the window. Next day I flew around for the first hour of the race. It was hot. I remember feeling relieved when we hit the woods as it was cool while I felt like I'd visited Malaysia every time we went out across the open pasture area. My girlfriend was supposed to hand me a bottle half way through but every time I passed the pit she either wasn't there or was looking the wrong way. I remember on the second last lap hitting the woods flying and then I just crumpled. I came out of the woods as dry and useless as a ten day old ham sandwich. I think I was 6th but I'd been 3rd for 80% of the race. I remember being lapped by Robin Seymour on a section that needed ropes and a sherpa. (At least dehydration made me feel that way). As I pushed my bike, he cycled up it like he was out shopping. And had enough breath to encourage me too. Oh yeah and I remember it was a long, quiet bus ride back to the city. They say you should never put the keys to your happiness in someone else's pocket. Wasn't long before I got my keys back. ############################################ A couple of years later,'98, I'm home from Spain, unemployed and cycling every day. And I'm cajoled into riding the nationals in carrigbyrne, where I was last Thursday with the students. I just remember trees and smiling a lot. It was and is a 'challenging' course. If by challenging you mean exhausting/ death-defying and ruthless. You climb a lot and it gets steep, narrow, steeper and then...impossible. You get over the top and hit a downhill path that requires nerves of steel. The main course is of single track and fire road and an eye-watering descent to the bottom to press repeat and do it all again. Enthusiasm, support and being the local boy got me through 2 of the laps but my facial expressions were changing for the worst every time I passed Edno Delaney the photographer at the top. Eventually I stopped smiling and I presume he stopped taking my photo...🤦‍♂️. ####################I said it was ruthless; some awesome dude ahead of me didn't avoid a tree on a tight bend. In my experience you should avoid the trees. Blood and mangled metal followed. He fell and took bark off the tree with his forehead. And the guy behind fell on top of him. My day? I just remember pain. My ass was like mango chutney and my legs just two long cramps from pushing uphill for half of every lap. And having to cycle those miles home. God bless my Mother, I imagine I ate the family's food for the week at one sitting. ########################################### So there I am up that hill again with students and instructors and I had a ball. Why? I guess it's because I wasn't racing. I don't mean because I race like an electrocuted turkey at the best of times. I mean I stopped and had a look around. Had a laugh, enjoyed the trails and challenges without racing them full on. When you race you see a place differently. If you see it at all. Watching the students laughing, skidding, falling off and just 'being' looked a whole lot more fun than what I used to do. Going home splattered with muck was never as much fun. Will I be out there again? Does a bear shi... Well, you know I will!

Reasons why I still cycle

Why on earth do I love to go cycling? I mean, lets face it, it would be easier to quit, wouldn't it? The odds are stacked, the world has changed, I've put in enough pedal revolutions.... Yes it would be easy. And there's probably a lot of people that would rather I went away, took up hill-walking or watched Coronation street. 

There are 1059 wheel bearings that would be relieved. Some are crushed, rusted old things after horrible winters, others mere victims of my ViseGrip. They lie in the dust of the shed now, corpses... killed by my ignorance. Add egg-shaped wheels, buckled rims that move like drunken fools, or chains that have been worn to the texture of tinfoil by my inability to care for a bicycle. The shed is a graveyard to beaten bikes. My old friend Adrian used to be wide-eyed when I'd wheel my racer into his workshop. Odd-sized bearings, overtightened nuts and perished cables were the starter for him, the main course was often catastrophic. 🤦‍♂️ Yes, even my bikes would thank me now if I left them in the shed to chat with the split tyres, bent chainrings and pieces of lurid bar tape with the oily smell of GT80 and WD40 for company. 

 

As regards people, sure it is impossible not to annoy someone on life's journey. Apparently I don't mind falling out with people. I'd imagine there's a queue wishing that I'd go away. That's why I post cycling pics on social media and keep showing up. Why I un-retire a lot. Those I call friends now, after almost 35 years in cycling, are awesome. They understand our fragile place in the world. I have friends still with me from the start. And yet some of the best chats and biggest smiles I've had in cycling are in the last few years. 21 year-olds spur me on with their enthusiasm; 75 year-olds share nuggets of wisdom I'd never have bothered with way back when. 

I have calmed over the years and know I belong. But cycling hasn't always been a welcoming experience. Now newbies to the sport laugh at the old rules. Back in the day you had to do something like an apprenticeship to be accepted. You shouldn't have to do an apprenticeship to earn respect. I am an oldie but I've always liked a healthy helping of disregard for old rules, usually made up by old fools. We all have a bad side to us and as long as everyone realises that then we can get along. Doesn't matter if its the GAA or soccer or chess.

 And lets not forget life on the road. When I cycled in the '80s fluoro, hi-viz colours were a fashion statement, not a lifeline. Drivers actually respected us; There's a thought! I now have my lights charged and quiet roads planned for my Sunday spin. I'll still encounter countless head cases trying to remind me who is boss even though the fight isn't quite equal. I may be a tad overweight but I'm not a car. So hang on a minute! If I haven't as many friends (and no spare parts) willing to keep me going, let alone safe roads, then why cycle? I suppose I could just scroll Instagram and stare at the impossibly beautiful, unlikely, fit, happy, lucky, wrinkle-free and colourful people. I could Netflix myself into a ball or drink wine until I'd forgotten where I'd come from or where I was supposed to be headed. But that isn't real. Real is real. Ups and downs and the in-betweens. I have a love of the outdoors and the people I find in it. I have a love for the road and what it teaches me. I have a love for nature and my place in it, as I have a love of those that have joined me along the way. If you shared that with me over the last 35 years then thank you. Life throws us all curve balls but the one thing that has kept me together is that road. My counsellor, my coach, my friend of 35 wholesome years. I'm not about to give up on it any time soon.

Black cats

There is no easy way to social distance on a bike unless you cycle on your own. And that is just what I've done for three months. I have a lot to lose. Covid would kill half my household faster than Mike Myers in the movie 'Halloween'. And I didn't want to be thinking of what being asymptomatic would do to anyone else that I love. So I stayed apart. Didn't fool myself that a spin with my mates couldn't wait. Got as clever as a cartographer with my two kilometre limit, so much so that the five kilometre thing felt like opening the door to Middle Earth. And the twenty kilometres was just sublime. Mentally I got used to the constrictions. I'm a social person, totally stoked on occasional spins with mad-cap friends that share the lunatic love of cycling. It was tough but I adapted, and I sure wasn't alone. People I greatly admire did the ring road shuffle, or stayed indoors and got on to Zwift, or ran the whole Camino de Santiago virtually on a thread mill, or just walked the road outside. Some at least took the MTB and hid in the woods. Good God, Mizgajski rode the 300m of his housing estate over and over to climb Everest rather than pick an easier climb outside the restrictions. It wasn't fun but it was done.

And yet the undercurrent was of isolated people [particularly on STRAVA] just doing what they wanted. And as the pandemic picked up pace, that more sinister plague took off. A dose went around of acute narcissism. And I watched as too many of my comradeships in cycling died daily all over the county. Restrictions? They aren't for me! And not all of them were STRAVA jockeys. I'd stuck close to home under ridiculous stress while 'friends' shared pictures of hill-walks and barbecues. Ever felt like a fool? I'm sure many people just silenced their apps and did what they wanted. Others did 100k rides as far from home as they could get even though the 2k/5k rule still applied to the rest of us. Have you any idea the lengths most people have gone to NOT to break the rules or to stay as close as possible? Blurring the lines is one thing, being ignorant about it, another. We might have a vaccine soon for Covid-19 but not for stupid.

I understand that restrictions are lifting. I understand people like a chat. I don't understand how I'm not gonna get someone's breath/ snot/ Covid droplets in their slipstream. And there are still cases out there. I'd rather be paranoid a while longer thanks very much.

So on Sunday I ploughed into a cat that was obviously just getting me back for being a dog lover. I went over the bars and took skin off my left side while snapping my collarbone and cracking a rib. I'd spent the morning socially distancing in splendour, riding the lanes and getting lost as I really love to do. It took me a long time to get off the ground. I'd never been winded like that before. I couldn't do the usual, you know the craic, get up sprightly and check the bike. Actually I did a Renton in Trainspotting when he had the adrenaline shot. It had been a close run thing. I got a fright. Nothing felt broken at the time so I rode home and felt bad for the hassle I was gonna cause my family by being cranky and slow for the day.

As I rode into town I beat myself up over not being in a secure cycling group earlier. And then in A+E I got to thinking the truth. What I'd been doing for quarter of a year hadn't gone to waste. The masks, the gloves, the loneliness, the irrational nature of isolation in itself was the right thing to do. I might have looked like a mug to some, but hadn't I protected my wife and kids? The voice in my head whispered 'fair play Joe, you are better off adjusting your life to somebody's absence than adjusting your boundaries to accommodate their disrespect'.

Quick thoughts on a pandemic.

Where to start? This isn't a lot of fun is it? We are all scared of dire consequences or repercussions from idiots. We are in the dark although we've lots of daylight at our disposal. This is our war. A real one. Let's face it, we've never had a war before. Sure, my parents lived through 'The Emergency' but there wasn't tangible loss of life. And of course a hundred years ago there was a few skirmishes. But a real war? How many of our European brothers had their countries levelled and their families decimated? You can't say we have anything to compare? Emigration maybe? Everyone in Europe living in a medium sized economy has faced the same. No, this is our first war that we will fight on our turf, our first war with catastrophic consequences on our own island.
So in those big wars fought on foreign shores, people took sides. Some people made a fortune from other's misfortune. Some people put their lives on the line. Some were too shocked to respond. Some died before they knew what hit them. Some just did the right thing. So it's our actions that will define us. The able-bodied and selfish people that emptied their local supermarket are those opportunists of any war, thinking of themselves. And their kids are hanging out with friends, sharing a toke or a slab of beer. They are the post Celtic Tiger kids, the generation that believe there are no consequences. Why? Their parents have accepted them as free and superior and entitled. And now they are inadvertently killing their grandparents.

Those that do the right thing? In the previous wars they fought. Lived or died in unpronouncable places. Lived life on the moral high ground until they were put six feet below it. And if we want to live like that we just have to stay at home as much as possible. Are you telling me we can't do that? Can't not meet for a month, hug, touch or stand close to someone? Late on in World War two around 20,000 citizens in Dresden were burned alive or blown up in one night. We knew nothing of it. Ignorance was bliss. As an island nation we just went about our business at the time. Not now. Now we are hyper aware. Never mind the Facebook crazies that try to heighten the tension. No, us global citizens have only three things to do. Clean our hands. Steer clear of others. Share what little love is left in whatever way we can.
Fairly simple, right? We can't blame ignorance or if we do then Dresden will be small change compared to our own losses.

And the bastards that cashed in on our misfortune? When this is over I'll remember the coal merchant that pushed up his prices, the big store that trebled the price of latex gloves and we'll all remember someone that let us down. Payback isn't too far off.

Of course we can hope the oafs that went to Cheltenham self isolate but I have a feeling thats a sector of society that don't do much for the common man at the best of times. We can hope that anyone that flew to sunny climes in full knowledge of the pandemic and now has had to return will use their smarts. But I'm asking too much. No, the only people I can trust, and perhaps I'll have to put my life in their trust, are those that stayed at home and those that went to work to keep us ticking over. So its a shocking thought in my mind that in facing Ireland's first ever all out war, I'm more afraid of a selection of my fellow man than the pandemic itself.

But I'm a glass half full fella. I believe in us. I believe there are more brave and selfless people on this rock than there are fools. Now we'll find out if I am right.

The Spring Migration.

Tomorrow sees a true force of nature. Not a starling murmuration, not wildebeest herds crossing the great rift valley. Nope. Just the first local road cycling sportif of 2022. No, I'm not joking. The first one hundred kilometre sportif is an act of nature, a true migration in the stature of Emperor penguins marching, or chinook salmon swimming thousands of miles to the spawning grounds. The only thing missing from this great feat of nature will be David Attenborough's voice as narrator, due to budget constraints.

What on earth makes me think this cycling event is one of the earth's true wonders? The colour of course! Neither flamingoes, parrots, nor flying fish have anything on one hundred neon cyclists hurtling down an annual flight path towards their goal. After a long winter hidden from nature, often locked behind closed doors preparing for a new year, it is time to leave the safety of the nest.
And the creatures involved consist of a varied array, all with a different purpose within the herd.
Amongst them will be the sleekest creatures, stealthy carnivores eyeing their meaty prey and waiting for the first sign of weakness. These cheetah-like animals wear black, signifying their stealth and accentuating their lean condition after a winter of malnutrition. They sport no flashing rear lights and their machines are licked clean for speed.
Their soon-to-be-devoured brethren however are easy to spot, brandishing day-glo jackets, overshoes and gloves. Yes, they often look like they fell over in the offer aisles of ALDI, that their clothes inflate at higher speeds or that the hand of bananas they carry in sagging pockets will cause a crash. But they are an integral part of this two-wheeled spring migration. They are the newbies, large creatures that fell into the sport between Junior B and a mid-life crisis. They have never known the bella figura of Roche. They are easy prey as they talk loud, allow bits of pocketed jackets to hang out of their jerseys flapping, and shout directions too loud.
In tasteful club colours you'll find the main herd of animals. Some have spent their winter eating their own weight in HEROES believing the consumption of said rare fodder will turn them into it's namesake. They look tailored in their gear but chafe marks around their lycra bottoms give away their weight and indeed their sad-fate in the hills ahead. The rest can be a subdued bunch, hardly speaking lest they burn the precious calories required later. Or ignoring their fellow cyclist due to notions of superiority. When they do speak it is in reverential, incomprehensible codes. FTP. Watts. Stages. V02. Their language subliminally signals to their rivals just how close to a killing machine they have become.
Next come the old animals known as the 'ex-racers'. They have tans, an almost unheard of pigmentation in springtime here. They have come from sunnier climes in anticipation of the migration. They have the muscle-definition of Alpha-male pack leaders. In their fifties they know about positioning, wind directions and energy conservation. They are waiting, relying on a vast past knowledge to get them through to the end.
Sometimes in this great migration there are the creatures known as tri-athletes. These are not quite fully formed cyclists that as yet must develop stability and acceleration. They are shunned.😉
Lets not forget the cubs. Affectionately known by the over-45s as 'Bloody Juniors' in this rapid migration, their job is to frustrate their elders. They are not fully fledged yet, have a condition known as noodle legs, yet they seem to have the strength of the sleekest, the smiles of the newbies and the staying-power of everyone combined. Once let loose in the herd [under adult supervision] they will circulate full of enthusiasm and cunning, never tiring as they wait for the finale. They are a colourful bunch to watch.
Also in this superb, fast-moving migration we have the Gordos. Foragers whose whole reason for being is to rifle CIRCLE-Ks along the route for their chocolate, fake-coffee and FIG ROLLS. By the end of this great day they will have gained weight, yet in a strange twist of fate they will survive the onslaught of the sleek ones and those in club colours for they will probably be gathered around a Cadburys display somewhere far behind, as the nasty, animalistic action starts further along the route.
Finally we have the 'juicers'. Startled animals that are far too alert to danger to hide in the herd for safety. Feasting all January on caffeine/taurine/beta-alanine and DMAA, they are so stimmed to the hilt that they attack when there is no actual threat, talk to themselves up the road for company and are so paranoid as the hairs stand up on the back of their necks that they don't know their own herd from a predator. They are fun to watch and easy to converse with 'coz they'll do all the talking.
Ah yes, such a wonderful, colourful, eclectic mix in one of nature's true breathtaking events. A trek across two whole counties in early April through the grass and beet lands of southeast Ireland. It truly is one of the world's wonders.