I don’t do mornings, never have and never will at this point in my life. So when the clock strikes 5:45 on a Sunday morning, my immediate reaction is not pleasant.
As a musician, on a normal weekend, this ungodly time of day wouldn’t see me staying in bed for long. Here I am, waking up in what most people would consider still the middle of the night.
We’re in Dublin for the weekend, as I’m competing in the annual Wicklow 200. It is Ireland’s premier cycling challenge and widely considered the most difficult. It is 200 km long, which does not pose a particular problem, but it represents almost 3000 m of elevation gain, which poses a problem.
The course takes in some of Ireland’s most iconic climbs and the finisher’s medal at the end is well deserved and hard earned.
I worked hard for this event, having trained all winter in all kinds of weather conditions. Frost, snow, hail and of course rain, this is Ireland after all, made no difference. If you don’t do the kilometers, you won’t complete the “200”, so you might as well stay at home.
One of my heroes, Sean Kelly, has gone on record saying that the best way to learn to ride a bike in bad weather is to just ride a bike in bad weather.
For the first time, I also prepared my bikes myself. I got into the habit during the winter months and take great satisfaction in the garage on a cold night working on them and getting them to work well. Many people train for an event and never think about maintaining their bike.
I believe a new chain, crankset, tires, tubes, brake pads and properly indexing your gears are the “minimum” you need to do. Remember that on the Wicklow Gap or Slieve Mann you will easily reach speeds of 65 or 70 km/h on the descent. There are also plenty of tight corners, so this is not the time to find that your brakes aren’t working, for example. If you’re not qualified enough, take it to your local bike shop and they’ll have it running like new. I cannot stress enough the importance of this.
I always bring a second bike. The horror of going down the stairs in the morning and realizing you have a puncture is enough to put you on a bad footing, so I always have a spare with me. My second bike is normally used for winter riding, but it is meticulously maintained and the drivetrain is almost exactly the same as my “good bike”.
The car’s stand looks a bit like something you’d see at the Tour de France. Spare inner tubes, helmets, goggles, shoes and tools are all laid out, so I just need to get my hands on it and it’s there.
My bikes are loaded onto the roof rack the day before, locked and secured. We are in Dublin after all.
Actually, excuse me, I’m digressing for a moment. Saturday evening, I took a quick warm-up tour of our capital. Starting at North Bull Island in the north of the city, I walked the convenient 10km to the O’Connell Bridge in the center of the city. It’s an immaculate cycle path for most of the route and at one point, as I had to cross a busy roundabout, a man in a car stopped to wave me through. On the quays and other cycle paths, past the Jeannie Johnson starvation ship, past the Samuel Beckett Bridge and in no time I am in the heart of the city.
For people across the country, the evening news reports would make you wonder why anyone would go to that place. Of course, it’s all murder, drugs, gangs, anarchy, etc. My experience is standing with my phone, taking selfies, surrounded by tourists, shoppers and people coming home from work, all smiling, content and happy. News programs don’t report this sort of thing very often. I’ve never had a bad time in Dublin, quite the contrary. Of course, reports of people having fun aren’t as newsworthy as murder and mayhem.
Saturday night we all went to the movies and I’m a bag of nerves. That’s what cycling does to you, it gets to your head and “the bad person,” as I call them, tries to tell you that you can’t do it. I’m trying to raise money for the Irish Motor Neurone Disease Association, so there’s a bit of extra pressure. Many of my friends have donated and I don’t want to disappoint them.
AS quick trip to a fast food restaurant, to a late night supermarket to grab a few bits for breakfast and back to the hotel for final preparations.
Everything is planned, ready for an early morning departure. Sleep doesn’t come easy that night because all I can see is the pain that will come in a few hours.
I have a slight sore throat and a cough, but even if one of my legs dangled it wouldn’t stop me from heading to the start line in a few hours.
In no time, I hear the clock chime. It’s time to do this thing.