DUBLIN SKIP - Gorey 3 Day 2003
By Dave Walsh - April
19-21
 Stage
1, Saturday, April 19, Dublin - Gorey
My third attempt at the Gorey. Every year, I seem
to have some kind of minor drama. Two years ago, I punctured in Blessington at
the start of Stage 1, and had to ride the rest of the way by myself. Last year,
I came down in a big crash on the Sunday afternoon stage, and ended up limping
around the circuit in terrible shape, in full view of my poor suffering mother.
Could this year be kept simple?
I hadn't really raced since the Leinster
Championships, due to a dose of 'flu. So on Saturday morning, when Geoff Liffey
and I arrived at St. Mark's GAA centre in Tallaght, I was feeling out of
condition, but well rested. It's sunny, and very windy.
Rode up to the start line in Brittas with Andrew
Duffin, had a reasonable warm up. Packed into the little slip road, waiting for
the start, Berni McCormack was ticking digital photos of us. The 14 or so women
entrants are given a 5- minute head start, then we're off, I'm way too far back
in the bunch.
The wind is in our face, from the left. As we
hammer down through Blessington, I fight my way up the bunch, dimly aware of a
crash behind me, then get tangled up with one of the Swords lads, and nearly
have a n accident of my own.
I'm feeling OK, but not brilliant, so I position
myself in the top-20 and follow the moves, without actually feeling good enough
to attack. Nick gets up the road for a while before Blessington, but no one
stays away in this wind. The bunch strings out coming through Baltinglass, with
a group catching the women. I snake up along the outside of the lineout, and as
we exit the town, find myself jumping across to a loose group. It all grinds to
a halt, everyone is caught, and my lungs are banging off my ribs. Not a good
sign.
For the next few miles, the bunch is excruciatingly
subdued, and I'm constantly trying to fight my way up along the bunch. We
trundle along at about 10mph, into the wind. It's a slow-bicycle race, everyone
trying desperately to brake without causing a crash. I use a couple of hills to
move up the bunch, but my legs are starting to feel stiff. Could be the lack of
racing in them, or the cold wind, coupled with the constant stalling. I'm
comfortable enough though on the long hill at Hackettstown, some 34 miles into
the stage.
Over the next few miles I'm start to suffer. It's
not the speed, it's not the terrain, it's me. My legs are seizing up, and
beginning to cramp. I drop down a few gears, spin madly, and try to avoid
getting off the saddle. The descent into Tinahely gives me a slight reprieve,
and I recover a bit, the muscles loosening up.
A group is up the road. Paul Reid comes down the
bunch, urging Nick, John and me to move up. I'm doing all I can to be where I
am, about 30 riders back. Why is this so difficult?
A couple of miles later, and the bunch is climbing
Holt's Pass. Not so much a difficult climb as *fast*. I'm trying to keep Kieran
Keane's wheel on the beginning of it, but come to the conclusion that I'm just
not generating enough power. I fall off the back of what is already a pretty
small bunch. I never blow-up, instead riding fast and steady to the top, then
straight onto the 12 sprocket for a madcap chase. I fall in with a few people,
Andrew McAllister, James Lawless, Scott Kinsella. As we turn left in Carnew, the
group grows, but there's only Scott, Andrew and myself feeling strong enough to
do any work.
By Craanford, I'm with two other guys and
McAllister, but it all falls apart on the hill, and I end up on my own, chasing
two of them. I catch a rather ill looking chap in retro Bray kit, who asks me
'how much further?'
I tell him to sit on my wheel, but lose him a
couple of miles later.
At the top of the hill before Camolin, there's a
lad from Kanturk weaving all over the road. He asks for food, I give him a bar,
tell him to sit on my wheel, but lose him on the first drag on the main road.
It's vicious here, like cycling in treacle, the wind preventing me from getting
any rhythm going.
A group of 30 or so starts getting close to me, I
ease off, and take a rest as they come by. Dave Lane, Ronnie Brannigan - lots of
familiar faces. We roll in, 13'11" down... where the hell did we lose that?
Rolled into the guesthouse, annoyed, but resigned.
The lads were already in the showers. Paul Reid, John Dillon and Noel McGlynn
are all only 14" off the stage winner, Andrew McQuaid. Ravens are second
overall in the team competition.
Andrew Duffin turns up; he got caught in a crash in
the first few miles, and ended up doing a bit of 'touring'.
To hell with it, out for a massive dinner, then
slept for about 9 or 10 hours.
Stage 2 & 3, Sunday April 20
Clough-Gorey Had a very early night last night, but
still woke up shattered. My legs felt a bit cranky, but had loosened up a bit. I
warmed up for the TT, flying along with the tailwind, going south towards
Wexford, then churning into the headwind on the return. Although I was hardly
about to make back 13", I decided to ride fairly hard, and get *some*
benefit from it. Bloody tough, the wind was the same as the day before, straight
into our faces. Last year, the winning time was 7'10" for 6.43km. This year
it was 9'50" for the same stretch of road! Warmed up lots, gave my jacket
to Johnny and Anto with the team car, and had a go. Rode fairly hard, but my
heart wasn't in it, and rolled in with a princely time of 11'47". Ravens
have fallen to 5th in the team classification. Had a quick chat with Paul
Rowley, our manager in last year's Rás, then head up to the guesthouse,
showered, got back into bed and slept for a while
The afteroon - 4 laps of 15-mile circuit, Gorey/Craanford/Camolin
Arrived a little late for the afternoon stage, and started from the back. We
took off, and I felt under pressure while the race was still neutralised! There
was something funny going on. Started edging up through the bunch on the fast
descent, and was nicely placed to move up the bunch on the hill in Craanford.
Thing is, I start going backwards through the bunch while on the hill. My bike
feels like lead. There's something going unfunny going on. At the top, I flick
the rear brakes open a bit. I don't the Kysriums are buckled, but I do suspect
that something is wrong with the rear hub. I contemplate stopping for a wheel
change, as I slowly move back up the places. I am not happy.
There's a 'dip' on the backroad, a fast downhill, a
bend to the right, and a fast uphill. I go to change up a few gears. Not
possible, the gear lever refuses to work. My bicycle seems to be dissolving
beneath me. Starting the uphill, I try to now go down a couple of gears. That
lever won't move either. I give it a good push, and right-hand Shimano Ultegra
brake/gear lever flies past my face and hits another rider at the other side of
the road, ricochets around, vanishes. I'm left with two gears, a 53x16, and
39x16. Wonderful
Not even bothering to consider the implications of
finishing the stage with a dead back wheel, no front brake and two gears, I sit
up, fall out of the bunch, and pull in. In a rare moment of exhibitionistic
anger, I sling my bicycle in the ditch. The event is broadcast on race radio,
for which I received some notoriety, and considerable slagging. I pull my
machine out of the ditch, change my mind, and throw it back again. A driver in
the cavalcade waves a finger. The bike comes out of the hedge again.
Anto and Johnny pull in; Johnny jumps out, spare
wheels at the ready. No good, I tell him, the resignation setling in. They head
off, and I turn around and cycle in the wrong direction, to get myself some
little shelter on the return to the B&B.
A van pulls up, Harry Sherratt at the wheel. He
sees my problem, asks what pedals I have. 'Looks', say I. He runs around the
back of the van, pulls out *his own* US Postal carbon-fibre Trek, drops the
saddle, and puts me on it. This salvation breathes new fire into me, and I take
off fast, up the hill, onto the mainroad, and into the wind. On the way to
Gorey, I pass a lad from Tile Choice. He is not having a good day. I leave him
for the broom wagon, and pick up another bloke, from Orwell, who is not having a
good day either. I let him to do some riding on the downhills, otherwise I'm
happy to plug away on the front.
On the road out to Craanford, we catch another
bloke, who is getting out the ditch, where he has been sitting down, removing
his overshoes. I think his name was Eoghan. We keep the speed at about 30mph on
the downhill, and steady enough on the backroad. Back on the main road, catch
two more riders, Rebecca from the Leinster squad, and Jim Fanning from Navan.
Then another, some chap from Kanturk. I try and marshal them all into a riding
close together, taking shelter from the wind, so that they'll make it to the
finish.
I must be riding too hard. I get asked by Eoghan
'what are you on? I'm grand, not tired, and just content to ride to the finish.
We pick up another guy on the third lap, he punctured on the first lap, but
Rebecca and the guy from Kanturk retire at the end of the third lap. The Orwell
guy vanishes, but I think he made it to the end under his own steam. Before
Craanford, we find another group, Andrew is amongst them. We keep it steady all
the way round to the finish.
I cross the line, my mother and brother turn up and
I apologise to them for my poor showing. Harry Sherratt arrives and we swap
bikes. I owe that man serious PINTS.
Turns out Paul Reid finished in the leading group,
Ravens are back in 2nd position, behind Cycleways (no thanks to me) and Kieran
Keane did most of the day with a broken pedal, finish 26' down. I finished 30'
down.
The evening, Pauls leads the cursing of Shimano,
while extolling the wonders of Campagnolo. I resolved to upgrade to Shimano's
Dura Ace levers, to see if they can take my punishment. Later, I bump into Shane
Connaughton, who has decided to no longer deign the race with his presence, and
is instead out sampling the dark underbelly of Gorey.
He offers me the use of his machine for Stage 4,
and I accept. Another man I owe serious PINTS to.
Stage 4, Gorey - Dublin Monday April 21,
Next morning, I awake to the sound of rain. Just
like last year. Heading for breakfast, Nick comes in from the weather, says it's
not that bad. Yeah, I say, last year there was a river flowing by the door. I
shouldn't have said anything, as by 10:30am *there is * a bloody river going by
the door. Not that I mind the rain.
Shane drops off his bike, and I pedal down the town
with the two bikes, getting lots of shouts of 'yer only allowed the one bike'
and the like. Denis Dobbs, who I haven't seen in years, is driving in the
cavalcade, and he obligingly transports my poor broken Specialized. His brother,
Paddy, is back from a long break from racing, and is riding the race.
After Theo Hardwick is presented with his jersey on
the main street, Aidan Hammond calls for a special dispensation towards fat
blokes today. We roll up the street, and I weave my way up into the top 10,
feeling a bit weird on my third bike in two days.
Out towards Carnew, I'm a bit sheepish on the
unfamiliar frame, but keep tabs on the moves, and stay in the top 30. Going
through the village, it lashes down with rain, and there are floods beside the
road. The descent down past the church is dodgy, the road in poor repair.
There's groups breaking away, but no one is getting much of a gap.
On one of the longish drags between Shillelagh and
Tullow, one of the Cycleways lads, John Mason, shoots up the road. I go after
him, but never quite make it before the bunch catches me, then falls away again,
leaving two blokes with me. We keep riding for a mile or two, but it doesn't
stick, and I'm soon back in the bunch. Noel Moloney gets away in a group before
Tullow, and a chase develops as we pass through the outskirts, and head towards
Rathvilly. Yellow Jerseyman Theo Hardwicke is sitting in second place in the
chasing lineout, one of his teammates doing a magnificent job, reeling back the
break singlehanded.
It comes back together on the crest of a hill, and
I freewheel through, suddenly on the front. I keep going, using the downhill to
catapult myself up the next drag. Derek Irwin (Leinsters) joins up, and then a
bloke from McQuaid Tyres. The wind is strong; I'm panting like a dog, but know
I'll recover. We come into Rathvilly, and the bunch gets close. The two boys
surrender, and I throw myself into the corner, feeling the unfamiliar Vittorias
slipping a little in the wet. I get reeled in on the bridge, and I'm back in the
bunch again.
A group gets away in Baltinglass, Ravens rider Noel
McGlynn is in it, as well as Hardwicke, Danny lynch, Bobby Behan and Andrew
McQuaid. I try to follow a few moves across to the group without towing anyone
with me, but don't make it. By Hollywood I'm stuffed, lacking the energy to even
move up the outside of the bunch. I get into the top 20 by Blessington, and then
lose ground on the other side, leaving it far too late to position myself for a
sprint. The break comes back, and the bunch stalls.
It's a very weird sprint. Usually, when the speed
goes up, I can find gaps to through. This was a short sprint, without a lineout.
I think the top 10 must have started next to each other! Anyway, Mark Colbert
from Tile Choice managed to nip off the front, beating the bunch by 3", and
his teammate, Keith Bannon gets 2nd. Bit of anti-climax, I roll over the line,
feeling like the sprint never got started. Not a bad end to a bizarre weekend
though, we got 2nd in the team prize, Paul Reid got 10th, and Noel McGlynn took
the prize for first unplaced C...
My bike is currently convalescing.
daev@irishcycling.com
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