Cycling Reports

Leinster League Race 3

 By Dave Walsh

Clonee - Saturday 28th April 2001

As readers may or may not have noticed, I didn't file a report for any of the races in Stamullen. Instead of groveling up that hill, I was lying on the flat of my back, because there was damn all else I could do. In the week after the Gorey 3-day, lots of riders seem to have come down with a miserable dose. By the end of the week, I was delirious with hot sweats, and definitely not doing any cycling. By Saturday morning, I had great intentions of driving up to watch the racing, and by Saturday evening, I had actually managed to get out of bed without falling over. By Sunday evening the dizziness and high temperature had receded, and I rode around the Phoenix Park, just to get out of the house. As soon as I got back, I got straight back into bed. By Tuesday, I managed to ride 20 very tired miles. On Wednesday, for some bizarre reason, I was like a rabid terrier, chasing cars, sprinting around, and cruising at about 10-20bpm lower than usual. By Thursday, I was tired again, and by Friday evening, I was so shagged out that I managed about 12km before going home, sitting in the bath and staring at the walls for a while. I thought it was the least I could offer myself, having passed my driving test on Friday afternoon.

By Saturday morning, instead of staying in bed and sleeping it all off, like a fool I arrived in Clonee for the Leinster League race. As rode up and down the slip road I was pleasantly surprised that my legs were working fairly fluidly. Maybe I was going to be OK...

Hot sunshine was blasting down on us as, as the vets, juniors and ladies took off up the Navan road, and a cheery atmosphere prevailed amongst the mob of Senior 2 riders, waiting for the off. So much for the weather - as we snapped into our pedals, dark clouds hung above us, and ice cold rain lashed down on the bunch.

The pace was fairly quick out to Blackbull, through Batterstown, and onto the 'green sheds' circuit for three laps, before back through Batterstown for the finish . The wind was cold, the air damp, and the roads flooding more by the rain sheeting down. No concerted effort was made to get a chase going, but people were making small attempts at breaking free, hanging off the front for a while before being sucked by the bunch.

Weatherwise, this was the worst this year (not having finished in Balbriggan, where the weather turned hideous by the race end), but I've never been put off much by inclement weather, save for practical physical problems like loosing the feeling in my extremities. Still, I felt a bit dodgy as we barreled along through the wet, and I made a point at not gawping at the countryside, as the wet fields might get me think about wet and cold I was. About half-way through the lap, near Dunsany, I started to settle down, and started getting up to the front, and getting cheeky with it, chasing wheels where I didn't need to. As we hit the Trim road again, the bunch powered along into the wind that seemed to be in our faces for 75% of the circuit, and I was up in the top 10 or so, along with Ciaran Farrell, one of the Ravens lads. On the long drag on that first stretch, I found myself drifting off the front with three other riders...and then there was two of us. Wondering what the hell I was at, I sat on the wheel of a Stamullen rider as he pulled up the hill, then took over, but the bunch edged back, and by the hilltop we were stuck back in. By the end of the lap we were still five minutes down on the lead group, and there was no sign of the Senior 1 riders - despite the fact that they were expected to come shooting through at any moment. I think it was at the end of lap one, as we turned left and back on the circuit again, that the lead rider - Thomas Lavery, came sliding down on the slick roads, and somehow escaped being ridden over by the cornering hordes.

The traffic on that back road through Drumree was insane. Now, I know the marshals are all there for the love of the sport, and I can't say enough good things about them - but there's something wrong when a bunch of riders moving at 25-35mph has manoeuvre around multitudes of four-wheel drives meeting us 50mph on narrow back roads. Isn't there anyway that these people can be implored to slow down? Even if they stopped for 15-20 seconds, they would cut the force of a potential impact by 60% or so. On the second lap, we had to overtake a tractor and trailer, on a bend. Scary stuff.

On the second lap, after Dunshaughlin, despite feeling a bit dire, I ended wandering off the front again with three other riders - I think some of them were from the same failed venture some six or seven miles back. Everyone ended up looking at each other, and we eventually faded back in, and let someone else have a go. We just blasted around for another lap (according to my computer, our average speed for the race was 25mph), and still we couldn't pull back any of the 5 minute deficit from the vets, ladies and juniors. Mind you, I don't what was going on back with the Senior 1 riders either, as there was no sign of them. The apprehension of some of the B riders was obvious, some of them kept glancing with mixture of fear and hope every time a rider came through on the right, expecting to see a yellow number on their back.

As we came through Dunsany for the last time, we were treated to a shower of hailstones, and I was impressed how well everyone kept it together on the corner, because the visibility was terrible. From about there on, my toes, and the balls of my feet went numb, and my hands began to seize. Somewhere on the Trim road, where I had to keeping wiping the muck off my glasses, the A-cats finally caught us, and the speed went up even more. The remainder of the race was attack after attack, for no good reason other than racing. The first group were home and dry, so to speak. But the attacks were incessant, and having never before been in a position to ride against Senior 1 riders in the closing stages of a race, I joined in, and kept chasing wheels to the finish. Coming into Batterstown, Aidan Crowley started slagging someone off for 'racing for 30th', but his admonishments went unheard, as someone else went tearing off the front again. Without overdoing it, I slipped in over the line around 7th or 8th in the bunch, just as the sun broke through and bathed us in warm sunshine