A Ride To Remember

The rhythm’s gone completely.  I hack away at the pedals, legs like misfiring pistons using any combination of remaining power and bodyweight to keep them moving, the fluid circles of the lower slopes a distant memory.  I daren’t glance across the valley to known reference points that will end my psychological resistance and force me into my lowest gear, if the 36t doesn’t stay clean then I’m finished, doomed to admit the failure in this session.  My tongue feels fattened, an awkward sticky slug blocking the airflow my lungs crave and the thirst is overwhelming but I’m not dehydrated, the nauseating slop of unprocessed water in my gut tracking my body movements, daring me to sip from my Camelbak again.

I lurch over the road as it steepens again, Tom Simpson without the drugs.  I’d take them all right now if they’d get me to the top of this destructive road.  The heat is overwhelming, drilling down into my back, reflecting off the surface that my head is getting ever closer to, licking the front wheel.  I feel like I’m being boiled alive, my brain shrinking, fluid escaping.  Visions of the electrolytes sat on top of my fridge taunt me, the fridge, cool air, I want to be in that fridge…

A distant rumble of thunder.  Come lovely rain, my salvation from the skies.  No such luck.  The atmosphere like porridge, I’m riding through porridge, am I still moving?  Flies buzz my face, my tormenters victorious, can’t outrun them, can’t swat them, hope they’re not biters, injury to insult.

My head comes up, the circles return.  Where did this come from?  My subconscious knows more than my brain.  I’m nearing the top and defiance drives the body.  You did me on the mid section but I owned the bottom and the top, two-one to Bailey, I’m bigger than this mountain.  Satisfaction tempered by reality, that was close, too close, and I know it.  The training log won’t lie, OK legs, nothing more.

I stare down the start straight, the Skull DH.  A thousand vertical metres of sculpted corners and jagged bedrock, beauty and the beast.  Glasses off as dense foliage and a blackening sky dull the vision.  Pads on, gear selected and snap on the pedals.  Treat this like a race, attack, attack, attack.  This track has no respect for the tentative.  I’m totally under-biked and I know it, 140mm out front and the crafted compliance of carbon hardtail out back but the Ibis Tranny never ceases to amaze, no box can hold this bike, uncategorisable.  A flash and a crack, the storm is closing in fast.  No longer an ally against the heat, a warning shot.  My focus is absolute, totally in the groove and marvelling at the new found flow this holiday has uncovered, bossing lines that should be unattainable, tyres skimming the surface of armageddon.  The first bombs start to fall, initially deflected by the shield of leaves but then breaking through fast, huge droplets, instant impact.  The sky explodes with light again and the deafening rumble is right on its tail, I need to get down NOW.  Fear of crashing, mangling on the rocks seems childish, this is much more primeval, go, go, go, survival instincts honed by evolution driving thirty years of biking skills.

Staring down the start straight and the weather armageddon is about to hit 

Lactic is flooding through me, arms screaming and hands like claws death gripping the bars, right quad in agony, alternate the lead foot, a transfer of skills, practice what I preach.  I never intended to do this in a one-er but priorities have been dictated by a higher force and I’ve no choice, must… get… down.  The bedrock lower section is like ice, limestone slickrock and brakes are no option.  Light on the front end, let it drift and slide, in the air is safest.  The deep clunk of the back rim smashing hard, thirty psi and a cup of Stans, choose your equipment wisely, you never know when it may save your life.  Straight line, full bore off a few small drops and under the finish barrier.  I crack a smile but the danger is far from over.  I’ve done my bit technically but now need lady luck to see my passage back to the safe haven of the valley.

The deluge is indescribable as I hit the road, blinded by the droplets, eyelids like windscreen wipers on the highest setting, a lost battle.  Inches of rain on a flat road and I veer to avoid a car out of nowhere, lights on, horn blaring.  Praying that my route choice is still taking me down.  Out of the saddle and fighting hard, drawing energy from empty reserves, I’ll be glad to pay for this if it means I get to see tomorrow.  Redemption comes in the form of a bridge, huddled figures and a raised hand from a biker as I skid to a halt.  Cars are seeking refuge here too, nobody dares head out into this abomination. 

Glad to be under the bridge when these started smashing down!

The hailstones begin to smash down, jagged marbles bouncing off every surface but the danger has passed and I’m a mesmerised observer, the sanctity of the bridge distancing the threat, like watching the storm in a zoo.  I let out a whoop and an uncontrollable grin spreads over my face.  The other cyclists under here are bone dry, I know they’ve missed out as I squeeze my saturated gloves, water flooding out, I wonder if they feel the same way.  Twenty minutes pass and the oppressive blackness begins to lift as I start to shiver.  The storm remains but it’s said its piece and we all know who maintains the real power, mother nature has to let off steam sometimes too.

The road is still a river as I hammer down the last section, two foot deep puddles on the cambered inside of corners stop the traffic but I plough in laughing manically.  The pain subsides as I sweep through the last corners towards home, the familiar whirr of freehub finally drowning out the drumming of rain.  This one will last in the memory for years to come, I feel very alive.

Summer Loving, Loving Summer!

As an Outdoor Sports instructor, Summer is traditionally the feast time.  I remember years of hungrily gathering sessions, working 40 day stints with no breaks fuelled by the primeval fear of the Winter time famine to come.  Luckily for me, my work situation is now a bit more guaranteed and so many months ago we booked a ferry for a loosely planned month long Summer holiday.  As the months went by, the plan evolved into a definite week of camping in the Chamonix valley followed by two weeks of luxury apartment living at Lake Garda finished off with an unplanned week that we could decide on at the time.  Although it was definitely a family holiday and the chance to show my boys some real mountains and hopefully sew the seeds of future inspiration, it was obviously no coincidence that we were heading to two of the World's best biking spots!

Packing for such a journey is a fine art, especially for someone as pedantic as me and it was a very pleasant four hours of squeezing in all our kit, bikes and enough entertainment to keep a 4 and 1 year old amused for an outward journey that would take over two days!  The journey itself wasn't too painful, the 17 hour ferry crossing passed easily and the epic drive was split by a night in a non-descript hotel somewhere.  Finally we rolled into the familiar but always spectacular Chamonix valley ready for the boys first camping experience.

Running and glissading up to Brevent

I'll not lie, a week of changeable weather and a one year old in a tent made for a bit of a challenge but I got in some great running up to Brevent, Flegere and Montenvers, loving the steep climbs and smells of sap that always evoke memories of many previous visits to those trails.  The biking was as techy as ever and I felt fast despite a spate of punctures which were made much less annoying by the views I was enjoying as I fixed them.  I was amused to recognise many trails that I'd hit and successfully navigated over 18 years ago when 3 inches of fork travel and 2.1 inch tyres were the order of the day.  I think my kit obsessed 18 year old self would've imploded if a crystal ball had shown me the swoopy carbon 160mm travel beast I'd be piloting in the future!  I wish my skills had advanced as far as the technology!

Rowan's first cable car!

After 5 days of changeable weather we were rewarded by a beautiful last day allowing us to hire a double bike trailer and head off to the idyllic Paradis des Praz to splash in the icy glacial river.  Highly recommended if you've got kids or you want to relax away from the bustle of Chamonix town.  The next morning another four hour packathon preceded a five hour journey in ever increasing heat and excitement as we headed for Lake Garda.  The road doesn't actually reveal the lake until you've driven the full length of it and curved around into the mountainous North shore.  I've been in many beautiful places before but I don't think I've had my breath taken away by a view like the one that greeted us coming into Torbole since I first laid eyes on the Yosemite valley.

Incredible views, amazing place!

I'll sum up the next 17 days with a sentence that lacks in punctuation but hopefully conveys how much I loved the place.  World class biking unbelievable pizza new friends stunning apartments great value warm breeze relaxed atmosphere bikes bikes and more bikes huge climbs killer descents loving the Lidl bike shop bling ice cream and more ice cream one euro peroni 20 mile run before breakfast 4 hour ride after dinner swimming pool chilling World U18 Mountain Running Champs rocks like marbles and rocks like babies heads loose and fast scary and lairy 601 descent 222 descent Skull descent dropping roadies beautiful people sunshine warmth style over substance and substance over style smiles for miles we'll be back.....

The 601 trail.  You have to ride this!

We'd only been there five minutes before we decided to stay on for the last week of our holiday and in all honesty I'd have easily stayed longer.  One word of warning though, we left at the start of July, seemingly at the same time as the German and Italian holidays began and Torbole had doubled in population overnight.  If you go there, I'd really recommend June.  Another word of warning, on my very last ride of the holiday three police stopped me at the end of a trail and fined me 60 Euros for riding on a walking track.  I spent 20 minutes arguing my case based on the clear fact that the trail I was on is marked on the map as a biking trail but they did the classic shrug in reply.  I did the classic give a false name and address before dismissing them with a wave of the hand and burning off.  I had pointed out that seeing as there were three of them, one could be busy putting up signs advising of the legal status of the trails whilst another was addressing the issue of a map that will always catch out bikers and they'd still have one free to rip off tourists.  It's a revenue gatherer pure and simple, although I can't see who would actually pay up unless they start confiscating bikes or arresting people.

I fought the law, and I won!

That brush with the law did nothing to dampen my love of the region and we left the next morning knowing we'll be back very soon.  A three day return journey went without trouble, split by a very relaxing couple of days in Normandy and we returned to Ireland in the middle of a heatwave!

So after a month off it was time to settle back into a routine of work.  Except four days later I was off to the Snowdon International Mountain Race with the NI squad!  We had an amazing and very successful weekend with some tough racing and hard drinking (some harder than others, I didn't see anyone else from the team on the summit of Snowdon the next morning!).  It was great to be competing with and against some of the real names of the sport and although I was disappointed to lose my record of never being outside the top 10 in a fell race I was well up with the International elites and I got on TV loads including getting a mention for an amazing (and fruitless) sprint finish.

Back again and four TCL assessments, a TCL training and plenty of fun coaching later I've now got my eyes on the World Long Distance Mountain Running Champs at Pikes Peak in Colorado where I'll again be flying the flag for team Northern Ireland.  I'm in final training now, a week that involves a fast 18 mile hilly trail run, a fast double Slieve Donard, a measured triple Slieve Donard and a couple of recovery runs.  Deep down though I know that whatever I do won't prepare me for the infamous Pikes Peak course, an all uphill 13.3 miles that begins at 6,500 feet and ends at over 14,000!  There aren't many half marathons where the average men's time is over 4hrs 20mins, can't wait to see how I get on.