Hitting
the sixties concentrates the mind. Ok, you still play tennis, a few
games of cricket in the summer and go to the gym irregularly; then
there’s the golf – but that’s as much a mental exercise
as a physical one. You eventually decide that the aforementioned are
not sufficient to stave off the gradual decline that passing years
inflict.
So you buy a bike and drop a gentle hint to your
son-in-law that he might do the same. When we go to Glenbeigh for
the Summer holidays, you then suggest, cycling the Ring of Kerry might
be an option. On the first day we reach Kenmare, require copious pints
to recover from the journey and stay overnight. The second day takes
us to Waterville and a similar evening. We return to Glenbeigh on
third day, but were not hailed in the manner Tour de France heroes
are.
Intermittant cycling follows for two years and then we organise another
three-day event. The first stage is Glenbeigh to Killarney, over Ballaghbeama,
into Kenmare, over Moll’s Gap and down through the National
Park. Dingle is our resting place on the second night and we struggle
home on the third day. The following morning it’s straight to
the doctor with a knee that’s screaming at me. He suggested
I might be a little less ambitious on my next trip.
So I buy a lighter touring bike which takes me occasionally into Wicklow.
And with the arrival of 65 and retirement I go out occasionally for
an hour or two. At 67 I see an advertisement seeking cyclists to ride
to Paris for the Irish Hospice Foundation and the idea of me pedalling
up the Champs Elysses appeals. Two months practice and a visit to
the doctor leads me to believe I might manage it, but when I send
in my application the trip is over-subscribed.
Not as highly motivated this year, I get a call from John Gaskin of
Cycling Safaris in March who organises the event with the Foundation.
He convinces me to travel and she who must be obeyed gives her blessing.
(Should I be worried by the instant imprimatur?)
The solitude of lonesome trips into Wicklow is broken after I talk
to Paul Kimmage. ‘You should go in the Sorrento CC 100 on May
30th’, he suggests. With some trepidation I agree – and
a new life begins to unfold. On June 6th he is my ‘domestique’
for the Swords 100, over four hours in a downpour that does nothing
to diminish my enthusiasm. And then last Sunday. The piece de resistance.
The Wicklow 200. (Mine’s the 100, thank you). Over 2,300 participants.
Organised with military precision by the Irish Veteran Cyclists
Association. Talk to Sean Kelly before the start (I’m sure
he took my advice) and head for Kilmacanogue and the first climb.
Puffing my way up I realise what cycling was giving me. Yes, a challenge,
but much more importantly a sport where there is constant interaction.
Getting encouragement, giving it, meeting strangers, settling in
behind a group who bring you along, dropping of for a period of
reflection (euphemism for not being able to keep up with those in
front) - and then jumping in behind another few riders. A stop.
A sandwiche (shouldn't have taken the egg), coffee, a banana, biscuits,
a bar. Had trouble getting back on the bike!
Of the 2,300 plus participating, I knew four before I started.
Yet, while I never saw them during my five hours on the bike, I
was never short of good company. The expression ‘yer at yer
grannies’ aptly reflected a wonderful day. And on the Tuesday,
when I dropped into Eurocycles in South William Street for help,
I was entertained and educated by Cliff, who seems to know every
bikeman in the city.
Now I feel I’m a cyclist of sorts. My next stop is the Ring
of Kerry Cycle – and then Paris.
I wonder will Charlie be there to greet me?
Adhamhnan O’Sullivan.
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