Race Report: Fish out of water mark 2, Vol 1

Working Title: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here
By: Frank O’Connor

A word of warning for a true accurate report of the full route please refer to Casso’s race report from the first event. http://www.cloverock.info/piranha/oldsite/news/reports/1085-race-report-fish-out-of-water-sportif. For KOM details from this second event please refer to Micheal’s report.

It’s not often that someone reports on part of an event or race, this report is unique in that respect and a few others. I’d like to thank Brendan, Eoghan, Damien and of course Greg for the help and support on the day, it’s a huge benefit to have a backup throughout the entire day.

The first report had brief mention of Fausto Coppi, I’ll mention Fiorenzo Magni, who broke his collarbone in stage 13 of the 1956 Giro and then proceeded to use a tube tied to the handle bars grasped between his teeth to continue on the climb and finish second. He is the embodiment of HTFU. An appropriate thought for the day.

What follows is more a piece of fiction with some vague references to what actually transpired.

The plan was to meet in Newry at 8:45 so with an hour & half drive it was an early start for a Sunday. I collected my traveling partner uberette biker Brianne, as we traveled north there was nervous chat and laughter with little mention of what lay ahead. As we approached Newry, there was a fleeting glance to the hills that lay around. Parked along the canal, unloaded the steeds, inflated tyres, topped off water bottles and awaited the briefing from our fearless leader. There were six of us, two returning stars from the inaugural sportive Greg & Casso, four newbies to the parcour ready to have our cherries plucked, Michael, Quentin, Brianne and myself.

I had hoped there would be a larger group and with more people closer to my level instead of this quintet of seasoned climbers. Seemingly there had been a number of withdrawals in the days preceding the race, reasons given varied from block walls falling on limbs, the flu, the dog ate the bike, the most serious of which related to the club chair who report ably had a large amount of fine stone aggregate lodged in his ladies garden. (Casso & Greg found it imperative that an explanation of his absence be given). Six there were who set out from Newry. The pace was fast on flat, stopping briefly for the little boys/girls room.

The first climb Long Woman’s Grave.
Just after 10km in the picturesque village of Omeath we took a right turn unto the first climb. Seemingly the second easiest of the day, the others quickly pulled away I withstood the urge to attempt to keep up reminding myself it was early days. Being on my own on these climbs would soon become the theme of my day. I changed the display on my garmin to show percentage grade as I saw the numbers tick up 13%, 14% 15%, 16%, 17%, oh no! This is the second easiest climb of the day and we’ve already surpassed the grade of the sally gap as you pass the old quarry near upper lough tay. This is going to be long day. I turned back to the standard display deciding if my legs didn’t know they wouldn’t complain as much. After 3k of climbing with some short but very welcome flats/descents. I met Casso coming back to me followed by Greg and Micheal, that too became a familiar theme, I can’t say that was the way the KOM finished on all of the first four climbs but it was certainly the way it appeared from my seat in the back row, or outside in the lobby. They paced me the final kilometer to the top, the ease at which they rode along side me just reinforced the chasm in ability. Greg pointed out that Casso was in the big ring, I had run out of gears some kilometers below.

The second climb TV Tower (southern approach).
After a way to brief embrace from gravity we started the second climb. Not knowing these climbs can be a blessing and a curse. I knew this was the TV tower, not being able to spot the tower I presumed that is was either small or just around that second corner, I was wrong on both counts. The five mountain goats danced up the hill, leaving me with the marauding sheep and a slow steady grind to the first corner and then 2nd. As I came around the 2nd I saw the TV tower. Above me the roads were barren and desolate with just sheep for company, the tv tower was to become my Everest on this day, 18km into the ride and I was ready for those sheep to attack me and my bike, that could be my story for the day. Seeing none of the group on the road ahead or sherpa’s returning to collect me, I knew I had quiet the way to go. Head down and grind, time to rule V. As the third corner drew closer, Casso came around the corner. I was immediately hit by the additional hurt I must be putting into these guys, but they just lapped it up. The final part of the climb the Hillary step if you will, the final assent not to be attempted without your under paid, under appreciated sherpas is tough, I don’t recall the grade or even the length, just the drive to climb that last cliff face, ignore that burn, shut up legs, at the summit Quentin and Brianne relaxed taking in the amazing views of carlingford lough to the south crooked lake to the north. I got my breath back and inhaled a banana I casually threw the hide to the fray, a time honoured cycling tradition of attempting to grow banana trees on the summits of climbs or at least provide fertilizer other than the ammonia based most summits are used too. Little did I know that Norn Iron has a delicately balanced flora environment, into which I had introduced an alien species, which would surely result in the decimation of plant life in the region. Rather than take this risk, I removed the flora-hazard from the ditch and quickly buried it in my pocket.

Descending has always been huge joy of mine ever since I hit 50 on Kilmuckridge hill and received an ear bashing from my father because I’d over taken an elderly neighbour who was not so impressed. This day however was going to be different, I had anticipated tough climbs but I was sure going down my favorite thing to do would make up for this. Apart from the first short drop in altitude that I didn’t have the sense to enjoy, going down would be a far more hairy affair. The fall from the top was narrow, twisty rough with patches of gravel, at no point could I just let go, my hands felt as if they were on verge of cramping up from clenching the brakes. In my infinite wisdom I had adjusted the brakes and tuned my gears the night before, leading to a beautiful high pitched screech as I broke, which oddly enough reflected the thoughts streaming through my brain. The musical tones from my rims subsided, the thoughts in my head did not. Which peaked as I shot across a cattle grid, it wasn’t the first or the last of the day. I stopped briefly on the descent to allow my hands a chance to recover. On regrouping at the bottom the common tread was how horrific the descent was, but one thing stuck in the back of my mind, we have to go back up that!

Another fast 10km but welcome rest. Normally I try to take a pull at the front on flat sections so that I’m doing some work, this time I was happy to sit on the wheel ahead and try and recover. With another the third climb to come, I was still preoccupied by Everest.

This photo is of the assent of the Galibier in this years giro d’italia, a world away in terms of conditions and difficulty but an awful lot closer if you suffer enough.

The third climb Slieve Gullion
As we turned into the forest park, Greg’s words rang in my ears. “The first section is by far the hardest, once your over that it just gets easier” All I had were more questions, how long is the first section? How tough is it? Does it really get easier? What is easier for these guys? We flew into the forest park through the car park and then it kicked up, as the questions flashed before me, I tried to prioritise them, by the time I had I was on my own settling into a pace a now very familiar grind. Then I had company, a car had come up behind me, this narrow winding road made it impossible for them to pass, images of a solo attack up the Poggio in Milan – San Remo, Galibier or the Giant of Provence as I passed up though the tree line, with the directeur sportif in support back to reality the driver got more aggressive and decided to pass almost putting me into the ditch a faith I would of welcomed. Some 3km from the beginning of the climb I saw a welcome sight of Casso coming to collect me, as much of a burden I had become I was happy to see him, full of conversation as I battled on. He told me that I could dish out some pain next time in the pool, unfortunately however with Brianne here, who has always kicked my ass in the pool and my swimming not in a good place right now, it didn’t help. Then he pointed out that I’m hardly built for cycling, strangely that helped gaving me another strong dose of shut up legs!

On reaching the car park near the top, I had another environment destroying banana & some jellies a brief conversation on arrival of peak phosphorous prior to peak oil. We started the interesting descent. Why interesting I hear you ask, well it started with a climb a gentle or perhaps apparently gentle climb to the top, then gravity kicked in and I began to relax, a little bit more familiar with these rough roads, little did I know that the interesting part lay around the corner. There had been mention of a brief 200m kickup of 20%, I tried not think of it, surely my speed and momentum will carry me up that. As we sped around the corner doing maybe 50k I saw the kicker, within seconds my speed had dropped to nothing, suddenly I was standing trying to struggle up the “bump”, obviously the climb had grown since last measured, my legs had nothing, I came to a complete standstill and had no option but to dismount, a shame better not recorded but at least it puts a tread of truth into this long meandering spiel. I walked briefly head hanging and then remounted to continue climbing this descent. When we finally did start to drop I was too drained to enjoy the spin. The group patiently waited outside a public house, it wasn’t open I checked.

As we made the 8km return to northern base of the TV tower, I discussed with Greg options of bypassing what was sure to be my final climb of the day. With a plan B in place, I decided to give it ago, knowing I had an easier alternative if needed.

The fourth climb TV Tower (northern approach)
Of the final climb I remember little. I let the group pull away as we approached the base of the climb, solitary would be a benefit on this one, not that there was a option on that, I knew the first kilometer would be the toughest, I crossed from one side of the road to the other, anything to lessen the gradient. An eternity passed until I came across that cattle grid again, hoping this time the bars would separate and swallow me, no luck. On wards and upwards, time stood still as I climbed. Then thoughts of the fact I never confirmed my course of action with anyone, would they wait, would they come to collect me, corner after corner passed without any sign of the mountain goats, perhaps in my delusions they had turned to sheep or better yet I was asleep. My phone rang, shaking me back to reality. Brianne asking where I was, my reply was brief, “on my way, slowly!” I wasn’t going to complete that last climb, I would go to the start of the southern descent no further, I wasn’t going to even contemplating the Hillary step this time around, Everest once in a day is mad, a second time without the sherpas, idiotic. I took a few jellies, put my gilet on for the descent and tried to look chilled as the group raced down to my level. Casso’s immediate response was to offer me coke, I obviously wasn’t doing a great job looking chilled. I didn’t care I was done, well almost.

So we went down again, with descents like this, I might just start to enjoy climbing, but with descents like this what’s the point in going up in the first place. It was slow careful drop, I couldn’t concentrate to actually let go and enjoy it. A ten kilometer drop then a further ten to Newry, my climbing legs had called it a day but I was happy to speed along the flat out to warren point for lunch. Finally taking a short turn at the front. A light lunch for some, a nice bit of banter and well deserved rest. I felt grand now, the 30k since the last climb had freshened me up, but the stories of the last climbs and the rain that fell lightly outside was enough to seal my determination to abandon. The only regret being denying Brianne the pleasure of the last climbs and a chance to claim King of the mountains on top of her title as queen for simply turning up.

And then there were four, please see Michael’s report for what happened next.

In conclusion, growing up I was well able for three sisters, but seven was always going to be an a huge undertaken given my season or lack there of, today I managed three and three quarters, next time I’ll do the seven with out the excuses. Despite how this may read, I actually enjoyed the day and any of the group I cycled with these past weeks would be capable of this beautiful if challenging parcour.

Well done to the fantastic five I don’t know who won but your all winners and of thank you again to Brendan, Eoghan, Damien and of course Greg for organizing.

Garmin details for anyone who cares or read this far:
Distance: 94.80 km
Time: 4:18:50
Avg Speed: 22.1 km/h
Elevation Gain: 1,636 m