Tomorrow is the 20th September; it will be 2 months since la grande arrivée in Roma and I’m only now coming around. I suppose the fact that no sooner had the FOTEC finished that another little adventure popped up. I’m presently in Cameroon but before I can even start to make sense of this place I need to put 3 great weeks in July to bed first.
So what was it all about? That’s the question I keep asking myself? How do you put 2,444km in 23 days across 5 countries into words? Not easy I can tell you. Just take a look at the shelves of Eason’s that are jammed with travelogues that document the myriad of challenges that walkers, joggers, cyclists, climbers, bikers and just plain nutters set themselves. Invariably they all succeed (rarely do you see failures into the bestsellers list) and the books cover over 200 pages of detail as to how they succeeded. I will spare you the bestseller for now but really it would be a very boring read. Day 1 – got up on the bike and cycled, ate and slept; Day 2 – cycled another bit, ate some more, slept…repeat ad nauseum. You get the picture.
Ok, so our endurance cycle might not have been all that novel (or travelogue!) in the greater scheme of things. No matter what goal you set there will always be someone who will go further, faster, higher. The thing is we never really considered the greater scheme of things. We were just gimps on bikes. We weren’t looking to serialise our trip à la Ewen McGregor and produce a DVD box set. What we did was unique – for us; it was a big deal – for us; it was something that was an extremely challenging and rewarding experience – for us.
Without sounding melodramatic it was one of the best experiences of my life…(though no matter what way you say or write it, it’s does sound kinda melodramatic). Anyway, what made it so good? Easy, the people...essentially you! The support, help and interest shown by everyone was brilliant. By everyone I mean those that cycled, that drove, that met us in Rome, that sent texts, that donated money, that printed the jerseys, that washed the jerseys, that bought us dinner, that showed us the way, that sold us bananas, that gave us a place to stay when we needed it most, that gave Mick a lift when he broke his spokes, that put Hardy to bed on the night of his birthday. A sincere thanks. It wouldn’t have been possible without you.
We’ve been left with tons of special memories. Suddenly I’m back on the road just after leaving Le Havre feeling that Rome is a very, very long way away, and now we’re searching for a hotel in Blangy, taking a taxi to Bruxelles, eating chips the evening we met Mike and Martin. There’s lunch in les Grands Vents on day 2, Debbie in action in Toul, James is tuning Mick’s wheel in Carpi, the Godfather is offering us limoncello, Abdu is smiling in San Marino, myself and Mike are getting whipped by Maria and Oisin in a game of waterpolo in Terni, Hardy’s is wearing his manbag, I’m feeling shattered in Altkirch, Rach and Diar’s are pushing their bikebags through the arrivals hall in Forli airport and there’s everyone on the steps of St. Pietro in Montorio in Roma…I could go on and you’re thinking that I probably have.
So where to from here? Inevitably there’s always another trip brewing in the background and during the winter months I’m sure that the roads around BH, Letterkenny and Kilkenny will be alive to the sound of cyclists plotting, scheming, and planning. Too early to mention anything yet though.
For the moment, I’ve my hands full here in West Africa. Have yet to get a bike but only a matter of time. I hope to hijack this blog to try, as I said before, make sense of this place so keep an eye on it from time to time.
So that’s it. The pyjamas are on, the teeth have been brushed and Hugh O’Neill, the rest of the Earls and the gimps on bikes are all finally tucked up in bed. Lights out! Goodnight!
GC
Friday, September 19, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Destination Roma
Ciao from Roma...we made it.
This is not going to be easy. Not sure how I can put the last few days into words but will try to do so; all be it very briefly.
Arrived in Roma on Sunday at 3pm to St Pietro de Montario in Rome - the church where Hugh O'Neill is buried. There was a wedding on that afternoon in the church but the advanced party had sorted a local curate who arranged to have the carpet rolled back for us...good work Dad. As it happened, Sunday was the 20th of July which was also the anniversary of the death of Hugh O'Neill...he died on 20th July 1616. A fluke but a significant and poignant date nonetheless.
On seeing the grave I had to pinch myself several times. Here we were. Our journey's end. All the talk, all the planning, all the training, all the cycling had finally come to this moment. It was very special to us all. To have friends and family there made it even more special, it really meant a lot.
So what were the stats I hear you wonder? Well it only was 2,444km and took 23 days which equated to 107hrs and 35 minutes in the saddle. We covered 5 countries and had 11 cyclists on board at different stages. We have also bought shares in Ffyffes from the countless bananas consumed and have so far raised over 6,700 euro for the Irish Cancer Society. It will take some time for all this to digest.
There's so much more to come. Too many people to thank and a few yarns to be spun but be patient...that will all come over the next few weeks. Just because the cycle is over doesn't mean the blog is too. Stay tuned.
Same bat time, same bat channel.
GC
This is not going to be easy. Not sure how I can put the last few days into words but will try to do so; all be it very briefly.
Arrived in Roma on Sunday at 3pm to St Pietro de Montario in Rome - the church where Hugh O'Neill is buried. There was a wedding on that afternoon in the church but the advanced party had sorted a local curate who arranged to have the carpet rolled back for us...good work Dad. As it happened, Sunday was the 20th of July which was also the anniversary of the death of Hugh O'Neill...he died on 20th July 1616. A fluke but a significant and poignant date nonetheless.
On seeing the grave I had to pinch myself several times. Here we were. Our journey's end. All the talk, all the planning, all the training, all the cycling had finally come to this moment. It was very special to us all. To have friends and family there made it even more special, it really meant a lot.
So what were the stats I hear you wonder? Well it only was 2,444km and took 23 days which equated to 107hrs and 35 minutes in the saddle. We covered 5 countries and had 11 cyclists on board at different stages. We have also bought shares in Ffyffes from the countless bananas consumed and have so far raised over 6,700 euro for the Irish Cancer Society. It will take some time for all this to digest.
There's so much more to come. Too many people to thank and a few yarns to be spun but be patient...that will all come over the next few weeks. Just because the cycle is over doesn't mean the blog is too. Stay tuned.
Same bat time, same bat channel.
GC
Friday, July 18, 2008
Le Dolce Vita
Italy...Ok in the time it takes for my internet use to expire I'll try and give you some sense of what the last couple of days have been like. I've 11 mins 40 secs left so this is going to be brief. 3 days across the plains of Lombardy entailed lots of flat straight roads with traffic for company. The only inclines were the hump-backed bridges over the irrigation drains. Enough said.
We reached Assisi today. 8 cyclists and 5 support crew make it all so much more interesting. If there was only 3 of us then I think we'd have run out of things to say long ago. Assisi is a medieval town with lots of narrow stone streets and of course plenty of churches - a very quiet and peaceful spot...a bit like Knock!
None of us were prepared for the Apennines. Some serious hills but with that comes fantastic scenery. Yesterday was a major baptism of fire for our new recruits - Rachel, Diarmuid and Gilly. Over 2,400m climbed in 110km...the most climbing by far on the trip. The scenery was breathtaking too. One of the most scenic days so far.
Today was no different. A monumental or just plain mental climb greeted us at 5 to 9 this morning. When my back wheel began to spin on a bit of loose gravel I knew we had a toughie on our hands, or legs! A minimum of 20% gradient in sections - I'm not kidding. Gilly reckoned that the hill had to be illegal. We christened it "Col de Prego"...our own interpretation of "prego" is not what you'll find in the dictionary by the way.
Niall McGee burst on the scene today. He's a runner by trade but there was no holding him back on the hills. Glad he was on a big brute of a bike which slowed him down somewhat.
We've 2 days left, all be it long days. Can't believe we're so close to Roma. Saw our first sign for it today too. Getting exciting now. 54 secs left, better post quickly.
GC
We reached Assisi today. 8 cyclists and 5 support crew make it all so much more interesting. If there was only 3 of us then I think we'd have run out of things to say long ago. Assisi is a medieval town with lots of narrow stone streets and of course plenty of churches - a very quiet and peaceful spot...a bit like Knock!
None of us were prepared for the Apennines. Some serious hills but with that comes fantastic scenery. Yesterday was a major baptism of fire for our new recruits - Rachel, Diarmuid and Gilly. Over 2,400m climbed in 110km...the most climbing by far on the trip. The scenery was breathtaking too. One of the most scenic days so far.
Today was no different. A monumental or just plain mental climb greeted us at 5 to 9 this morning. When my back wheel began to spin on a bit of loose gravel I knew we had a toughie on our hands, or legs! A minimum of 20% gradient in sections - I'm not kidding. Gilly reckoned that the hill had to be illegal. We christened it "Col de Prego"...our own interpretation of "prego" is not what you'll find in the dictionary by the way.
Niall McGee burst on the scene today. He's a runner by trade but there was no holding him back on the hills. Glad he was on a big brute of a bike which slowed him down somewhat.
We've 2 days left, all be it long days. Can't believe we're so close to Roma. Saw our first sign for it today too. Getting exciting now. 54 secs left, better post quickly.
GC
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Martin Connery - The Miracle Man
Let's go back to last August and the seeds of this trip. Myself and Mick were chatting over a cuppa about our trip to the Pyrenées and the Alps and how it would be good to do something like that again but in the process raise some money for charity. We both felt strongly about cancer and believed that although neither of us had (at the time) any direct family or friends suffer from the disease it was a very worthy cause. We had a charity now all we needed was a route.
Another Mikado or two later (I happened to be out of Fig Rolls) and the Flight of the Earls was mentioned. The idea formed over the next few weeks and months, Hardy came on board and the rest you know.
Then in December we got word that Martin was in hospital with a stomach tumour. Over the next few months I can only imagine what the man went through. At all times however he continued to talk about coming on the trip. It was, I suppose, a goal for him; something to aim for. When we were on our Sunday morning training spins in February and March, Martin was having chemo. We all hoped of course that he'd be well enough to come but as the fine weather approached it (and he'll be the first one to acknowledge it) it seemed less and less likely.
However, in May Martin got back on the bike. His first day out he took part in a Tour de Turlough (a local team handicap race) with his son Mark and they settled for a respectable pace of 16m.p.h. The two of them won the race and posted a time over 20 mph...Martin was back.
In early June I got a text from Martin to say that his flights were booked. I replied in one word "Deadly" Ok in hindsight it wasn't the best choice of words after all he'd been through but he knew what I meant.
On the 4th of July he joined us in Belgium. Since then he has cycled over 1,400km in 13 days. He has climbed every hill, spun every crank and not once did we have to look over our shoulder to see where he was. To say he's an inspiration to us all falls way too short. Many people in his position would just be happy to stay at home, watch the match on telly and count themselves lucky. Not Martin. He's thriving, he's living and he's loving every minute of it.
One of the defining moments of the trip for him was reaching the top of the Ballon d'Alsace which was the first big climb of the trip. That was Martin's acid test and he passed with loads to spare. He insisted on buying us all a memento to mark the occasion and it's something we will all remember.
He's leaving tomorrow not because he's tired and he's had enough but because he going to his neice's wedding at the weekend (another goal of his during the dark days). We'll miss him for the jokes (that you Gunter?) the singing but not for the punctures. It's been a pleasure for us all having him and he has been the success story of this trip.
GC
Another Mikado or two later (I happened to be out of Fig Rolls) and the Flight of the Earls was mentioned. The idea formed over the next few weeks and months, Hardy came on board and the rest you know.
Then in December we got word that Martin was in hospital with a stomach tumour. Over the next few months I can only imagine what the man went through. At all times however he continued to talk about coming on the trip. It was, I suppose, a goal for him; something to aim for. When we were on our Sunday morning training spins in February and March, Martin was having chemo. We all hoped of course that he'd be well enough to come but as the fine weather approached it (and he'll be the first one to acknowledge it) it seemed less and less likely.
However, in May Martin got back on the bike. His first day out he took part in a Tour de Turlough (a local team handicap race) with his son Mark and they settled for a respectable pace of 16m.p.h. The two of them won the race and posted a time over 20 mph...Martin was back.
In early June I got a text from Martin to say that his flights were booked. I replied in one word "Deadly" Ok in hindsight it wasn't the best choice of words after all he'd been through but he knew what I meant.
On the 4th of July he joined us in Belgium. Since then he has cycled over 1,400km in 13 days. He has climbed every hill, spun every crank and not once did we have to look over our shoulder to see where he was. To say he's an inspiration to us all falls way too short. Many people in his position would just be happy to stay at home, watch the match on telly and count themselves lucky. Not Martin. He's thriving, he's living and he's loving every minute of it.
One of the defining moments of the trip for him was reaching the top of the Ballon d'Alsace which was the first big climb of the trip. That was Martin's acid test and he passed with loads to spare. He insisted on buying us all a memento to mark the occasion and it's something we will all remember.
He's leaving tomorrow not because he's tired and he's had enough but because he going to his neice's wedding at the weekend (another goal of his during the dark days). We'll miss him for the jokes (that you Gunter?) the singing but not for the punctures. It's been a pleasure for us all having him and he has been the success story of this trip.
GC
Monday, July 14, 2008
The St Gotthard Experience
So at this stage you are all getting some idea of our trip and all of the different experiences that we are having. But its about time that we got into some of the nitty gritty details of a trip like this, aye how much suda cream do you really need and do cyclists wear underpants and of course how does your bum feel after 7 hours in the saddle? Vitally important questions I would have thought to relay to all our avid blog watchers out there and its about time they were answered!
So like most of you out there who, like me 2 months ago, have never experienced anything like this before Im going to do my best to explain what this cycling lark really feels like! And really theres no better way to do this than to relay to you The St Gotthard Experience. Sounds harmless doesnt it? Sounds like a pleasant continental jaunt or some sort of informative tour of a local historical landmark, wouldnt you say? Well in fact its a monster 30km Alpine climb to 2,1oom, with stunning views, precipitous drops, staggering feats of engineering and of course a large dollop of suffering for the virgin alpine climberaka mise.
Now 30km is a long way uphill for the average Paddy to get their head around, sure you can hardly go 10km uphill in Ireland never mind 30! In fact thats really the most important thing about mastering an alpine climb on the bike: you simply have to say to yourself that this is going to go on for a long, long time. Yes your legs are screaming for a break, your lungs are often trying to burst out of your chest and you are up and down out of the saddle more often than your Granny with a weak bladder, but in your head you refuse to give in, you know that with every revolution of the pedals you are one step closer to the summit and one step closer to achieving something really significant. And of course you are in an environment that is both breathtaking and inspiring. So I suppose to climb an Alpine pass on a bike is both a mental and physical experience that requires huge reserves in both domains but a hugely satisfying and fulfilling event especially your first one.
As for the suda cream, well lets just say its not something I wont pack again! And finally underpants....what are they?!!!!!!!
MT
So like most of you out there who, like me 2 months ago, have never experienced anything like this before Im going to do my best to explain what this cycling lark really feels like! And really theres no better way to do this than to relay to you The St Gotthard Experience. Sounds harmless doesnt it? Sounds like a pleasant continental jaunt or some sort of informative tour of a local historical landmark, wouldnt you say? Well in fact its a monster 30km Alpine climb to 2,1oom, with stunning views, precipitous drops, staggering feats of engineering and of course a large dollop of suffering for the virgin alpine climberaka mise.
Now 30km is a long way uphill for the average Paddy to get their head around, sure you can hardly go 10km uphill in Ireland never mind 30! In fact thats really the most important thing about mastering an alpine climb on the bike: you simply have to say to yourself that this is going to go on for a long, long time. Yes your legs are screaming for a break, your lungs are often trying to burst out of your chest and you are up and down out of the saddle more often than your Granny with a weak bladder, but in your head you refuse to give in, you know that with every revolution of the pedals you are one step closer to the summit and one step closer to achieving something really significant. And of course you are in an environment that is both breathtaking and inspiring. So I suppose to climb an Alpine pass on a bike is both a mental and physical experience that requires huge reserves in both domains but a hugely satisfying and fulfilling event especially your first one.
As for the suda cream, well lets just say its not something I wont pack again! And finally underpants....what are they?!!!!!!!
MT
St Gotthard Pass Switz.(2,108m)
Friday 11th July saw us leaving Wassen (no harm there - a charming little alpine village but €2.80 for a glass of tap water...COME ON!!!) and climb the St. Gotthard Pass. About 12 km from the top of the climb we crossed the Teufelsbruche (Devil's Bridge). This was a significant spot for us as on Paddy's Day in 1608 Hugh and the lads lost a large amount of money when their donkey fell down the gorge. They spent two days trying to recover the loot but to no avail. We considered pushing a couple of our own donkeys down the ravine but couldn't agree to which one. Mike? Bernie? Too tough to call.
On crossing the Gotthard Pass (which was a bit of a let down on top as there wasn't even a sign signifying the top) we arrived into the Italian speaking part of Switzerland. It's amazing how quickly a country can change. During breakfast we were "danke" this and "bitte" that and by lunch time it was ''ciaos'' and ''pregos'' all over the place.
A thunder storm after lunch meant we had to put the head down to Bellinzona. Hardy couldn't decide if he wanted to cycle on the road or the bike lane so decided to do both. A broken spoke meant a short stop in a bike shop where the mechanic treated his wheel as a brain surgeon would a brain...an art in itself to see him truing a wheel.
After chocolate, the rain stopped, the sun shone and all was right with the world again. Finished up in Intragna. A small little idyllic village in the mountains with a savage final km up hill. Just what we all needed after 134 km. However, pain is only temporary and the memory of good food is permanent. The grub was savage and the craic even better. One of the really good days.
GC
On crossing the Gotthard Pass (which was a bit of a let down on top as there wasn't even a sign signifying the top) we arrived into the Italian speaking part of Switzerland. It's amazing how quickly a country can change. During breakfast we were "danke" this and "bitte" that and by lunch time it was ''ciaos'' and ''pregos'' all over the place.
A thunder storm after lunch meant we had to put the head down to Bellinzona. Hardy couldn't decide if he wanted to cycle on the road or the bike lane so decided to do both. A broken spoke meant a short stop in a bike shop where the mechanic treated his wheel as a brain surgeon would a brain...an art in itself to see him truing a wheel.
After chocolate, the rain stopped, the sun shone and all was right with the world again. Finished up in Intragna. A small little idyllic village in the mountains with a savage final km up hill. Just what we all needed after 134 km. However, pain is only temporary and the memory of good food is permanent. The grub was savage and the craic even better. One of the really good days.
GC
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Balsthal - Switzerland - Eight of the Seventh
Arrived in Switzerland today...two countries down, three to go if you include the land mass that is San Marino.
So far over 1,200km, two punctures, one medieval fair, one broken wheel (Mick has perfected the art of cycling on one wheel), one night on the tear (still not fully recovered from that yet), 7 stitches, 6 good goings over from our close friend Debbie and two cols (for the uninitiated, a col is one mo'fo' of a hill).
Spirits are high and went even higher on receiving the news that Bernie arrived today with a melted wheel. We first thought that Michael O'Leary decided to strap his bike to the wing to save money when in actual fact Bernie melted the wheel himself on the way to the airport, the fumes from the Galant getting the better of the new Panaracer tyre.
Verdun: an amazing spot...a fortress town that still bears all the scars from the war...everywhere you look there are military graveyards and we went to visit a destroyed village called Bezonvaux which brought it all home.
So for those of you who think that the weather at home is depressing try this: on Sunday we pedalled to le Thillot at the foot of the Ballon d'Alsace from Toul - a mere 145km. Now here's the best bit: having eaten in a dodgy pizzeria the night before we were all suffering from Delhi Belly and with 90km to go it started to rain, now when I say rain I don't mean the light old drizzle you get at home - this was pelting, vertical, and really drenching rain. My passport, Hardy's evening wear and Martin's copy of War and Peace all were casualties. On arriving in le Thillot we discovered that the hotel we were booked in was closed. Nothing new there as it was Sunday afternoon in France afterall and we'd been through all of that before. So we ensconsced ourselves in a local pub, taught the friendly barmaid how to make hot whiskeys, wrapped our feet in newspaper and watched the Tour on telly. 2 hrs later and the hotel still wasn't opened so we ask our barmaid "what's the story missus?" "L'hotel est fermé Monsieur...c'est dimanche"..."Oh Scheisse" (been practising my German but not my spelling).
In the end le Terminus was our saviour. Yet to be stuck for a roof over our heads...yet.
GC
So far over 1,200km, two punctures, one medieval fair, one broken wheel (Mick has perfected the art of cycling on one wheel), one night on the tear (still not fully recovered from that yet), 7 stitches, 6 good goings over from our close friend Debbie and two cols (for the uninitiated, a col is one mo'fo' of a hill).
Spirits are high and went even higher on receiving the news that Bernie arrived today with a melted wheel. We first thought that Michael O'Leary decided to strap his bike to the wing to save money when in actual fact Bernie melted the wheel himself on the way to the airport, the fumes from the Galant getting the better of the new Panaracer tyre.
Verdun: an amazing spot...a fortress town that still bears all the scars from the war...everywhere you look there are military graveyards and we went to visit a destroyed village called Bezonvaux which brought it all home.
So for those of you who think that the weather at home is depressing try this: on Sunday we pedalled to le Thillot at the foot of the Ballon d'Alsace from Toul - a mere 145km. Now here's the best bit: having eaten in a dodgy pizzeria the night before we were all suffering from Delhi Belly and with 90km to go it started to rain, now when I say rain I don't mean the light old drizzle you get at home - this was pelting, vertical, and really drenching rain. My passport, Hardy's evening wear and Martin's copy of War and Peace all were casualties. On arriving in le Thillot we discovered that the hotel we were booked in was closed. Nothing new there as it was Sunday afternoon in France afterall and we'd been through all of that before. So we ensconsced ourselves in a local pub, taught the friendly barmaid how to make hot whiskeys, wrapped our feet in newspaper and watched the Tour on telly. 2 hrs later and the hotel still wasn't opened so we ask our barmaid "what's the story missus?" "L'hotel est fermé Monsieur...c'est dimanche"..."Oh Scheisse" (been practising my German but not my spelling).
In the end le Terminus was our saviour. Yet to be stuck for a roof over our heads...yet.
GC
Thursday, July 3, 2008
St. Hubert (Belgium) - Day 6
Finally, at last...the internet (how am I going to survive in Cameroon next year?)
So far so great. After 6 days in the saddle we're well and truly under way.
Every day has been a blast and last night in Louvain was one too - the mother and father of all hangovers today dropped the average speed to 18km/hr...a short 145km in a long 7 hours didn't help matters. Forgiveness required for the shortness of detail - wrecked and the Belgian keyboard doesn't help.
So in brief, 5 flatish days with a tailwind took us across northern France...top class Highlights included the ferry crossing in Quillebeuf, the chateau in Blangy for €15 for the night, the green fields of France, the poppies, the view from the Halle au Draps in Soignies and in Louvain.
Took a tour of Louvain and got a real sense of the significance and importance of the Flight of the Earls and the role that the Irish college has played in shaping and continuing to shape our history. A real eye-opener for us all. A big shout of thanks to Malachy and all the staff for their kindness, hospitality and the hangover. Merci beaucoup!!!
Joined by Mike and Martin today so (unlike the Earls) the group is growing.
Tomorrow, France again - 130 km to Verdun.
A toute à l'heure,
GC
So far so great. After 6 days in the saddle we're well and truly under way.
Every day has been a blast and last night in Louvain was one too - the mother and father of all hangovers today dropped the average speed to 18km/hr...a short 145km in a long 7 hours didn't help matters. Forgiveness required for the shortness of detail - wrecked and the Belgian keyboard doesn't help.
So in brief, 5 flatish days with a tailwind took us across northern France...top class Highlights included the ferry crossing in Quillebeuf, the chateau in Blangy for €15 for the night, the green fields of France, the poppies, the view from the Halle au Draps in Soignies and in Louvain.
Took a tour of Louvain and got a real sense of the significance and importance of the Flight of the Earls and the role that the Irish college has played in shaping and continuing to shape our history. A real eye-opener for us all. A big shout of thanks to Malachy and all the staff for their kindness, hospitality and the hangover. Merci beaucoup!!!
Joined by Mike and Martin today so (unlike the Earls) the group is growing.
Tomorrow, France again - 130 km to Verdun.
A toute à l'heure,
GC
Friday, June 27, 2008
Time to make like an Earl and fly!
The time has finally come. After all the months planning it, talking about it, training for it, it's here. Le grand depart begins on Saturday morning and all of a sudden Rome seems a very long way away. Still nothing but sunshine, good food, better wine and the odd ache and pain to look forward to. Sure what else would we be doing?
Not to sure what Hugh O'Neill and the rest of the earls would have made of it all. Carbon fibre forks? Power bars? Chamois cream? Hotels? - far from all of that he was reared. I don't think that he could ever have imagined that 400 years after his epic journey through Europe a group of fool-hardy (or is it Hardy, you fool?) cyclists would follow in his footsteps. So here goes and minus the beards, shields and spears we're set.
Thanks for taking the time to have a look and donate some money. Keep an eye on the blog for updates.
Here's to Hugh.
GC
Not to sure what Hugh O'Neill and the rest of the earls would have made of it all. Carbon fibre forks? Power bars? Chamois cream? Hotels? - far from all of that he was reared. I don't think that he could ever have imagined that 400 years after his epic journey through Europe a group of fool-hardy (or is it Hardy, you fool?) cyclists would follow in his footsteps. So here goes and minus the beards, shields and spears we're set.
Thanks for taking the time to have a look and donate some money. Keep an eye on the blog for updates.
Here's to Hugh.
GC
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Tee Minus Seven
Saturday 21st June…already! Jesus, this day week and it will be all happening. As with all trips (but perhaps even more with this one due to the fact that we've gone public with it), the pressure to be ready for the start line is over five bars...seven bars being the optimum bicycle tyre pressure.
No, hang on. Maybe pressure is the wrong word. “Pressure is only for tyres” as Hardy would say. No, it’s not pressure, it’s just the to-do list gets longer the more I do! How’s that?
My current to-do list is written on the back of white envelope that originally contained my now lost Ulster Bank Credit Card statement. The list reads something like this at present: 1. Service bike; 2. Wash bike; 3. Book accommodation (let’s not go there! – 6 hotels booked, only 16 to go); 4. Agonise over whether to pack one jersey or two; 5. Learn Italian; 6. Shake off head-cold; 7. Buy sun cream, ass cream, strawberries and cream; 8. Sleep; 9. Cut handle off tooth-brush; 10. Attend my cousin’s wedding; 11. Stay sober at wedding; 12. Pay for consignment of EPO; 13. Administer EPO.
I have no idea why I need strawberries and cream– perhaps I’m subconsciously aware of Wimbledon. Tennis? Ah, now there’s a sport! Tip a ball around a lawn for an hour or two in the sunshine. Sitting down every 15 minutes to eat a banana and drink a cool glass of Robinson’s Barley Water. No such thing as wind, rain, chevrons, the bonk or washing your smelly shorts in a hand basin in a poky hotel bathroom in Verdun. A few grunts as you send your backhand down the line! Easy-peasy...but enough, I digress.
And that’s it! I have the answer. I’m a digresser! A procrastinator! A dosser! I write a list of things to do, feel a brief sense of accomplishment for having organised myself and then head off and do something completely different. Instead of tackling any of those 13 items this morning, I’m on the computer writing this blog. A bloody blog! A month ago I thought a blog was the type of house Zig and Zag lived in on Zog! Honest, it’s all that new to me.
In the meantime the list gets bigger – 14. Carbohydrate load, 15. Buy shirt for wedding; 16. Find and pay credit card bill; 17. Learn how to play tennis…
GC
No, hang on. Maybe pressure is the wrong word. “Pressure is only for tyres” as Hardy would say. No, it’s not pressure, it’s just the to-do list gets longer the more I do! How’s that?
My current to-do list is written on the back of white envelope that originally contained my now lost Ulster Bank Credit Card statement. The list reads something like this at present: 1. Service bike; 2. Wash bike; 3. Book accommodation (let’s not go there! – 6 hotels booked, only 16 to go); 4. Agonise over whether to pack one jersey or two; 5. Learn Italian; 6. Shake off head-cold; 7. Buy sun cream, ass cream, strawberries and cream; 8. Sleep; 9. Cut handle off tooth-brush; 10. Attend my cousin’s wedding; 11. Stay sober at wedding; 12. Pay for consignment of EPO; 13. Administer EPO.
I have no idea why I need strawberries and cream– perhaps I’m subconsciously aware of Wimbledon. Tennis? Ah, now there’s a sport! Tip a ball around a lawn for an hour or two in the sunshine. Sitting down every 15 minutes to eat a banana and drink a cool glass of Robinson’s Barley Water. No such thing as wind, rain, chevrons, the bonk or washing your smelly shorts in a hand basin in a poky hotel bathroom in Verdun. A few grunts as you send your backhand down the line! Easy-peasy...but enough, I digress.
And that’s it! I have the answer. I’m a digresser! A procrastinator! A dosser! I write a list of things to do, feel a brief sense of accomplishment for having organised myself and then head off and do something completely different. Instead of tackling any of those 13 items this morning, I’m on the computer writing this blog. A bloody blog! A month ago I thought a blog was the type of house Zig and Zag lived in on Zog! Honest, it’s all that new to me.
In the meantime the list gets bigger – 14. Carbohydrate load, 15. Buy shirt for wedding; 16. Find and pay credit card bill; 17. Learn how to play tennis…
GC
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
It's ALL about the bike!
Lance is pants! While he was winning his seven Tour de France titles he published his autobiography entitled “It’s not about the Bike”. Ok he did make a miraculous recovery from cancer which has helped inspire thousands of sufferers throughout the world; but come on! What does he mean “It’s not about the Bike?” Course it is! He couldn’t have ridden to the corner shop for a pint of milk let alone the Tour de France without one?
In preparing for this mammoth (we may see one in the Alps) cycle I’ve recently broken the 3,000km barrier for this year. Now I’m not one to blow my own trumpet but I just couldn’t have done that distance without my bike! Have you ever tried walking any further than to the coffee dock and the Fig Roll shelf in a Statoil in LOOK cleats? No? Well it’s like wearing a pair of high heels, backwards...or so I’m told. And to walk over 30km, let alone 3,000km, in cleats and lycra would constitute a display of madness unseen since Suggs was wearing Baggy Trousers. No, and this may be over stating the obvious, but it’s ALL about the bike.
My bike is class...it’s black with a tinge of red and grey and it has two wheels, a saddle moulded into the shape of my arse (of is it vice-versa?), and an ultegra group set for those of you who care. I’ve had this bike for three years now and we’ve shared a lot together. I’ve ridden the bike sober, drunk and hungover. I’ve had the bonk on the bike more times than I can remember, seeing as how my sugar-levels were so low it was all a blur anyhow. I’ve eaten thousands of calories while pedalling freely at home and abroad. I’ve talked, laughed, cried, sent text messages, taken photographs and at times almost slept on my bike. Incidentally, sleeping on the bike is an art form that comes in handy on those hungover morning runs. I intend (once perfected) to patent the technique and teach it to budding Cyclesleep Masters who will divide and conquer night classes around the world. Spinning classes watch out.
You know Santy has a lot to answer for. All the pain, sweat and effort to be endured this summer is his fault. Back in ’80 or ’81 I awoke one Christmas morning to find a brand new blue bike with plastic wheels and stabilisers standing next to the Christmas tree. Now “brand new” for the economically depressed 70’s and 80’s was some feat...thanks Santy.
It would be 18 years before my arse again had the privilege of resting on the saddle of a new bicycle. My current bike is mark 6. In between I’ve had an array of two-wheeled mechanical forms of locomotion. The Triumph 20 was a legend in the Cleary household. Mam passed it to my older brother who fobbed it off on to me when his Motobecane came along. The Triumph 20 was older than I was at the time!
My first racing bike was a five speed ladies bike...you remember the ones with no crossbar? Ok, enough said. A Viking was followed by a Giant which I still see regularly on the roads around BH. It’s already helped to convert two non-believers and will be passed on to a third pagan in the near future.
My current bike is lucky to be alive. Last April, while out for a spin in the Doolough valley, it was violently assaulted by a sinewy, hard brute of a Conemara sheep. At 38km/hr. the front wheel hit the ram flush in the midriff sending me flying through the springtime air. The wheel buckled so much that afterwards its outline resembled the outline of PacMan as he gobbled a fellow alien. Thankfully, the bike survived, made a full recovery and is back to its best; or it will be after I give it its bike bath this week. Come the 29th June there will be no stopping us.
So it’s not about the bike? Yeah, right Lance!
In preparing for this mammoth (we may see one in the Alps) cycle I’ve recently broken the 3,000km barrier for this year. Now I’m not one to blow my own trumpet but I just couldn’t have done that distance without my bike! Have you ever tried walking any further than to the coffee dock and the Fig Roll shelf in a Statoil in LOOK cleats? No? Well it’s like wearing a pair of high heels, backwards...or so I’m told. And to walk over 30km, let alone 3,000km, in cleats and lycra would constitute a display of madness unseen since Suggs was wearing Baggy Trousers. No, and this may be over stating the obvious, but it’s ALL about the bike.
My bike is class...it’s black with a tinge of red and grey and it has two wheels, a saddle moulded into the shape of my arse (of is it vice-versa?), and an ultegra group set for those of you who care. I’ve had this bike for three years now and we’ve shared a lot together. I’ve ridden the bike sober, drunk and hungover. I’ve had the bonk on the bike more times than I can remember, seeing as how my sugar-levels were so low it was all a blur anyhow. I’ve eaten thousands of calories while pedalling freely at home and abroad. I’ve talked, laughed, cried, sent text messages, taken photographs and at times almost slept on my bike. Incidentally, sleeping on the bike is an art form that comes in handy on those hungover morning runs. I intend (once perfected) to patent the technique and teach it to budding Cyclesleep Masters who will divide and conquer night classes around the world. Spinning classes watch out.
You know Santy has a lot to answer for. All the pain, sweat and effort to be endured this summer is his fault. Back in ’80 or ’81 I awoke one Christmas morning to find a brand new blue bike with plastic wheels and stabilisers standing next to the Christmas tree. Now “brand new” for the economically depressed 70’s and 80’s was some feat...thanks Santy.
It would be 18 years before my arse again had the privilege of resting on the saddle of a new bicycle. My current bike is mark 6. In between I’ve had an array of two-wheeled mechanical forms of locomotion. The Triumph 20 was a legend in the Cleary household. Mam passed it to my older brother who fobbed it off on to me when his Motobecane came along. The Triumph 20 was older than I was at the time!
My first racing bike was a five speed ladies bike...you remember the ones with no crossbar? Ok, enough said. A Viking was followed by a Giant which I still see regularly on the roads around BH. It’s already helped to convert two non-believers and will be passed on to a third pagan in the near future.
My current bike is lucky to be alive. Last April, while out for a spin in the Doolough valley, it was violently assaulted by a sinewy, hard brute of a Conemara sheep. At 38km/hr. the front wheel hit the ram flush in the midriff sending me flying through the springtime air. The wheel buckled so much that afterwards its outline resembled the outline of PacMan as he gobbled a fellow alien. Thankfully, the bike survived, made a full recovery and is back to its best; or it will be after I give it its bike bath this week. Come the 29th June there will be no stopping us.
So it’s not about the bike? Yeah, right Lance!
Annagh Wheelers - La Raison d'Etre
Some people often wonder why we do it? Why do we sit on a hard saddle the size of a monkey wrench for 100 odd kilometres Sunday after Sunday in all weathers? The sweat, effort and pain involved in pushing the pedals into a head-wind up Barnacarroll hill; why bother?
Well, some would think we do it out of a desire to keep fit; others assume that we like bikes and chains and oil and stuff; and yet others may quietly believe that it’s the love of lycra.
Some or all of the above reasons may be true depending on whom you talk to but no; the real reason we do it, quite simply, is the food. Yes, FOOD! Fig Rolls, bananas, chicken sandwiches, Fig Rolls, fruit scones, omelettes, Mars bars, and Fig Rolls…you name it, and so long as it’s crammed with calories, we’ll eat it.
Don’t ask us what it is, but food definitely tastes better after a couple of hours on the bike. You won’t know what I’m talking about unless you’ve devoured half a packet of Fig Rolls washed down with a cup of steaming coffee on a cold February morning outside a petrol station in Foxford having cycled 50km. You won’t appreciate how delicious the chicken sandwiches and pints of Guinness in Gill’s taste until you’ve completed the Mayo 200km. And chances are you’ve never had the opportunity to savour a bowl of cassoulet in Villefranche de Largais after 100 sweaty kilometres through the French countryside in June.
So, no longer content with the scones on offer in Healy’s pub in Pontoon, six foolhardy members of the Annagh Wheelers C.C. set off for Biarritz in June in search of la vraie cuisine française.
Our search took us from Biarritz in South-western France, through the Pyrenees and the Cevennes to Avignon and finally to the Alps and Grenoble. We averaged over 100km a day (60 miles) and never missed a meal…apart from one and God, were we narky.
We travelled solo which meant carrying everything we needed for a two week holiday on the bikes. (You would be surprised how little you need when you have to carry it over, amongst others, the 1,909m ascent of Mont Ventoux.) Needless to say we had very few creature comforts. Although some people’s view as to what constituted a creature comfort, as against a necessity, differed.
It may have been Confucius who said “the bigger the bag, the greater the load”; however nobody told James. He may not have had a spare tube but he carried a travel iron in panniers that would have safely held the population of Luxembourg. In fairness, he was, without doubt, the best dressed cyclist on the trip.
There were many highlights over the two weeks – the climbs (and descents!) of Col de Marie Blanque, Col d’Aubisque, the Tourmalet, Mont Ventoux and Alpe d’Huez were special. So too were the salads the size of a small Welsh vegetable garden, Grahame’s and Hardy’s pizzas in Lannemezan, Mike’s sock washing exploits under the Pont du Gard, the judo music festival in Remoulins, the pigeons in Avignon, Martin’s dessert in Veynes, Bernard’s homemade carrier and the many, many pichets de vin rouge.
So, after cycling over 1,270km in thirteen days, climbing 18,274m (that’s twice the height of Mt. Everest) and spending 58 hours in the saddle, do you still wonder why we bother? Well, it certainly is about the craic, the scenery, the sense of freedom, and the personal challenge. But above all it’s about the food and if you don’t believe us why not come and try it for yourself. All you need is a bike!
The Annagh Wheelers leave every Sunday morning at 9ish in their weekly quest to Castlebar or to Foxford or to Ballinrobe (depends on the wind!) for coffee and Fig Rolls.
GC
Well, some would think we do it out of a desire to keep fit; others assume that we like bikes and chains and oil and stuff; and yet others may quietly believe that it’s the love of lycra.
Some or all of the above reasons may be true depending on whom you talk to but no; the real reason we do it, quite simply, is the food. Yes, FOOD! Fig Rolls, bananas, chicken sandwiches, Fig Rolls, fruit scones, omelettes, Mars bars, and Fig Rolls…you name it, and so long as it’s crammed with calories, we’ll eat it.
Don’t ask us what it is, but food definitely tastes better after a couple of hours on the bike. You won’t know what I’m talking about unless you’ve devoured half a packet of Fig Rolls washed down with a cup of steaming coffee on a cold February morning outside a petrol station in Foxford having cycled 50km. You won’t appreciate how delicious the chicken sandwiches and pints of Guinness in Gill’s taste until you’ve completed the Mayo 200km. And chances are you’ve never had the opportunity to savour a bowl of cassoulet in Villefranche de Largais after 100 sweaty kilometres through the French countryside in June.
So, no longer content with the scones on offer in Healy’s pub in Pontoon, six foolhardy members of the Annagh Wheelers C.C. set off for Biarritz in June in search of la vraie cuisine française.
Our search took us from Biarritz in South-western France, through the Pyrenees and the Cevennes to Avignon and finally to the Alps and Grenoble. We averaged over 100km a day (60 miles) and never missed a meal…apart from one and God, were we narky.
We travelled solo which meant carrying everything we needed for a two week holiday on the bikes. (You would be surprised how little you need when you have to carry it over, amongst others, the 1,909m ascent of Mont Ventoux.) Needless to say we had very few creature comforts. Although some people’s view as to what constituted a creature comfort, as against a necessity, differed.
It may have been Confucius who said “the bigger the bag, the greater the load”; however nobody told James. He may not have had a spare tube but he carried a travel iron in panniers that would have safely held the population of Luxembourg. In fairness, he was, without doubt, the best dressed cyclist on the trip.
There were many highlights over the two weeks – the climbs (and descents!) of Col de Marie Blanque, Col d’Aubisque, the Tourmalet, Mont Ventoux and Alpe d’Huez were special. So too were the salads the size of a small Welsh vegetable garden, Grahame’s and Hardy’s pizzas in Lannemezan, Mike’s sock washing exploits under the Pont du Gard, the judo music festival in Remoulins, the pigeons in Avignon, Martin’s dessert in Veynes, Bernard’s homemade carrier and the many, many pichets de vin rouge.
So, after cycling over 1,270km in thirteen days, climbing 18,274m (that’s twice the height of Mt. Everest) and spending 58 hours in the saddle, do you still wonder why we bother? Well, it certainly is about the craic, the scenery, the sense of freedom, and the personal challenge. But above all it’s about the food and if you don’t believe us why not come and try it for yourself. All you need is a bike!
The Annagh Wheelers leave every Sunday morning at 9ish in their weekly quest to Castlebar or to Foxford or to Ballinrobe (depends on the wind!) for coffee and Fig Rolls.
GC
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
