With stage four of the An Post Ras kindly splitting into two races – an A event and a handicap B race – on the road to Bundoran, Cuchulainn CC’s Myles McCorry takes stock after a rough night with the team manager. He yearns for that day when his social standing permits him to use many pins on his number, while the mind races ahead to the hills of Donegal.
It’s 4:29am and the manager is snoring like a Yamaha. I probably don't need a night’s sleep for the Donegal mountains ahead anyway…. I’ve tried the 'folding a pillow around my head' trick and the 'flushing an empty toilet' trick. Nothing is keeping out the noise. Shortly I’m going to try the Fr Dougal McGuire method: 'Would you for the love of sponge cake stop the feck snoring you fecking mother fecken snoring fecker fecker.'
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How you pin your race numbers to your jersey is everything around here. We are handed two small shoulder numbers and two large back numbers. Each has four corners, so you would assume all riders use 16 pins, right? Oh no. The more pins you use the faster you go, everyone knows that.
I think it must be about demonstrating best-practice preparation and not looking like a 'Fred'. If any number is flapping in the wind, it’s akin to publicly punching a baby - so most pros reinforce with an extra pin or two. I'm a Fred, but I stick an extra one in the middle to combat the dreaded 'flap'. The fear of the flap, or looking like a Fred, is so intense for young Stephen Halpin that the weight of pins on his jersey must interfere with climbing, posture and airport security checks.
There were two separate races today. Both started at the same time, in the same place. Both finished in Bundoran 15 minutes apart.
The B race (my event) had around 80 riders and was a handicapped event. Not by time, but by a few guys shouting "phuckin’ ride" long after it would make any difference.
The race started like a fitness test. Within 5km, a long line of 160 riders was on the rivet - into a draggy crosswind. It’s not a case of ‘if’ the line will split, it's ‘when’. It only takes one rider to break the chain. Protocol dictates you move out into the wind and let the next rider fill the gap. But this is easier said than shouted. I knew it was imminent when the French rider in front filled a gap... men were weakening. But I could hold the wheel, couldn’t I? I was hoping like mad that those in front of me had been training properly from this since November. With my wife and kids at the finish today I really wanted to make the cut. Dig in.
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The line-out gap opening is a curious thing. It opened ten men in front of me and by the time I saw the hole it was 30 meters wide. A canyon. Over the top of the drag there was silence. Then many men tried useless digs to get across. When it went to 200 metres, frantic pros made vocal encouragements for everyone to ride. But the cream was at the top, the race was over.
With no continued organised chase, the blackboard stopped giving us splits when the gap was 3:14. So we entered the 'lounge'. A great, social place where you get to talk to your mates while more committed athletes move you in the general direction of the finish at 42kph.
They shout things like "C’mon guys let’s get this rolling". Wha? "Rolling?" I'm on my holidays here - you "roll" off and boil your head. The difference between losing 15 minutes instead of 19 minutes means nothing to me.
On the run in to the finish I got updates from the motorbike marshal about the result of the A race. Poor Ronan McLaughlin; some effort! To those who brought about his downfall with nothing to show for it – Bah Humbug.
Got to voice praise for the motorbike marshals keeping this whole show working. Every oncoming car, all junctions, all traffic islands mastered. The lads are very skilful - and mostly sober - and without them the Ras wouldn't happen.
In 1999 I recall a damp B&B in Donegal with five riders trying to ignore the rain beating of the single glazing; nobody making eye contact for fear of breaking down in tears. Really frightening recollections of the five hours in driving rain that followed. Tomorrow there are seven climbs. Five of them very cruel and I am delighted; 21 degrees is forecast.
One life
Myles
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