Kilkenny Broomwagon post

Tour de Kilkenny. Saturday July 31st 2010

In my Wicklow preamble I know I mentioned just how much I enjoyed this particular cycling event last year. So you can imagine how much I was looking forward to this one. Better yet, Daragh was coming along to do it too, so there would be someone to talk nonsense to on the drive down and the drive back. 

Oooh but the little things. 

Tyre bulges? Wasn't sure what they meant but everything seemed fine. Had noticed them before my last spin in the mountains and when nothing bad happened thought nothing of it. 150 odd kilometeres with those bulges in place so you get complacent, stopped thinking about them. Even when my tyre was flat when I took it out for Kilkenny.

Other little things. Trip computer battery was dead. My inner stat bunny rendered dormant. Then there was the small bird (swallow possibly?) that pinged off the windscreen on the way down. Last time I got a speeding ticket (August 2001) I had killed a bird on the road and could not separate the two events. But the one in 2001 was a raven, so it was all very Edgar Allan Poe I guess. 

There was also the slagging off of BMW jeep drivers on the drive down. Guess what vehicle the Broomwagon turned out to be?

Almost Shakespearian portents of doom when you stack it all together.

Even the philosophical conversation on the early morning drive about my struggle to maintain focus, commitment, a positive outlook about my cycling motivation this year. Ah yes, it all makes sense now, this was a test.

The day started well. Everything was living up to expectations, for which Marble City Cycling club deserve great praise. Well organised, well marshalled, great food (very important), and above all a really great atmosphere among the participants. 

Great pace from the start, a large fast bunch. The first 50km as far as Thomastown you can get lucky and bunch ride well above your usual average speed. The drag just before Thomastown spreads things out a bit but I was gunning faster and better than last year on that one.

Thomastown to Inistioge is 7km but it doesn't feel like it. Seriously, bang, flash, gone. Are we here already?

So you hit Woodstock and the world just comes to a standstill. A steep, winding, punishing climb in an atypical Irish village. While it is a shock to the system it is a very enjoyable climb. I was doing fine, still managing to keep Daragh in my sights at this stage, which alone is a sign of improvement. 

There I was, doling out words of encouragement to the strugglers, and the walkers (lots of them at this point), telling them about the lovely descent that awaited them. My good cheer was short lived and I never made it to that descent. 

PCHFFFhhhhh!!! Was that mine? Yep. Puncture.

Ho hum, punctures I can handle.

It got worse. Inch long gash in the tyre. Enquiries as to my situation from fellow cyclists go from reassurances that 'I'm grand thanks' to 'you wouldn't happen to have a spare tyre would you?'

One chap stops and produces a cross section of tyre (he said he always carries two, which I will also do from now on) which patches the tyre perfectly. I can continue. I thank him, he goes (may the good fortune of the road be with you always kind sir) and as I am pumping the wheel I find gash number two, almost as big as the first, and wider. 

I try to solicit more tyre sections as the riders, fewer in number now, struggle past. No joy.

I phone Daragh to explain what's happening and that I will go down to Inistioge to see if I can find a taxi. I phone home to relay my fate and assure all that I'm fine.

I roll back down that steep hill very gingerly indeed.

There is no such thing as taxis in Inistioge (beautiful village, you must visit). But the Broomwagon shows up and I get into it relieved and crestfallen at the same time. 

Oh cruel fate.

We trail two cyclists for a long time. One of them is 74 years old and was drinking in the view of the Nore valley on Woodstock hill when we meet him first. He explains he hasn't been in the area since 1952. He's recently had a triple bypass. He struggles at Inistioge to finish the climb but after that he's fine and we don't see him again until the food station at around 80km. He gets a rhythm going after the descent, and metronome-like just motors on. I love that. I want to do that when I'm 74.

The other is a big man from the Comeragh CC. He's looking uncomfortable. His legs cramp badly and we pick him up and deposit him at the food station. He is reunited with friends, gets some sustenance and is revived enough to continue. Happy days.

We follow the 160km route before we switch vehicles for a return to Kilkenny. Another boards.ie cyclist, John, is by the road holding his twice snapped chain aloft. I feel his pain. 

Then there were two in the wagon. We're even explaining to the volunteer driver (who isn't really involved in the club, he's just doing this as a favour to a mate) just how low down the food chain we are  when we ride the Broomwagon. "There's greater honour in an ambulance finish" we tell him. Almost in unison.

We switch vehicles. As we move all the gear we spot a fresh tyre which nobody knew about. Me and John just look at each other. We say nothing to the driver.

Curses.

Back at the clubhouse Daragh takes a picture of me and John in the wagon and offers words of comfort. He's great company on the drive back to Dublin but as soon as I drop him home the grey clouds of disappointment descend on me.

Buggerbuggerbuggerbugger.

I'm over it. You have to take the bad days with the good. I learned something new. I still enjoyed myself.

But Karma, like gravity, is a harsh mistress. As Daragh likes to remind me, "What she giveth, she taketh away".

Next year Kilkenny, next year.