Oscillations

Suppose this is long overdue. Well here it is…

Most people knew what went on in my cycling season when I was at home, but what’s in the darkness for most people is what I did from June onwards. That, my friends is why I’m typing this shebang. To make it crystal, I’ll split it up into months.

JUNE: NOT THE PERSON, THE MONTH.

The end of June was when I resumed my cycler season after a long pause for some bland, but necessary exams. It had to be done. After doing all those homeworks from 1^st-5^thyr (U6 homework is a loosely phrased term, should be renamed commonroom-scribble-getitfuckingdone-work*), I didn’t fancy leaving this institution without some fancy certificates in my backpack.

It restricted the training I could do, but I aimed for the ‘short-and-sharp’ method rather than the preferred ‘knock-the-bag-out-of-yourself’ approach.

Irish Champs TT was my official comeback race. I was reasonably confident on doing well as I had finished first in every race I had done in the past two months (I last raced in April).

It was a tailwind on the way out. I realised this on the way back.

My TT thoughts-

WAY OUT: ‘I am trucking ! *looks at speedo* jeez that said 35 mph ! On the flat too !

Do you think you should fist pump before crossing the line ?

No, a casual wave to the crowd should do it’

WAY BACK: ‘FUCK. That is indeed a headwind. *looks down at speedo* 22mph ?! You’re going downhill man, get your shit together. Think of the post-race defibrillator, you can finish this.’

Managed to get 4^th in the u23, with 3 top lads ahead of me. In hindsight, those 3 lads were all competing for the Worlds’ spots, so I wasn’t that far away from some damn good pro testers.

National RR thoughts-

‘…..’

I had pretty bad chest problems during the road race. Went to the doctor’s after, hoping for a mobile defibrillator, but came out with a few new inhalers instead.

If I had a pound for every person who has asked me when witnessing me taking some Ventolin or Qvar, ‘Have you got real asthma’, I could buy them a few plasters for my response of a roundhouse kick to the face**.

The week after was the Newry 3 day. I’ve never hit this race in good nick, but I was in ok condition this time around. After teaching people how not to do the final 3k in the first stage, giving 3 seconds as a gift in the time trial, I knew I had to do something in the afternoon stage. Tailwind up Santa’s Grotto, good vibrations on the downhill, and then a 2s timegap sprint finish. All was good for retaining the yellow jersey on the Sunday.

The early hours of Sunday morning were spent playing FIFA. I don’t really sleep early but too much was going on in my boxhead to sleep anyway. Channelling it into a strategic football platform was the best way forward. Winning the FA cup is always a proud moment, in any situation.

In my opinion the headwind done me out of the jersey on the final stage. I didn’t look at the wind direction prior, which I really should have so the last 10 miles of chasing a break into a headwind weren’t the most colourful miles of my cycling career to date. But then I again I didn’t think someone would tow someone else into a yellow jersey either …

JULUGUST

I don’t want to make you weary so I thought I’d make a new month to speed proceedings up a bit.

The start of July I was flown off to the Cycling Ireland Belgium house. I was there to do a bit of kermis racing, then the Tour of Brabant.

In the first race back in Belgium I would say I was fisted, but forearmed would be a more fitting adjective. It was the start of a pretty frustrating run of races were I was goosed before the final. But I got to where I needed to be for the 5 day TopComp Stage Race: The Tour of Brabant.

We stayed in Kelly’s adopted hometown: Vilvoorde. The roads about there are a bit like the rock of Irish Cycling himself: Unrelenting, historical and indeed concrete.

I’d say the previous forearming in other races got in the way of a good result in this one. I was in the perfect position and felt good to get in the break for the first stage, but pussyed out of it. Big regret. I’ve learnt for the next time to just YOLO it so I won’t regret it when looking back.

This race also produced the biggest save of my cycling career to date. The second stage went down through a small village, which happened to be a fast descent. There was a ramp in the road which could be easily spotted by a driver moseying through the location at 20mph. However, when it’s a mad Belgian biker attacking at 40mph, risk assessment is brief.

So I’m about 60^th wheel in the bunch and see this attacker (we’ll call him LycraMan) elevate himself about 2feet in the air. LycraMan was on his feet when I was just about to pass. But then he did what no other superhero would do: he lifted his bike into my direction of movement.

I didn’t have enough time to react. His rear wheel grabbed my gear lever’s hood, yanking my handlebars to the right. I was sitting on the toptube now, werkin’ dem hips. The bike was slithering down the hill, and the guy behind thought he’d give me a literal forearming.

In a few seconds it was over. My hood was bent, my rear brake was fucked but I got through the stage no bother. Safe to say I’m next Robbie Madison.

30 DAYS HAS SEPTEMBER

After a few weeks back in Belfast, I ventured back out to Europia. A few days with my friends Rik and Sabien and then I moved onto Le France.

I think my body is like a treadmill. You have to press the up arrow quite a number of times before it’s at the pace which you want it to be at. Belgian racing, again didn’t start well, but it ended well. I ended up getting into winning breaks in the last couple of races which was ego boosting/confidence building for going south.

I got a 4 hour train from Lille to Nantes. I think this is where the reality set in.

I was looking out the window, observing the train whistling through French countryside. As the completely French intercom gained a minority of my attention, I realised I would be nowhere near anyone I have ever known for the best of a month. The intercom reinforced that I really should have paid more attention to French in school. The only way I was determining when I was in Nantes was by the time, but when the train stopped in the middle of the tracks for no reason, my plan was totally scuppered. It was a pretty stressful final hour to say the least, my face pressed against the window for most of the time, seeing what each platform was called. I nearly collapsed with relief when I saw ‘Nantes Gare’ on a crumbling rusty sign, 500m from my get off point.

I heard a few horror stories of people who stayed in France but my living conditions were pretty good. I got fed well, and I had a bed. What more could one want ? 

Initially I stayed in Nantes in the Team Manager’s home, in his office, but then I was taxied to Mayenne where I lived out the remainder of my stay in the team apartment. The apartment got pretty cold at night, and I had to pay for food while I was living there, but it was still pretty sweet for £0 a month.

My first race was in Plouay. Before the pros took to the stage, there was an amateur race in the morning which I took part in. It was pretty brutal and I was happy enough to finish. There was about 150 starters and 50 finishers, so it was a good start to the French campaign. I was told to eat cake in the morning for some reason. Lesson learned: eat more cake.

It showed the strength in depth we have in the WorldTour peloton. Pippo Pozzato won Plouay in a bunch sprint whereas my race was a war of attrition. It was a forest-soaked lap with two walls included. Clearly not vertical enough for the pros.

I raced the day after Plouay, but my body wouldn’t jumpstart in the first 50k when the break went. I tried bridging across, but didn’t have the horsepower to get over the final 20 seconds. I won the bunch sprint, but it didn’t really could when there was a 15 man break up the road.

This was when the clean run of things stalled. Next race was two longs laps through some picturesque fields and then led onto finishing circuits in and around the town which were drawn/risk assessed by a three year old on acid. I was happy enough, the French didn’t like to messed about like the Belgians did in the bunch so I thought I’d had the upper hand in this case.

I didn’t make it to the crash-derby finishing circuit. At 4k there was an unexpected right hander. it was easily negotiated, I would just have to grind the gear I was in to get up the hill we turn onto. I pushed down hard on the pedals, but my chain gave up, and let go, aborting its job and flung itself into the ditch. This left me powerless and nowhere to put my momentum. For a moment I sat on the top tube, but my front wheel began to become magnetic sucking my head into its field. Causing me to be flung over the handlebars and onto my finely tuned arsehole. DNF.

After the race I realised I’d bent the rear mech hanger in the crash. Easily solved. Throw the bike into the local bike shop and they’ll work their magic of bending it back into shape.

WRONG. In broken English, the Frenchman said,

‘We fucked up your hanger lad’

I had to do a bit of sight-seeing to find a new one but it was my own fault for not bringing a spare one with me. Another lesson to add to the big black book of hindsight.

I missed a race in my hanger quest, and then managed to finish off my stay in France with a chest infection. I was pretty peeved but it was an education. I learnt a lot off the bike as much as I did on the bike and I’ll probably go back again to race my bike soon; even if the people will argue with you for breathing the wrong way.

TT CHAMBER

I went home on the Friday before the Ulster 25TT Champs. It was a bit of a mammoth trip. I had to get a 2hour bus journey from Laval to Nantes after my Hungarian teammate kindly gave me a lift to there from Mayenne. Then I got the bus from Nantes to the airport where I had to wait 8 hours for my plane to show up. Then once in Dublin I had to make the standard coach up from Dublin to Belfast.

On the Saturday I was on my TT bike feeling a bit groggy.

Sunday was matchday. It was 53minutes of mind numbing pain. My whole body was numb from about two minutes in and I thought I was in France when I finished. It’s amazing where a bike ride can take you in your mind. I was pretty surprised at the result, considering I’d only jumped on the time trial bike the day before, but I kept the pokerface on, smiling while receiving the trophy, acting like I meant it to happen.

The week after I built up to the 100TT Champs. I was on the bike for the whole week, trying to prepare myself for the onslaught.

I didn’t prepare myself enough. 55miles in a niggle seared into my right glut going through the feedzone. I kept calm, thinking good poke and it would be grand. Going through the motorway roundabout the tranquil calm had washed away and I was shouting ‘FUCK’ as the pain spread deeper into the muscle. I wasn’t going to give up easily. So I thought I will re-evaluate my chances at the other roundabout. My condition just got worse and worse and I couldn’t really see clearly going through the second roundabout. I couldn’t sit on the saddle either as it was a tad painful. I thought it would be better to opt out of this one with a gratious retirement at the feed zone. That didn’t pan out very well and I collapsed in a heap, couldn’t breathe and was only rescued by a few puffs on Ventolin. An interesting way to mark off the season, but nothing ever seems to end in a normal fashion in my life, so it was a fitting way to end: with another plot twist.

There are a few people to thank for helping me during the season.

The people of East Antrim CC for supporting me throughout the season and giving me a bit of company when I ventured on training rides around that part of the country.

Cycling Ireland, for taking me under their wing and babysitting me for the majority of the summer. I learnt a lot and appreciated the opportunity.

The Bank Rollers. Thanks to all the people who took me to races this year and also my parents for handing out the goods when I needed them most.

And finally to Cormac McCann. I started working with him last September and I have come on so much since then. He has been a great help on and off the bike, letting me whine at him with my problems for him to logically solve.

Hopefully next season will be more fruitful, and I can get some trophies in races further from home.

So that was my season. It started off very well and I had to battle to get back to where I was after my two month exam break. There were many ups and downs but I’ve learnt a lot. There’s plenty to add to the autobiography. I think the best way of summing up my season is through Myles McCorry’s wise words:

‘Don’t sacrifice a good cycling career for a good education’***

@DanBikeStewart

*Homework is for home kids. I have a commonroom at home.

**I have never roundhouse kicked someone in the face due to poor flexibility/lack of motivation to transform thoughts into reality. I’m a Bruce Lee maybe.

***Just kidding, get you’re a-levels kids before you become waster trying to make the prolife.