Is it Winter already?

Last weekend marked, what for me was, the final race of the year. There are a couple of races left, but I'm not participating because I'm plagued with college already. A break will be a welcome sight to let my mind recover rather than my body. The mental stress this year was pretty constant as there was always off the bike work to be done, so I'm glad to say that all that work falls on a different set of shoulders from now on. 

Having not raced Charleville last year, I didn't have much of an idea as to what to expect once the racing started. I got conflicting reports from all angles. Some said that Stage 1 was a hard one, others said that it would end up in a bunch sprint, not that I cared really because I felt I had the legs to deal with whatever was thrown up. The rain came and went as we motored out of Carrick just after our decided 10am departure time. As we entered Charleville it seemed like an overcast but dry day. And it was, until 5 minutes before the roll-out. The awning of the Charleville Park Hotel became our shelter from the elements, and a 'first come, first serve' basis was dished out, as those who were late to react to the first few rain drops were left shelter-less. But I felt that was ok, as they would be getting plenty of shelter for the following 2 hours. I was guesting as a Kanturk rider, as I missed the entry date and Dan Curtin managed to get me in, under one condition. So I donned the blue and green and white of Kanturk for the weekend. Before the race, as I was pinning on my numbers, I felt like a bride getting ready for a wedding. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. What I had that was old were my shoes. My Shimano shoes really are getting their use, but don't owe me anything at this stage. I probably should upgrade them. Something new, well those were my black socks. Long black socks, like Wiggins, except without all the shouty, sweary pomp. Something borrowed, my Kanturk jersey. I was reintroducing retro, too bad nobody else recognises retro and appreciates it. All they do is laugh. I should have ripped out a pair of KAS gloves to complete the look. Something blue? No matter where I looked I couldn't find something blue. The sky didn't have a smudge of blue in it. And so it seemed that I wouldn't be completing the pre-wedding bridal superstition, until Eiffel 65 came on Red FM to save the day. Now I was ready, to get married and to ride the bike. 

I'm bringing retro back

We rolled out amidst the skating rink roads and officials cars, dodging road islands and darting our eyes from the pretty pedestrians to the back of the lead car bumper. Unsurprisingly at the head of the snake it was an all junior affair. We rolled through the finish line the opposite way round and the race was under way  Ian Redmond put in his 
signature attack as soon as the flag was dropped. Then others jumped across followed by the whole bunch eventually and we were soon back on equal terms. It was now raining quite steadily and the temperature was the lowest we've seen in recent months. This is my favourite type of weather, so I was eager to get up the road and make a race of it. We came upon a slight chicane in the road, I was 4th in line and rolled up to the front and then just kept going, I gained 5 seconds almost immediately and then when the roads got twisty I put the boot down to try and drag out a gap. On average I had about 30 seconds, and at most I had 50 seconds. I held this gap for 40km before the gap dropped below 20 seconds. I sat up and allowed myself to accept some draft from an obliging bunch. We now had 30km to go, and I ate like a champion in those final 30km. I decided after a bit of deliberation to go for the sprint and with 1km to go I was in the middle of those who would be leading the charge. Unfortunately I had to kick early to keep the pace up and set up one of my not so famous but increasingly recurring in the saddle gallops. If I'd been able to wait another 50 metres I'd have probably won the stage, but then again if I had kept my powder for the first 40km things could have worked out differently as well. If my solo move had paid off we'd have had a different situation. There's a lot of ifs and buts involved in cycling. 

Think I'll keep up this sprinting malarky. It's almighty craic

Stage over it was now time to warm up and fuel up. The countdown to the TT was on. I was feeling good, but then again I would because I was lying down on a borrowed bed in the Dunbar household. I'd really only know how I was going after the first 1km of the 6.7km test. If man's best friend is the dog, then surely a cyclist's best friend has got to be pasta, and so we made sure to eat enough to suffice the next two stages. I feel as though the TT went as well as it could have gone. I came second by 14 seconds to Dylan Foley, who is World Championship bound in the coming weeks. Now I'm not petty or anything, but I feel as though the blame for my 14 second time loss is to be found in someone else. If Sinéad Dunbar hadn't been so willing and wanting to fight everyone that evening, then maybe that gap would be smaller. And no you did not win, I just can't by right punch a girl square in the face, let alone in her own house. And also my shoes were a bit too tight so that is another inputting factor. Another thing that would have helped a lot would have been if I had had, say, a gale force tailwind, and everyone else didn't. But no run is perfect...

The afternoon stage was less than 4 hours after my TT, so an 'off-the-feet' system was put in place. After the TT I had my real breakfast, including two little pieces of heaven. Apparently they're from France, and called 'cross-onts'. They're like bread, only stale and twisted every which way. I'm currently googling what the word 'cross-ont' means in French but having no luck as of yet. Maybe Ron Burgundy can help me. I hear he's good with foreign language translations. For the second year in a row, Foley had the yellow jersey after the TT. And he said my retro Kanturk jersey was big. The afternoon stage takes in some of the Killmallock CC race, which was a hilly race. Now, when my ears hear the word 'hilly' that shoots through my inner ear into my brain and then gets changed into the word 'balls'. But if my legs were good then I should have been able to dance up them. It's not that my legs were bad, but they weren't what you would call good by any means. What got me up the hills was sheer brute force and ignorance. The climbing compadrés of Dunbar and O'Brien 'skipped away up the road in ones and twos' as is religiously drilled into anyone who has had the immense pleasure of riding with Danny Curtin. They had 1:40 at the most, but all they needed was 25 seconds. In Killmallock they had 1:20 but at the line they had 1:30. We ended up with 1st, 2nd and 4th overall in the GC, not to mention a flurry of stage results along with it and the team prize. After his stint in Wales, young Beavis took the biggest win of his career, so far. 

I absolutely adore this photo

So that's about it for this blog post. Well actually it's not, because my lectures don't start until 12:15 today, and it's currently only 11:23. So until then I'm 'Seanie-No-Mates'. And I've got no college work to do. So for now, I'll ramble on deliriously about my college experience thus far. If you are only interested in cycling, then you should probably click the little red 'X' button in the top right-hand corner.

Anyway, as I'm only 1 week into college, there's not much I can say about it. My journey begins at 10 minutes to 8 in the morning where I have to get a CIE bus to the college gates. This journey takes an hour, most of which is spent listening to the views of others' around about how the country should be run. And when I say 'listen', I really mean 'unable to escape the realms of their bright ideas'. I can feel my IQ dropping by the second.  By the time I get to college, I reek of the diseases picked up from the musty faded blue and fading red seats of the bus. I come to college to learn, but the purpose is rather defeated because my time spent there is used up topping up the IQ tank after an hour long bus journey. And then I spend another hour and a half on one on the way home. I reckon that my IQ will drop into the minuses by next March at this rate. But this is just a educated estimate made by someone with a lower IQ than he started the day with. The college experience itself is great. A sense of freedom is felt in the air. And the lectures are actually about things I enjoy learning. No sign of Pythagoras or his crew anywhere near the place. One thing I will say is because of out laid back and louche timetable, I can see why students get the reputation of being wasters. But I prefer the term 'contemplators', as none of the time spent there is wasted, rather spent on life's little mysteries and great questions which I contemplate daily. The latest one - What happens if you pour Dettol into a Yakult? 

Well, that ramble killed 20 minutes, let's see if I can resist that packet of Haribo Tangfastics in Centra on the long perilous walk to today's lecture,

Here's hoping I don't,

Until whenever,

Hahessy.