Stage 5: Sneem-Clonakilty

Over halfway! Feels like we’re on the home stretch now, sure tomorrow’s the weekend, right?

The weather has been fantastic so far - sunny and dry every day bar the first. This year the team is staying with the race accommodation, where last year we booked B&Bs ourselves. It’s been mostly good - upmarket hotels with leisure centres where a jacuzzi does wonders for the legs.

In Dingle however, we ended up in the overflow hotel. They tried to give three triples, which doesn’t work when you have two females. The hotel’s solution was to put the four riders into one room, which was probably only big enough for two. Once Mary got on to the accommodation officer though, they got us an extra room elsewhere, so we weren’t quite as jam-packed. At least we didn’t get put in bunk beds like the lads in the room next door!

Last night we were disturbed about 1.30am by a fire alarm going off. Ronan had his toe lanced earlier in the evening, and with the couple of painkillers he took, he slept through the whole thing!

Today’s stage saw us head straight into the Caha Pass, where there were big splits in the bunch. Through the tunnel at the top, we couldn’t see a thing in front of us coming in from the bright sunshine. Then descend into Glengarriff and another climb. I managed to stick with the front bunch, but went out the back over the Cat 3 at Derrycarhoon.

I tagged onto a couple of fast descenders and made it back to where the bunch was nearly riding piano. The rest of the stage is a bit of a blur, but the first time through the finish line the group exploded. I hadn’t expected such a steep ramp, and with the legs already sapped from the earlier climbs, I found myself in a chasing group.

We regrouped and on the way into the finish, everyone was ready to contest the sprint. I took the right-hand line, hoping to nip up along the barriers. Instead I found a motorbike parked in my way and with no room to change my line without taking out a rider, I hit the brakes and then sprinted again.

It cost me a top ten county rider spot, which is a nice accolade for an unambitious rider like myself, and put me just outside the top 50 for the third day running. It’s only a minor detail though, I’m happy with my rides through the hills so far. I’m almost looking forward to tomorrow’s three Cat 3s!

Stage 4: Dingle-Sneem

Today’s team talk was all about the early climbs. We’re out of Dingle up a hard drag, and then on to a Cat 3 before we even hit 10km. With yesterday’s early splits, the message is hammered home - get up the front from the gun, and stay up there!

The lads played a stormer - one was even in front of the race director’s car as we pulled out! They were all ahead of me in the front 50 for the first 60km. It was a small comfort knowing they were there when I heard the crunch of carbon behind me on the hill out of Miltown.

Winding around Lough Caragh, there’s a lull for nature breaks. The narrow road exacerbates the compressions as riders stop and rejoin, and guys are coming to a total standstill and unshipping chains. It’s still mostly together as we hit the bottom of the Cat 1 of the day.

It’s horrible, a gradual incline to begin before it ramps up steeply. Then a false flat before the final pain. I dig in and push as hard as I can. Halfway up I exchange bottles with John Busher, Jamie’s dad, who has been invaluable help so far this week. It’s proper club spirit, following the race and helping any way he can.

Over the top, and down the other side. At the first bend there’s carnage, bikes in the ditch and riders on the deck. Zip through and onwards. The front of the race is out of sight as we drop towards the coast. I link up with two Kerry lads, and a collection from North Down, Mego Raw and two pros. We spend the next 20km chasing at 50kph to catch the cavalcade.

One of the Team Ireland lads has a mechanical ahead, and himself and a teammate are a real boon to our chasing group, letting us tag onto the back of the bunch just before Waterville.

We climb Coomakista at a civil, even sedate pace - the Tirol team of the yellow jersey setting a steady tempo on the front. At the summit, the soigneurs are waiting with another bottle. A winding descent and soon we’re passing through Sneem.

15km to go, one last KOM… I think I\m in a good position, until someone lets a wheel go about ten riders further up. No county prize today! I’ve settled in for the final few km, when a moto overtakes on the right. He hits a patch of gravel and spins out for a moment. When the wheel regains traction, he shoots to the over side of the narrow road and ends up in the ditch. No riders injured thankfully, and I heard later that the driver was okay too.

I finish a few minutes down, happy with the ride. The Garmin is definitely on its last legs, wouldn’t give me distance readings all day. I finished with 18km on the clock!

Stage 3: Charleville-Dingle

It’s funny how some things on race day never change. The pre-race choices - I spent Sunday morning fretting about what to wear on the opening stage. Long sleeves or short sleeves? Rain jacket or gillet? Maybe the Gabba? Today was a question of which cassette. The 11-23 might not be enough for the Conor Pass, but the 12-28 would leave me spinning on the descent into Dingle.

Our expert mechanic Fionn - on loan from Joe Daly Cycles - dug out an 11-28 that I didn’t know I had, so that had me sorted for all scenarios. He’s been hard at work since day one, cleaning the bikes and getting them ready every morning, along with his lovely assistant John. I wouldn’t have gotten around quite so well without him today!

A wall of noise greeted us as we sped out of Charleville. The local school were out in force, waving their An Post Rás flags, and cheering at the top of their lungs. It’s a fantastic buzz to have the schools on the side of the road, and it’s always good to try put on a show for an audience.

Today’s start was fast, on twisting roads. It lined out early, with wheels being dropped down the bunch. I had the sense to start on the front, so made the early split. As the bunch whittled down, there was a touch of wheels at the 35km mark, two lads hitting the deck. A calm, controlled chase back - let the cars up and around, then shelter and weave back to the bunch.

We take the cat 3 KOM steadily enough, and zip down the other side into the valley. The passage through the towns is the most hectic - sharp turns meaning the bunch gets strung out, and the line outs only coming back together well after we exit the town.

Today is all about the Conor Pass. Looming large with about 10km left in the stage, naturally the race is blown to bits on the ascent. I pick an Austrian wheel and follow it up, occasionally passing a weaving riders. The crowds are out in force at the top, and the decent is terrific. Dry roads, good surface, perfect visibility… it’s nearly 70kph average for 6.5km, before we ramp up to the finish line.

Stage 2: Mullingar-Charleville

We started the day on a low note, with one of the guys having to DNS due to a family emergency. Stephen had been riding high in the A2 cat, and would've been romping up the ranks in his Kingdom of Kerry, but it was not to be this year. Hopefully all goes well for him at home this week, and we'll see him back next year for more.

The rest of us settled in for 180km+ from Mullingar to Charleville. We were hoping for an early break to go, then a nature break and feed at 50km, with a nice steady chase into Charleville. Instead nothing got established until nearly the halfway point, which meant the fast start was extended long into the race.

It was particularly annoying that my GPS computer decided not to work this morning, meaning I had to mentally keep track of where we were on the route, and how long until the next key point.

As we head towards Nenagh, there’s a protracted lull as people stop for a nature break. Then a static feed goes horribly wrong, and combined with a couple of overtaking team cars, there’s a crash that blocks the road. A furious chase through Nenagh puts me back in the bunch.

Wisely our hard-working soigneurs Aishling and Mary chose a wider section for our feed zone, and the musette delivery was superb! Proper pro stuff, packed lunch on the bike! I was delighted with myself, stuffing my face with cake at the back of the bunch, until we turned a corner onto the KOM of the day.

All the Orwells were in there, and despite splits on the climb, we ended up in the same group on the far side. With a big bunch and only 50km to go, the pace slackened and most of the riders sat back to work on their tans. Our man Ronan clipped off with about 30km to go with a few other more dedicated souls to claw back some GC time.

It was a delight to come to hear Eoin Morton had won the stage - a hard-working, honest-riding county rider getting one over on the pros. Along with Bryan McCrystal, who’s probably disappointed not to have yellow, but he’s already shown he looks good in blue!

Stage 1: Dublin Castle-Multyfarnham

I remember the lead-up to the last year’s Rás, my first. I was trying convince myself that it was just another stage race. It was longer and tougher than anything I’d ever done, but still, it was just another stage race. This year I think I believed it. I’ve completed it once, got the cap and earned the finisher’s medal. Rás number two should be straight-forward enough, right?

Signing on at Dublin Castle was pretty special. Masses of club mates came out to give us the largest cheer of the morning when we were introduced by Scott-Orwell’s own Declan Quigley. The support there and in the Phoenix Park, as well as plenty of random spots along the route, keeps you fuelled mentally. It helps you remember that a club’s hopes have been invested in you and your teammates, and it’s up to you to try your hardest and do the club proud.

Just before the race start, our manager Stephen O’Shea gathers us around for a final team pep talk. We take a moment to remember Pat O’Brien, our Rás manager last year. A huge contingent of the club was out in force in his native Enniscorthy yesterday, and he’ll be in our thoughts throughout the week.

Then we’re rolling out on familiar roads cheered on by spectators and passers-by. It made for a very memorable start to a pretty horrible day: rain, hail, lumpy roads and crashes…

The crash at 15km nearly blocked the road. I negotiated my way through it, hoping there wasn’t a teammate on the deck, and started to get a group together to chase back on. It’s start-stop, nobody wants to commit. The race is disappearing up the road without us, but everyone’s looking at each other. Naturally, this is when the first heavy shower hits. A few of us are fitfully chasing, then Damien Shaw swoops down like a guardian angel, hits the front like a freight train and hauls the whole race back together like a modern Hercules.

As things come back together, I make a mental checklist of our lads - everyone’s here, and in one piece. Except for Manuel, who says he’s fine, but his entire right side is caked with mud. He found a soft landing in a puddle!

The stage flashes by in a whirl of rain showers and sunny spells. Twice I made the mistake of being behind the guy who dropped the wheel in the line out. Once I got back on the bumpers, another time in a little chasing group. The third time I had nobody to blame but myself. Pushing in the 53x11 as hard as possible, but a gap just slowly yawned open in front of me.

I flicked my elbow like a possessed chicken, willing someone to come around, to save me from myself. There’s no response, and a small group of us slowly detach from the bunch, with 30km remaining. The others filter through the cars, most of them regaining contact, but my legs are bust.

I sit up and wait for a teammate just behind, and we roll in together to finish the first stage.

Day 5: Prades to Cerbere (98km with 620m ascent)

The final morning with us all setting off as one, which soon proved inhospitable to other traffic in the morning rush hour. Small groups formed, and some stopped in cafés, others in supermarchés, and more still visited McDonald’s.
Twisting roads led around roundabout after roundabout, and the van was a welcome sight to let us know there wasn’t far to go.
Don’t go on the motorway, Debbie warned us. And if you do end up on the motorway, don’t go into the 2km long tunnel. You will die, she said.
We all agreed to meet in Banyuls-sur-Mer, 10km from the finish, where we could have a relaxing coffee/beer/ice cream, and roll in together. The leaders arrived, followed by the third and fourth groups, with group two MIA. No answer on anyone’s phone. Debbie arrives with the van. She found group two on the motorway as they were about to enter the tunnel, and put them back on course.
As the 100hr deadline neared, tensions rose, but we held fast. We would finish together, or not al all. The suspense dragged somewhat, but at last the wanderers appeared over the crest of the road into town. We would all finish together!
We shepherded the tired stragglers up the hill, and a final descent into Cerbere, to celebrate with beer and champagne, and some swimming and diving.

Day 4: Massat to Prades (145km with 3400m ascent)

Another morning straight into a climb, this time the Col du Port. I wait for David Maher who is a late starter today. We make our way steadily up the climb, where Valdis is bitten by a dog.
Then the worst part of the journey - 30km along busy national roads, the main route to Andorra. James is suffering with an ab tear, so I mosey along with him for a while.
Elevenses in a bakery, with lunch bought for later.
The Col du Pailheres passes with laughter and banter - Peter’s bosom-filled film, giving riders quick pushes to relieve their legs, or for science. A quick race with Lynda on the run-in to the KOM line, which I lost. The shelter at the top.
Then the most technical and coldest descent of the week, to the warmest but slowest café in France. We eat our food and cake in their heat, but there wasn’t much complaining from the proprietor, who was constantly out the back making tea, coffee, and lukewarm chocolate.. Siobhán broke out a delicious home-made cake, and everyone got the giggles.
Then more descending, which David and Ronan didn’t want to end, so they kept going down, when the rest of us took a right turn. I dove after them, hoping they had noticed the lack of followers and slowed. I caught them within 10km while they had stopped to look for directions, and we turned around and got back on track. The image of Ronan’s windscreen wiper is forever scorched into my mind’s eye.
Valdis and Pat were also AWOL, and during the long trudge home, we worried that they were lost in the French wilderness. Until we hit the final sweeping descent through a gorgeous valley. The two boys were home ahead of us though, so all was well, and that night we celebrated Peter’s stag with champagne and toasts (no toast though).

Day 3: Aste to Massat (170km with 3110m ascent)

The forecast is wet, wet, wet, but the morning is dry. We climb out of Bagneres, back toward the Tourmalet. We pass through a town of mannequins, saying ‘bonjour’ to every one. The Rathlin Bog gets an airing.
We are straight into the first climb of the Col d’Aspin, where we catch a few stragglers and late starters. There’s a Porsche convention at the top, where Alan is carrying out some repairs on John Kehoe’s bike.
In Arreau many stop for coffee, Pat and Peter wait for me again, and we tackle the Peyresourde together, watching paragliders float gently down the valley. After we get up and over and down, we stop for lunch in the sun, and the lotion comes out and gets slapped on. Naturally, it then begins to piss rain, and doesn’t stop all afternoon.
Col d’Ares is climbed to the strains of Patricia the Stripper, amongst other tunes. Some slow motion racing in the big ring, the road wet with streaming rain, the gutters channeling a small deluge down the hillside.
Then probably the steepest climb of the trip - Col de Portet d’Aspet. The latter half measures 5km in length, 375m in ascent, and averages about 9.5%. There is no way to get up this easily. Pity the gent on a fully laden touring bike - panniers front and rear. Chapeau if he made it!
The coffee stop in Saint Girons is quick and perfunctory. Sustenance in, get on the road. I want to wait, but I want to keep moving. I push on alone until I meet Brendan, and we reach the hotel together.
Dinner that night is full and hearty, platters and bowls to fill everyone’s stomachs. The hotel is known as the Dollhouse, though our rooms in the annexe are bare enough.

Day 2: Lurbe St Christau to Aste (140km with 3530m ascent)

We allow the less speedy racers to head off ahead, with myself, Pat, Valdis and Dan Coulcher bringing up the rear. It transpires that Eugene and David Maher were behind us.
We don’t pause for long at the first coffee stop, heading for the top of our first big col, D’Aubisque. We climb steadily at first, but I want more - I leave the others behind in search of the summit, peering through misty clouds for most of the route, with the light brightening just as I find Peter Grealis at the flamme rouge. We break out over the clouds, magnificent mountain peaks peeking up along the skyline, three massive bicycles marking the top of the climb, and a horse, curiously investigating the fruit in the van. He’s for eating, Debbie informs me. We order omelettes instead.
Winter jackets on, long-fingered gloves, we descend to Argeles Gazost, where Lorraine used to live, then push on for the Tourmalet. We stop for coffee to allow those behind to catch up, then myself and Pat ride tempo up much of the climb. It seems endless, and relentless. We pass a couple of early starters. I gaze longingly at Stephen Ryan’s gearing - my lowest option is 39*28, his looks to be 36*32 with a lovely long cage derailleur…
500m to go, and Pat sprints away from me with ease. We pause at the café at the top to greet some of the others, and savour the view.
The descent is fast, and after the initial breath-taking landscape, we are again plunged into cloud. Stuck behind the stinking fumes of a lorry, I follow an overtaking car around him, squeezing between the truck and oncoming traffic. Down, down, down… I group up with a few others, and we TTT along the gradual downhill to the hotel in Bagneres. John Kehoe punctures on the descent, shredding his tyre, but he keeps it together and Alan gets him on his way with a replacement. Some miss the hotel at the bottom of the descent, and pay a swift visit to the local town.
Dinner that night is in a private dining room, where a four course meal warms us up.

Day 1: Hendaye to Lurbe St Christau (160km with 2200m of ascent)

A short spin down to the beach for the official start, dipping our toes in the water. Hanley is the only one not in club kit.
Shouted directions from those with Garmins as we head along the coast, out of Hendaye to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, where we have the first of many indecisive moments about what exactly is meant by the ‘third exit’ on a roundabout.
Do not go to Spain!
A well-timed coffee stop in Esplette means we avoid the first downpour of the day.
Lunch is Saint-Jean-Pied-du-Port.
My first ever col! I race up Col D’Osquich ahead of everyone.
The day is long and tiring, and myself and Colin have a beer at the final stop in Tardets. I roll in with Richard to find the hotel, which has an outdoor pool.
The proprietor looks at me like a crazy person when we ask to use it, though James is already swimming when I arrive.
Gar announces that night the intention to run a fundraiser for Keith Harte.