Blogtackular!

2 am… that strange time that seems to be between one day and the next, where half the population are in their bed, and the other half are in the pub. It’s certainly a strange time to be eating breakfast and pulling on cycling gear, but that’s what I find myself doing, pulling on base layer, shorts, arm and leg warmers… a brief decision over which jersey to wear, and the stuffing of my pockets with all ancilliary items, and I was ready to go.

The journey from my flat to the Papal Cross in Pheonix park is quick and easy. My lights are working well, the morning (evening!?) is mild and the quays are quiet. I’m feeling good, and rool up to the rendevous with a couple of minutes to spare. Yes, this is a harebrained idea to cycle from Dublin to Galway and back in one go (a distance of some 400km), but it seems achievable so long as we take it steady.

15 minutes pass before Blorg shows up (he’s always late!), and the first thing I notice is the chocolate bar strapped to the top of his bar bag. The sight of it has me cursing internally -after all the preparations and decideding how many batteries, bottles, pairs of gloves and everything else to bring, I’d completely forgotten to pack any food. A stupid mistake, but we’re bound to pass a few garages, right so it’s not too bad…

We hit the road, and head out of the park. Blorg has programmed his GPS to our route, so he leads the way. We’re sticking to quieter roads, so soon we’re out of the city and on dark streets. Our lights are working well, and even the light rain that starts to fall doesn’t dampen our enthusiasm as we whirr our way ever westwards.

After a short time however, the rain (and the wind) pick up some more and soon we’re both pretty damp and muddy. My jacket is keeping the water out, but it’s still pretty miserable, and visibility is reduced by a huge amount. It’s also around this time that my neck and shoulders begin to ache, which is worrying. This is the first proper spin I’ve attempted since the fall in Bristol which shook a lot of things loose, and to be hurting this close to the start is a bad omen, but I tell myself the good old Lance Armstrong mantra “pain is temporary, quitting is forever”, and get down to mashing the pedals some more. Maynooth is skirted around, and we come across Kilcock almost by surprise, the GPS taking us down country lanes that we’d never normally have used. Even though the weather is poor, I’m enjoying riding at night. It’s a very peaceful time to cycle, and not all that dangerous. Our lights ensure that motorists pass with plenty of room, and there’s no near misses.

We hit the 50km mark around Johnstown bridge, and by now the fun has gone out of this adventure. With the pain rising in my back, I begin to notice the little things more, and the damp that creeps its way in gets more and more irritating and adds to the misery, but I really don’t want to quit -remember, it’s forever.

We stop for a bit of a break and some refuelling in Edenderry at a 24hr Tesco petrol station, and the Starmix go down a treat. The sugar helps ease my misery somewhat, but within 5k it’s back in a massive way, and even the ibuprofen I’ve taken an hour or so ago don’t cut it. Blorg is dropping me more and more now, and I have to fight to stay anywhere close to his wheel. At the top of a slight rise, where he waits for me to catch up I make the decision. It’s time for me to turn around. Blorg, ever cheerful, wants me to continue on at least as far as Tullamore, but I’m spent. I don’t want to get a train back, and I know the 70km we are from home won’t be fun, but I want to arrive home under my own steam. After some more attempts at persuasion, he agrees to head on alone, and I turn back sore, tired and a beaten man, knowing that there’s still someway to go before I’m home.

The second half of my journey is blurred somewhat. I get into that mechanical state where you’re not really thinking about anything, just looking at the road and keeping your legs turning. Kilometre after kilometre slowly pass by as I follow the road signs to Dublin. I pass through sleepy towns that are just beginning to awake, and the sunrise completely passes me by -at some point I simply realise that I’m cycling in daylight.

Heuston Station has neever been welcomed so warmly as I pass outside it, and soon after I’m trudging up the stars to my flat, leaving a trail of mud behind me. The bike gets dumped in the living room, and I strip off the wet layers and climb into the shower, and try to get the mud off myself. Finally clean, I take some more painkillers, and collapse onto the bed, a beaten man.