Dave Walsh's Race Reports

Coombes/Connor Memorial, Drogheda
9 March 2003, S1/S2 race

My report will be short and sweet this week, a kind of companion piece to Cian Lynch's tale of woe.

Why does the M1 from Belfast close on Sundays? After setting out with plenty of time, I ended up stuck behind a slow truck thanks to a 'diversion' through the middle of Lisburn. Still, made Drogheda, with a *bit* of time in hand, and found the sign-on in a huge empty industrial premises off the Donore road. Like most people, I left the car behind, and pedaled out to the start/finish line in Donore, where the wind was whipping down off the hills.

The first and second categories were in together, in a not-terribly big bunch. Waiting for the start, there were two extremes - Graham Thomas and Andrew Donnellan were either side of me, saying nothing. Iin front of us, several riders were laughing and slagging each other off. I too was quiet.

The 10.7 mile course took us from Donore to Newgrange, up over the hills to Duleek, and back in by the lovely concrete works to Donore. We were initially supposed to seven laps, but this was cut to six before the start.

After experiencing some 'interpretive' cornering by a few riders on the first bend, I managed to get up the front on the descent, and was a reasonable position as we belted past the entrance to Newgrange.

A slow left-hander, and we were onto the HILL. Maybe the training has paid off, maybe my 69kg is a help, but I didn't suffer unduly on the lower part of the climb, which was by far the steepest. I got onto a 39x21 and twiddled up without too much bother. Which is not to say I found it easy. All around me were clashing handlebars, slipping gears swearing men.

I can't remember whether it was on the first or second lap, but right at the start of the steepest bit, some poor unfortunate slipped a gear, and landed on his top tub or stem. He let out a muffled grunt, and vanished backwards.

The first time up, the bunch eased off on the false flat, the strong winds discouraging too much excitement. Down through Duleek (where the road was a terrible state) and back towards Drogheda, with the wind whipping us along on big gears. On the backroads before Donore, the front of the bunch was splintering in multiple attacks, and I got involved for a bit. Down the hill from Donore I hit a 'negative pothole', one of those little hills of tarmac, where the powers-that-be have been too liberal with the tarmac. One of my bottles shot out, bounced off my leg and rolled across the road.

We hit the hill again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was too far back to be in control, fighting my way through the gear-slippage and profanities. Got onto the false flat, and started moving up, only to find that a gap had formed, and I was at the wrong side of it. I tore off after the bunch, and came within bike lengths of the last man, but didn't have the gumption to latch back on. Trying to sprint into the wind didn't help, and neither did being on my own.

Near a double bend, I passed Cian Lynch getting a change of wheel. He and three or four others caught me by Duleek, and we started rolling through. After the village Cian and one of the others started laying on the speed, while the rest of us were doing our best just to hang on. John Dillon, Padraig Marrey and Ger Madden were also in the group, and as we passed the concrete factory, we picked up a few more riders, and everyone was taking a go on the front.

Next time over the line, we were crawling into the wind, it felt like 10mph. We cruised down to the bottom of the climb again, where a rider from Ards managed to perform what appeared to be 180 degree skid, right on the apex of the corner. What's more, he stayed upright, only to run into some kind of technical difficulties a few metres later. Cue more obscene language. He caught us again at the top, grinning madly. Round again to Donore, and the fight was gone out of us. I had ridden myself into a heap, and decided to cut my losses...

Next weekend - my first time in Carrick-on-Suir since 1990!

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