NOW THAT WAS A DAY OUT...

 I don't know where to start so I'd better start at the start.

I'm still high. Not only was the MARK FLOOD MEMORIAL CYCLE really well supported but it was a great day out on the bike too! Here I am the morning after with the combination of sore legs and a sore face from cycling, smiling and laughing so much. The cycling community came out en masse yesterday to honour Mark. They made an emotional day into a collective hug I'll never forget. Maybe you were one of the many club members that felt his hand on their backs on Inistioge hill? Or with every smiling face that came into the sign on, maybe you just knew he was there?

Of course, you know it's gonna be a good day when you arrive at the school at 8am and there are already people looking to sign on. And you know it's gonna be a crazy day when people are looking for espressos at 8.20! And the faces you see arriving are from all corners. Old and new. Some as fit as whippets; there were RAS riders and international athletes. Some not having ridden a bike all Winter; family and work commitments getting in the way. Some having fallen off the Sunday before and had the scars to prove it. And plenty of old-hands that collectively keep Wexford cycling alive. And every single one was there for Mark.

A quick dash to the car before the off saw me throw my gear on quick as a flash. Honestly, Superman couldn't get out of a phone box quicker. Except Superman wouldn't rip the zip on his jersey from bottom to top, would he? Cue major panic. The one day I needed a Barrow Wheeler jersey and I'd turned it into a cape. Thankfully I had a spare jersey to get me through. Everything from Seamstresses to Welders were given as remedies for my wardrobe malfunction. Either way it would take 25km for the lethal combination of panic and double espressos to subside.

At 9.30am we rolled out of school and into the care and support of the Garda Siochana. I swear to god, every junction of note for the whole 100km had a Garda on it. Awesome support on what was a cold day to be driving a motorbike or standing anywhere. And how many had given up their day to make this event run like clockwork? The behind the scenes stuff? They were missed as we headed down to Waterford and had the chats, catch-ups and banter. It was an awesome first hour just being there. Soon enough we were delivered safely onto the road north.

And then someone hit the button. When I say hit the button I mean like Maverick in Top Gun flicking the plastic cover and engaging the 'fire' button. I was literally catapulted to twice the previous speed. And it didn't stop. I know there is some beautiful countryside through MullinaVegas and Stonyford but I didn't see it. Just the wheel in front of me or a white line longer than Pablo Escobar could ever have produced. Drags? Didn't notice. Bends? Couldn't tell ya. I just waited for the man with the hammer but he must have been busy behind me. 

As I waited to be dropped faster than a toupèe in a hurricane I took a look around. I was riding my Winter bike; tractor tyres, spares and weight. And it occurred to me that I had brought a knife to a gunfight! Oh my god! 10k bikes, wheels that cost more than my car? What the hell was I doing? I'd definitely get dropped now! I had ENVE envy. I coveted the carbon. Resented the Ridleys. Craved the Cannondale. Pined for a Pinarello. 

And yet I was still there.

At the end of the roller coaster roads to Bennett's Bridge a little voice told me to calm down. Maybe it was Mark. But I knew I had to heed it. So I hid. Stayed out of the wind. Let the others show their strength. Mark and I had been defeated by the open road and bitter headwind at this very point last year. By heeding his warning I survived until Inistioge.

Ah... Inistioge hill. My nemesis.

I'd like to say I fought the good fight and went out in a blaze of glory, attacking to a standstill. In reality all the red sensors came on on the dash at once. I'd blown my lights, the injectors, all the seals were leaking and I became a grovelling mess. Even my electrics were bet. I couldn't think straight. I watched as the front group disappeared ahead [half of them fueled by my coffee!!].And yet I still had a bit of a smile. Sure hadn't I lit more matches all day than Maguire and Patterson? By now I positively stank of sulphur! So I pushed on with cramps in my feet, fingers and quads. I managed to get a half seated/ half standing, demented-crab position on the bike. I probably looked like I was trying to wrestle and kill the machine in equal measure. It all added up to a perfect picture for Sean Rowe.

And then I was at the finish. Sick from eating so many bars and unable to stand without yelping. But I was deliriously happy. That sense of being part of something bigger, an experience almost, was just awesome. To see everyone being taken care of so well with soup and sandwiches and goodies afterwards, re-telling their day all over again. Just fantastic.

As I got into my car to head home and get showered I realised I was in Mark's parking space from the 100km last year. I turned to see if he was coming in the avenue. And we all wish he had been.