This one is going to be hard, as I’m sitting at a desk in front of a mirror. While I don’t generally like to look at myself, me in the background is a bit distracting. With this exception, the Hotel Shannon Oaks is quite plush. Jacuzzi, sauna, steam, comfortable beds, numeric temperature control in the shower, and internet access in the lobby. I’m not trying to plug the place, even though they are a race sponsor--they actually lost today as their sprinters could manage no better than fourth at the stage finish 200 meters down the road from the hotel, and they are sponsoring the Irish National Team. I almost feel like I’m on one of those supported tours; ride twenty miles then relax at a five-star hotel. And last night’s accommodations were in a 150 year-old house in the shadow of a 12th-century abbey. It’s a bit of respite from the racing, which gets no easier.
This place is also a surprise because there seems to be no reason for such a nice place. Portumna seems to be pretty close to nowhere for Ireland. It isn’t quite as small as the depart town, but it isn’t significantly bigger.
I guess mentioning the lodgings is a way to introduce the attention we get as part of the Ras. Every morning starts with a parade in the departing town. It isn’t the 5k of leisurely rolling that we might see in Le Tour or occasionally experience at a big-ish stage race. We are part of an actual parade. I thought yesterday’s start was just for the kick-off of the race. Today, we started where yesterday’s stage ended, in the center of Ballaghaderreen. But we were led through town by a junior marching band. We rolled along at barely walking pace, clipping out and jostling each other. At the end of town, the band went left while we slammed it into the big ring and exited stage right.
Whenever we rolled through a town, it seemed like everyone was out to greet us. Ever school we passed had recessed the kids so they could watch the Ras pass. Many of the kids and the spectators are waving flags with the colors of their county on it. Once again, I had a crowd to greet me at the finish, where I once again followed the pack.
I’m enjoying it, which unsettles me a bit. I believe I’m racing for selfish reasons. I enjoy it. It’s the same with training. I don’t do it because others like it or appreciate me for doing it. I don’t enjoy being cursed at, honked at or swerved at, but rarely does it remain on my mind when I return from a ride.
Now that I’m hearing the cheer of the crowds, I’m feeling it’s an incentive to keep going. It doesn’t have the same feeling as the final laps of The Tour of Somerville, where it seems like the noise from the crowd is increasing the frenzy in the field. Some of the increased frenzy at Somerville I always took as a result of not being able to hear if people were crashing just around the corner and not hearing gears and brake squeals and skids. Even the small stuff, that people who talk to you in town are knowledgeable enough about bike racing not to treat racers as if they’re part of a freak show, is a big plus.
As for the frenzy on these roads, it never ends. We still own the roads, taking whatever space we need, backing off to cars just in time. When we come to a town the speed drops a bit, but that seems to be due to unknown turns and parked cars on both sides of the road. I’ve heard a few Irish racers say that the roads are dead, and I think I understand. Even as we’re flying on these roads, we expand a fair amount of energy bouncing over the tar-and-chip surface. They’re not nearly as bad as I expected, but there is a low chatter on most of the smaller roads. The times we hit ribbons of new blacktop, the speed of the field seems noticeably increase.
The other lesson of today is not to rely on the course description too heavily. Unlike US stage races, where course profiles are usually printed in the race bible, the only things mentioned are whether or not there are categorized climbs. Today was described as flat. It was a good bit hillier than yesterday. And several of the hills were longer and steeper than the category three climb we hit yesterday. I was only in my small ring once or twice, but there were several times when I was in the 53x19 or 21. Afterwards, an Irish rider told me the officials take a look at the road and guess what it is.
While it was warm and sunny, it was still windy. Lots of squeezing around cars and over bridges. When on the backroads, we’re either surrounded by hedges or rock walls, or barbed wire. After the first crash of the day, at 5k into the race, I started wondering if I’d end up like Steve McQueen at the end of “The Great Escape.” Probably worse. The crash was behind me and closing quickly, and faster as the guys in front of me slowed down and I locked up the rear wheel, doing a nice non-fishtailing skid. Avoided with only a dab of the right foot. Unfortunately, three teammates were behind me, two of whom went down. Joe Miller made it back to the field after being stopped by another crash. Chris Harnisch and Josh Horowitz spent the rest of the day behind. In all, I was stopped by four crashes, the fourth of which cost me contact with the field. If one is supposed to drawn a positive from every negative, I guess I got much better at straight skidding without freaking.
I really have to learn how to save a little so I can motorpace like the champs I saw passing me once I got left behind. A saw a few packs of five sitting behind race caravan station wagons. I also saw Telekom’s green jersey holder and white jersey holder chasing for their lives behind anonymous follow cars. I heard that one stacked it by grabbing his front brake too hard while avoiding someone at the front of the field. He let out a blood-curdling yell, unclipped flipped over while spread-eagled and hit the tarmac. The other guy hit him and went down.
And when the race is over, the attention I get makes everything else much easier. A few kind words from Joe Taylor, Lindsey, and Tighe, and then Joe and Lindsey start cleaning and repairing the bikes. Yesterday, I felt a little uncomfortable about someone else working on my bike; today, it was a relief. One less thing to spend energy on.
Chris and Josh were so blown from their 78-mile TTT, that they pretty much collapsed into bed. Lindsey and Joe brought their bags in for them. I was walking a few minutes to town, so I offered to bring Josh something. He wanted a sandwich. There was a burger joint in town, so I got him a burger. Then, as I got it, I realized how hungry I was, so I ate his and got another for him. The food thoughts should grow from here to the end of the race, as just the thought of writing about the burger motivated me to eat some pretzels and get another drink. I finished a well-proportioned dinner less than an hour ago.
Lindsey just came by to ask if I wanted a rub. When I was in India, I noticed that their desserts were almost disgustingly sweet, like balls of sugar coated in sweetened honey. I asked an Indian about the sweet desserts. He replied that the desserts are as sweet as the dinners are spicy. I guess something akin is at work here. If Lindsey comes looking for me, I’ll have to accept.
Tomorrow is 184km from Nenagh to Castleisland.
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