Cycling with the enemy

As a child I did not show any prowess in sports. I mean the real stuff. Our little group would play football or hurling or rugby for hours upon hours into the long summer evenings in Roscommon town. Often up in the ruins of a Norman castle that backed onto our houses. So I could actually have a go but when it came to next level stuff I had two left feet.

The Street Leagues were a thing that first showed me the dark side of local football. Word went round us kids about it, there were to be try-outs. I hit my father up for some new football togs boots and a jersey. Checked myself in the mirror. Looked amazing. Come game day with the selectors looking at us well I couldn't even remember how to run. The ball was leather instead of the plastic things we used to play with and it seemed to weigh two kilos and it was always moving at 80 miles an hour. My father came up to watch. Rare. I remember him saying to one of the other dads afterwards "Ah sure he's usless". Well he wasn't wrong. But that was the parental coffin for any sports attempts in my childhood until one day.............

The Community Games was a big annual sporting event for kids. Heaps to choose from; just tick two options. You had to pick two. Well I couldn't do any and didn't want to pick two. You have to. I can't. Do it! Ah jesus! OK well I like cycling my bicycle round the place don't I? I cycling to school every day? Cycle miles to go fishing? I ticked cycling and something daft like an egg and spoon race.

Well on the day of the heats I was instructed to meet the other competitors across from the Hospital. I was born in that building. My mother was given morphine for the pain and she remembered lying on the bed listening to a woman screaming in the next room. She said ‘I thought to myself I wish she'd shut up’. Then realised she was the one screaming. Nice welcome thanks lads.

Cheers. Lovely.

Anyway I'm there waiting. Timely gentleman as I was. 1979. The sun shining. I've got my runners jeans and T-Shirt on and my bicycle was a Raleigh Steel frame, sturmey archer 3 speed internal hub, brooks saddle. This bike has definitely stood the test of time. And prob still rides better than half of the stuff on the road. But not a racing bike. Just. A bicycle.

Next to arrive was Fr. Brown in his Volkswagon Beetle. He was a tiny man and he was a good man. He was to drive ahead of us out the Athlone Road.

Anyway me and him stood there a while more and nobody else was coming by the looks so I thought I'd be through to the finals clean with no challenger. Until here come Luan O'Carroll.

Over the hill at the cemetery on his 22 speed top of the line finely tuned actual Racing Bicycle. He was tall and lanky head to toe Lycra with the proper cleated shoes and those impossibly thin tyres.

Helmet, Sleek Racing sun glasses.

This was when the mortification set in. Jesus christ look at me? Look at him? I was woke up in a horrible splash of shame. That was to be it. Me vs.Luan. Behind the Beetle. Out the road. Past my Grandparents house. Past where Hannons Hotel is. It wasn't there then. As we headed up the hill Luan opened her up and passed tiny Fr.Brown in the Beetle. That was the last I saw of him until I met them coming back. I was a fucking mess. I had no idea. I died.

But, and here's the thing, I came in Second.

I got a silver medal and let me tell you it was more than deserved. I earned the damn medal. So that was the end you'd imagine of my cycling career. Hell no. I had seen what was possible and what I took from that embarrassing event was that the only difference between me and Luan was the gear. I mean I had the same amount of legs and I had cycled the course. O'Carroll must be beaten! So back to Dad. I got me a Racer, Lycra, not cleats but toe straps no biggie. I was going to prepare for the final. I was out training daily. I was working hard and I was determined to beat Luan at least. He had my dignity in a box and I was getting it back. Day after day. My legs responded quickly and I started to look like a proper cyclist. Calves of an Olympian.

The big final was three months later. In Carrick On Shannon. Luans Mammy gave us both a lift. Mrs. O'Carroll. Well known architect. Sweetheart. Anyway we get to the starting point and myself and Luan are first. We kit out. Take a little spin up and down to warm up. He knew he faced a bigger man that day. He looked shook. He wasn't wrong too. I was going to well and truly kick his arse. So we're waiting for the rest of the competition and it looked like no one was coming until over the hill here comes three local lads on regular bicycles wearing jeans and t-shirts. Myself and Luan looked at each other. That look said "Fucking Loosers!" Ah how soon we forget our humble beginnings.

So! They took one look at the two of us in our Tour De France gait and they said ye'er grand and cycled off back home. Two of us again.

Myself and Luan took our starting positions. BANG! I had read extensively about professional cycling since last time and I knew about streamlining. If you've ever watched cycling on the telly and wondered why they're all hiding behind one another instead of having a go it's because it saves 22% of your effort to have someone in front of you. Then you have it in the tank when needed. I was comfortably in his wake. I knew he was pushing hard. Puffing. He knew I'd learned some stuff.I still had a full tank of energy when we turned at the halfway mark. I was ready. I was able. I had prepared. The plan had been to try and streamline until halfway let him do the work then as we turned to open her up and bring it home.

I stood out of the saddle to lean down hard the gear was perfect the adrenaline pumping my legs were good to go and I felt my chain snap.

End of my race. Rode in the car as we followed Luan back to his victory and he was through to the finals in Mosney.

But I got a silver medal! Well earned this time too and more importantly for myself I knew now that if I gave something everything I had and put in the work that I'd always get results.

Luan passed away a few years ago and as I write that it brings a tear to my eye. That beautiful child that helped me dig deeper is gone but I still dearly love him. My arch enemy. To this day when I clash with anyone I think of Luan and somehow it's easier to love the ones that I go head to head with.

Passion got us here my beautiful enemy. Let's fucking LIVE!