Here's one of my race reports... from Sunday...



Bohermeen GP or Mick Beggan Memorial Trophy

March 23

S2 Race

Another beautiful day in sunny Ireland. Will it *ever* rain again? Will we
be able to handle it when it does?

A big bunch for the S2 race... Ravens CRT looking trés chic in our brand new
blue, white and red duds. Lots of messin' and joking in the stationary
peleton. And then we're off, lining out by the bog road, and left into the
wind towards Navan. It's a lap of a little over 16km, and we have six of
them ahead of us. As I've said before, once it goes above three laps, I
start mixing them up. In this case, the second and third laps are confusing
me.

Non-stop action for the first couple of laps, and I'm fun, getting involved.
At the beginning of lap 3, I think, I have half a banana. It *does not*
agree with me, and I'm suddenly breaking out in cold sweats, vision
blurring, violent cramps in my stomach. I can't bend over onto the drops,
and the power drains from my legs. Am I going to throw up on the handlebars,
pass out and cause a pile-up, or have to find a nice quiet field to
embarrass myself in?

Ok, let's make to the end of the lap, and I'll pull out then. Up that long
drag before the finish, and a group starts getting a gap. Nick Keegan
(Ravens) is on the front, I ride past him, trying to get up to the group.
I'm in too bad a state. Some young lad from Usher is linking the entire
bunch to me, ruining every one of my feeble attempts to get drop him. I pull
aside, and Nick comes through again, and we roll through into the lap.

Down the hill, and I haven't pulled out. Idiot, masochist. Paul Reid tries
to get across, and he gets a group going. James Walsh (Ravens) and I are on
the front of the bunch, trying to let the gap increase.

I come over all weird again and pull over, dropping about 20 places.

Out on the main road, and Paul's group comes back. I sit in about 30th
place, belching quietly. Starting to feel a bit better. If anyone wonders
why I was making gasping noises during the race, they now know.

Paul, Nick, Terry McManus start a 'blue train' on the front. John Dillon
rolls up to the front. When I feel recovered enough to help, I start doing a
few pulls. Two of the St. Tiernan's lads are in there, and few other riders,
the same faces all the time. Initially, there's only seven or eight of us,
but as we go round for the fourth and fifth laps, there's up to a dozen
sharing the load. Proper order.

The bunch behind us have either lost interest, or are amazed by our 'shock
and awe' tactics and new kit, have cleverly allowed us to do all the work,
or are simply unable to do anything but hang on. In two laps, only one bloke
tries to go up the road, and he lasts about 30 seconds.

Down towards the series of corners at the end of the lap - last year the
road was covered in chippings, now the next section is all broken up. The
left side was in better shape than the right, I found, less lumpy. Into the
second last corner, Aidan Hammond scares the life out of me with some
creative braking. Brings to mind an bizarre incident from Kanturk last year
(See '*' below).


Back to this season. A lap to go, and we're told that the leaders are still
a minute ahead. Not possible, surely?

On the main road, we catch site of a group ahead, and the sleepy bunch wakes
up, riders firing themselves off.
Stupidly me had eaten more banana, and was feeling weird again. Coming into
the series of corners before the finish, I roll off the front with some
other riders, and through the first corner. I see can the break, or at least
some riders ahead. Our attempt is too splintered, and then there's a lull as
we go over the next couple of drags. Feeling ropey, but it's only a wee bit
to the finish. The gap to the break opens again. At the bottom of the final
drag, far too late to make any difference, I shoot off the front, and run
out of steam by the top, and roll in with the bunch, with nothing left. Who
cares? Excellent stuff, not a dull moment in the race. And Sean Bracken
takes home his second win in two days…







*Last year, in the Kanturk 3-Day, Aidan Hammond and I are with this other
bloke, who will remain nameless... because I don't know his name. Lucky him.

We're coming through Newmarket. There are half a dozen lads up the road,
they've dropped us from the break, and we're fighting to get back. There's a
long downhill, and a slow right-hand hairpin bend. I'm on the front,
freewheeling into the corner. Next thing, yer man comes hurtling through on
the inside with his head down. Looks up, sees corner, panic, locks brakes.
He skids across the road in front of me. I managed to squeeze out an
obscenity, and ride into the grass to avoid hitting him.

My front wheel sinks into the grass, and I do a gentle tumble over the bars.
I come to rest looking at the sky, my head pointing downhill. I pick the
grass out of my mouth and stand up. Aidan and the other bloke are gone. So
is my bike. I eventually find it sticking out of a ditch, halfway into a
forest. The brake levers are turned inwards, and there's grass hanging out
of everything. I'm in better shape, no injuries at all.

I get on, and try catch them, but get hauled back by the bunch in Boherboy.
Turns out Aidan waited to see if I was moving, then went chasing the break
(he was second overall at the time). The other geezer waited to see if I was
ok, and quite rightly cleared before things got ugly. On the run-in to the
finish, I asked him what the f*** he was doing. He replied, 'I haven't
ridden the race before, so I didn't know there was a corner there'. Jesus
Christ.