Punctures, punctures, punctures

I may have led some to believe over the course of this blog that the worst thing can befall a racing cyclist is a head-wind, a side-wind perhaps, rain, cold, or blowing up on a climb and seeing the bunch disappear into the distance. It's not. The worst thing is a mechanical issue. That can destroy your race when your body is still OK to continue. So far in this Ras I have had no issues with my bike, I hadn't even had a puncture ... until today.

What is it they say about buses? You wait around all day for one and then two come along at once? Well, in cycling -- for me at least -- the phrase for punctures is that you wait for that dreaded feeling on the surface below your bike for six days and then three come along at once.

I was hurting again this morning, as is becoming the norm at this stage of the Ras, and for the first 45 minutes or so I was having it tough, but then came the puncture and the 'having it tough' went to a new level. It happened it the worst possible place -- the bottom of the first climb. I quickly put it in an easy gear, jumped off and flagged down the neutral service vehicle for a spare wheel. Within seconds they had me back and running but I was now a bit off the back. Chasing the bunch on a hill is not my strong point so I really had to bury myself to keep in contact. Some of the team cards were good at giving me a bit of a tow and just as we turned left for the final bit of the climb and I was about to regain contact ... BANG. Puncture number two.



Same routine: Into an easy gear, wheel out, flag down neutral service, back on and chase through the cars. My chest was really beginning to hurt right now as my heart, in full techno beat was trying to force its way through my rib cage and out onto the road. It never made it but I think that's only because my lungs were trying to get there before it and one held the other back. I really was on the limit. I just about caught the bunch at the top of the hill and on the descent I tried to make my way up the group for some shelter and to avoid going out the back from the exhaustion that was setting in.

But on the descent ... BANG. Puncture number THREE! You cannot be serious. My mind recoiled in horror at the sound of the air escaping the wheel and the feeling of the rim against the road yet again. I fought hard not to do what any right minded person would do at this stage and launch the bike into a hedge and break down in tears, but the neutral service guys were right there yet again and had the wheel changed quicker than a Lewis Hamilton pit-stop. Those lads really are fantastic at what they do and I really appreciate their help. Had I had to wait for my team car I probably wouldn't have made it back on and given what was still to come on the route that could have left me in real trouble. As with the first two punctures I chased and chased and used the team cars as best as possible. I got back on the bunch again after a few kilometres but was completed destroyed from the efforts. And worst of all ... we had only hit the 55 kilometre mark. The majority of the day had still to come.

I spent the next thirty odd clicks at the very rear of the peloton, hoping a group would form early on the next hill so the pressure would come off. Unfortunately it didn't as everyone continued to pursue the race as I climbed this hill and the next one with the bunch. I went out the back slightly once more but got on handily enough on the descent. My pal Bal -- Adam Armstrong -- assured me that a large group would form on the next steeper climb and sure enough it did. Around 40 of us got together to form the Autobus though I soon began to worry whether it was they who were riding hard or if it was just my suffering that still made the climb so difficult. Over the top of that category one climb and I was just about clinging on.

Wicklow Gap was the final big one and I told myself that all I needed to do was get over that one with the group and the day would effectively be done. It seemed to go on forever despite the group riding it fairly steadily but the heat was making it hard for me, and looking around, for quite a few others. A good way with coping with the pain was to allow for a little light entertainment on the way up. I made a bet with Bal that he couldn't ride the whole way up in the 53/13 ring -- a seriously hard gear for those who don't know. I won the bet, but to be fair to Bal, he got about three-quarters of the way up the climb before finally changing down. He's a super strong rider and sometimes I think he's just here for the training.

I rolled into the finishing town of Naas, 142.2 kilometres after we began in Carlow, with a group of guys I've become very familiar with over the past week. All good lads and it's always more relaxing to ride in this group with them; something you don't get too often in the Ras.

With the back of this race broken and just one more day to go out nutritionist / scientist / psychiatrist / and all round legend, Darren, bought us a Big Mac meal. Junk food has never tasted better. I don't care anymore than I'm a wreck on the verge of collapse suffering through a thousands colds with a few flus thrown in for good measure ... I'm just looking forward to a huge high tomorrow at around Three O'clock when I complete the Ras.