Man of the Ras

The final day was no gift, it was still incredibly fast and it was over 144.6 kilometres from Naas to Skerries, but with the adrenaline of knowing that every mile that ticked by was one mile closer to a finishing, we got by perhaps a little easier than in days before. The pace was intense on the final circuits but I found a group I was comfortable with and even had the legs to join in the sprint for the line. After all, the entire thing had been flat out for eight days so why finish any other way?

We went up on the stage as a team to pick up our medals for finishing and in collecting those medals we officially became Men of the Ras. I may have only finished 118th overall from the 129 that did finish, but finish I did. 51 didn't make it to Skerries. I was 1 hour, 39 minutes and 48 seconds behind the winner, Marcin Bialoblocki of Poland, but he's a professional and I'm an amateur who will be back in work tomorrow and setting out on this Ras the challenge was to get to the finish, and I did. In all I spent 28 hours, 46 minutes and 23 seconds in the saddle completing the 1,180.5 kilometre course, the most I have ever cycled in a week by quite a stretch.

All four of us on the Down Chain Reaction team made it to the finish and we were the only team to complete the Ras in which every member of the team was a member of the North Down Cycling Club. No guest riders here.

I look forward to a bit of a rest now and to enjoying some food I might not otherwise have been permitted to take during this race. Then I'll hope to take the form and fitness I've built from the Ras into the rest of the season and see where it takes me.

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.

Ever heard the one about the cyclist visiting a doctor?

The headaches started last night closely followed by a sore throat. Five days into this thing and the immune system is starting to reject what the body is throwing at it. I woke up out of a slumber to the horrific sound of the alarm clock once again this morning and the last thing I wanted to think about was the unavoidable spectre of four more hours on the saddle. I needed to see a doctor.

Now, before you start leaping to conclusions by putting together the words cyclist, doctor, and medicine, this trip was strictly above board. He was the race doctor, there was no drip, certainly no needles and I came away with something to help my headache and throat but nothing that will help the legs.

The stage itself was flat for a long while before all the hills came to great us near the finish, but for the first 45 minutes I felt awful, doing my best not to throw up whatever was left in my stomach onto the riders around me. Thankfully I was able to hang in ok and gradually I came around, beginning to feel slowly better, or as better as one can expect to be in such conditions.

Thank goodness for a head wind ... yes, really

I didn't sleep great last night. Exhaustion is beginning to set in. Technically I'm halfway there now but it would be a major disservice to my brain to try and convince it that it was all downhill from here. My optimism was not high this morning thanks in part to the bad sleep and also because of the heavy legs I was dragging down to breakfast. Generally I felt quite lethargic and was gearing myself up for a day of survival, as though this whole experience has been anything but.

The first climb of the day was relatively calm -- a first in this Ras -- and everyone held on but clearly everyone had felt a little lethargic this morning because that climb was used to stretch the legs for the next time we went up the pace was back to its chaotic best. The Baku team, who obviously had no problems sleeping last night, led the bunch up it at a frantic rate. The peloton was strung out immediately and guys started drafting out the back. I got up over the top with what was left of the bunch just about in sight and a crowd of us chased hard and got back on when the momentum momentarily went out of the front of the race.

It's a rare occasion when you'll hear a cyclist give thanks for a head wind, but today was one of those times. A stiff wind for the next 80 kilometres meant that things went slower than normal and I could drift to the safe confines of the middle of the pack and save some energy. A break of three or so had formed just over a minute up the road and the pro riders were happy enough to leave them out there for a while. I don't think any of us county boys disagreed.

A day in the Autobus

The profile of a Great White Shark's teeth, or today's stage ... It's hard to tell.

The Autobus in cycling was, to me, much like Santa Claus when I was a child. I knew it existed as I'd heard about it plenty, but I'd never actually seen it. That was until today when I found myself in it for most of the afternoon.

I woke up this morning fearing the worst but hoping for the best. I'd thoroughly enjoyed my experience in the Ras thus far, from the challenge of the racing to the camaraderie and craic of my team-mates and those on the other teams I'm racing against. I was even enjoying the tan lines I was beginning to develop from hours on the saddle, an initiation right -- if you will -- into the peloton. With all that in mind I wanted to make sure that I had as good a day as I could and stay within the time limit so as to continue my adventure.

There was 153 hilly kilometres in front of me between Listowel and Glengarrif. I've always had a fearful respect for Sharks and looking at the profile of this stage, it was like looking at the teeth of a Great White. Eight, yes EIGHT, cateogrised climbs on a course that was either going up or down ... it would be the toughest day of the week.

A day of suffering

It was a day that started off badly, got pretty dire in the middle and then tailed off towards the end. It was an awful day for me. I woke up in Nenagh with my legs feeling sore, the sure sign for any cyclist that you ought to remain in bed. Yet there I was, hauling my body out and onto the saddle for three and a half more frenzied hours on the Ras.

As I mentioned yesterday the first climb of the day came after just 10 kilometres, something I hoped I had dreamed of in a nightmare rather that committed to a blog, but there was no escaping it and with my legs heavy I knew I'd have to find a way to survive over it. Thankfully I mustn't have been alone in the sore legs department of the Ras as a lot of guys popped, and with me for company, went slowly out the back.

If I got an idea of what it was like to be Mark Cavendish winning the bunch sprint yesterday, I sure as hell knew what it was like to be him on the climb today, and this was only a third category. I put the very existence of tomorrow out of my mind and grinded my way up towards the top. Into a rhythm I began to catch a good few as we reached the top. On the other side I went all out to try and catch back onto the bunch. I knew that against a time limit I'd be in serious trouble if I didn't make back some time now.

I won the bunch sprint ... and finished 84th

Matty is back with his blog on stage two of the An Post Ras...

While the boys of the Giro were taking their rest day today, the men of the Ras were back on the saddle for another round with the road. For us county riders Monday should have been a day we headed back to work, yet here we are with a week off, living the dream of big time stage racing. Some people use a week off and head to Majorca for some time on the beach, we were using the first day of our holiday's to ride 100 fast unforgiving miles, flat out, from Longford to Nenagh.

It was the longest stage of this years Ras and because it was flat I was expecting a high average speed. At sign on it was quite chilly and cold with some very light drizzle -- another perk to Longford over Majorca -- and as a result a lot of the guys were adjusting the pressure of their tires to match the conditions. On the roll out we were once again greeted by large crowds of support. School kids out wearing their green An Post Ras tops with green flags and cheering us off. The foreign teams must have been loving the Irishness of it all. But if there was any illusions that we'd be sitting back and enjoying the applause and the beautiful countryside, then they went out the window the minute the flag went down and the pace went up.

I made a big effort to stay near the front today -- a day in which I wanted to maintain good contact but without overdoing myself ahead of the hills tomorrow. I think you lose most of your energy concentrating on keeping near the front than from the actual riding itself. On one occasion I slipped towards the back and you could feel the difference immediately: When the pace went up, everyone was lined out back there and you could only hope that the elastic wouldn't snap in front of you leaving you twisting in the wind and desperately seeking a way back to the rear of the new bunch.

Around the 80 kilometre mark I'd already gone through both my bottles and so went back to the team car for more. Playing the roll of good domestique, I told the boys I'd get them some too. I waited for a few of the pro's to go back and then I went. I figured that if they wern't at the front doing the damage, then this was as good a time as any.

I was wrong.

Admiring the professionalism of the Ras from an eye in the eye of the hurricane

Until yesterday the eyes of the cycling world were firmly fixed on Italy as the Giro headed into the mountains, but that all changed when the 181 riders of the 2013 An Post Ras took to the start line in Dunboyne, Ireland. One of the eyes in the eye of the racing hurricane was Down Chain Reaction Cycles Matty Blayney, who having finished yesterday summoned one last surge of energy through his fingers to send in the following blog...

I know you were looking for a few hundred words to best surmise my first stage in the Ras, but I could easily have summed it up with just one: Tough.

We turned up at the start early this morning having spent the night before getting our massages and fending off the noise the gypsies were making outside the hotel. The big names and big teams of this years Ras had advertised their room numbers in the lobby and despite a sudden urge to place some early morning wake up calls I thought better and was glad to have fallen asleep as easily as I did despite the gypsies and my nerves.

When we arrived at the starting area there were hundreds of people about ... a real carnival atmosphere. Each team had been given three parking spaces each, which given the size of the Down Chain Reaction Cycles motor-home, made things a little tight. Still, there were photographers milling around between the teams and if the size and professionalism ahead wasn't clear before, then it certainly was when it came time to sign on.