But soon the road starts to level out and then point slightly up. Determined to stay close to the back wheel of the rider in front, whose slipstream I’m sitting in, my legs start to burn a little. A minute later they’re burning a lot as the stronger riders in front manage to hold the pace despite the change in gradient.
I push harder and harder, not wanting to quit this fast group. The problem is, I've only done five kilometres of the Wicklow 200 so there's still 195 to go. The realisation that if I don’t wise up and back off I'm not going to finish Ireland’s biggest and best-known mass-participation ride around south-east Ireland's glorious Wicklow mountains.
We dive off at Kilmaconogue and immediately start climbing. The pace is way too hot for me, and I'm also physically over-heating with booties, wind jacket, baselayer, full-finger gloves and arm warmers – in Ireland, even in June, an early start is always ‘fresh’. Either way, it’s the perfect excuse to urge my temporary riding partners to push on while I pull up and to strip off some layers.
Which is when I make my first schoolboy error, picking a nice sheltered spot next to a burbling brook to stop. I only get as far as the second overshoe when a mist of biting midges descends on my exposed legs, arms and face. There're hundreds of the little biters after my blood.
Flapping and slapping my limbs like I'm on fire, I dance around picking up discarded layers of clothing, leap on the bike and pedal off in a panic. Surprisingly the tactic works as the biting cloud can't keep up with me. A passing rider bemused at my crazy antics tells me midges can't fly at more than walking pace - so I guess I'll be posting a reasonable finishing time after all...
High above Glencree
Before the head of the valley a sharp left takes us up a stiff climb high above a sparkling mountain lake and the Glencree valley below. Just before I round the last cornice-style bend I look back to try and take in the stunning views all the way to the Irish sea in the hazy distance. The road flattens out as we hit the highest point of the day at over 500 metres, with the rounded granite top of Kippure mountain 200 metres above us.A mile down the road we arrive at the famous Sally Gap crossroads and turn right down a tantalisingly straight descent through open moorland. As I nudge 40 mph I see marshals with flags at the valley bottom where a hidden bridge over Dublin's famous river Liffey changes the direction of the road abruptly. Time to sit up and slow down!
Half an hour later of mostly downhill with the Liffey on our left, we arrive at the first drinks stop beside the corrugated iron clad village hall in Manor Killbride. I load up on fig rolls and energy drink and push on. Next stop is the Pollaphuca Reservoir, whose wide, mirror-like waters suddenly appear around a corner. Our route follows the Eastern edge of the water, sweeping through the one shop village of Lacken, then Ballyknockan before following signs for the Wicklow Gap.
Soon enough I'm in the bottom gear of my Boardman's almost standard racing double, winding up the next short tester of a climb on the road to Hollywood, before a lightning-quick descent down to the town itself. For the next 20 kilometres we all huddle together for shelter - you can tell it's almost lunchtime. Then all of sudden we're there, in Baltinglass where a mass of Lycra is waiting to be fed. It's unusual to queue like this mid-sportive but everyone's smiling and chatting, the sun's out and spirits are high.
Back on the draggy main road everyone's looking for group shelter again, legs heavy after lunch and the harder half of the ride still to come. The two most testing climbs are still 20 kilometres away but with mountains rising ominously on our left to the north, conversation is in short supply.
The only way is up
In Kiltegan we turn left back into the lanes and everyone reaches for their bottles, sensing a climb. But it's not until after Rathangan, a few kilometres further that the road tilts upwards through the trees. No sooner have I started to embrace the pain when the road tops out. Wow, that was quick – one down, one tough final climb to go...Or so I thought – after a fast descent I pass a sign pointing towards Slieve Maan, which at 4 km long and with a vertical gain of 315 metres is the actual first tough climb of this ride's second half.
The first bit is the steepest and hardest, and several riders grind to a halt and get off to walk ahead of me. It's a proud moment as I grind past – until some youngster on a borrowed cyclo-cross bike with baggy shorts, hairy legs and a bulging backpack sails past me...
Twenty minutes later the marker flags for the summit flutter into sight and we pull up next to the catering stand where they're passing out yet more gels, bars and energy drinks. Only this time everyone is mobbing the stall like a flock of gaudy gannets.
Pockets and bottle refilled, I roll away from the feeding frenzy and plummet down the descent on the other side, dropping over 315 metres in altitude to Drumgoff in less than five kilometres. Which means that just a few minutes after stopping at the top of Slieve Maan I'm already digging into the second Wicklow 200 toughie, the Glenmalure climb.
This final big challenge – another five kilometre climb with almost 250 metres of ascent - is all the tougher for coming so soon after Slieve Maan and at about 130 kilometres into this 200 kilometre ride. Fittingly, at the top there's the monument to Irish cycling legend, Shay Elliot, who was the first Irishman to wear the Tour de France's yellow jersey in 1963, when he wore it for three consecutive race days.
After another white-knuckle descent followed by 10 kilometres of wheel sucking, a group of about 20 of us arrive at the final fuel stop in Rathdrum. “It's all down hill from here,” encourages a local as I clip back in for the final 50 kilometres. 50 kilometres down hilll? Seems unlikely, I think to myself, and unfortunately I'm right. The honeymoon only lasts five, as we coast down the Arklow road and across the bridge to Avoca, made famous by its hand weavers.
More to the immediate point though, it's also where the conveniently unmentioned real 'final' climb of the day starts. Everything feels tough at 160 kilometres into a ride but in reality it's only a few kilometres long.
Polishing it off
It's at this point, about 170 kilometres and seven hours into what is turning out to be an epic day in the saddle that a big guy with a ponytail and immaculate 10 year-old Trek comes past me and my fellow medium pacers. For some reason I move out onto his back wheel, perhaps impatient to finish this thing so I can sit down on something with a cushion.He moves back in and I stick to his wheel. He's pulling like a goods train and I'm intermittently freewheeling centimetres from his back wheel. It's as good as a rest, despite hustling along at 40 kph on the flat, so after a couple of minutes I move past him, managing a quick “My turn” as I pass. After 15 minutes of through and off we're churning through the kilometres, with a dozen riders hanging off the back.
Suddenly we hit a ramp of just 100 metres and it's my turn. Out of the saddle and off the scale, I'm just waiting for those first signs of cramp to become full-blown muscle contortions – but they don't, and we're on the flat again, where I hop back on his wheel in a vain attempt to get my breathing and heart rate under control. We come up behind a slightly slower moving group and I lazily sit on the back.
We've crossed over the N11 dial-carriageway now, with just 10 kilometres or so to go, and poney-tail Trek man pulls alongside: “Come on, no guts, no glory,” he says with an eastern European accent and Ramboesque grimace. What the hell, I stick it in the big ring and launch myself out of the pack with Rambo on my wheel. Just before I implode Rambo comes past and holds the pace at a stonking 40 kph.
We keep this up all the way to Kilcoole, where speed bumps and traffic put the dampener on our self-styled heroics. Rambo – or rather Mathieu from Poland - is ecstatic. He slaps me hard on the back as we make the final few turns, and grabs my hand to hold it aloft as we cross the line.
I'm not sure what he thinks we've won and I'm wincing inside thinking of the cheesy picture we've just posed for. But to be fair, I'm as over the moon to have finished as my new Polish friend – and with the last 30 kilometres done in just over an hour, maybe he's as amazed as I am. What a day. What a ride!
wicklow200.ie
