By Billy Parker
Kilkenny may have been beaten by Cork but the bruised and spirited Cats sought to extract some retribution by endeavouring to beat up a few Cork cyclists, including myself, on the Tour of Kilkenny. This was my first time doing the event and while it proved to be an extremely well run sportive on excellent roads through some spectacular scenery, it was also much more demanding than expected. There was a choice of 110k or 160k. The profile of both routes showed some gentle climbs designated as Cat. 3 and 4 with less than 1500 meters of climbing.
A seemingly handy enough jaunt on a bank holiday weekend on roads I had not cycled before so off I went in the good Orwell company of Celeste, Louise, Eileen, Diarmuid, Stephen, Gerry, Niall and Conor, Sean, David and Marie Murnane. The redoubtable Brian McArdle also later made an unexpected appearance in the leisure group, fair play to him.
We rolled out of the Kilkenny Rugby Club at 9 am in the bright sunshine though the forecast was for heavy showers later in the day. Regrettably correct. A most pleasant 35k followed on quiet but well surfaced and very well marshalled roads. The route then became more undulating and demanding after which we encountered the long climb at Graiguenamanagh, then Woodstock which involves a very steep and seemingly never-ending section up through the picturesque village of Inistioge and then the climb to the food stop at Listerlin, and much rolling terrain in between.
Most were very glad of the welcome food stop and the very fine fare offered to us with no shortage of sandwiches, cakes, buns, bracks and sweet delights. It was quality and thanks to all who prepared and manned the stop.
As the only Orwell members taking on the 160k myself and Eileen said our goodbyes, having wished Celeste Marin well on her return to the US. Her contribution to Orwell has been enormous and she will be sorely missed. We turned right and were faced with an immediate climb. Food laden legs protested accordingly. There was more of the same for the next 40k. We noticed that the 160K route, after Listerlin, left directions and junctions to your own ability to read the route markings.
Not having seen a marshal for nearly 2 hours (and very few fellow cyclists) we were delighted to be passed by a motor bike marshal checking that all was well with the brave yet diminishing group who took on the 160k (and some perhaps who were wondering why they had done so).
He stopped at a tricky junction to wave us through. I took the opportunity to enquire of him if there were many behind, hoping that we were not bringing up the rere. Not at all he replied. There was a huge number behind. We smiled and nodded proudly. In fact you guys are at the front of the bunch. Boy, I thought, we were going much better than expected. And so off we went with a pep in our step and extra wattage in our legs. This lasted about 2k when we heard what appeared to be the sound of a low flying aircraft approaching. Instinctively I looked behind. Just as well. The aircraft turned out to be the breakaway group of the Suir Valley 3 day, one of the country’s most prestigious international stage races (we later discovered).
Holy crap. They passed us at about Mach 3+ along with the lead support cars, garda escort, hooting motor bikes, out riders, the lot. As we were trying to seize back control of our buffeting bikes in the slipstream, it dawned on me that I had only counted a handful of riders in the nano second it took for them to pass and disappear. Feckin’ hell, the whole bloody peloton have yet to pass us. I broke this as gently as possible to Eileen. She quickly considered cycling into the nearest ditch. I encouraged her to keep her line. After all this was a public road. The rumbling of the approaching B52 like peloton shook the ground and within seconds a thunderbird of thumping cyclists, over 100 strong, stampeded past, devouring the air around us. We braced ourselves as the dreaded, but in this case welcome, "on the left, on the left" resounded in our ears. I spotted the Orwell jersey of Brian McArdle and could have sworn he shouted to me to grab a wheel but I decided to give it a miss and tend to the quivering Eileen.
There was no need. She was now being supported by the Race Director’s car in the form of Jaffa Cakes out through the back window. God bless the innocence of the man who thought that Eileen would be able to take one hand off the handle bars and with the other grab a Jaffa Cake from a speeding car. Also God bless the naivety of the motor bike race marshal who thought that the two elite leaders of the (apparently mixed) international road race would casually stop at a junction for a chat and enquire about the whereabouts of the other competitors. He was clearly new to the game.
The air stilled, birdsong resumed and the countryside regained its tranquillity as we gathered our composure having just escaped being sucked into and spat out of the passing carbon tornado. And so we gently and uneventfully continued to sweep across the remainder of the very rolling and intermittently very wet route back to the rugby club in Kilkenny in time for a welcome hot shower and a fine barbequed burger.
Well done to all those Orwell members who participated and also to Marble City Cyclists who arranged a fantastic sportive. Well done also to Brian McArdle and Diarmuid Collins for being such good sports and cycling part of the route (approx. 5 meters) with a small number of the Orwell leisure section. I was there to witness their bravery and determination two days later on the final tough climb into a strong wind for the summit finish of the Suir Valley 3 day in the Comeraghs at Powers the Pot, a location which will be visited again in a few weeks as part of the Sean Kelly Tour of Waterford.
