An Irish Biking Tale

Every year the Tour de France reminds me of my own European bike adventure, a few years ago in Ireland.

I was in Dublin for a couple of weeks, doing touristy things by day and pub things by night. One evening my host and buddy Ted suggested I borrow his bike. "You should go to Sally Gap," he said.

Maybe it was his accent, maybe I'm just an idiot, but either way the "Gap" part of the name never registered.

And he neglected to tell me I'd need to bike on the highway out of town. Or that it would be a very long ride, indeed.

So there I was the next morning astride his sweet Italian racing machine trying to find somewhere to ride that wasn't the shoulder of a major motorway. For the first several miles I bobbed and weaved up and down sideroads and exits, but kept finding my way back into traffic.

Of course, I had no helmet. In fact, I had nothing but the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing, a windbreaker, and my camera.

After a while I managed to work my way to the Powerscourt area. That was a good sign, since Ted said it was part of what I should see. That was really the last good sign, though.

I stopped for a bite to eat. Nothing too heavy, just a big snack. Figured I wouldn't be out too long.

As it tends to do over there, the weather started to get a little rainy. First a mist, then a drizzle. I got back in the saddle and headed on up the road. Somewhere I made a wrong turn. At the time, and to this day, I don't know what I should've done differently.

The weather got worse, and there I was pedalling uphill, uphill, uphill alone in 45 degree weather in a downpour. My windbreaker was keeping my camera dry. I thought I was heading in the direction of home (no, I didn't have a map) so turning around made no sense. Stopping was not an option because I became convinced I'd be hypothermic the minute I stopped moving. Did I mention the t-shirt was cotton?

At some point I realized with huge regret that Sally Gap is a mountain gap, not the name of some quaint Irish town.

Up, up, up. Bigger and bigger rain drops. No stores. Few cars.

I remember an acute desire for a cup of soup. Alas, I may have been on the longest stretch of pub-free road in Ireland.

And then the wind kicked in.

It was raining sideways. I'd been out for a couple of hours. The hill was unrelenting. The rare drivers that drove by laughed at this wet dog. I tried hitching, but who picks up a guy on a bike? A whole busload went by and every face stared at me in pity. What the hell was somebody doing biking in this weather in that outfit in the middle of nowhere?

The trees disappeared, the wind intensified, and I began talking to myself. "Keep going. You've gotta be over halfway home. I'm miserable. Shut up. If you stop you'll die."

And then there it was. A sign that said I had reached Sally Gap. Another little sign pointed toward Dublin. I was nowhere near home. In fact, I'd been headed the wrong way for hours.

I exploded at the rain, wind, clouds, and the gods in general. My "Mother fuckerrrrr!" shout would've been heard for miles, if there'd be another soul within miles.

I had pooched the directions so badly my only hope was to keep going, not turn around.

In the plus column, the sun came out. In the negative column, I was starving, exhausted, nursing huge ass apples, without a helmet, and rocketing down a wet road on a very, very fast bike. Honestly, I was scared shitless.

Quite a while later I was in a town at the bottom, where a sign informed me I was 15 miles from Dublin. I found a commuter rail station. The attendant told me I couldn't take a bike aboard. I was too tired to even care. I bought a Mars bar and a Fanta, inhaled them both, and began the trudge home.

I walked in the door around 6 hours after I'd left. Ted was there to greet me when I dragged my dedraggled body through the doorway. "How was your ride?" he laughed.

"If I could blame you for the weather, I'd kill you right now," was all I could say.

It was about a 70 mile ride, my longest that year by about 65 miles.

Parts of my route later were part of the 1998 Tour de France.