Wicklow 200, 13 June 2004

[Rich] After the previous night’s pasta came the (very) early morning porridge and coffee. And lots of it too. There were just 7kms to the start line, but we already knew from training that 120km rides could wreck us to the point of immobility. The Wicklow 200 didn’t need an extra 14km added, so the car it was.

Given that we didn’t actually make it to the race till after the official starting time (7am), it was good to learn that riders pretty much set off when they like. Some early-risers had already been on the road for an hour.

Once checked in, we met up with Paul’s triathlon mate Mick and set off south in a small group along the rather uninspiring dual carriageway out of Dublin. A dodgy cycle computer forced us to stop and then lead a hard chase back to the group. A second stop, necessitated by Paul going the wrong way (the W200 arrows painted on the road were not always obvious), was followed by another grinding chase uphill. Although the opening kilometres along the coast were not difficult, I could sense I would regret all this chasing later on. But Paul was keen to keep up with (read: beat) Mick. That competitive spirit, eh?

By the time we reached the first major climb – the forebodingly named Devil’s Glen – we’d still not regained contact with our original group. It didn’t really matter here. This climb was so steep, it was all we could do to stay upright. I cursed my borrowed bike for not having a triple chain ring at the front. In these gears, it was a major out-of-the-saddle grind, and by the top those actually on the bike were easily outnumbered by those who’d opted for uncleating and pushing their bikes up. Only sheer stubbornness kept me on the bike. Meanwhile, Paul had turned a tiny gear with impressive efficiency and sped off ahead.

It was pleasant country lanes now, and I managed to rejoin Paul just before the narrow, newly gravelled roads that formed the satisfying climb of Trooperstown. Some great views of the rolling, wooded countryside opened up towards the top. From here, it was a longish decent to the first checkpoint of Rathdrum – at around 70kms.

Rich climbing in orange

We were all feeling fine here, despite the long queues to refill our water bottles from a single tap – and the plasticy white bread sandwiches, which were the only form of food offered by the organisers. Luckily, a promo van outside was giving away energy bars and power carbohydrate powder, which we duly mixed in our water bottles. The three of us set off to tackle a couple of steep bumps before the much talked-about climb of Slieve Maan.

On the approach to this 455m peak, local riders were declaring it the toughest climb in the race. I got talking with an old Irish guy who reckoned it was a tricky one indeed – at least I think that’s what he said; he was a lovely bloke, but we did have trouble deciphering each other’s accents.

Anyway, the road started climbing. And Paul and I started passing just about everyone. Maybe all that training in the Alps and Pyrenees over the years had paid off! Slieve Maan wasn’t so difficult after all – at least not relative to the Tourmalet or the Ventoux. In fact, we managed to get a nice rhythm going, and were soon at the top. This climb had nothing on the sheer steepness of the earlier Devil’s Glen.

There was some gorgeous countryside here, all pine trees and far-reaching views down into the valleys. And the descent was great fun – until the road suddenly got narrow, poorly paved and riddled with pot holes. Almost losing it on the transition between the two road surfaces, I decided to take it more cautiously.

Self-portrait on bike

Riding alone or in small groups now, everything was fine until I took a short, sharp hill in a high gear and suddenly felt a cramp attack at the top of my thighs. From that moment, I had to spin small gears to avoid keeling over in agony. Plus, I had a headache coming on. All the classic signs of dehydration. And with no water in sight.

On the run in to the next checkpoint, we were caught by a peleton of some 50 plus riders – our first experience of riding in such a big group. Easier physically, but much tougher mentally. And I was suffering badly at this point.

The Valleymount checkpoint (130km) couldn’t come too soon. After more floppy white-bread sarnies, I drank copiously, desperately hoping for an improvement in my physical ailments. Still, I wasn’t as bad as Mick, who rolled in and all but collapsed by the roadside. Paul gave him a hand to stretch his aching muscles, but it looked like his lack of training was telling.

Over the next few kilometres, I took it easy and, slowly but very surely, started feeling better. By the time we’d reached the slopes of Sally Gap – the course’s high point at 500m – I was going well again, in the company of an English guy who knew the roads well enough to give me encouraging information (that was immediately comprehensible!) about the proximity of the summit. A steepish finale, but Sally Gap was certainly not the most tricky climb of the day (that honour was held by the Devil’s Glen). And the top was beautifully rugged, with bracken-covered slopes and, just beyond, views of lakes and the mountains beyond. Plus, the sun had come out now and, well, astoundingly, I was feeling better than I had done in any of the previous 160km!

Climbing Sally Gap (l) Paul arrives atop Sally Gap (r)

After waiting for Mick, we carried on down the well-paved decent and onto a climb anew – one which I really enjoyed. Then came a very long descent back to near sea level. At this point, Paul was cursing his bike – which refused to budge from the small front ring.

Atop the Gap (l) Mick arrives (r)

The closing kilometres went ever more slowly, with a couple of easy but longish drags uphill. And it all ended with a slightly anticlimactic stretch back along the dual carriageway before arriving back where we’d started from.

OVERALL VERDICT: A great, hilly ride offering some beautiful scenery, mainly on quiet country lanes. However, the road surfaces were frequently poor and full of pot-holes, and the route marking was too often unclear. It’s also a shame the feeding zones were not better organised. Water and varied foods should be more readily available, especially as the country route offers few opportunities to buy supplies from shops. Maybe the organisers will learn from this, as it’s the first time they’ve had to cope with such numbers (1,200 entrants). Still, this is a challenging and satisfying ride – with a very friendly atmosphere. You’re sure to get chatting with your fellow, predominantly Irish, cyclists.