Fast Eddie
This article first appeared an the AnPost.ie website. I wrote it 10 years ago.
I’ve always wondered when I’d find myself digging it out again, and having watched Eddie Dunbar win Stage 11 of the Vuelta a Espaňa, now seems about right…
We climb the same hills over and over. We all do it. Every cyclist of every level, from the absolute beginner just starting to fall for the charms of road cycling to the seasoned professional going for 200km training rides in the Alps and everybody in between – we all have the roads and hills that we refer to as 'the usual' spin.
From time to time we get adventurous and tackle a climb we heard someone talk about the week before. Or when the wind blows in a different direction from the way it would normally come in, we might try and think of a different route so that a tail wind is ensured for the way home when we need it most. But no matter how creative we get with our routes, we always eventually revert to 'the usual'.
My usual involves a loop around Cobh, the island in the middle of Cork harbour. I made the move to Cobh from suburbian Dublin a few years ago and to highlight my 'blow-in' status in rural East Cork, it wasn't until recently that I earned the knowledge that it's just the town that is called 'Cobh', not the whole island – that, in fact, is called Great Island.
So, my usual spin, as I have come to learn, is not around Cobh at all. It involves a loop around a small village at the back of the island, contradictorily named Ballymore. The other thing that it is important to remember when cycling around this island, apart from the name of it, is that there are no flat roads. They simply don't exist. There are uphills and more uphills and even the downhills have a sinister look of uphillishness about them, as if they've longingly looked at themselves in a mirror and still consider themselves to be uphill.
But over the years I've come to know these hills more and more. And in the perverse and baffling way that only fellow cyclists can come to appreciate, I have come to love them. This perversion has been helped by the Strava iPhone app which keeps me company in my back pocket on my solo spins, keeping me informed of just how slow I am capable of being.
Around the slopes of Ballymore is also the location of a race that takes place every year called the Leahy Cup, named after the family who founded the local cycling club who organise the event. A couple of weeks ago, I wandered up to the finish line at the High Chapparal bar to have a look at the goings-on.
Explaining the lonely pursuit of a cyclist can be a challenge. Conveying to friends just why it is that we arise early on a weekend morning and get dressed up in lycra to head out hurting ourselves in the pissing rain is not straightforward. But it's a type of madness that your average person eventually accepts, even if they don't fully understand. On the other hand, trying to explain why we head out in similar conditions (perhaps without the lycra) simply to watch a race fly past, is a madness which is not as readily accepted by wider society.
Nevertheless, out I went to have a gander as several groups passed me on my way to the finish line, the race already split to pieces. For those inclined to spectate, the Leahy Cup in Cobh has the added bonus of being on a circuit of 10km which the senior riders navigate eight times.
I'd wandered on to the race route only a few minutes after the start time so I wondered how the bunch could have become so fractured so soon in the race. But I soon had my answer. I had missed him the first time because he was too fast and I was too slow, but for seven subsequent laps, the lonely shape of 18 year-old Eddie Dunbar fizzed past my field of vision.
He was making a mockery of the hills that punctuate my usual spin. I looked on in awe and envy as he reached the middle of Ballard Hill. Just at about the point where I'm looking down and realising that the reason my bike is refusing to slip into an easier gear is because I don't have any more gears, Dunbar is still in the big ring, breathing through his nose without a bother on him.
A couple of minutes pass before the chase group arrives, full of facial expressions which seem more familiar to me than that of Dunbar. But they're still travelling at a speed which is alarmingly impressive. Despite the fact there are several riders clearly contributing to the chase, Dunbar is producing enough power on his own to gain almost a minute a lap. The young O'Leary Stone Kanturk rider has begun to lap the back end of the field as he arrives to the finish line for the final time with an astonishing lead of almost seven minutes.
Dunbar may as well have been just heading out for a spin on his own, so little was the interaction he had with other riders. It was like he was taking part in a different sport from everyone else who had turned up at Ballymore to race.
I've heard it said that Dunbar is wasting his time in Ireland. He's physically so far ahead of the rest of the domestic bunch that he's not learning anything. He's not gaining any experience in race craft or tactics because he doesn't need them. He just rides away from everyone and stays away.
We have a current crop of Irish cyclists who we cheer on in the biggest races in the world. Three of them have won stages in Grand Tours (Roche, Martin, Deignan) while another (Bennett) is threatening to join them very soon. The next crop of heroes will be arriving soon and Eddie Dunbar will be amongst them.
Why do we go out and stand at the side of the road to watch road races whizz by?
So we can say we saw him. We were there when he was just a teenager ripping the legs off men twice his age. We were there when he made the hills around Cobh (or Ballymore, or wherever!) look like they were all flat or downhill. We were there before he made a success of himself over on mainland Europe. We were there.
