I enclose the M2M24

That’s what it’s called.

 

Mizen Head in Cork to Malin Head in Donegal !

In 24hours or less!

That’s what it means!

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You helped us once before, he says!

We thought we would ask you again, he says!

To do it all again he says!

The Don was just being nice, thinks me.

For sure! Says I. 

Be delighted says I

Love watching other guys suffer on bikes while I just drive, says I 

 

And so, that’s how it started, for me.

A trip from Mizen Head, the most southerly tip of Ireland to Malin Head the most northerly tip of Ireland. 

It was an exciting prospect. 

I had done it myself solo 2 years ago so I had some idea of what they were letting themselves in for.

But only SOME idea! The reality would be completely different.

 

There was a  M2M WhatsApp page.  I could keep in touch with what was going on during the preparation stages. Not that I could be any help. 

But it was nice to watch the banter.

 

They have been doing long spins for months now and its awesome to watch how they were progressing and increasing the distance and the pace.

100k became 150k became 200k!

6am starts! 100k before brekkie! Mad stuff!

But I am full of admiration of their efforts.

I saw pretty quickly that these guys knew what they were about. Knew what they were doing. Had been doing this sort of stuff for years and they didn't really need any advice from me.

We weren't strangers, I knew most of the lads from our cycling club. But there were some I hadn’t met before. So when the banter started and nicknames appeared I got lost in most of the recognition.

 

 We had a meeting with all the riders and crew where most of the logistics were sorted out      .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Looking on from a distance and reading only the whatsapp messages I was judging that there was a bit of laxity setting in. I heard some “I cant make it on Saturday” stuff! “Ive work on at the minute”! And I worried slightly that they might not be as ready as they thought.

 But that was just me extrapolating without knowing. On the day it was clear that all were ‘up for this’!

Everything was now ready when it came time to travel to Mizen Head for the start.

 

Meeting up on that morning in Scull there was a mixture of trepidation and excitement that the day had finally come. And we made our way from the hotel in Schull to Mizen Head to begin the craziness!

My thoughts were many.

Would they stay together, would some climb in the van, would anyone abandon, would there be crashes in the night. What happens if………! Are WE ready?

Normal worries I thought. 

 

Standing on the Start Line. Yes! there was a start line! Last minute adjustments and tweaks were the order of the moment. Sorting food bags, kit bags, spare bikes and wheels. Trying to cover all possibilities and calamities.

It seemed that there was an “edge of the diving-board” moments for some. Some eager to just GO!

A lastminute pep talk by the Consiglierie and Mentor and we were all ready to go. 

 

Safety Car, Food vehicle and Mechanical Wagon followed as the riders climbed the first little rise on this magical journey out of Mizen Head.

We were ready. 

All the preparation was now to be tested.

Weather was fine, forecast was good, maybe a little rain in the north but God willing we would avoid it altogether.

We had two-way radios to keep us in touch, on route and we had maps and turn by turn pace notes to keep us focused and on track.

But, 6km out we took our first wrong turn!

Mad scramble to correct it and amid apologies and swears we were back on song again.

We had 570 more km to go and if we wanted to do it in 24 hours the wrong turns had to be kept to a minimum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The plan was 7 stops of 10 minutes each to eat drink freshen up and be gone again. Discipline from everyone in the riders and crew was essential if this was to be done inside our target time. Our Commissaires were on hand at every stop and would step up and drive the time allotment to keep us all focused and on track. This fell to the Keeper of the Clock!

 

 Out on the open road, everyone settled into their tasks allotted.

The now 10 riders, rolling over in turn, chatting and concentrating on the road ahead and the journey ahead.

From our vantage point in the safety car we could see that, on the one hand there was a lot of chat with riders side by side, the rollovers were mechanical and like clockwork and there was a confidence that only comes with familiarity between them.

We were eating up the miles now.

Our first stop was a CircleK garage in Dunmanway, 66 kilometres out. The Routemaster had done his homework. This was an opportunity to check-in with everyone on how things were, how they were feeling and did they require anything more from the crew or otherwise. 

The supplies truck went through there rehearsed motions, of having in advance, set out the guys individual food packs. The mechanical crew checked on bikes, checked on water bottles. The whole crew were focused on the riders and their efforts. The stops were previously worked out to be 10 minutes stops. So it was all hands to the pumps to get them fed, watered and back on the road as quickly as possible. In the safety car we were monitoring their progress of distance covered and average speeds. 

Commissaires were cracking the whip as we headed off again on the 67km leg to Kanturk. 

 

 

Routemaster shocked us when he turned us into a narrow laneway on the edge of Dunmanway. It looked like a farm driveway. It would be one of many, lets call them ‘unusual’ turns that we would be directed down in the course. It took a while to gain ‘the faith’. 

After a short up and down and around we met a more major road and we settled in for the road to Kanturk. 133km’s in.

Kanturk was a nice stop. A well equipped Garage with a grocery store, a Costa Coffee and much needed toilets.

 

 

 

Toilet breaks, natural breaks, ‘holes in the hedges’ on the road were usually done in unison, judiciously spread out for personal ablutions.  Photography was prohibited but tempting. 

 

 

Stage 3 from Kanturk to Birdhill at 219km would be the leg when we knew we would lose the daylight

Weather has been fine and we also knew that it would soon begin to get cooler as we go. Everyone was prepared.

We were maintaining a good average speed and we were still on track at a steady 28.5 km per hour.

 

It took a long time to get out of Cork. Cork was a long stretch. We always felt that as soon as we got out of Cork it would be a marker. And so it was. Messages were flying about ‘we are out of Cork’! 

After Cork the counties would tick over almost without comment. Well except for Tipp maybe! Someone hailed from Tipp and the others couldn’t let it pass without comment.

 

 

 

 

 

Cycling in the dark was always going to be much more difficult than in daylight. Darkness disorientates. Makes you see things, misjudge things! Close formation was going to be harder to maintain and however good the bike lights were, they were never going to be sufficient to light the road ahead. Increasing the distance between cyclists was tried but wasn’t the answer.

 

As the sun went down we were riding into the most amazing flame red sky as the sun set on our western side. Riding into this most magnificent light will be a sight I will never forget. It was drawing us all forward.  . What a sight. It was a beauty.

 

 

 

We all, I’m sure, watched the red sky till it had faded to darkness.

Now in the dark we drove as close to the others as we safely could and as the night went and traffic got lighter we could help with full beam headlights. Drifting to the other side of the road on occasion to give clearer light at the front of the peleton. We took that chance judging it was safe. 

 

 

 

 

We were concerned, in the safety car, that keeping to the route would be very difficult in the dark. But the Commissaire and theRoutemaster had the roads and the turns and twists memorized.  It was such a great comfort knowing that, for sure. I would have hated to be the one who put them wrong.

 

Eventually  bodies want to sleep. That's bedtime! Or past bedtime! However, not being able to stop; whoever was driving had to keep going.

Between Sean and I, we had agreed that we would not ‘stiff it out’! If sleep was approaching we would give the other a nudge to take over even in the middle of a stage if it became necessary. I tried to grab a few Z’s in the night but I just couldn’t  nod off.

 

Birdhill at 11.30 at night, is not a great place and I doubt that most will remember that stop. It was cold and dark and nowhere was opened. Everywhere looks miserable in the dead of night. Some took the opportunity to change into fresh gear before heading off toward our next stage.

 

 This leg, Birdhill to Ferbane, would be another 76km and would take the journey to 295km. Over halfway.

Crossed my mind to say it out loud but I thought it wise not to highlight the fact. Some fatigue was creeping in and was better not said.

 

Heading off towards Ferbane, County Offaly!! (I could have gone home we were that close). 

       

There was a town, not sure where along the way, but the pubs were emptying out and we were regaled as we passed with some shouts and cheers. Tame as it was, nevertheless it was encouraging to be cheered on. Our only applause of the trip I think. Apart from our own crew who were very encouraging all the way.

In the same town we passed out a young ‘Twenty something’ on a mountain bike, who decided he was just as good as our riders  and gave chase with a camera phone. Sean says we would be on TikTock somewhere before the night was out!

Our stop in Ferbane was still darkness, save for a bunch of lit up industrial washing machines. Our only light apart from the lights of the vehicles. 

Roads were silent, we were silent, it was cold and dank and we were just over half way. We were facing into the longest stretch of 97km to Ballinamore. Spirits were at a low ebb. Some were starting to hurt and were bemoaning the distance ahead. However, given all that, I think they all felt that this mood would lift and things would get better as the night progressed.

 

I managed to get ten minutes sleep late into the night and I was thankful for that short nap.

Even those ten minutes made such a difference to my own mood and demeanor. 

Heading out now through and around some major towns, Athlone and Longford. Night wore on, our average for the first time dropped below 28kph to 27.2 and I felt slightly somber. I wasn’t sure if the group would be able to pick it up later. Night is a strange time.

But soon, as we rode on, we began to see the first faint signs of a brightness in the sky. Willing it on and unsure if it was sunlight or moonlight. It was between both. Seeing birds flying but we couldn’t tell if they were birds or bats! Hoping it was sunlight, it gradually illuminated the partial blue and gray sky before confirming it was sunrise with a pink/orange tint to it.

We had made it through the night safely. Through what we considered to be the time when things might fracture. But these guys are made of strong stuff. They rise with the sun and are invigorated

The sky once more showed its majesty. With a beautiful sunrise and immediately everyone’s spirits were lifted, fatigue was deminished, excitement was building that we were seeing ourselves across the night time and we're now facing the second part of our journey in decent weather and favoring winds. 

 

Although it was bitterly cold at that time of dawn, it didn't dampen our spirits or the spirit of the riders. Indeed, we were all spurred on as we could now see that we were on track to finish within our time allotted by ourselves and the mood were buoyant. There was a spring in the peddling strokes as we headed into the day.

 

Arriving in Ballinamore we were all tired and cold in the morning coolness. But glad to have got passed that long stretch. The wagons had circled in a carpark on the edge of town. It was very early in the morning in Ballinamore. Nothing was stirring in this town except this motley crew taking over their open space. 

 

 

There was a Garda Station right there beside us and there were some stirrings from there. But they were completely ignoring this circus coming to town. I think they sussed us right away and saw we were no threat to country life and left us alone to get on.

 

Next stage out of Ballinamore was an 86km ride to Castlederg in County Tyrone. Through part of Cavan Lakeland with its rolling drumlins and then across the border into Northern Ireland. Another threshold. 

 

 

 

 

In the safety car, we wondered, would the fact that the distance markers in Northern Ireland were now in miles and not kilometers. Would that somehow encourage them. Seeing a number, thinking that they didn't have far to go, thinking in kilometers. Then remembering that what they were looking at were mileposts. But that didn't seem to affect them in any way although it did me to a degree.

Upwards and onwards then through Northern Ireland 

Though the weather was good, the wind was helping sometimes. And watching the flags, of which there were many, we were close to the ‘marching season’ up here. The wind was mostly side-on. Which was good looking from our vantage point cocooned in our cab.

Fermanagh delivered up some quite severe hills. Hills made decidedly more leg busting.

Watching the guys driving themselves on, through all the impediments the road was throwing up. For us knowing that they had now covered almost twice the distance any of them had ever covered in one ride and were still able to keep churning the pedals was nothing short of incredible. Chapeau you roadmen!

 

Fatigue is a real issue now and there are signs from here that some are tiring more than others.

The consiglieri radios that we will look for an unscheduled coffee stop for a regroup and a catchup. 

Unfortunately, coffee-stops are not as prevalent up here as in the south. So, we abandon our post and drive ahead looking for a coffee stop. We find a garage and shop some miles up the road and try to have coffees and teas ready when they arrive in. We then sped back to tell them we have found a place.

Some feel the unscheduled stop upsets their plans for a 24hour time limit. But on balance it was a worthwhile thing to do in the circumstances.

Driving on to Castlederg the food crew radio back they can supply bacon rolls and coffee for a late breakfast and an order is passed back to them “on our way”!  These will be most welcome. However, on arrival, some are anxious that our unscheduled stop has put us back and are keen to get going. So, its stuff your bacon sambo up your jumper, gulp your coffee and we are off again. Our deadline is more important than food!

 

On now, revitalized.  Next leg. From Castlederg to Bridgend. We have broken the back of this ‘mother’! Now only 45km to Bridgend with another 45km to the final destination. Malin Head.

Eminently doable now for sure.

 

Bombing it now (excuse the expression) into Strabane, over the bridge into km territory, back over the border into Donegal.

 

 

 

 

In Donegal now, ‘the final frontier’ on narrow roads, on rolling hills  it seemed like the Routemaster had found some difficult and steep climbs which, in truth, were not that welcome given the physical condition now of some of the riders.  But they were taking it in their stride.  It was impressive to watch the climbers and the sprinters as they ticked off the hills one by one. A long and fast descent followed as we coasted into Bridgend

And our final food stop. The inevitable energy burst that comes from knowing we are now on the final lap of our journey only fifty kilometers left to complete this epic. Food is just a chore now. We are against the clock and its going to be close. We in the crew knew we would make the time, but we didn’t have as much invested in this that the guys had.

Food was had, and the boys were anxious to get going again. There were still some nasty drags to follow but we knew we were now heading for sea level and a descent would soon come to sweep us downward on tired legs

 

 

 

 

Muff to Quigleys point were easy miles. Along Lough Foyle, ‘a million miles from Mary Horan’s house’!

The kick up again to crest the last mountain (wasn’t a mountain but it was a mountain) was another energy sapping climb for about three km long before a long flat and downhill into Carndonagh. Carndonagh on the hill! Who put that there! A cruel sight but short.

At Malin village we had a little confusion about the direction. But either way would have done. Minutes wasted.

 

Cruising now along the sea before turning inland towards the head. A menacing large black cloud appears lying in wait for us as we approach the headland. Before that the ground rises, the rain, falling at first then turns torrential. The wind picks up to a gale into our faces. Its as if the Gods of the headland are conspiring to stop us getting there. Nearly stopped us in our tracks. 

Some struggled, others helped some were on a timeclock. We go in front to help break the wind.

 

The last kilometer to Malin head is a vicious end to a long road. With steep climbs and a view of the watchtower can be seen from some distance away. It looks quite close. But don’t be deceived. 

On a testing, ever rising, narrow, poorly surfaced, hell of a road which keeps its worst secrets till almost the very end. 

Then it shows you a vicious bend which looks almost not doable. Energy is dragged from somewhere that gets these ten warriors to the top and to the end of a 575km epic journey

A journey born some six months ago and now DONE!

 

Epilogue

 

It was only one twenty four hour period but my lord we crammed in stuff that would normally take days. Even now, being home I just cannot believe it was all one 24 hour period!

We left Mizen at 2.30 Friday and landed Malin 2.20 Saturday. 4 days later! Go figure!