In honour of the Liffey Descent’s 50th birthday, Outsider sent virgin paddler Ross McDonagh to take part in the famous race. Here he fills us in on his experiences on the day – which ranged from meeting smurfs, cowboys and Vikings to learning a whole new meaning for swimming. We’re still not sure if he’ll ever speak to us again.

11am. My phone is ringing. It’s Markham Nolan. “Hey Ross, what’s up? I can hear that he doesn’t really care what’s up; he’s got another question ready and loaded.

“Fancy doing the Liffey Descent?”

“The what?”

His has caught me off guard; I’m only out of bed (it’s my day off).

“You know, kayaking, canoeing. White water rapids.”

He’s talking about the Liffey? The Liffey I know is neither white nor rapid, and can barely be classed as water.

“Can you swim?” he asks.

“Er…sort of.”

“Great. I’ll send you on the details.”

It turns out Markham, who regularly freelances for Outsider, was in line to do a piece on the Liffey Descent but a scheduling clash meant he had to find a replacement. When we last worked together, Markham’s nickname was James Bond Junior: his love for adventure sports meant he wouldn’t partake in something unless life, limb, or a combination of the two, were at some level of risk.

Most of my sporting experience on the other hand stretches as far as football. A sporting adventure for me is pressing up the wings when I should be back in defence.

A quick blast of the Googleizer Ray tells me that the Liffey Descent is one of the top events in the European paddling calendar, and the biggest in Ireland. Hundreds of people from all over the world take part every year, both competitive and recreational, with numbers growing annually. And this year will be extra special as it is its 50th anniversary.

Beginning all the way back at the K-Club in Straffan, Co Kildare, and ending at Islandbridge at the far end of the Phoenix Park, it’s a gruelling 29km of self-propulsion, interspersed with 11 man-made weirs, seemingly built with the sole intention of preventing canoeists from going down the Liffey.

Nevertheless, I’ll always try something once, and that is why I find myself driving to Strawberry Beds to meet Rory Power, Chairman of Wild Water Kayak Club, the day before the event.

The first thing I notice when I get near the clubhouse is the noise. A dull, deafening roar. Is there a waterfall near here? I walk around the corner and get my first look at one of the Descent’s infamous weirs. It’s not quite as big as a waterfall, but it looks just as angry. I instinctively get that if-my-parents-were-here-they’d-give-out-to-me-for-going-near-it feeling associated with electricity pylons, busy motorways and strange old men. Then it hits me that by this time tomorrow, I will somehow be going over it. And 10 more just like it. Let’s hope this guy Rory is a good teacher.

Rory, it turns out, is an instantly likable guy, has a great radio voice, and is someone you can immediately tell loves the sport he’s in. As I approach him, he’s on the phone to Coach, AKA John Phelan, who I later learn will be our third crewmember.

Rory is asking him if he picked up that traffic cone, making me wonder what sort of intensive training course he has planned for me. After introducing himself, he introduces me to the boat we’ll paddle and proudly displays all the modifications he has made. “See that?” he says pointing at two balloon-type things at either end of the canoe, “most boats will have expensive buoyancy aids fitted there, €60 or €70.” Before I can ask what the strange little horns are, he proudly beams, “Space Hoppers. €4.” The traffic cone I’m then told is for the nose of the boat, to keep water out. They will not be the last makeshift modifications I see before the weekend is out.

Soon afterward, we are in the canoe and Rory is taking me through the basic strokes. He tells me he will be at the back steering, Coach will be the main engine at the front, and I’ll be in the middle doing a bit of both. He mentions Canadians a lot – “We’ll be in with the Canadians/the Canadians are the biggest/the Canadians must wait till last before joining the race – and it isn’t until about 10 minutes in that I realise a Canadian is the class of boat we are in.

He catches me nervously glance at the churning weir not far from where we are paddling. “The main thing about crossing weirs is to keep paddling, just keep paddling,” he says. “The more contact your paddle has with the water, the more stable we are. And we’ll need as much forward momentum as possible to make it out the far side.

“Another thing to remember is never grab onto the side of someone else’s boat – that’s a sure-fire way to get your fingers crushed. If not by the boats themselves,” he smiles, “then by the other guy’s oar. And if you feel the boat going over, don’t try and grab onto the far side – you’ll only pull the boat over on top of yourself.”

Looking down at the weir, it doesn’t seem like it will need much help from me throwing people out of boats.

I’m also warned not to try to stand up in a weir, just float down river feet first and wait for the rescuers who will be manning each one. Standing runs the risk of having your legs taken from beneath you by a following boat, or worse still having your feet trapped while the recirculating weir forces your head beneath the surface. Indeed only weeks ago, one such weir – Wren’s – claimed the life of a young girl who had been swimming nearby.

Race day
Race day arrives and we meet in Straffan. The atmosphere is buzzing. Almost 1,000 paddlers have turned out for the event, on top of the family, friends, helpers and rescuers. One of the first things I notice is the complete lack of posers – I find I am subconsciously expecting a large portion of long haired, tanned, decked-out-in-all-the-most-expensive-labels-connected-with-the-sport girls and boys one might normally associate with surfing or skateboarding. But there doesn’t seem to be a single one in sight.

Everyone is excitedly unloading gear, including Rory, and I get a look at our heavily modified vessel. Besides the Space Hoppers, Rory has bolted on what look like a pair of buggy wheels, so that the boat can be wheeled instead of carried at the portage, a spot halfway through the race when all rowers must get out and carry their boats around a dam. He has also laminated and taped to the boat floor navigational notes for each weir. But the pimp he’s most proud of by far is the Mars and Snickers bars taped to the inside of the boat for easy reach.

And it’s not just our boat – makeshift ingenuity appears to be a common trait among paddlers. Buoyancy aids take the form of tyre inner tubes, air mattresses, empty oil drums, exercise balls; one boat had a semi-pitched tent for keeping the water out. Rory’s cone trick is obviously a well-known one – if Dublin City Council ever want to know where all their traffic cones disappear to, paddle meets would be a good place to start looking. In fact, looking around it’s hard to imagine how canoe supply stores make any money.

One company that is making money from paddlers is Duck Tape. Rory had mentioned earlier that the Liffey Descent was looking for a main sponsor – well someone needs to get in touch with Duck. Every single boat has used at least one roll of it, whether to tape down spraydecks, make repairs, fix shoes, patch holes, or simply attach a foam cockerel crest to their helmet. At any given time, someone had a length of it in their teeth.

As we make our final boat checks, Rory runs over the weirs with me one last time. “There’s a main running line on each weir – the racing line – which follows the main flow of water, and it’s the quickest way over. Alternatively, there’s the ‘chicken shoot’, which is safer and easier, but a bit slower.”

Of course, it can work out a lot quicker than if you ended up swimming after a heroic race line attempt. However you must be prepared to take the shame of opting for the coward’s way out should anyone see you.

Stationed at each weir is a team of experienced rescuers, either throwing ropes or paddling out to help capsized rowers or ‘swimmers’ as they’re known! One of the weirs is so deep that divers stationed beneath the surface, while one of the more treacherous bridges has abseilers ready to descend. My last thought before we make our way upstream to the starting line is hoping that we won’t need either.

Cowboys and Indians
Heading for the back of the queue with the rest of the Canadians, we pass all the waiting smaller general-purpose craft and faster racing kayaks. Some are manned by very serious-looking android types with sunshades and streamlined helmets, others by Smurfs, cowboys, Vikings, and lots and lots of Indians. One canoe is completely covered in Hawaiian leis, the rowers dressed in grass skirts, straw hats and Hawaiian shirts. The bewildered golfers in the K-Club wonder what to make of it all.

Suddenly, downstream, the signal is given for the smaller craft to go. They all mass into the centre of the river, and from the Canadians vantage point a few hundred meters back, they look like a single giant millipede, slowly crawling on oar-like legs out of sight.

Meanwhile, the Canadians sit and wait like an Apache ambush party – the illusion greatly helped by the Apaches – until with whoops, screams and roars – again, mainly the Apaches – we are on our way.

Moving downstream, we reach the first weir, Straffan, a lot quicker than we left it. The river is like silky glass right up to it, before descending two step-like levels into a seething mass. We are approaching at speed and for the first time, I’m really nervous. As instructed, Coach and I move one thwart back and slink as low as possible to keep the nose of the canoe out of the water.

“Paddle! Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!” Rory screams from the back. I do just that, and lo and behold, it seems to be working! We make it over the first step. The water is lashing at us, but we are straight up and moving forward. “Piece of cake,” I think to myself…before things start to go horribly wrong. Without even feeling it tilt, I notice the boat is at a 45-degree angle. I get that ‘oh no’ feeling you get just before you throw up. My mind races back through all the things Rory told me: “Don’t hold onto the far side of the boat,” I remember. I look up to see my left hand doing just that. Against all my instincts, I let go. And, chaos.

I am upside down, back to front, and inside out. Everywhere, there are bodies, upturned canoes, paddles, ropes, empty kayaks, equipment, and lots and lots of water, all going in different directions. But despite the very real danger of drowning, there is something completely hilarious about it all. I am beaming ear to ear, and would be roaring with laughter if it weren’t for all the water being forced down my throat. I cannot help it.

The rescuers meanwhile are taking their job very seriously, shooting yellow ropes across the river with Spiderman accuracy. I cling to one and am dragged ashore, proudly bearing the paddle I managed to hang on to. That was without doubt one of the most enjoyable f*ck ups I have ever participated in. Only ten more to go.

After emptying the canoe and getting back on our way, Rory explains that we collided with another boat, and Coach was tossed out, which was why we didn’t have enough momentum to escape. Coach has picked up a pretty nasty bump on his arm for his efforts. I was so preoccupied with staying up I didn’t even notice him being ejected in front of my nose.

In the Jungle
Next up on the course is the Jungle, a stretch of the river covered in overhanging trees and bushes that requires careful single-file navigation. Coach shouts directions while Rory skilfully steers us between them. All of a sudden I get a reminder why people wear seatbelts in cars. We jolt to a sickening stop as if we’ve hit an iceberg. Coach thinks Rory has caught a branch in the mouth, but in fact it is our improvised set of wheels snagged on a branch.

We manage to stay upright and count our blessings, but it’s not long before the same thing happens again. This time Coach is less startled and more angry. “If those f***ing things get caught again I’m gonna break them off!” It is a wasted threat; the branch has already done that for him. This will cause us problems at the portage later…

Soon afterwards, the jungle starts to widen marginally, but not so much that you want to go recklessly overtaking people. This however doesn’t stop three-man Canadian 821 giving us a cynical bump which spins us the wrong way. “Bastards!” I’m sure I hear the normally mild mannered Rory mutter behind me. Liffey Dissent indeed.
I make a mental note to make sure we finish ahead of them.

As we approach the second weir of the day, I am conscious of our 0-1 record, and wonder if we’ll get down any of the weirs intact. Although the lads are experienced paddlers, they have between them completed exactly as many Liffey Descents as I have. My fears prove unfounded though, as we negotiate the racing lines on the next two weirs, Templemills and Vanessa, perfectly.

After that, it’s onto the course’s only natural obstacle, the Castletown Rapids. Despite navigating them successfully, the sheer weight of our three-man crew meant we took on a tonne of water anyway. After a frantic paddle through, we have to stop moving almost entirely, as one sudden jerk would make our water-filled boat tip over. A few gentle strokes with breaths held later, we make it to the bank for a quick empting. It’s at this point that I really get the sense that we are in a race and feel frustrated watching dozens of boats skip passed us as we make our forced pit stop, having made it through the rapids successfully.

Next up is something I am particularly not looking forward to – the long slog through Leixlip Lake. With the river widening the power of its flow is lost, meaning rowing power alone is needed to traverse it. By this stage my shoulders are already aching and I only manage to keep my mind off the pain thanks to the rawness in my knees. Kneeling in a hard wooden boat in wet clothes for this length of time isn’t pleasant on the patellas – especially if your kneepads don’t fit too well.

I am very much looking forward to the break at the portage, where we will get out of the boat and stretch our legs and wheel the boat around the ESB dam. Of course, I’ve already forgotten that our wheels have snapped and that we’ll have to carry the rhinoceros-weight boat 500m by hand.

The queue to get back in the water on the far side is growing by the minute, so heartbreakingly there is no time for a break. The queue proves too much for one ‘serious’ racer, who decides to skip along the side with his sneaky-looking long skinny kayak. But much to everyone’s delight, he capsizes into the muddy waters to a big cheer before sneaking off.

We don’t have long to settle ourselves after returning to the water after the portage; almost immediately we have to make sure we aim for one of the arches, and not one of the supports of Leixlip Bridge. A Canadian just before us doesn’t quite make it, and is completely wrapped around one of the bridge struts after hitting it side on; the garrisoned abseilers quickly descending to help out.

Chicken shoot time
With a sizable and possibly complicating traffic jam on the Sluice weir, we opt for our first chicken shoot of the day, which goes without a hitch. The smooth chicken shoot is still on our minds as we approach the next obstacle – the high drop at Lucan. This weir is certainly the biggest and perhaps the most complex.

The huge drop means that the only way of getting through successfully is to hit it side on, and lean your full weight back onto the weir itself. Falling out early means gravity would have a good hold on the boat before it follows you, possibly landing on your head. Going over it straight could possibly make the boat snap in half. But most importantly, the majority of the spectators who have come to watch are gathered at Lucan – and of course we don’t want to swim in front of our fans.

So the chicken shoot it is. Hundreds of people have gathered to cheer us on. We line the boat up, began the gentle descent, no problems – our easiest weir yet. We go to do our lap of honour when we all suddenly realise we are chest deep in water, and our upturned boat is floating beside us. Somehow (neither Coach or Rory could explain it in our post-race dissection) we’ve ended up in the water. On a chicken shoot. Right on front of all the spectators. We sheepishly right the boat as the crowd hurray all the successful paddlers rowing behind us.

And the hazards at Lucan aren’t finished yet. Just as we pull away, we are ambushed by a load of club members armed with water balloons. Rory once again displays his paddle prowess by deflecting one of them with the blade. I suppose it’s a vote of confidence that they think getting wet might bother us at this stage.

After our epic failure at Lucan, we are determined to get the next one right. Shackleton’s, AKA Anna Liffey, has no chicken shoot – not that we need one! Like a skateboarder on a rail, we steer the canoe onto a diagonal sloping stone ridge beneath the water and slide down with ease – definitely our smoothest weir so far, although Rory feels we might have left a lump of the canoe behind.

As we approached Wren’s Nest, a debate on whether to do the chicken run or racing line plays out. The latter wins, and we go straight down the V. But in doing so we’re pulled to the right, into the stopper, and take on another bathload of water. Although we manage to stay up, it is another tentative paddle to the bank for emptying duties.

It is here we meet fellow club member Anne Hodge, whose kayak has suffered a nasty gash underneath. Luckily, Rory has a roll of the ubiquitous Duck Tape to help her patch it up. Needing a sugar hit, I take the opportunity to test one of the Mars bars which have somehow remained strapped to the inside of our hull. It’s quite soggy and tastes distinctively of Liffey but it goes down the hatch nonetheless. After that it’s back to work as we head towards the day’s biggest test – Palmerstown Weir.

Our Thomond Park
Palmerstown is, as Rory describes it, “our Thomond Park”. Located just beside Wild Water’s clubhouse, and manned by club rescue staff, it’s the weir the boys know best, and if they mess it up, they will hear about it for the rest of the year. “There is no way we are swimming here,” they say. Which is, of course, exactly what we do.

Just like the very first weir, we make it over the first part with no problems. But as we reach the bottom, we are smashed in the face by an enormous wave. We survive it, but only for milliseconds, as a second even bigger one follows and cleans us out.

This time it’s even funnier. There are fewer rescuers here, and Rory is the only one who manages to catch a rope. In his other hand, he is trying desperately to hang on to both the boat and his paddle. I meanwhile am clinging to his foot, and in the other hand try to keep hold of my paddle and the Space Hopper which has become dislodged and is now threatening to float away. I can only imagine what the bizarre train of objects looks like from the clubhouse. It takes us considerably longer to get to the bank this time.

Our penultimate obstacle is Glenaulin, the broken weir, which is essentially now just a patch of fast-moving water. We complete it without problem, although it does claim a few victims as we pass. Chapelizod is the final weir which we power through with flying colours – no thanks to the rescuer standing on the weir insisting we go right, which would have taken us into a chest-height tree jutting out from the wall at a right angle. This left us with an impressive record of 7 and 3 – the infamous ‘ghost weir’, which sporadically shows itself, had not made an appearance on the day.

All that was left now was the 2km slog of flat paddling to the very welcome finish line. We cross with a time of 4hrs 14mins, minus about a half hour wait for the Canadians at the start – a time we are happy with.

Throughout the day, the driving force that kept me getting out of the freezing water and back into the boat to row was the thought of the nice, steaming, hot shower waiting for me at the end. Little did I know the showers would turn out to be colder than the Liffey itself. If ever there was an incentive for finishing the race faster…

Our final task was to find out how we did. But not before President of the Irish Canoe Union Eamon Devoy (whom I also recognise as the TEEU boss – water and electricity, who knew?) makes me feel like a wuss for feeling tired by introducing Iain MacLean, who had just completed his 43rd Liffey Descent. He also announces the sad news that a legend in the canoeing and kayaking world, Ernie Lawrence, had passed away a week before he was due to take part in the Descent, a race filled with boats he personally designed. His daughters Emma and Louise brought his ashes to Dublin so he could complete the race one last time.

As for us, we learned that of the 18 Canadian 3s in our class, we finished 9th – a top 10 finish! Not bad for three Liffey virgins. And those feckers 821 who rammed us? Well they only managed a paltry 13th

Well Outdoors Ireland is back and looking for more single men again! Outdoors Ireland is organising another fun filled adventure weekend on the 26th & 27th June.

This will be a weekend of kayaking, rock climbing and hiking, for all abilities from complete beginner, upwards. The emphasis of the weekend will be fun, meeting like-minded people and challenge!

The weekend is booked with women, but we’re still looking for more men to take part. So where are all the men!? I’ve been told to offer free beer and that will attract the guys! If you know of anyone who may be interested please put them in touch or click on this link.

For more details contact Outdoors Ireland, tel. 086-8604563, or click on the ‘Singles Weekend’ link on www.outdoorsireland.com

The Abu Dhabi Adventure Challenge

Words: Fiola Foley

Photos: Martin Paldan (www.martinpaldan.com)

In December 2009 two Irish teams took part in the multi-day adventure race, the Abu Dhabi Adventure Challenge. Such is the popularity of the race (and the size of the cash prize purse) that top world teams like Quasr Al Sarab, Wilsa, Buff, ADCO and La Fuma even forfeited participation in the World Championships in compete in this desert race. Fiola Fiola, a member of Irish AR Galtee fills us in on what makes the race so special and how Irish AR Galtee and Sleepmonsters finished 16th and 20th respectively.

In the words of my teammate and well-known Irish adventure racer Eoin Keith, “You are racing from the minute you put your foot on the plane to the moment you cross the finish line.”

Arriving in Abu Dhabi was relatively uncomplicated for the two Irish teams – Irish AR Galtee (Chris Caulfield, Eoin Keith, Brian Keogh and Fiola Foley) and Sleepmonsters (Paul Mahon, Ivan Park, Taryn McCoy and Peter Cole). In contrast to what lay ahead of us, we spent the entire first day at a fabulous 4-star hotel, the Rotunda Park, going through mandatory gear checks, kayak and bike inspections, accreditation and organising our equipment for the race.

I barely scraped by one of the gear inspections as my windstopper was underweight (the requirement was 280g and mine was only 170g). But as the organisers were French, a wink of the eye and a joke about Thierry Henry sweetened them up and they allowed me to use it if supplemented with a gilet.

We also had a mandatory briefing that evening where all teams were present. The funniest part was when organisers us if any team members would like a buoyancy aid for the 900m swim the following day. Both Taryn and I looked at our feet when we realised that all the guys on the Irish teams had their hands up. So the girls would be doing the towing on that section!

The Abu Dhabi Adventure Challenge began with a Le Mans start on bikes up and down along the esplanade overlooking the beachfront. This bike leg was only 15km and then we then transitioned to a 10km run, followed by a 900m swim, a 3km kayak, an orienteering challenge on an island and finally a kayak back to shore by. This entire prologue took about 3-4 hours at a pretty intense pace and was then followed by 30km kayak to a desert island where we set up camp for the night.

Irish AR Galtee fared really well on the bike, staying in the peleton and up in the front of the pack. When we transferred to foot we were also going well and estimated we were near enough to the top 10 teams approaching the water.

Then disaster struck. I knew we weren’t a team of strong swimmers but we took to the water like stones. No amount of goggles, buoyancy aids, webbed gloves or snorkels could help us keep us up with the 15 or so teams that passed us.

We eventually made it across to the other side after much pushing and tugging, and hopped into our kayaks. A furious in-house battle between us and Sleepmonsters ensued and they beat us to the post. Not such a great performance for Irish AR Galtee in the beginning of the race but a good reality check.

After an hour’s break we set off for the 30km kayak. I was paired with Brian and Chris was with Eoin in the other boat. We started off at a good pace and decided to opt for a different route to the majority of teams which was in part sheltered by a breakwater. This was definitely to our advantage and coupled with some efficient use of the sails on the kayaks, we arrived in 13th position to the island. We were delighted!

The setting for our camp was spectacular – crystal blue, tropical water surrounded a little sandy island. We tucked into some expedition freeze dried food packs which were delicious and we even got a visit from Ironman World Champion ’05, Faris Al-Sultan, who shared some jellies with us for dessert. The next day was due to be a lot more serious involving an 80km kayak with orienteering checkpoints to be picked up along the way.

Day 2

After a good night’s sleep, we packed up our gear, loaded up the kayaks after strawberries and porridge for breakfast, we set off on the second and last kayak stage. This was one of the longest and toughest sections of the entire event and it felt like it would never end.

Unfortunately we weren’t as successful as the previous day. There was a significant difference in speed between our boats which compromised our average speed and we had to use a tow line for most of the seven hours. We dropped down to 18th place. But one of the great things about adventure racing is that there is never much time to dwell in the past. You just have to focus very much in the moment and prepare for the next leg.

Day 3-4

Without doubt, the most intimidating stage of race was always going to be the desert trek which consisted of 110 punishing kilometres, six mandatory checkpoints and a number of optional bonus checkpoints in between. It was our objective to ‘clear the course’, that is, pick up all the checkpoints.

It was also mandatory to take two breaks during the trek of eight hours in total, and it was up to each team to decide how they would distribute those eight hours – whether they would take two hours and six hours or four hours and four hours. We opted for the latter, to take the first break early in the day to avoid the heat of midday sun and then to keep going as far as we could until we needed the next break.

We started at 7am with a mass start and a frantic pace off the line. Chris, who had competed in the race last year, had warned us about this and told us that last year he blew up after the first few hours because they ran with the pack and the pace was too fast to sustain in the heat. We tried to distribute the weight in our backpacks as fairly as possible; Chris and Eoin took more weight than Brian and I as we had never done such a long trek. When the gun went off, it was like a stampede and we ran on a dirt road for the first few kilometres until we turned off into the desert.

We stuck to our strategy and this was one of the best team decisions we made in the entire race. Many teams raced through the heat of the day without taking a break and by the time night fell they were exhausted, with many opting for the short course and compromising their chances of staying competitive. There were moments when we too questioned whether or not to take the shorter route but Chris and Eoin, the two more experienced members of the team, were convinced we would make all the cut off times and, no matter how bad we were feeling, we could still finish the entire trek and do well.

There are moments during a long stage like the desert trek when every athlete feels incredibly bad. Our feet were blistered, we couldn’t see straight, we felt like lying on the ground at every opportunity and wishing someone would drag us instead of having to walk another step. What I wouldn’t have done to have been picked up by one of the television crews in their 4x4s and transported to the finish! But as bad as you feel, it is when your teammate reaches out to you and helps you that you know you must continue. There will also come the time when you can gladly repay that favour when he is in need. That is what it’s all about – give and take.

It took us 32 gruelling hours to complete the desert trek. We came in 12th place out of all the teams, just two places behind the top professional teams and one place behind the Danish Team Summit against whom we had been racing for the last six hours. We were so proud of our achievement and we were delighted when we saw our Irish counterparts, Team Sleepmonsters, arrive in just behind us.

Day 5

I had been longing for the day I could wake up and know that I just had to sit on my bum all day long. However, it was never going to be THAT easy! Another early start and the fifth day of the Abu Dhabi Adventure Challenge involved an 80km biking race on desert roads and tracks which was broken into two stages. The first was a 30km prologue to a desert resort hotel followed by a break of an hour before a mass start and the remaining 50km. Sounds easy, right?

It was one of the most uncomfortable rides I have ever done. We got a puncture in the first leg and were dropped by the peleton. We survived a crash and rode through a sandstorm so strong that we couldn’t even see. The road was full of holes and cracks which numbed our hands from all the rattling. We were forced to dismount and push the bikes through sand every few minutes during the second leg.

Some of us hit the wall. Some of us screamed at each other. There were moments when we were going so slow I thought we would never get to the finish. The only moment of respite came when we were at an all-time low on one of the last hills and looked up to saw the Danish team, against whom we had been battling since the desert trek for 12th place, just ahead of us. One of them was pushing his bike. It was like a Godsend and just the incentive we needed to race the last 5km to the finish line.

When we crossed it ahead of them, Beatrice, the girl on the Danish team, came up to me and gave me a huge hug saying, “Thank you so much for racing us. It was so hard, but fighting against your team was just what we needed to help get us to the line.” It was so reassuring to know that we weren’t the only ones who were on their last legs!

Day 6

The last day of racing consisted of a 13km orienteering stage at 5am followed by a 21km and 1,000m by Via Cordite WHAT DOES THIS MEAN ascent up the Jebel Hafeet mountain. After all the teams had regrouped, there was then to be a 30km bike ride and a 3km run to the finish line.

By this stage it was clear the that Richard Ussher’s team Qsar al Sarab were favourites to win with another Kiwi team, ADCO in second place.

Many teams had trouble sleeping before the last day. A strong gale blowing around the campsite made it impossible and many of us only got about two hours kip. Not ideal preparation.

The orienteering race started in the dark, on a rock field. It was very challenging underfoot with sharp rocks everywhere and a lot of competitors had trouble with their footwork. I had an asthma attack midway brought on by a respiratory infection which had been aggravated by the sandstorm the previous day. I was very glad to reach the base of the mountain climb as I knew the pace while climbing would be steadier.

Again we raced against the Danes all the way up the 1,000m mountain for four brutal hours, catching them in the last five minutes and arriving at beginning of the bike leg at the same time and inside the cut-off. We knew we were in with a great chance of coming in 15th place. However luck again was not on our side, I got a puncture which forced us out of the bike peleton and thus, out of contention.

There was nothing like the emotional rush and relief at crossing the finish line. Despite all the hardship it was an amazing event – first class accommodation, real food at the end of every day and breakfast in the mornings. Lying around and chatting with other teams on Persian carpets in Bedouin tents in the desert every evening added a special social element often missing in expedition races where sometimes the only interaction you have is between your team and a paddle or a bicycle.

Chris, Eoin, Brian and I had put so much time and effort into preparing for this race and we achieved what we set out to do; we raced to our maximum potential. Had we had more luck (and fewer punctures) we may have achieved 15th place but that is the luck of sport.

in the sunny Southeast

Words: Roisin Finlay

Photos: Malcolm Mc Gettigan and Torquil Fleming-Boyd

Does life as you know it end when you have kids? The Outsider crew borrows some children and their parents for the weekend and sets out to see if adventurous fun and frolics they can have in the Southeast with small people in tow.

A freezing northeast wind is blowing in making the water choppy. The kayak rocks and then I watch him lose his balance and fall in. He disappears under momentarily and then resurfaces with a gasp and look of shock on his face. For a split second I am worried but in an instant his mouth morphs to a broad grin and I shout victorious – I won!

We’re engaged in wobble wars. At least that’s what the crew at Dunmore East Adventure Centre call it. The opponent that I have toppled from our overturned double sit-on-top kayak is 8-year-old Luka. I should know better but today it seems my competitive inner kid has got the better of me.

All around me other children ranging from 4-14, and the adults that have accompanied them, are having a ball in the water. The less confident are in double kayaks with a grown-up – or at least they started in them. As their confidence grows and with encouraging words from our instructor Conor, they begin clambering across the kayaks that we raft together to swap places with each other. Eventually someone doesn’t quite make it and there are shrieks and splashes and hoots of laughter as they topple in.

We happily spend an hour or so paddling, splashing and bobbing around the sheltered waters of Badger’s Cove in the company of the chattering kittiwakes that are nesting above us on the cliffs. Originally we had thought we might go coasteering (scrambling, climbing, swimming and cliff jumping your way around a section of rocky coastline), another activity offered by the centre, but the unseasonal north-east wind has made the sea too stormy to allow it. But the kids manage to get a sample of it anyway – crawling up seaweedy rocks with Conor to jump off. I marvel as one of the really tiny ones who can’t swim has a go. Unhesitatingly 4-year-old Frankie follows in the footsteps of older brother Harry (7), jumping in off rocks well over twice their height. Oh to be back at that age before fear!

Before everyone gets too cold we head for hot showers and hot chocolates in the centre, which is located on Dunmore East’s harbour. It’s been a great morning, despite the slightly uncooperative weather. Before kayaking we tried archery and rock climbing instead. These activities are located in the centre’s indoor space, old converted fishing sheds and again the kids were in their element, fearlessly scaling the indoor wall and bouncing down the abseil like pros.

Together time

While traditionally, the Dunmore East Adventure Centre has catered to groups of kids through camps and day outings, recently they have seen more and more families wanting to do activities together. Karen Harris, who set the place up about 1993 with her husband Gavin Sweeny and friend Rupert Musgrave says, “When families go away on holidays, they often want to spend the time together doing something fun. Because a lot of parents work and life is so busy now, they don’t just want to drop them off to a camp anymore and not see them for the whole day. We’ve really tried to adapt our programmes to facilitate that. I set up the business so that I could have more time with my four kids and so I understand wanting to spend fun times together.”

After all the sea air and activity, we’ve worked up hearty appetites and decide to head for lunch. Wandering through Dunmore East we get to see just how picturesque it is. Seagulls wheel overhead and the smell of salt and wild garlic linger in the air. With its motley collection of thatched homes, colourful fishing harbour and grand old buildings and hotels like the Victorian Haven Hotel (once the summer home of the Lord Lieutenant of Waterford during English rule), it reminds me of West Cork.

In the end we chose from a collection of child-friend eateries and settle on the bright and sunny Bay Café down the road. Everyone enjoys a hearty lunch of soup, and open crab sambos and salads. And we finish with the unbelievably good chocolate cake. Be warned – extreme food coma is a side effect.

With afternoon snoozes and sunny reads on our minds, most of us head back to the sheltered front courtyard of our little holiday house complex. The kids however have simply recharged and drag their parents down to the playground with its views over the yellow gorse-clad cliffs and out to the impressive Hook Head lighthouse in the distance.

When they come back a few hours later, they tell us they’ve been busy exploring not just the modern playground but the cosy coves, caves and sandy beaches, perfect for picnics. After dinner they eventually fall into bed leaving most of the adults free to sneak off to Power’s Bar, or ‘The Butchers’, as it’s known locally for a few bad games of pool and a quiet pint. Pints cost a pleasing €3.75 each.

Beach bonanza

Next day, we’re up bright and early and off to neighbouring Tramore via a lovely coastal drive to see what’s up over there. In its heyday, this seaside town with its 5km strand was famous for its bathing boxes, fairground and dance halls. In fact the amusements date back to Victorian times when boxing and Buffalo Bill’s came to town.

These days the hurdy-gurdy element still thrives but a new surfy vibe is breathing life and energy back into this bustling beachside destination. We spy no less than three Irish Surfing Association-approved surf schools from which to choose, offering lessons to young, old and family groups, not to mention a skate park and kitesurfing school.

The more gentle swell that washes this coast makes it ideal for learners in comparison to the usually stronger surf in the West of Ireland. On the sunny day we visit, the waves are tiny but the place is positively humming with gangs of teenagers and kids as small as 6 heading into the twinkling water with their instructors from T-Bay Surf Centre. They range from total beginners on foam boards to competent surfers on short boards and all of them seem to be having a great time. Some of our younger group members head into the water for their first surf and as a permanently-learning-to-surf-adult I am instantly gripped by jealousy that these kids have the opportunity to learn at such a young age!

But that is the great thing about surfing. No matter how bad you are at it, everyone seems to have a great time. Later I am told by Paul Kenny, the owner of Oceanics Surf School that he recently took a 62-year-old woman out for a lesson. “She had the same grin on her face as those 6-year-olds when she caught a wave and stood up for the first time,” he laughs.

Several of the local surf schools also aim to round out the surf experience by offering other activities. For example at Freedom Surf School Also you can combine water sports with Irish or French. Or you could take an eco walk with T-Bay or Oceanics Surf School.

Eco enlightenment

The rest of us head out with Oceanics on their Environmental Beach Discovery. Compiled by Eanna Ni Lamhna for the surf school and further developed by local field ecologist Grace O’Sullivan (who worked at sea for Greenpeace for 20 years), this walk turns kids into beach detectives as they explore Tramore’s unique sand dunes and salt marsh habitats.

We are thrilled to watch the kids’ faces turn from certainty that they’ll be bored, to puzzled as they hear about the piddock mollusc which has a set of ridges (like teeth) which it uses to grind into soft rocks such as limestone that, to wowed as they shake the stones and hear evidence of the little creatures inside. And we adults learn more than a thing or two from O’Sullivan about the history and ecology of the area like how to identify delicious sea beet which is like spinach except tastier or that Tramore’s famous Metal Man was built in 1823 by insurance company Lloyd’s of London to warn seafarers away from dangerous shallow waters following the sinking in 1816 of the Sea Horse killing 292 men and 71 women and children perished.

As we finish our walk, we meet our little wetsuit-clad buddies returning from their morning in the surf. All of them have caught their first waves and most of them even stood up for a while too. They want to know when they can go again.

Again, I sense the green eyed monster on my shoulder. I know that if they keep it up, pretty soon all of these kids will be better than me at surfing and all the other activities so they’ve taken part in over the weekend and I’d better make the most of paltry victories while I can. Anyone for a race up the beach?

Ends…

King of the Atlas Mountains

Words: Barry Roberts

Photos: Tim Burton – www.timburtonphotography.com

Expedition leader and Commercial Director of Wilderness Medical Training Barry Roberts brings us on a trek up North Africa’s highest peak – which is now only a cheap flight away.

Every experience of a new destination begins with a first trip. Mine to Morocco was in 1992 with a group of French corporate executives. Beforehand, two of us went on a reccy involving a three-day walk in the M’Goun mountain range. The route took us through gorges and along a riverbed. We had a ridiculously large retinue of muleteers, guides and cooks to accompany us.

The client had thoughtfully also provided an inflatable kayak which we used to speed our traverse. Keen to establish how hospitable the locals were, we beached one afternoon and, as expected, were quickly swamped by local children. Speaking French, we politely asked for a drink. The kids ran off and, in time, an adult appeared with the best family silver tray, a pot of refreshing sweet green tea, glasses and stale biscuits. Not surprisingly, that first visit has led to 10 trips to Morocco, and counting.

Think of Morocco and images of deserts, camels and beaches spring to mind. But you might not think of Maroc as a mountainous country, let alone as being home to Mount Toubkal; at 4,167m it’s the highest peak in North Africa. A mere 63km from Marrakech, the peak is nestled in the Atlas Mountains, which stretch an astonishing 2,500km across Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia. Never mind Marrakech as a stag destination (notwithstanding the relative absence of alcohol!), it is close enough to Europe and becoming well enough served with cheap flights to make the Toubkal summit an achievable trekker’s long weekend goal.

When you land in Marrakech, Africa hits you. There’s something about the scents in the air (animal dung, diesel, sizzling street food), the bustle, barging and bureaucracy that is distinctly African. We say TIA – This Is Africa. Colourful, inefficient, thriving and exotic. You either love it or … won’t.

Immediately outside the airport, the housing boom has taken off with row upon row of new homes, mostly unoccupied and surrounded by infertile wasteland. But within a few miles beyond the ring road the rural nature of Morocco is stark. School children walk down the road, miles from any habitation. Camels lope across farm fields on the horizon. In good visibility, the summit snows of Toubkal shimmer in the evening light in rich contrast to the dust and cacti that stretch as far as the eye can see. Closer to Toubkal, as the road begins to climb and weave alongside shallow rivers and greenery, the rock turns an inviting deep ochre colour.

Imlil village at the road head is a small but busy place. Cafes, butchers and grocers line the streets. Mule trains clog the road. Souvenir shop owners plead for business. Don’t fob them off with “we’ll buy something on our way back”. They’ll remember you and will hold you to your promise. A few hours’ walk beyond Imlil, past the vast meandering dry riverbed is a river crossing at Sidi Shamarouch, a shrine and a place to break for a refreshing mint tea or cola, and to shop for trinkets. Look out for the amazing fossils for sale amongst the carved boxes, jewellery and tat. All currencies accepted. TIA. Money is money.

Beyond Sidi it’s head down time for the slow grind to the refuge. Later in the season, don’t miss the small plants, mountain flowers and lichen that are clues to the presence of water. Move out of the way of descending mules by stepping up hill. If you have a keen eye or binoculars, you can spot the refuges made of local stone that blend into the mountainside from a few kilometres away. You are nearly there, but this is only day one and there’s more fun to come!

When to go

Toubkal actually gets a pretty ferocious winter and enough snow to make winter mountaineering (with ice axes and crampons) and ski mountaineering (using skins to climb on skis with articulated bindings) a prospect. Slog up, whip off the skins attached to the ski base by a Post-it Note type of reusable glue, and slide down back to base. There are many ski routes documented in a French book on the subject, a legacy of Morocco’s colonial past. This colonial past is also where the refuge system comes from. Built by the Club Alpin Francais (CAF), they are scattered around the mountains. I have visited Toubkal in February to ski but the snow cover was disappointing. Better to wait until late March for spring skiing.

But back to trekking. Most hikers will want to visit Toubkal when the snow has largely melted and before it gets too hot. That leaves April-May and September-October as the best times to visit. Trekking outside these periods affords a more tranquil experience but be prepared for colder temperatures and snow. On my ski trip, a Spanish couple dressed in jeans and sweatshirts stumbled into the refuge at 3,200m, shattered, frozen and with a dog! Despite our advice this ill-equipped pair continued up the frozen scree and patchy hard snow the following day, without ice axes or proper footwear.

Even in spring and autumn, the diurnal temperature range is enormous and you will need warm clothes, hats and gloves. Sturdy trekking shoes as opposed to big clunky climbing boots will suffice if there’s no snow. Unless you’re camping, you should only need a medium sized rucksack (no more than 50 litres) to carry your kit. Donkeys are available for hire at the road head in the village of Imlil for those wishing to camp and take the kitchen sink. But why camp when there are those perfectly positioned, well-priced refuges that will serve a decent meal?!

The trekking route

The ascent profile is pretty steep on the route from Imlil and the first day’s trek is long – about eight hours if you rest and drink en route to the Nelter refuge at 3,207m (don’t believe Lonely Planet’s five-hour estimate). From here it’s nearly another 1000m to the top which can take another eight hours, or longer. It’s possible to continue the descent back to Imlil but this makes for a long day. Better to rest and rehydrate at the refuge and descend in the morning on fresh legs when it’s cool.

It’s entirely possible to suffer symptoms of acute mountain sickness (AMS) on summit day: lack of appetite, nausea and headache. Drink plenty and don’t over exert yourself; walk at a comfortable pace at which you can still chat. Turn back if the symptoms are severe.

Day one is a well trodden, low-angled path (in most places). On day two, the path rears up steeply from the hut and is unrelenting as it weaves through boulder fields and scree slopes that are tiresome and sometimes difficult to follow. Take care on the descent. One of my ski chums slipped on the scree and snapped her wrist walking back down on our aborted ski ascent.

It’s also possible to descend via an alternative, parallel valley which I’ve never seen other trekkers use but I prefer if I have a strong group. The valley ends just within sight of the refuges so route finding is easy. The path is good and easy to follow, except for the initial 200m from the summit which is a steep scramble only for the confident off-piste trekker. The track passes the debris of a crashed helicopter that is scattered for hundreds of metres. Naturally there are many other trekking routes and peaks in the area that are within reach of the refuges.

Where to stay

There’s a CAF refuge in Imlil plus the Nelter refuge at 3,207 already mentioned. Less well known on the trekking circuit but a favourite of more well-heeled travellers is the Kasbah du Toubkal, 10 minutes walk up the hill from Imlil. This restored hilltop house is poised on a knoll and yields stunning views in all directions. There are apartments and suites to hire and also three Berber salons, like dormitories, but with more colour and comfort, that sleep seven to 13 people.

I’ve stayed here many times when running Wilderness Medical Training’s mountain medicine expedition and with many corporate groups. The food is authentic and you can BYOB. The hammam and ice cold plunge pool provides an invigorating end to a dusty trekking day (its use is strictly segregated by sex of course).

Next to the Nelter refuge is the newish, privately owned larger Refuge Mouflon with much cleaner toilet facilities. Both refuges provide blankets so sleeping bags are unnecessary. (For more details on the refuges visit: www.caf-maroc.com, www.kasbahdutoubkal.com and www.refugetoubkal.com – Refuge Mouflon.)

Want to come?

Toubkal is an easy DIY trip. There are no permits required. You could negotiate a taxi to Imlil at the airport and just rock up and start walking. It is best however to pre-book accommodation on the mountain, especially if you have a large group (more than three). You certainly need to pre-book at the Kasbah du Toubkal which can also help organise mules and guides, but this can also be done on arrival. (For more details on the refuges visit: www.caf-maroc.com, www.kasbahdutoubkal.com and www.refugetoubkal.com – Refuge Mouflon.)

The Moroccan’s are entrepreneurial and hospitable. The mountain Berbers seem less inclined to overcharge but you should still bargain hard and agree all rates in advance. A 1:50,000 map is available (not locally) but it is actually very light on detail and not really necessary if you stick to the main trail during the non-winter months (Toubkal & Marrakech from www.orientazion.com or from Stanford’s in London).

If you want to let a professional firm do the organising KE Adventure Travel runs Toubkal treks and exploratory holidays. For details, visit: www.keadventure.com

Or you could join me for the Toubkal trek-only phase of my next mountain medicine expedition to Toubkal (27 September-1 October). For doctors, the full trip runs from 25 April. See www.wildernessmedicaltraining.co.uk for details or contact me at wmt@wildernessmedicaltraining.co.uk

Mt Blanc – a mid summer night’s climb

Words: Declan Cunningham

Training and getting prepared for a climbing trip is a little like dress rehearsals. You go through the motions to get ready for the main performance. The thing is you can rehearse all you want to but sooner or later the curtain needs to go up so you can see if you’ll remember the lines or make a Muppet out of yourself. Otherwise it’s just a lot of hanging around in other people’s clothes. Of course when it comes to a trip to the Alps if you forget your lines it’s called base jumping.

So before an Alpine trip last year, my friend Chris and I did some training, practiced climbing in big boots and hung out of trees to simulate our crevasse rescue technique. And then, in the words of the Muppets say, it was time to get things started.

Both of us had left the Alps the previous year following an unsuccessful attempt on Mt Blanc. In a way that was enough of a target but we also hoped to er….nip up the Matterhorn. My first trip to the Alps was to that magnificent peak and a combination of altitude, weather and just plain tiredness left the last 200m undone. Mt Blanc may have been the intended feather in our caps but the Matterhorn would be a jewel in the crown. We would have our work cut out for us.

Act I involved getting to Chamonix and getting acclimatised. Some people try to ‘do Mt Blanc’ in a few days but why rush? If you take the time to get accustomed to the altitude you won’t just increase your chances of success you might just enjoy yourself as well. Chamonix valley offers great variety in climbing options and easier peaks for exactly that. Unless you wear crampons at home (we have wooden floors and Ikea tiles so that’s out for me), it’s worth choosing one that allows you to get out on the ice somewhere to re-familiarise yourself with moving while roped-up and simply walking in crampons without making your shins look like a pair of teenager’s jeans.

I don’t even think a purist would regard making use of the cable cars as cheating and when it comes to acclimatising getting cable is your only man. Anyone with pangs of guilt needs to take their conscience to one side and knock some sense into it. For our intro we chose Le Petit Verte (3,512m) to acclimatise. It’s a PD grade which is a relatively easy mixed route. There is plenty of return on this little route though with a good mix of terrain, fantastic views and great coffee at the cable-car station. Not bad for a first day.

Warming up

Because we were thinking of the Matterhorn as well as Mt Blanc we needed to get our Alpine heads on from a rock-climbing point of view too so we chose the Cosmique Arete as a warm up route. It’s a magnificent way to spend a day in a spectacular location. For the most part, it’s not too challenging but there is plenty of exposure and several places required a bit of grunt as well as technique.

The route goes from the Col du Midi right back to the cable car station so it’s not just convenient but highly recommended just for the unrivalled beauty of the place. Consequently, the route is understandably popular so when we arrived at the cable car station there was already a queue of people. It’s a combination of gnarly axe-totting Frenchmen, guides and their clients, and eager tourists.

The cable car takes about 50 people so delicate use of your elbows is permitted to make a bit of room for yourself. If you think about it the cable car is just a lift without the music but with more places to look when you don’t know where to. Anyway, we weren’t complaining as we, like everyone else, peered out the windows at a shrinking world watching our cars turn to specks before disappearing altogether.

The whole car shook alarmingly as we were jerked rudely over the first main support causing a little nervous laughter from the tourists but not so much as a blink from the weathered guides. The early morning sun hadn’t quite finished cloud busting and as we gained height the clouds gathered closer and closer eventually obscuring the view for us and our fellow passengers like a group loss of consciousness.

I’d heard the Cosmique Arete route mentioned countless times and it was a real confidence booster to finally do it myself. Only sections of the climb are testy, with large sections just easy scrambling. There are a number of gendarmes to abseil but the crux is kept till near the end. It’s just a big rock step but it will irk anyone in big boots. Unfortunately, some fool felt it was too testy and cut notches in the rock which is a shame but I have to admit that it was hard not to benefit from them a bit.

Climbing over the railing onto the Aiguilles viewing platform gave us a real ego boost with lots of chattering Japanese tourists eager to take our photo!

Having had a few days at 3,500m or above, it was time to focus on our first main objective – Mt Blanc. At 4,808m it’s the highest point in the Alps so it’s something of a Mecca for climbers. I was toying with the idea of becoming a purist as there is a train that can save you 1,800m of climbing it got my vote in the end!

It was a fabulous sunny day when the train deposited us at Ni d’Aigle (2,372m) and we shouldered our packs and got going. It’s a bit of a plod but there are endless views, loads of chamois (mountain antelope) and the occasional glint of sun off the roof of the incredibly remote Gouter Hut to entice you on. The route felt long as ant-like we inched our way up the moraine towards the first hut, the Tete Rousse. We had opted for one night at the higher Gouter Hut as it makes for a shorter summit day. Bookings for these huts start as early as March so it’s probably wise to book a night in each under different names to allow for a more flexible programme in case the weather or your knees don’t play ball.

Heavenly views

The Tete Rousse Hut (3,167m) offers an irresistible opportunity for a break and a chance to simply admire the views. You can see all the way into Chamonix and over to the easily identifiable Aiguille du Midi but there are awe-inspiring views no matter which way you look. This is also the best time to decide, depending on snow conditions, whether crampons are needed for the 650m scramble to the Gouter Hut.

One major danger on the climb of Mt Blanc is the infamous Grand Couloir. It may not look like much and only takes a few minutes to cross but the danger from falling rock is ever present. It’s certainly the troll under the bridge on this particular peak.

Personally, I love the scrambling section and wish there was more of it. There are even via ferrata like cables most of the way for you to clip onto for added security. It’s people on this section that are often the culprits for stone fall on the Grand Couloir, as anything dislodged can easily find a way into that potentially deadly chute. It’s amazing how much stuff gets knocked just by careless climbers so have a lid on. Our ascent was occasionally interrupted by shouts of warning or alarm from above and below so be careful.

This section takes about 2-3hrs but for a while you hardly feel like you’re making any progress with the Gouter ever distant on the ridge above. It’s only when you look down that you realise how far you’ve come. Microscopic tent placements, like rain drops in sand pockmark the ground around the tiny Tete Rousse hut far below. We were really going up in the world and that spurred us on.

The Gouter Hut is busy. You only have to look at the boot rack inside the door to realise that space is a premium here. It’s like Grand Central without the timetables, but with food and good company. The basic plan was to head to the summit the following morning and back the same way but we were toying with the idea of the Three Monts route which traverses Mont Maudit and Mont Blanc de Tacul before descending to the Aiguille du Midi. The conditions couldn’t have been better and we were hopeful to give it a try.

We bumped into Robbie Fenlon (an Irish UIAGM guide who has written for Outsider) who was guiding an Irish group and quizzed him about any potential problems. We had a few doubts but we were happy to mull it over and see how the initial climb went. After watching multiple rock falls powering down the couloir and stragglers arriving at the hut just before a glorious sunset it was time to call it a day. There are two kinds of people at the Gouter – those who booked bunks in advance and those who don’t sleep. We sleep.

After the mania of breakfast and donning gear, at 3.15am, I stepped from the relative safety of the grilled platform of the hut onto the snow. It would be a long trudge but I try to adopt a of guide’s pace. This pace may seem pathetically slow but the idea is not to stop at all. A storm the previous year had made this section much more difficult but we didn’t have to zigzag as much as we anticipated and progress up to the Dome du Gouter was fast.

Summit fever

The line of head-torches rose slowly towards the waiting stars like confused fireflies, with each person lost in the struggle of their private vigil. The light from my fellow climber behind me made a giant of my shadow. I follow it endlessly into the black and white of night in the high mountains feeling anything but giant such is the scale of this fantastic place.

We plodded on towards the Vallot Hut (4362m). It’s more of an emergency shelter than a refuge and the wind here was brutal. It was Baltic so we stopped for an extra layer and a snack to boost our morale and got going again.

There are always negative thoughts that peddle doubt and the idea of turning back but they must be ignored. I think that’s why I find that even stopping is always an effort because of the faff involved and the effort sometimes required to get going again. Other groups stopped on the narrow trail and it was tempting to stop and wait behind them but we detoured past. They passed us later in the constant slow-mo leapfrog.

Before dawn our view was limited so I focused on sound instead: the determined scratch of my crampons, my breathing and the occasional clink of ice axes or poles. I felt part of a very wayward chain gang but this was escape of a different kind. Every once in a while I looked up to estimate our progress as light crept into the sky. The summit looked ever distant and I feel like a yo-yo without momentum condemned to stay at the end of my string with no way to climb.

But every step counts and we finally found our way to the precarious Bosses Ridge, the last obstacle – a snaking, narrow ridge with thousands of metres either side tugging at you. This place can be lethal if the wind picks up but we were lucky in the relative calm. In summer it’s busy here and passing people can be dangerous. We were glad to be ahead of the posse. Eventually the curl of the ridge tapered off to the beautiful snow capped and climber littered dome of the summit. It was only 7.15am and we were standing on this Alpine apex. If I had been at home I would I’d probably have still been asleep. I can never knock getting up early again.

Conditions couldn’t have better so there was no difficult decision about route choice. The majority head back the same way but we put our backs to the Bosses Ridge and headed towards Mont Maudit and the Three Monts route. It’s a steep descent in places so you need to watch your step. The Three Monts Route is usually done the other way around as the snow is more stable. Last year there was a big avalanche on Tacul which killed about eight people. Our route now meant that we would be descending that very peak just when the sun is at its highest. If there had been any recent snow we simply wouldn’t have been able to do it safely.

Getting to Col de la Brenva is easy but we then started to regain the lost height up Maudit so we could finally the awkward abseil that was ahead. We only had 30m of rope and we knew the ab is at least 100m. It’s much easier for the people coming up to make progress on the steep snow and ice but we managed, despite having to pass people on the way down. (Should you put in a short line about how you managed so people don’t think you were nutters??!)

At this stage you can’t ignore your tiredness and you carry it with you like an extra pack. We make slow but happy progress up the flank of Mt Blanc de Tacul before starting the final decent to Col du Midi. It felt strange to be looking down at the Aiguille’s familiar cable station tower so ridiculously far away. The descent is very steep in places and we walked beneath enough towering seracs to know that time spent here should be kept brief so we took a direct line to the col where we could.

Creeping crept snail-like across the huge col we felt like our work was done. The final sting in the tail was the snow ridge back up to the Aiguille which felt like it would never end. Our rest had been truly earned at this stage but our route change meant I still had to get a bus back to La Fayet to collect the car!

Zermatt bound

The next day was a rest and travel day as we headed to a Zermatt for the next act. We took the mountain road to Martigny and as rental cars don’t come with maps we decided it was time to buy one. A couple of garages later and we were still handed when I spotted a box of chocolates. It had a 3-D lid with exactly the area we needed mapped out enabling us to pick the correct route. I’m sure that’s the first time anyone used chocolate to find the Matterhorn but as Toblerone is modelled on it it’s not surprising.

Our trip took something of a turn at this point because it did nothing but rain in Zermatt. We couldn’t even see the bloody mountain so we decided to make the best of our last few days and leave. Of course we woke up the next morning with our bags packed only to see the peak in glorious sunshine with the top section with a fresh cover of snow. We were torn with desperately wanting to climb it but equally wanting to get back down! A visit to the local guides confirmed that the mountain is rarely climbed directly after fresh snow so we resigned ourselves to leaving it undone. Still I’ve been to Zermatt a number of times now and it’s always been there waiting so I guess we’ll both have to wait a little longer.

We’d been to Chamonix and Zermatt but another famous climbing valley neither of us had visited was Grindlewald so it was time to pay the home of the Eiger a visit. I’m sure there were a few raised eyebrows when we texted: “Conditions weren’t right on the Matterhorn so we’re going to have a look at the north face of the Eiger instead.”

In fairness that really is all we intended but the Mittellegi Ridge was briefly aired as a possibility. We did a few via ferratas in the valley instead including one on the north face itself…I’m not kidding by the way.

We had fun using the tourist sketch map to find the start and it was great fun to be anywhere near the infamous Nordwand even if the weather never felt obliged to give us a decent view of it. It seems that every time I go to the Alps, however much I get done I always feel like there’s so much more left undone. It’s like trying to empty a bucket of mercury with a fork. And however many times the curtain comes down on those pristine and beautiful peaks I will always make time for one more encore.

Words: Sibylle Dallman

We all know that efficient and successful recovery is just as important as a finely tuned training plan. So to improve your recovery times, reduce build up of lactic acid and improve your breathing, I’ve put together a three-step plan that is time efficient and has proven successful many times. Be active, have fun and keep pushing on! (As usual, before you begin any physical activity make sure you get the go ahead from your GP and/or physio.)

Kapalabhati breathing

1) Depending on your flexibility, sit on a folded blanket or on a chair, hands resting on your thighs. Close your eyes and take a few slow breaths to check in on your breathing rhythm.

2) Take a full breath in, then completely exhale. Inhale to a comfortable level and now quickly contract your lower belly, pushing a burst of air out of your lungs. Then quickly release, so the belly ‘rebounds’ to suck air into your lungs.

3) Pace yourself slowly at first. Repeat eight to 10 times at about one exhale-inhale cycle every second or two, focusing on the lower belly, pushing the air out. Make sure you finish with one long and complete exhalation, then begin at step two again.

4) Repeating for three to four cycles. As you become more adept at contracting/releasing your lower belly, you can increase your pace and the amount of cycles.

Triangle

This is a great pose for leg conditioning and optimised breathing! It helps strengthen the quads, lengthen the hamstrings as well as adductor muscles and this pose is heaven for knee and hip health. Triangle also reduces tension in the breathing muscles and increases flexibility of the shoulder joint. This pose makes a real difference to any recovery programme if practiced regularly.

1 Step your feet 3.5 to 4 feet apart. Raise your arms parallel to the floor and reach them actively out to the sides, palms facing down.

2) Turn your left foot in slightly and your right leg out to the right 90 degrees. Align the right heel with the left instep. Firm your thighs to protect the hamstrings and rotate your right thigh outward, so that the centre of the right knee cap is in line with the centre of the right ankle.

3) As you exhale, move your hips to the left and reach your torso to the right directly over the right leg, bending from the hip joint, not the waist. Release your right hand to the shin or ankle, take your left hand towards the ceiling and gaze to the left thumb. Rotate the chest towards the ceiling (or the sky if you practice outside), keeping the two sides of your torso equally long.

4) Let the left hip come slightly forward and lengthen the tailbone toward the back heel. Keep the left leg strong by pressing the outer heel firmly to the floor. Stay in this pose for 30 seconds to one minute. Inhale to come up, strongly pressing the back heel into the floor and reaching the top arm toward the ceiling. Reverse the feet and repeat for the same length of time to the left.

Table Top

Reaching into those areas which often get forgotten about, Table Top helps to lengthen the hip flexors and pectoralis muscles, while at the same time strengthening the wrists. For a pose that looks so easy it can really challenge your conditioning, showing you all those weak spots.

1) Sit on the floor with your hands several inches behind your hips and your fingers pointing forward. Bend your knees and place your feet hip width on the floor.

2) As you exhale, press into your feet and hands to lift your hips upwards until your torso and thighs are approximately parallel to the floor, shins and arms approximately perpendicular.

3) Look along your body and continue to project your hips and chest upwards until you cannot see your knees anymore. Try not to harden your buttocks and press your shoulder blades against the back to support your chest.

4) Without compressing the back of your neck, slowly gaze towards the wall behind you. Hold for 30 seconds, then sit back down and repeating another two times.

Your essential race day guide

Words: Adam Kelly

So you’ve done the right training for your triathlon and now it’s show time! Or race time to be precise. Outsider’s triathlon editor Adam Kelly offers you this essential guide to race day with 10 top tips your competitors will wish they knew.

While part of the appeal of triathlon is that it is multi-factorial, remember that with more elements, that means a higher risk for things going wrong. So being prepared is key! Also,despite its name, triathlon is actually broken up into five parts, not three as is commonly thought, because of the transition elements of the race. Here are 10 of the most important tips we can offer you – and an equipment checklist courtesy of Wicklow Triathlon Club – www.wicklowtri.com. (You can download your copy here )

1.Checklist

• Equipment: Make sure you are 100 per cent happy with your gear and equipment. It plays mental havoc if you compete knowing something is wrong with your equipment. There is no point putting in all the training only to develop a technical during the race, especially in Ironman Triathlon, when an athlete could have only one peak race in the entire year.

• Packing: Make a checklist at the start of the season and use it to pack your bags pre race. Pack a couple of days before the race to reduce your anxiety levels and so you can fine tune your checklist. You may need to pay a visit to your local tri shop if you need something. If you remember nothing else, make sure to pack your helmet and cycling shoes! Everything else is borrowable.

2. The build-up

• Taper: In other words, don’t try to squeeze a lot of training into the final week before your race. The main aim of tapering is to allow your body to absorb the positive effects of your previous training. You get fit when you rest! That final resting phase will help you get to the start line feeling fresh and injury free. Think of when you see race horses, bouncing with energy at the start line.

• Eating: Ignore the old pasta party trick which can leave you feeling bloated and unwell. Eat as normally as you can in the days leading up to race day. On the morning of the race, eat a small amount of light carbohydrate foods. Your important stocking-up period has been those days of light training and normal eating in the preceding days before the race.

• Sleeping: Often, you will find yourself in a strange bed the night before the race. Don’t worry at all if you don’t get good night’s sleep before the race. The most important sleeps you get are in the full week leading up to the event. Get to bed early at 10pm to give yourself the best chance of this.

• Distractions: The night before the event, try to engage in something familiar and relaxing to distract you from the big day. Spend some time with your family for example. There is no harm in focusing on the event but if you get nervous or excited too early you can get to the start line feeling worn out. This is due to the premature release of performance-enhancing chemicals in the body. I try and leave all my nervous excitement until one hour before any event and then I let my juices flow. This comes with practice and if channelled correctly can massively increase your performance.

3. Race venue

• Get to the race venue in plenty of time. Rushing causes premature chemical release! When you get your number and timing chip, put them both on straight away. These are essential kit items if you want to be included in the final race results. Once you have registered, place your kit in the transition area. Get there early to get to use more space. If you get there late, you might find yourself having to rack up your bike with 1cm either side of you.

• I find it usefully to mentally rehearse the exact route from the swim through transition, what gear I will take off and put on, and what I will take out of transition. Take a mental note of the bike mount and dismount lines too. You will definitely find it useful to mark your transition spot with a brightly coloured towel for example. This makes it easier to find your transition spot amidst the ensuing chaos.

4. Swim

• The swim start: Make sure that you do your water-based warm-up on or in the race course. At this point, take a mental note of landmarks, eg a headland which lies behind each buoy. Often the buoys are difficult to see during the race. Triathlon water starts are notorious for starting prematurely especially if a strong river current is pulling the whole field downstream. If you warm up on the course, you can’t miss the race.

• During the swim: Things can get rough but try to relax. When the race starts, do not to come up for a breath for your first four to eight strokes. You can practice this, in the pool when pushing off the wall. That will help keep you out of trouble because it is more peaceful under the water rather the washing machine above. Make sure to sight (the buoys) regularly and don’t just follow the blind!

• The swim end: Coming towards the end of the swim start to kick your legs a little more to get the blood flowing into them again. When you swim, blood tends to pool in your torso and shoulder area. When you suddenly stand up and start to run out of the water, the blood can flood back down into your legs giving you a dizzy feeling. This can cause great amusement for spectators as athletes appear to drunkenly stagger around transition. Your body will eventually get used to this.

5. Transition One (T1)

• Make it a habit to reach for your helmet first. Triathlon governing bodies are very strict on this so if you touch your bike before your helmet it can cost you a time penalty. I have learnt this the hard way! You can then take your wetsuit off. You should apply a body glide type product to your neck and armpits before the swim to stop chaffing. You can also rub the glide around your wrists and ankles to assist with the swift removal of your wetsuit. Try it in training.

6. Bike

• After mounting your bike, ride on your normal wide handle bars for a short while until you get your coordination in check. Then you can change to your tri bars. Use your time on the bike to drink plenty and eat if necessary as this is not usually possible on the run leg. As an age grouper, you will be cycling alone so you will have to concentrate on pacing yourself. Some people use a speedometer to help them focus on maintaining a particular speed. 40kmph average should do nicely!

7. Transition 2 (T2)

• Waiting for you in transition are your running shoes. You do not need to wear socks in shorter triathlon races up to Olympic distance. Instead, use some talc in your shoes, which prevents blistering and creates an initial effect of smoke coming from your heals! Be calm in the transition enclosure. It will save you time. Don’t throw your gear all over the place. Keep it neat instead.

8. Run

• When you start your run, if you feel very ungainly, it’s not just you. Elite athletes practice this transition constantly in training as a ‘brick session’ which aims to prevent this feeling occurring.

• Fatigue is often setting in at this stage, so your concentration and your mental power are more important than your physical power. Former Irish National Sprint Champion Eanna McGrath once told me a very simple technique to aid concentration. Simply keep picking landmarks or telephone poles ahead to aim for. It breaks the run into mini achievable chunks. This also helps you keep you head up and so you maintain better posture. And it allows you to smile more easily. Have ever you tried smiling with your head down?

9. Post race

• Get some liquid into you immediately when you cross the line. Your recovery starts now and you have only a short 45-minute window to optimise it. Also get a protein and carbohydrate mix into you. I often do not feel like eating solids, so I use a protein shake which also rehydrates me. Once you get this into you, you can relax and have a chat with your mates about the race. Don’t just ingest what is handed to you over the line as a freebie. And you may not get anything, so you need to have your own snack/drink to hand.

• You will often see a group of triathletes standing waist height and chatting in the cold water of the sea or river post race. This is to start the recovery process straight away by reducing inflammation in the legs. The chatting also starts the all important, debrief process.

10. Debrief

• Debrief after the race as soon as possible and write down what improvements you would like to make to your equipment, position etc. This can be done as reminder on your mobile phone. Your preparation for next race starts now. Just like you have that 45-minute window for eating and drinking for optimal recovery, you have a one- to two-day timeframe to learn from your last event.

• The days immediate after the event are mostly easy training days, so this is also a good time to clean and check your bike, wash your gear and then repack it into your race kit bag again.

• The debrief starts the process again. Hone your checklist, and then focus on your build-up to your next event, and the cycle starts again. This then becomes a habit and leaves you with more time and energy to focus on the actual performance itself.

Words: Sibylle Dallman

One of the most essential elements of athletic performance is balance. Yoga can be an excellent method of enhancing your performance because it combines both physical conditioning and focused concentration. Every sport has special movements that build your body in specific ways. This can lead to imbalance and possible injury. This is a three-step practice, focusing on releasing tension in the lower back, increasing flexibility in the shoulder joint and building strength in arms and wrists. To maximise benefits, use the breathing exercise prior to your workout and the postures after exercise. Have fun out there and stay safe! (As usual, before you begin any physical activity make sure you get the go ahead of your GP and/or physio.)

Even ratio breathing

Take a moment to let your breath settle. When your breathing is easy and without strain, begin the exercise by exhaling completely through your mouth. Inhale slowly through your nose as you count one to four. Exhale with control through your nose as you count to four.

As you inhale fill the bottom part of your lungs first, then smoothly draw the air up into your ribcage and finally all the way up under your collar bones. As you exhale, begin by drawing your belly in first, then contract your ribcage and finally lower the collar bones.

Begin with 10-20 rounds to oxygenate your body and focus your mind. This exercise can be a stand-alone practice or can be combined with your workout or yoga routine.

Downward-facing dog

This pose is a great time saver as it addresses several key areas of the body all at once. Practiced regularly and with proper alignment it builds strength in the arms and wrists, creates mobility within the shoulder girdle and lengthens the quadratus lumborum, a muscle related to most lower back issues.

1. Come onto the floor on your hands and knees, hands right beneath your shoulders and knees directly below your hips. Spread your fingers maximum distance apart, middle finger pointing straight ahead (this action is important to create the opening of the shoulder joint). Turn your toes under.

2. Press into your hands and lift your knees off the floor. Slowly reach your hips up and back, to lengthen the entire spine. At first keep the knees slightly bent and the heels lifted away from the floor. As you continue to lift the sitting bones towards the ceiling, push your top thighs back and reach your heels towards the floor at the same time.

3. Check that your palms are still pressing strongly into the floor. Firm your shoulder blades against your back, then widen them and draw them toward the tailbone. Keep both head and neck relaxed as you draw your armpits back towards your knees. Hold here for 5-10 breaths. Use even ratio breathing during the pose to speed up recovery as well as developing a focused and clear mind. To come down, bend your knees and lower to the ground.

Seated twist

This twist works the entire torso as well as the buttock muscles, releasing tension located in the abdominals, along the erector spinae and the quadratus lumborum. Gentle but regular practice will reduce pressure on the spinal nerves and enhance circulation to the abdominal organs, which supports a speedy absorption of nutrients as well as elimination of toxins. This pose should be part of every recovery programme!

1. Sit on the ground, knees bent, feet against the floor. Ensure that inner ankles as well as inner knees are touching and big toes are in line.

2. Take a breath in and lengthen the entire spine. Then take your left elbow to the outside of the right knee. If this is a little tricky, take your left forearm around your shins and hold on to the outside of the right knee. Bring your right arm behind your body, ideally close to your sacrum.

3. With each inhale, lengthen your spine a little more and with each exhale twist a little deeper, looking over your back shoulder. Stay here for 5 to 10 breath. Use even ratio breathing during the pose to soothe overworked muscles and speed up recovery. To come out exhale and rotate back to centre. Then repeat to other side for same amount of breaths.

Yoga for Athletes workshops

• Refresh Tired Legs: Sunday 11 April, 2pm-4pm
• Free Your Shoulders: Sunday 25 April 25, 2pm-4pm
• Balanced to the Core: Sunday 9 May, 2pm-4pm

Single class fee: €20; all three classes: €50. For information or to book, email: info@sibylledallmann.com; web: www.yogadublin.com

Isn’t technology great? I’m sitting on one side of my kitchen table, and staring back at me is Simon Evans and Fearghal O’Nuallain in Romania, all thanks to the miracle of Skype. One party is bedraggled, grouchy from not getting enough sleep, with a few days growth on their face; the other has – quite literally – just cycled three quarters of the way around the world. Sitting here in my pyjamas, bathrobe and sipping a mug of tea, I have never felt lazier in my entire life.

For a pair of guys who have been run over by a maniacal driver, almost stabbed to death, and who are not sure what their next source of food/shelter/working shower will be, they are in incredibly cheery form.

They are less than one continent away from becoming the first ever Irish people to circumnavigate the globe via bicycle, have raised tonnes of money for charity and have faced breathtaking highs and terrifying lows en route, but the most pertinent question on everyone’s mind is: how are their arses?

“Mine’s okay, I’ve got a smoother arse than Fearghal, so I’m alright,” Simon laughs. “Yeah I’m a bit bony, I’ve quite a skinny arse,” Fearghal chimes in. “It was a bit sore, but then I got a gel saddle and now I’m happy; my arse is in good condition you’ll be glad to know.”

As funny as a sore arse might seem to me cosied up in my apartment, the boys are undertaking their amazing 30,000km trek completely unsupported. That means they can only travel only on their own horsepower, and anything they want to bring with them they have to carry themselves: shelter, food, water, cooking equipment, repair kits and first aid. And when you’re in the middle of the wilderness on your own, molehills can become mountains pretty swiftly.

Although from what I can see from the route mapped out on their website – www.revolutioncycle.ie – mountains do not pose these guys much problem. Over the past 15 months, they have covered 24,000km and 20 countries. Starting in their home town of Greystones in Wicklow, the pair cycled to Waterford and beyond through France, Spain, Uruguay, Argentina, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, China, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Iran, Armenia, Georgia, Turkey, Bulgaria and Romania, with only Hungary, Austria, Italy, France again, Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, France one more time, and the UK, before their glorious return to these shores.

“That’s probably one of the reasons we’d never break the record, the route we chose is a little trickier,” Simon concedes. “We cross the Andes, we cross mountains in Kyrgyzstan and central Asia. The classic route is through Australia, through America, all quite easy cycling territory. But we really wanted to see more of the world.
“We can be cycling for around seven, eight hours a day but only managing 50 or 60 kilometres, the route is just so bad.’

As the boys rightly point out on their website, they are circumnavigating the globe, not just travelling around it. One could, in theory, run in a straight line near the North Pole and end up where you started, thus making a claim to have “travelled round the world”. To properly cover the whole circumference one must hit two points on complete opposite sides of the planet (in this case, Buenos Aires in Argentina and Shanghai in China), but what they do in between is their own choice.

So how did they know during the planning stage what parts of this route were even cycleable? “We don’t know till we get there,” Simon smiles.

“A lot of the countries looked dodgy from home, but we went through Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, and the only thing we met was being charged a bit more than we should the odd time for a bag of vegetables. There were no real problems,” Fearghal adds.

Food security
“Sometimes in certain places, actually finding the right food can be difficult. Vegetables are quite hard to come by in Kyrgyzstan. In one incident when one of us got sick, we were staying in a little village and we thought, ‘Okay, we’ll stay here until we get better.’ On the first day we went down to the small little shop, bought this, this, this and this … the next day we went back to the same shop, and there was nothing else there. By the third day we realised we had to leave. It kind of sounds crazy to people at home, but in a lot of parts of the world… ‘There are no Spars?’ I offer. “Yeah, or Tesco’s unfortunately,” he replies.

Despite the lack of dietary options, the boys look remarkably healthy. Cycling around a planet, you are obviously going to be fit, but rigorous preparation can’t be discounted: “We put in a huge amount of ‘wait training’,” Fearghal laughs. “We waited until we left to train.”

They are clearly in good mental condition too. If you are going to talk to just one person for the next year and a half, it helps when you are childhood friends. But as Fearghal points out, even BFFs need their alone time. “Sometimes we might take a day or two apart; the best thing about cycling is that if you need to, you can just tear off ahead and leave him a couple of kilometres behind you, or just sit back a bit,” he said. “We can give each other space.”

As anyone who has been following the boys’ excellent blog or Twitter feed will know, they have experienced highs and lows as diverse and as frequently changing as their distance from sea level.

“On my first day in Uzbekistan, I was cycling along a five-lane road when a car pulled right out in front of me and I went over the bonnet at 30kmh,” Simon recalls with a grimace.

“I cracked my frame, and smashed my (luckily helmeted) head, and both my knees were swollen. But luckily the passenger of the car took me into his house, which wasn’t far away, and I stayed with them for four days. It worked out in the end; it was actually a really cool experience.”

Highs and lows
So what was the boys’ best experience so far?

“For me, I had a great time in Kyrgyzstan,” Simon recalls. “I was cycling by myself and arrived just before the snow came properly, so all the mountains were covered in snow but the road was still dry, and it was still sunny. I had two or three just absolutely perfect cycling days by myself in beautiful countryside.”

Fearghal’s answer was a little less conventional: “I find that a difficult question. Over 15 months, a lot of it is quite boring, humdrum; cycle, eat, cycle, sleep, repeat. But the points that stick out for me, I thought Machu Picchu was amazing, that was a really special place, Kyrgyzstan was pretty cool – I arrived about three days after Simon, we were cycling independently at the time, so I caught the snow. That was ‘interesting’ from a different point. Crossing Turkmenistan, I got a kick out of that.

“But it’s funny, in expeditions like this it’s about the low points as much as it is about the high points. And oddly, it might sound a bit weird, but I got attacked in Iran. I nearly got knifed by three guys. And while that couldn’t be described as a high point … it was one of the most interesting points. We kind of did this so that we might get ‘attacked by three lads with knives’, as crazy as that sounds.

“I was just cycling into the city of Mashad and three guys passed me on a motorbike. They stopped at a patch of wasteground. I was cycling passed and they started shouting ‘Hey! Hey!’ and trying to flag me down. I thought there was something a bit funny about them. As soon as I didn’t stop they pulled down balaclavas and just ran after me. I’d been cycling for 14 days straight so my legs were just dead, there was no real acceleration there. They caught up with me, dragged me off my bike, and when I protested they pulled out knives and went at me.

“But I was lucky that I was making such a racket a team of workers working on the road heard me, they picked up shovels and pickaxes and started throwing stones at the lads and chased them away.

“But like I say, it’s things like that, that’s the reason we are doing it. There’s no point in doing it if you are worried about stuff like that happening the whole way, it kind of defeats the purpose.”

And their worst points? Yes, you read correctly. Apparently, it gets worse than nearly very dying via car/knife.

“For me, it was after my crash when I left the family and got out on the road, I realised I cracked my frame,” Simon remembers. “My legs were still swollen, I was in pain, I was scared of the traffic, and I was afraid my frame was going to crack before I could reach Toshkent where I may have been able to get a replacement. I thought that was going to be the end. I was worried I wouldn’t get a replacement on time, because I was still only on a one-month visa. I thought I was going to have to fly back home.”

Rock bottom
Again, Fearghal’s answer takes me by surprise: “For me, and this probably isn’t fit for print, but I had the shits for about a month. And that just really got me down, because I couldn’t get any decent food, and every time I did get food, well … you know. So that had me pretty miserable.”

As for the worst drivers and roads on the planet, Fearghal reckons, “Oddly, the motorists in Dublin are probably the worst. With the exception of China maybe – at least there are no missing manhole covers in Dublin. You could be pissing down the road at 50kmh and then suddenly there’s an open sewer,” he states. Simon chimes in, “You cycle past a hole, that if you hadn’t noticed, you could actually fall into – your bike and your trailer. It’s not that bad in Dublin.”

As we review the online map they have now almost bisected, they agree the “easy part” is ahead of them – the relatively nice roads of (albeit harder to find camping space in) Europe, while they both look forward to following the Danube. “Our sponsors Bubble Brothers are wine importers, and they want us to visit some of their producers along the way, so we’ll have to put in the hard work there,” they add.

To date, the boys have raised €20,000 for their chosen charity, Aware, which supports mental health in Ireland. “We chose it because it ties in with what we’re doing. We reckon that cycling is a simple way to exercise in their daily routine, and exercise is really important for a balanced life: healthy body, healthy mind,” they claim.

And they’re not finished yet. For the very last leg of their epic cycle, Fearg and Si are calling on everyone who remembers how to cycle (you never forget; it’s like riding a bike) to get out and join them on Saturday May 15 for the final 25km from Blackrock back to Greystones. In the meantime, get online at www.revolutioncycle.ie and donate!