|
ACCORDING to the plot it was meant to be a matter of staying upright, keeping out of trouble - and taking the final sprint. Where better to do it than on home turf, too? Having a second crack at a 30-mile DMS from the Boot Inn, Cloghran inside the month cranked up personal expectations and demanded an improvement on the previous 6th place finish. Then, a strong tailwind favoured stronger riders capable of sustaining a long, high-speed power run to the line. And sprinters mostly got worn down well before the flag. For the rematch on Tuesday, June 24 conditions were near perfect, as a sprinter would view it. A glorious warm evening, lit by summer sunshine, would ensure good sport in Race No 3. And, joy of joys, the finish would be held into a stiff, easterly headwind. On the personal front, it was no hindrance that my wife Tina was in close attendance (as a race marshal). That fact begged a gallant response – and the exhibitionist within me came out to play.
Jumping
away from the line can be interpreted as loosening up the legs before
proper racing gets underway. Or else, the guy means business and
wishes the field to sit up and take early notice.
Anyway,
Rider No 38 (Purple) blasted off the line, opened up a gap on the
bunch and was able to shout greetings by the first corner - that he
currently was “winning the race” - to his surprised and
equally delighted wife Tina. From there on, the field came together
and the race settled in, lap after lap. All was going to plan. The Final Lap: How curious the evening sky looked from my vantage. Faces peered down and I realised this wasn’t my position of choice. “You fell off your bike,” said the Order of Malta ambulance crew. |
Jim Morahan finishing the race in Brittas recently After the short journey, the siren sounding a few times at junctions en route, I was being taken into Beaumont Hospital. In Casualty, I saw the clock read 9.45pm. Soon Tina appeared beside me like magic. At the finish she’d asked where I was and got a shock to hear the ambulance had taken me away. But she’d the presence of mind to first go home the few miles to Glasnevin (taking the broken bike and my other gear) to collect homeopathic remedies that prove their worth in first aid situations involving emotional shock, physical trauma and inflammation. At intervals she plied me with the appropriate remedies which I sipped in water. My ballooning face began to noticeably reduce in size, among other helpful signs. Like the professionals they are, the medical staff went through their emergency checks. X-rays of head, shoulders and neck showed nothing had broken. Somebody remarked I was “as tough as old boots,” which the racer in me enjoyed hearing. By 12.30 am Tina was driving both of us home, my mind clear and attentive, as the medical staff were happy to discharge me. Over the following days as my status as crashing vet expanded, I was surprised to be a focus of the genuine collegiality that exists within the IVCA membership. Marian Connolly, from the ambulance crew, also rang to advise that a cloth dipped in warmed milk speeds up restoration of normal colour to bash-blackened eyes. |
|
How I fell and where it happened were a blank to me. I could remember being in the race – and then I wasn't. No in-between stage. Without warning my ITM stem had snapped at the junction with the handlebars. It happened about 50 yards past the finish line, Race Director Terry Cromer told me days later. Like a child, I listened to the crew’s instructions, trusting what they were doing for me, and answering when they asked me. Flat on my back, wrapped in a blanket, I let everything that was happening simply take place. Someone said I’d been unconscious for about 30 seconds. Voices, calm and reassuring, apologized for fitting a head brace; it was necessary, purely as a precaution, because I’d hit my head. Strong but gentle hands lifted me onto a stretcher, then into the ambulance. I was aware of this unusual activity in a curious detached way. (Strangely, during my pre-race warm-up I had taken specific notice of the ambulance waiting for the start and wondering what it must be like to have a crash!) |
It does, and I’m sure to be spared from turning up like a roughed-up mafia figure at my daughter’s wedding in Italy next week. Vet colleagues, some of whom know what it means to hit the road, brought support and sympathy and we laughed at the folly of man as indestructible bike racing machine. IVCA chairman Henry Whelan, on the way back after his severe February fall, led the support and encouragement. Derek McCullagh, who was directly behind me when I crashed, recalled that he took a tumble a couple of years ago very close to the same spot. Derek went down at speed when wheels touched and ended up breaking bones. I’m looking forward to joining battle inside a month, provided strong Tuscan wine doesn't dull the intent. By then a sturdy replacement stem should help get me around and - provided I can stay out of trouble - give me a sporting chance in the sprint.
That’s still the plot. |
