Gael Force 6... getting there

Friday afternoon and I'm trying desperately to get out of the office but somehow everything unpleasant managed to hit the fan at the same time! 2pm was my planned departure time but the powers that be had other plans. How can so many emergencies happen at the same time and why don't I learn how to duck out of the firing line. 2.30pm became 3pm and I was no closer to getting out. Eventually all fires had been put out and I was outta there and on the road at 4.30pm, just before the rush!

The drive to Westport was long, but it's always long especially as we have to travel through Roscommon; the longest county in Ireland! Although not strictly true it does seem that way as it seems to take an age to travel through. It's like the county that time forgot as, when crossing the border from any other county, straight wide carriageways seem to buckle and twist as if roughly reshaped to suit the landscape of Roscommon’s rolling hills and valleys. Roads seem to meander aimlessly around the county and often you get the sense that you're travelling backwards as the sun circles above you. I am convinced that the hospitality industry resist any infrastructure development as weary travellers are worn down by the gruelling drive and are forced to stop to eat, drink or check their sanity.

We were no exception and stopped in possibly the best looking restaurant in Ballaghaderreen. Unfortunately it turned out to be the worse restaurant I have even been to for food and hygiene; two things I think most people rate highly when it comes to eating!! The cafe looked inviting from the outside and at first glance it looked modern, new and comfortable inside with no expense spared on decor. Books and covers sprang to mind as I made a visit to the loo and had to battle through a dense wave of foul air. The toilets were kitted out with the most impressive and modern accessories, but obviously nobody told the cleaners they were there. Returning to my seat I started to notice dirt and grease everywhere from the water jug to the kitchen door. Unfortunately we had already ordered and decided to stay; perhaps the food would be good. Why did I think that? It was terrible! I ordered carbonara, what I got was a plate of penne pasta and olive oil (in equal measure) with a sprinkling of bacon and something that looked like cheese but really had no flavour so it was hard to tell. For the first time in my life I only ate half of my meal, normally I lick the plate clean but I could feel a coronary coming on the more I ate and I had to stop. On the up side they did make a lovely cappuccino, I guess every cloud does have a silver lining!

It was getting late and we were keen to get back on the road again. Within 30 minutes or so we slipped out of Roscommon and into Mayo where the road straightened and for the most part lost its roller coaster effect. It was close to 9pm before we arrived in Westport but we still had a lot of driving to go get to the registration area in Delphi, South Co. Mayo. After another 40 minutes driving we were getting close as more and more bicycle carrying cars joined our route. Then, just as it looked like we had arrived, we hit stationary traffic. It was dark, really dark, and although we knew we were close we really didn't know far away the registration area was and nobody around us knew any better. Some people started to assume it was just around the next corner and decided to park their cars along the road side and take their bikes the rest of the way. After much debate our questions were answered by a passing official whose advice was to sit tight and drive up to the registration area when the traffic clears, it was quite some distance and the car park was empty. This turned out to good advice as the traffic started to move and we drove what turned out to be a significant distance to the registration tents. we parked close to the tents and I had to visit a number of desks to submit my medical declaration, get my kit checked, get my timing chip and so on. Then out into the mud to label my bicycle and position it in the transition are for tomorrow's race. It had been raining nonstop for the last week or so and there was little the organisers could do to prevent the bike station turning into a mud bath. It was so muddy that some people had gone barefoot to the bike racks while others with better planning skills wore wellington boots and walked carefree to their racks. I thought I could get away with it but as I gingerly tiptoed towards my bike rack I could feel the mud seeping into my shoes as each step I took sunk a little deeper into the mud. Having extracted myself from the mud we had a long drive back to Westport and home for the night. It was already close to 11pm with a 40 minute drive ahead of us. I had to be up no later than 4.30am to get fed and dressed for the day, then travel to Westport House for my 6am bus to the start line.