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28.05.2010 ~ Bottlenecked

We're leaving Gorwan town driving down south when a brightly decorated motorcycle flashes past. "FBD Milk Ras" Dad remarks and comments on how he's seen them in Limerick and Thurles over the past few days. A bad stalking joke is made and our journey continues.

We pull into Dungarvan village (the Kilkenny county version) and are flagged down by a brightly uniformed helmet clad safety marshal, a large motorcycle to his right. We slow down and stop as the marshal walks towards the drivers door.

FBD Milk Ras, Inbound!

Leaving Dungavan involves a 90 degree turn to our right. The Safety marshal, we'll call him "Bob", has parked said large motorcycle just out of the line of sight of oncoming traffic and has wisely chosen to stop us in the same blind spot. Race participants going wide and in a hurry are in for a surprise, I think to myself before turning my attention to the conversation drivers side.

"Bob", having told us we're driving into the Carrick - Gowran leg of the FBD Milk Ras, is slowly instructing us to find somewhere to pull in up along the path of the on-coming race, and to do so quickly. As the discussion continues a red motorcycle, another safety marshal, takes the 90 degree corner at a reasonable clip...

It's worth noting at this point we're sitting in the cab of a large open back Scania truck, or a "large, white, moving wall" as a friend of mine used remark!

...the broad graceful turn of the red motorcycle is shattered, punctuated by the riders look of horror as he loses control and fishtails violently. His ride scarcely misses to our left. "Bob" continues his instruction, embracing his responsibility, oblivious to the drama. He finally finishes his prepared missive and waves us on... into the path of the race.*

"Do what the man says"

We take the turn leaving Dungarvan and note the volume of onrushing two-lane traffic on the narrow country road is growing, having to awkwardly merge to pass us. "Do what the man says" isn't sitting too well. We see a lay-by on our left less than 100 meters up the road and take aim, threading grass in an attempt to make the truck as innocuous as possible.

Four motorcycles, two of the them police, rush towards us - the cycle race is real close now. One of the Gardai indicate we should pull in and races past, a grey motorcycle closely flanking him. The truck is easily half the width of the road despite the mud furrows we're digging but there's only 50 meters to the lay-by. We get closer. 40 meters ... almost there. Traffic continues to grow, mostly motorcycles but still no sign of the race itself. We'll easily make it to the lay-by with plenty of time to spare!

The grey motorcycle overtakes us and moves up the road as the 'Milk Ras Command' vehicle passes, I can't help but find myself amused by the forced title. The grey motorcycle slows, reverses its direction and pirouettes in front of us. Less than 35 meters to the lay-by. We're forced to stop as the grey bike pulls up mere inches from our engine grill. The rider, another shiny safety marshal drops stand and walks to the drivers side of the cab. We're already over half the width of the road before he reaches the drivers door and cranes his neck into the cab ...

* and repeat!

Passing traffic intensifies as this safety marshal, we'll call him "Ted", explains in now familiar terms that a cycle race is closing in and we'll have to stay put. Objects in motion zip by on the constrained tarmac behind "Ted" as we indicate the lay-by which is just out of arms reach. "Ted" dismisses it - he's the safety officer here and he is doing this for safety dammit!

"Ted" walks to the front of the truck and ceremoniously extends his right arm into the air (in a fashion more reminiscent of the classic Lenin 'hailing a taxi' poise than Hitlers infamous salute!). Minutes pass as we shake our heads at the expense of our new found shepherd and saviour. It seems only "Ted"s mighty appendage can save us all and we marvel in the glow of this elevated preserver of life. Then traffic peaks. A swath of blurry bicycles rush into view.

Here they come ...

Our hazards and horn blare as "Ted"s right arm remains skywards. The onrushing traffic, a two-lane mix of competitive head-down cyclists and their speeding vehicle-borne support bear down on us at an impressive pace. They only have a tiny window to recognise our 'flashing noisy white wall' for the dangerous bottleneck the safety marshal has created. I kinda wish someone would shout "HOLD ... HOOOOLLLLLLDDDDDD ...."!!!

NOW!!!

Impossibly the professionals quickly merge into a single narrow lane and funnel by without being reduced to a bloody pileup. For the briefest of moments the number of wheels per yard of road is impressively dense. And like that - they're gone!

"Ted", without gesture or comment, saddles up and moves off**. We remove the truck from the ditch and continue on our own way, still shaking our heads as we pass the empty lay-by.

* We could just have easily parked up to the left, out of the way but safely in the line of sight of the oncoming race.
** His right air still skybound?

Tags: 10, disappointing, ffs, guard, police, rant.

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