Three Peaks

The Dublin jazz notes were still ringing in my head when the alarm went off. After a late-night gig in the city, my "Three Peak" plan for the Slieve Blooms was starting to look like a hallucination of my own optimism.

The negotiations for the start time had been a battle of wills: I proposed 11:00 AM to recover, Debora pushed for 12:00 PM, and Pat—ever the early bird—wanted to be gone at dawn. We compromised on 11:15 AM.

I rolled up a little late, only to find that Pat had already bailed! He’d chickened out, claiming he forgot his cycling shoes, and was probably halfway home to a fry-up. Little did he know I was traveling with a mobile Foot Locker. Because I’d been uncertain which bike to use, I happened to have two pairs of shoes in the boot.

I called him immediately and hauled him back to the start. I handed him my spares—big shoes to fill, literally—and suddenly Pat was clipped in and facing the music.

The First Ascent

From Blueball, we hit our first climb, "The Cut." It was Pat’s inaugural attempt at this 7km stretch. It’s a gradual, constant slope, and honestly? We crushed it. Nice steady gears, no drama, just the mountain air starting to clear the jazz syncopation from my brain.

Then came "The Wolftrap." I don’t know if it was a lapse in memory or genuine muscle deterioration, but that hill felt significantly worse than I remembered. I’m claiming "old age" as my official excuse! Despite his lack of mountain miles, Pat was doing surprisingly well. We enjoyed a hair-raising but beautiful descent and found ourselves in Pevoy’s for coffee and some desperate refueling before we knew it.

The Kinitty Beast

I’ve always said the third climb—steep but shortish—was optional. I dropped a few subtle hints, but they didn't take them; they actually wanted to do it!

Just past Kinitty Castle, things got wild. An enormous dog cleared a garden wall and decided we were the day's entertainment. Debora performed the fastest acceleration I have ever seen in my life. She effectively threw me to the wolves, preferring to use me as bait while she bolted! Luckily, I think the dog only wanted to play, and we managed to regroup for the final boss.

The Triangle of Pain

We turned to face the last hill: the "Triangle of Pain." If you think that's a dramatic nickname, look it up—it’s an actual Strava segment.

This is where the mechanical tragedy struck. Debora has a serious masochistic streak—or maybe just a lazy mechanic—because her front derailleur decided to go on strike. She literally could not shift into the small ring. I was on my gravel bike, clicked into my lowest gear, even zig-zagging across the road just to get up the steepest parts. Meanwhile, Debora was grinding up the incline in her big ring like a total machine. I felt slightly vindicated when Pat finally had to hop off and walk a little on the steepest pitch, but Debora made it to the top without a single shift.

The Sprint Home

We decided to avoid the section with the wolfhound on the way back, opting for the route via Killcormack. That left us with a brutal 10km stretch against the wind back to Blueball.

Pat put his head down and went upfront. Debora and I tried to close the gap, but we just couldn't. I finally caught up, but on the very last little kicker of a hill, Pat pulled a pro-sprint and pulled away again. I was searching for an excuse, but age won't work—we only differ by a few weeks and I’m not even sure who is older anymore. All I know is he was wearing my shoes, so I have to give it to him: fair play!

In the car on the way home, I cranked up the volume for "God is a DJ." When Maxi Jazz started singing about his church being "where I heal my hurts," I just started cracking up. For me, that’s exactly what today was. On the bike, in the mountains, healing the hurts with a great crew.

Thanks guys for another epic cycle!