The Long Way Home: A Lesson in Endurance

Decades on the bike have taught me a great deal about performance, persistence, preparation and the art of endurance.

Some lessons come from the races themselves. Others emerge from the miles, through experience, reflection and observation.

In this series, I share a few of the lessons the road has taught me, and what they might mean for life on two wheels and life on two feet.

My mother

My mother used to tell a story of me trying to race Nurse Duffy as she made her village rounds. Nurse Duffy rode one of those heavy, black bikes, you know the ones with the chain encased in an oil cage.

She rode it proudly, sat rod straight, basket on the front, nurse’s hat pinned to her head, turning the wheels slowly and deliberately. Apparently, I couldn’t help but race her, my wee legs turning furiously, head down, the imagined finish line at the doorway of our home in Newtowncunningham, Co. Donegal.

I was maybe five years old.

My mother used to say that even back then I had a good set of legs. “They would just keep going round and round,” she’d say, or “there was no stopping them”.

How right she was. She was right about a lot of things.

Start furthest away…

My mother passed away early on Saturday morning, April 7th, surrounded by her loved ones. She was to be buried on Monday in Newtowncunningham. I’m not one for church readings. I do, however, have some words to write.

She grew potatoes for her family in a field adjoining our humble Donegal home. The way the field was positioned meant that the drills went from long to short. I have a vivid memory of helping her gather them in for the first time when I was eight. I wanted to start with the shortest drill. She wouldn’t have it.

“Son… you start furthest away and work your way home.”

She worked hard to feed, care for and love all those around her. She set the example of how to work in hard times and through challenging situations. Her mantras were, “You get up and you go again” and “Forward is the only direction”.

Steadfast. Loyal. Humble. Supportive. Fierce. Loving.

In the early days…

In the early days, I remember countless Saturday nights after racing, desperately trying to get my race kit cleaned and ready for Sunday. She would wash my clothes and lay them out, worrying away at every muddy and sweaty spot until everything was pristine. Sometimes we’d be in that kitchen together in the wee hours of the morning, hanging clothes over chairs and from hooks above the range.

It was an incredibly meaningful and formative time with her. I will cherish it forever.

Would you believe that I continued taking her my race kit to clean right up until November 2017, when I broke the Malin–Mizen–Malin World Record? No one else would do. That’s how much this ritual meant to us.

She gave of herself time and time again so that I could get to the start line. None of this would have been possible without her.

If you ever wondered why I was always turned out like a pro, it was my mother. To this day, no matter how big or small the race, I turn myself out like a pro.

My mother.

Pride in my work. That’s one of the many things she taught me.

The candle in the window

I think about her a lot when I ride my bike. I always have done. I’ve thought about her more and more during these years of endurance. I’ve thought about where I get my ability to push through the lonely hours of quiet suffering, to accept the inevitable questioning of strength, purpose and capability.

And then I remember…

She has a candle burning in the kitchen window, and she will do so until I cross the finish line.

“Faith, son… faith… you start furthest away and you work your way home.”

It has propelled and encouraged me to cross many a finish line.

Our family had the fortune to know when she entered her flamme rouge. We were gifted the time to say our goodbyes before she finally worked her way home.

She will be missed. Never forgotten.

When I ride, I will forever think…

“Forward is the only direction.”

“Work my way home.”

---

For those that stay with us always….