This week's Independent News & Media Irish regional newspapers' column.
Michael Commane
Have you noticed the number of people out on bicycles? It seems the entire country has taken to cycling.
The road I live on has become a busy cycleway. It’s great to see so many people out cycling. But I keep asking myself what were they doing before the arrival of Covid-19.
Bicycle shops must be experiencing the best business of their lives.
Because of Covid-19 cocooning restrictions I have been off my bicycle for many weeks, indeed it may have been my longest bicycle break in over 65 years.
A friend and I decided to take to the hills last Saturday week.
He is significantly younger than I, so there was a certain nervousness and trepidation on my part as to how I would manage.
We set off close to midday and before we had gone seven kilometres I felt that terrible sensation of flatness. No, not with my mood, but with my back wheel. I had a puncture.
Fadó fadó I would always have had a repair kit with me. Not so in this modern sophisticated world of ours. This was a mess.
I cycled circa four kilometres to a bicycle shop, a silly thing to do but there was a tiny drop of air still in the tube. A new tube fitted. All done in less than 30 minutes. We’re off again, this time with a solid back tyre.
Four kilometres later what happens? Another puncture, this time the front wheel. No chance of cycling this time as there’s not a whiff of air in the tube. Luckily it was only two kilometres to the next bicycle shop, where another tube is fitted.
The best part of an hour wasted and €29 poorer, we’re on the road.
While waiting for the two tubes to be fitted I’m thinking how my late father would be turning in his grave if he knew I was not fixing my own punctures. And the idea that no one fixes punctures any longer would make him turn even faster.
Within an hour, we are cycling through the Bohernabreena reservoir, just a short distance south of Tallaght. It is an exquisite place, magic for walking and cycling.
I’m surprised how so few people are about. It had rained during the night and there was a mist or haze floating just above the water. You could even smell it and it certainly added to the beauty of the place.
We got chatting to a man who was about to go trout-fishing on the lake. One thing led to another and just before we parted company he said that if we were coming back later in the day, and he had caught a few trout, we would be welcome to them. Is there anything like a freshly caught trout, and fried with a knob of butter?
Alas, we would not be coming back this way later in the day. What a pity, though, I was tempted to change our route for the sake of a trout supper.
We cycled along the side of the reservoir, out on to the road, back down to Tallaght and home.
It was magic. But the magic doesn’t end once you get off the bicycle. For the next day or so I was walking about on air, oops, that reminds me of those punctures. But even the punctures added to the story of the day.
We covered 45 glorious kilometres and I was delighted with myself. My companion had no problem keeping up with me.
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