On our seventh day, with 1,800km under our belts,
Brad and I had finally settled into a good groove. We
were tapping the k’s over one by one, enjoying warm
days, blue skies, and unexpected tailwinds along Ire-
land’s coastal traverse of the Wild Atlantic Way. We
had trained rigorously through the wettest, grayest,
and windiest of New England springs in preparation
for the 2018 edition of the self-supported 2,500km
TransAtlanticWay bikepacking race. We built up asurplus of what we cheerfully referred
to as ‘Good Weather Karma.’ But in
the steel-gray dawn on that seventh
morning, and with a tentative lead
in the team division, we rode bliss-
fully unaware into the arms of Storm
Hector. And Hector was furious.
Months earlier, Brad and I each
found out we hadn’t been selected
in the Dirty Kanza lottery. We sat
hunched over a laptop, trying to decide
in lieu of the storied gravel roads of
Emporia, Kansas, now what? Brad had
previously raced the Trans Am Bike
Race (4,200 miles across the U.S.), and
I had a decade of ultracycling experi-
ence. So we settled on race director
Adrian O’Sullivan’s 2,500km green-
ribbon epic poem through Ireland.
The self-supported race starts with
an any-route-you-please section from Dublin to
Derry, and then follows the storm-battered Atlantic
coast through ancient villages, over mountain passes
and otherworldly terrain to Kinsale in County Cork.
The TAW checked every box: wild, remote, challeng-
ing, and definitely a little bit bananas. Bonus: There
was a pairs division. We sent our registrations, fully
committed. We were going to Ireland.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Brad Smithand I make an odd couple. Brad is a machinist at
Seven Cycles in Watertown, Massachusetts, with,
honestly, I have no idea how many tattoos (but one
of them is a slice of pizza) and a carefree, it’ll-all-
work-out attitude. (I’m also pretty sure that Brad
doesn’t own any pants.)
I have a doctorate in immunology and work for a
gene-editing company in Cambridge, Massachusetts,
with a single tattoo and an I-will-plan-this-thing-
to-the-nth-degree-and-we-will-not-deviate-from-
said-plan attitude. (I own several pairs of pants.)
But our love of bicycles, adventure, nature, find-
ing (and pushing past) our limits, and a keen appre-
ciation for the absurd supersede our differences. On
those truly miserable days, when everyone else is
indoors Zwifting, we’re out there, giggling in the face
of headwinds, talking about pizza. When we ride
together, it’s quite simple really: There is a lot of joy.
In the months leading up to the TAW, Brad and
I planned and prepared meticulously. We had new
Seven Cycles Evergreen XX gravel bike prototypes,
with SR AM, Zipp, and Donnelly 650b tubeless tires.
We had clothes and bags from Rapha; helmets,
shoes, and lights from Bontrager. There would be no
excuses equipment-wise. We plotted out daily goals
(a little more than 300km per day) booking B&Bs
for every night, thinking that even if we couldn’t
get any shut-eye, we would welcome a nice shower
and a meal after a long day in the saddle.JUNE. DUBLIN. BRAD AND I WRESTLED OUR
bike bags through the crowds at the hallowed gates
of Trinity College. Instantly in awe of the history
surrounding us, we uttered the first of what would
probably amount to a million wows. A muddle of
bike bags, boxes, and partially built bicycles littered
Parliament Square, their owners focused intently
on the task, hiding any prerace jitters. In less than
48 hours, we would toe the line with 130 solo racers
and seven teams. We were as ready as we could be.
We just wanted to start pedaling.
Two things about meticulously planning for
a two-person bikepacking race in Ireland: First,
don’t. It turns out that your teammate’s cramp-
ing legs 60km in on the first day don’t care about
your logistical acumen. A hiccup like that makes a
slipshod mess of the most careful strategies. And
second, you don’t need to. There are thousands of
hostels and B&Bs dotting Ireland’s west coast, and
smartphones are a wonderful thing. A later-than-
planned start on Day 1 (teams were the last to stage)
had us arriving in Malin Head hours later than we
expected, which meant that instead of sneaking out
the door before anyone was stirring in the B&B, we
woke to the smell of coffee and muffins and eggs
and toast. So yeah, Day 2 got off to a late start, too.
Any concerns we had about our falteringIT NEARLY ALL
WENT SIDEWAYS
WHEN WE MET
THE FULL FORCE
OF HECTOR.
80 BICYCLING.COM • ISSUE 1 | 2020