AGAINST THE ODDS:At short notice and with some reluctance, our hero agrees to take part in the Balscadden Biathlon

1pt e-w Nick Watney in Memorial Tournament (20/1, Coral)

2pt win Native Khan in Epsom Derby (9/1, Boylesports)

BLOWING FROM every orifice, Vinny Fitzpatrick dragged his bike into the bushes opposite the 31B terminus on Howth Summit and collapsed in a heap in the undergrowth. As his over-worked heart struggled to pump sufficient blood to the nooks and crannies of his 15½st frame, he felt he was on the verge of meltdown.

For several minutes he lay flat out on the soft soil, hidden from passing traffic on Carrickbrack Road. Eventually, his heart rate no longer resounded like a pneumatic drill and his laboured breathing slowed. “In the name of all that’s holy, how did I end up here?” he thought.

It was the last Monday in May and Vinny had, at short notice and with some reluctance, agreed to take part in the Balscadden Biathlon.

The event consisted of a swim in Howth Harbour and two loops of Howth Head by bike. Given the physical effort required, it was a gig Vinny waddled well away from. But something, or someone, conspired to change his mind. This year’s nominated charity, the Carers’ Association of Ireland, was a cause close to Angie’s heart as she had given up three years to tend to her bed-ridden mother in the early ’90s.

“It was bad enough when I was looking after mam, but it’s a damn sight worse now. Vinny, shift your backside to Foley’s and make sure every punter commits at least a tenner to sponsor us,” barked Angie that Sunday tea-time.

With Roy Keane’s mantra of preparing to fail when you fail to prepare screaming in his ears, Vinny found himself on the quayside in Howth 24 hours later, along with about 80 others.

After casting an admiring glance at a svelte figure bending down beside him, and then checking himself when he realised it was his wife, Vinny considered what was in store. “Am I mad or what?” he thought.

All around him were lithe, lean types in lycro and goggles. In contrast, Vinny looked like Mister Blobby. He was a competent swimmer and could push pedals, but all in his own time, not in the white-hot heat of competition.

As they were called to attention by the starter, he said a little prayer that his baggy trunks would stay on when he dived. The fun runners, as Vinny called them, were held back while the serious stuff got under way.

That suited grand, and as Vinny slipped into the chill waters of Howth Harbour it struck him that it was was exactly 100 years since the Titanic slid down Belfast Lough ahead of being kitted out.

“I trust I can stay afloat a little longer,” he said before striking out, with the breaststroke, to the buoy some 300 metres from the harbour wall.

The swim went better than he hoped, apart from a mild bout of cramp in the toes on the return leg which caused him to tread water. A rescue boat came up alongside but he declined a lift and resumed paddling.

By the time he hauled himself back on quayside, breathing heavily, the remainder of the field had disappeared in the direction of Sutton Cross.

Vinny looked about him; he was plum last, which pleased him. The last thing he wanted was some well-meaning chap suggesting they work together to make up lost ground. As he put the old Raleigh racer into third gear, he flexed his fat calfs and made his way towards Sutton.

Spying the level crossing at the old Claremont Hotel set him to thinking about how many road crossings there were on the Dart line. There were two more at Sutton, one at the golf club entrance, which he remembered from a Foley’s society outing, and another at the station itself.

Scrunching his face in concentration, which made him look like a wrinkly tomato, he knew of others at Lansdowne Road, Sandymount, Sydney Parade, Strand Road in Booterstown and Bray.

He was wracking his brains to think of others when he turned left at the Marine Hotel and found the road rising under him. “Just like the Alpe d’Huez,” he grinned.

Only it wasn’t Alpe d’Huez, with its 21 hairpins, and a climb of more than 1,100m over 13.2km, which confronted Vinny.

Instead, he faced a gentle, 4.5km skirt up Carrickbrack Road, from sea level to less than 125m. “It’s like comparing Everton’s budget to Bohs, world’s apart. This will be a doddle,” thought Vinny as he approached St Fintan’s Cemetery.

By now, his little trotters were finding the going tough and, for the first time, Vinny had to unglue his ample backside off the saddle. He dropped down to first gear and almost stalled, losing vital momentum.

At Howth Golf Club he was passed by a nun on a bike, who resembled Elvira Gulch from The Wizard of Oz– he was sure he heard a cackle as she pulled away.

At each turn in the road Vinny peered forward, eager to spy the sanctuary of Howth Summit which marked the high point of the circuit.

From his knowledge of bus stops, Vinny knew exactly how far he had to go before the road flattened out. He couldn’t get over the vast distance between them and made a mental note to have a word with Socket Twomey, his controller in Clontarf Garage

As he zig-zagged dangerously towards the centre line, Vinny knew there was no earthly way he could go around again. One circuit had brought him to the brink; a second would finish him off. The thought crossed his mind that, whatever cyclists were supposed to have taken on the Tour de France to get them from A to B, he wanted some of it.

He was no Tommy Simpson; if he fell off the bike he didn’t want someone to help him back on.

At the little shop at Howth Summit his race was run. He pulled in opposite the bus stop and found a little copse he knew from his days on the 31B – it had always been handy for a pee. It was time to rest, allow the rest of the field go past on their second lap before descending at his own sedate pace, safe and sound.

As Vinny finally caught his breath, and his pulse steadied, he felt the exertions of the day catch up with him. He was about to nod off. Sure what harm was there in forty winks?

Some time later, Vinny awoke. His watch was back in his Gola gear bag at the harbour and he felt it best to get a wriggle on lest Angie was waiting for him.

He hauled his bike out from the hedge, clambered on board and nosed the bike down Thormanby Road. In Howth’s Main Street he was surprised to hear a few cheers from onlookers. “Fair play to them for staying out so late,” he thought, waving back.

Turning left on Harbour Road, Vinny was relieved to see there were a few bodies milling around the start/finishing line. He decided to put on a show, just for fun, and hit fifth gear and let rip. He could see a tape strung across the road and heard someone screaming in a tannoy.

“Here comes our leader now. Let’s show our appreciation folks.”

Concerned he was getting in the way, Vinny moved to one side and glanced over his shoulder: there was no one there. It was only when he breasted the tape that things hit home.

“Jaypurs, what have I done?”

Vinny's Bismarck:

2pts Lay Laois (+5 pts) to beat Dublin in Leinster SFC (evens, Paddy Power, liability 2pts)

Bets of the Week: 

1pt e-w Nick Watney in Memorial Tournament (20/1, Coral)
2pt win Native Khan in Epsom Derby (9/1, Boylesports)