The First Great Irish Bicycle Race

The First Great Irish Bicycle Race

Long, long ago in Ireland there lived a great man famous throughout the
land for his mighty inventions. His name was Micilin Beag.

Perhaps his greatest invention of all time was the bicycle, which he
made out of a couple of cartwheels and a Zima frame.

It was a great invention to be sure. He cycled everywhere on it and
when the country folk saw him they were all asking him to give them
one. And a bicycle as well.

Soon there were lots of bicycles about. Most of them Micilin had made
but there were a few poor imitations. But sure Micilin's bike was the
fastest in the land. No one could match his speed on the slopes of the
Pyrenees. And naturally all the girls of the village wanted to touch
his bottom.

But not everyone was happy for Micilin. Padraig Doody was the strongest
lad in all the country and before Micilin came along with his
inventions Padraig had been a big hot shot. He was all set to marry
Ailish O'Brien, the loveliest flaxen haired Cailin in the whole
universe. Now Padraig was a complete bum, a nothing.

Padraig blamed all this bad luck on Micilin and sought a way to get
revenge because now Ailish, his former sweetheart was boasting to all
and sundry that Micilin had on more than one occasion said hello to
her. She even had a T-shirt with words to that effect on it.

So one Sunday afternoon when Micilin was being presented with an award
for scaling Mount Everest on his bike, Padraig burst onto the stage in
a great and terrible temper.

'This man is a fraud,' Padraig roared.

The crowd booed at him.

'No, listen to me,' the muscle bound lad went on, 'The only reason Mico
is winning all the races is because he makes everyone else's bikes
faulty.'

A hush fell on the crowd as they considered the implications of this
accusation. Then the parish priest Father Weetobix O'Hulahee stepped
forward. 'There's only one "Christian Way" to settle this,' he said
plugging his new book.

'WHAT'S THAT?' the crowd roared and threw their eyes to heaven in
unison.

'A bleedin' challenge yus shower of gobshites.'

And so it was that Micilin and Padraig set about making themselves two
brand new bicycles. They had four weeks to do it after which there
would be a great race to the North Pole and back. The loser would be
seen as the cheat and the winner would receive all the gold in
Ireland.

Micilin immediately set to work on a new more modern, more aerodynamic
model bicycle using instead of a Zima frame - a wheelchair.

It took three weeks to build it. The rest of the time he spent fine
tuning it and testing it in a wind tunnel. He only gave it one test run
and on that he achieved speeds of up to mach six. He was happy
enough.

But it was a different story for the Arnold Schwarznegger look alike.
He had never built anything in his life. He did not know where to
start. The first three weeks he spent fiddling about with bits of twine
and matches. He was getting more desperate all the time. Failure seemed
to be awaiting him with open arms. Finally the night before the race
arrived and still Padraig had no vehicle on which to race. He did have
lots of pieces but he just could not see how they would go together.
The poor lad had not slept for four days and there was a furrow the
size of the Grand Canyon on his forehead. Eventually the tiredness got
the better of him though and he slipped into a fitful haunted
sleep.

Padraig woke up to the sound of the cock crowing and slowly got to his
feet. He looked down at the jumble of bike parts and felt strangely
calm. And sure begob'n he decided to have one more go at building the
bike. If it didn't work then he would go out and admit his failure like
a man.

He began putting some odds and ends together. It did not look much at
first but then suddenly something happened. The parts that had looked
nothing on their own began to take on a fascinating shape once
assembled. Faster and faster Padraig began adding more parts. A
tremendous feeling of excitement ran through him as everything fitted
together perfectly. Faster and faster again Padraig worked, his
intercostal muscles bulging with the effort, until eventually two
objects stood before him. One was a Phillips Black Diamond 22 inch
colour television with remote control and teletext. The other was a
toothbrush.

Well Padraig didn't know what exactly he had produced but he thought,
what the heck I'll bring them along and see what happens.

Anyhow, a great crowd had gathered outside the parish church to witness
the start of the race. People had traveled great distances after
hearing of the grand competition. Now they stood in anticipation of the
great Unveiling of the Bikes Ceremony.

A short time before noon Father Weetobix O'Hulahee stepped up to a
podium.

'I'd like to welcome all my flock,' he said and immediately regretted
it. From the back of the crowd there came a great baa-ing and bleating
cheer.

'What about the people you're not riding?' someone shouted.

'Help! I'm being attacked by sharks.' was someone else's plea. But
nobody paid any attention. All eyes were on the priest.

'I'd just like to take this opportunity to say a few words about the
new album I have coming out.' the holy man said.

'That's plenty.' the Pope cut in. He had a side bet with Sean Graham,
the local bookmaker and was anxious for the off.

'Okay,' says the priest irritably. 'Let the unveiling commence!'

A huge roar erupted from the crowd as they strained to get a better
view. Gardai armed with riot gear and water cannons were swift to deal
with those who got too eager but mostly there was little trouble.

Then Micilin stepped up and drew the covering off his new futuristic
looking bike. The crowd went mad. Afterwards some spectators claimed to
have seen rivers of red-hot lava flowing from Micilin's eyes. Others
insisted the devil had appeared and danced a jig with some pixies. Mass
hallucination was rampant at this moment of high excitement.

Then Padraig stepped forth and slid the covers off his 'bicycle.' There
was a very mixed response from the crowd. Some people were stunned.
Others fell about the place laughing. Others still shouted out in anger
believing Padraig had made a mockery of the whole thing.

Anyway the two competitors made their way to the starting line. Micilin
mounted his bicycle and Padraig sat on top of the telly holding the
toothbrush. An expectant hush fell on crowd and in that moment of
tranquility you could have heard a really loud explosion.

Then on the stroke of twelve a cannon roared and the race was off.
Micilin took the early running and it wasn't long before he had a
sizeable lead as he sped off into the distance. Padraig trundled off in
chase, the casters of the telly squealing as he went. Everyone in the
crowd was extremely embarrassed for him. They all looked down at their
shoes in mortification. Anyway, Padraig only got half a dozen yards
down the road when all the wheels broke of his telly and his flapping
legs hit off the power switch turning it on.

Micilin meanwhile was cycling faster than he ever had before. He was
going so fast that his bicycle took off and he flew into space. That's
what they say anyway. Some believe that he is still flying around in
space and that it is he on his bike that orbits the earth every 96
years. Haileys Comet me foot, they say and warn that one day he will
return in glory and claim all the gold in Ireland.

Though Micilin never returned, nobody was really impressed with
Padraig's performance and after sitting through an early episode of
'The Reardons' they set about him and beat him to death with cudgels,
shilalaighs and baseball bats.

That is the end of the story except to mention that the whole town was
wiped out five years later by a strange virus that was brought about by
a lack of dental hygiene. Funny how things work out isn't it?