Sean teach tuaithe, gan troscán, gan teas. Píosaí de ghach rud gach áit. Leabhair, buicéid, éadaí, adhmad, miotal, bia caorach. Suíochán amháin, fear amháin, solas amháin. Cad é mar a chríochnaigh mé suas anseo?
Tuairim is dhá bhlian ó shin bhí mé ag tonntóireacht ar an GFAD ‘ghneásán fud an Domhan’, agus táinig mé ar alt fán ‘Fear Iarann’ Mick Murphy. An fear céanna a bhuaigh an rás rothaíochta is mó sa tír i 1958 ina chéad iarracht, a bhí ag treanáil ina theach baile le meacháin deanta as cloch ó bhí sé 12, a bhí sa siorcas, a d’ól fuill capall don mhaitheas, a ghoid rothar feirmeora tar éis dó a rothar féin a scriosadh nuair a thit sé de i rith an Rás 1958. Téann an liosta ar aghaidh! Léigh mé fán uair a thit sé da rothar agus bhris sé a dhealrachán, léim arias ar a rothar agus choinnigh ag dul ar feabh ceithre lá! Agus fán uair a chonaic sé taibhse madaidh agus é ag rotháil ar an bhóthar ina aonar oíche amháin! Rud amháin a bhí cinnte nuair a tháinig mé ar an teolas seo ach go mbeadh orm dul agus bualadh leis an fear seo bealach amháin nó bealach eile!
Mar sin agus mé ag suí sa teach ar Dhomhnach cásca, shocraigh mé bualadh síos ina threo. Bhí a fhios agam go raibh cónaí air áit éigean gár do Chathair Saibhín i gCo. Chiarraí. Lá deas. Rothar isteach sa ghluaistean, dírigh an gluaisteán I dteo Ciarraí, agus tosaigh ag tiomáint. Bhí mile ceist i mo chloigeann ach ní raibh ach sprioc amháin agam, agus ba é bualadh leis an fear é féin roimh deireadh an lae. Stop mé an car 30 km ó Chathair Saibhín, agus léim mé suas ar an rothar le teacht ar Mick Murphy. Bhain mé Cathair Saibhín amach agus chauigh mé isteach in siopa beag sa sráid bhaile le treoir a iarrach go teach Mick. Cinnte go leor, fuair mé na treoracha, agus cheannaigh mé bloc cáise dó ag an am céanna óir chuala mé go mbaineann sé sult as cáis a ithe go laeithiúil. 5 míle de rotháil níos moille tá mé ag an teach. Cuma tréighe air ach uair amháin a dhreap mé thart ar an sconsa agus isteach sa ghairdín i measc an adhmad, miotal agus sean píosaí tréighthe chuala mé raidió ar siúl taobh istigh. Bhí mé san áit cheart.
Bhuail mé cúpla cnag ar an píosa miotal a bhí mar dhoras ar an teach. Múchadh an raidió ón taobh istigh, agus bhí mé i mo sheasamh ansin i mo chuid giar rothaíochta ag fanacht. Cad é a bhí mé ag dul a rá leis an seanfhear seo nuair a tháinig sé chuig an doras? An raibh Mick ag díriú guna orm fríd poll éigean i mballa an tí?! Fanacht….fanacht…..’Bfhéidir go ndeirfidh sé liom imeacht tí deabhail!’…..ansin……d’oscail an doras…..
‘Well Mick’
‘I see you brought the sum with you. Come on in. Bring your bike, I want to have a look at it’.
Le cur síos a dhéanamh ar an chuairt uilig tá níos mó na postáil amháin de dhíth, mar sin fágaidh mé sibh leis an pictiúir seo a ghlac mé agus mé ag fagáil an tí. Níos mó le theacht!
Mick ‘The Iron Man’ Murphy
An old country house, no furniture, no heating. Bits of everything everywhere. Books, buckets, cloths, metal, sheep feed. One seat, one man, one light. How did I end up here?
About 2 years ago I was surfing on the WWW when I stumbled upon an article about Mick ‘The Iron Man’ Murphy. The same man who won the biggest cycling race in Ireland in 1958 in his first attempt, who was training at home with stone weights since he was 12, who was a circus performer, who drank horses and cows blood for the goodness, who stole a farmers bike to stay in contention in the Rás when he destroyed his freewheel in a crash. The list goes on! I read about the time he had a crash and rode for 4 days with a broken collarbone, and how he saw a ghost dog as he cycled a country road one night. One thing was sure after I read this article. One way or another, I was going to meet this man.
So I was sitting in the house on Easter Sunday and I decided to head in his direction. I knew he lived somewhere near Cahirsiveen in Kerry. Nice day. Bike into the car, point car towards Kerry, and start driving. I had a million questions in my head to ask him but my only goal was that day was to meet the man before the end on the day. I stopped the car 30km from Cahirsiveen, jumped onto the bike and set off to find Mick Murphy. I reached the town and went into the town shop to ask directions to his house. Sure enough I got them from an ancient shop keeper who knew of him. I bought a block of cheese for Mick in the shop as well as I read that he enjoys his daily serving of good cheese. 5 miles later on the bike and I’m at the house. It looks deserted but when I climb over the fence and into the garden amongst the wood, metal and scrap, I can hear a radio inside the house. I was in the right spot alright!
I went up and hit a few knocks on the length of corrugated iron that was acting as a door on the house. The radio went off inside, and I was standing in my cycling gear outside. What was I going to say to this man when he came to the door? Was Mick pointing a shotgun at me through some hole in the wall?! Waiting……waiting…..’He might tell me to get lost’….then……the door opened……
‘Well Mick’
‘I see you brought the sum with you. Come on in. Bring your bike, I want to have a look at it’.
To do the visit justice I would need more than one post, so ill leave you with this picture I took when I was leaving. More to come!
