Hi Douglas, It's Matt - Matt Ebiner.
Matt Ebiner, the ah, the ah, the Mount Baldy record holder? That Matt?
The Matt Ebiner who has won many US trail races and done a sub 2.20 marathon? That Matt?
Yep, the same. Can you give me a lift to the Brockagh race?
No problem, Matt, I'll pick you up in Bray at 7.25pm.

7.35pm I'm late.
"As you're going down that direction, drop that video back to Greystones…."
"Greystones, but it's way off the route to the race. I'm dead late and I have to pick up this American guy!"
"Well, you think you're a fast driver…" A sardonic smile from my wife, I slam the door.

"Hi Matt, hop in"
Wrrmm (excited Peugeot noises)
Scrreeech. "Have to stop here, Lotto ticket. Fortune might smile. Not in, can't win. " Slam.
Slam. Wrrrmmm for a considerable number of minutes.
Greystones. Scrreeech. Slam. "Video!"
"Oh yeah, thanks" Slam.
Wrrrrmmmm for an even longer number of minutes.

"What the f*** is he doing?"
"Why is he sh***** about?"
"Doesn't he know I'm trying to pass?"
A narrowish road and an expansionist farmer is weaving his erratic way up the steep hill and blocking me for the past ten minutes. Every time the road straightens, I move to pass. Every time I move, the son of the soil puts his very large and unlicensed tractor over into the overtaking lane. "F***, f***, and f*** him" I feint to the outside, he weaves out to block and I sit back. I feint to the outside again. He weaves out to block. I quickly feint inside. He shoots back across to the inside. Too late, he realises my ploy. Having sold him a dummy, I shoot back to the outside and past him. There's a gulp from the passenger seat.

We reached the start at Laragh shortly afterwards. I left a still recovering Matt and headed up the race route with my camera. A warm bright evening embraced the course. I walked and ran as far as I could. At last, high above the sacred lakes of Glendalough where St. Kevin resisted the fulsome blandishments of the temptress Kathleen, I stood alone on the spine of Brockagh mountain surrounded by stillness and the Wicklow hills. There is no better cure for a fractured soul.

I wasn't alone for long. Matt appeared, looking comfortable, and well ahead of next man Hugh McLindon and a long line of runners. Now Hugh at his peak is a good runner and a fearsome descender, but he admits he's a little off his best form at the moment. Matt was forging ahead on the climb. I clicked away at them and the rest of the field, all the time watching Matt getting smaller and smaller on the skyline as he approached the summit. After a while, Matt started to get bigger as he made the return descent.

He repassed me looking relaxed. Despite his pre-race admission that he wasn't much of a man for the downhills, his lead had stretched. Hugh, although looking slightly faster, wasn't going to trouble the Californian runner. After the first six or so had gone by, I ran out of film and ran back down beside Paul Mahon for a few hundred metres to stretch the legs. Enjoyed that, must get training again.

When all had finished, I went up the dirt road in my car with Vivian in to collect some of the marker flags. When we had done our bit, we headed down to the pub where the remnants of an exciting semi-final in the European (soccer) Cup awaited us. A packed pub swayed and shouted to the sublime skills of a masterful French side just subduing an exciting Portuguese team in extra time. The crowd at the Laragh Inn was as one, as the subtle, yet mesmeric, weavings of the teams held us spellbound.

Eleven o'clock and a couple of drinks later, we leave the pub to get race winner Matt to the last Dart. What time does it go, Matt? 11.20. Shit. Wrrrrrmmmmmm. The unlit country road flicks beneath our wheels as the stars struggle in their battle with the clouds. Little traffic was out. We whipped through Annamoe, Roundwood, and past the Vartry Reservoir along the narrow twisting road towards Kilmacanogue and Bray. Cresting the twists beside the Calary fairy fort, I spot a strange flash of light that doesn't match my road memory.

I eased instinctively. What was it? A UFO? That's all I need. Kidnapped by aliens and the only witness an American… Two corners later, and my unspoken question is answered. Two cars are stopped just before a well known bad bend. I pull up. Beside the two cars, and strangely elevated, are another pair of lights. It's not a UFO, it's a BMW. Upside down, it lay forlornly in a ditch.

Jeez, let's go. I say to Matt, pushing the hazard light switch and jumping out the door. We run up the road to a woman standing beside the wreck. Is anyone hurt? I don't know: I'm ringing an ambulance. Are they're many in it? I don't know: I haven't looked. I notice a plume of smoke spiralling heavenwards from the BMW. Sh**, it could blow Matt. Let's go.

I climb over the barbed wire fence that separates us from the BMW and shout. Are you OK? A gurgling noise emanates from the BMW. The smoke rises ominously. I kneel down and rip the door open. A shook looking blonde face greets me. Are you OK? Ish tincks sho. Come on out, I'll help you. I give her my hand and a leg pokes it way out of the door, followed by the blond head still happily attached to its owner. Spared Jayne Mansfield anyway.

I help her to the arms of Matt, and between us we get her over the barbed wire. Matt sits her down and I turn back to the car reassured by 'Jayne' that there's only one other in the car, the driver who we'll call 'Dick'. Are you OK 'Dick'? Duuuhhh. Can you move 'Dick'? Ish tincks sho, came the slurred reply. Are you hurt? Don't tincks sho. OK turn off the ignition. Fumbling is followed by more fumbling. Can't. OK, come out this way to me. I'm thrapped, thrapped. Can you move your arms? Yesshh. Can you move your legs? Yesshh. OK what's trapped. My body ish thrapped.

Can you undo you seat belt? Duuhh. Nuuhh. It's shtuck. I crawl into the inverted BMW to see a hairy face staring upside down at me. I fumble for the belt buckle, locate it, and press the release catch. The hairy face drops down to the roof. Are you OK? Uurrgh. Crawl out quickly. The hairy face comes closer. I grab his arm and haul him out of the wreck. He seems in one piece. With Matt's assistance, I help him over the fence. He joins 'Jayne'. I crawl back into the BMW, turn off the ignition, and hand him the keys.

A car pulls up. A woman alights. Is anybody hurt? They're OK. What happened? It spun and rolled. Were you driving? No. Ish whas. You? Look at the condition of you! You're drunk. She moved to attack him. Leave him alone. He's in shock. Shock, he's drunk! Has anybody called the police? 'Dick's' wits are returning and the implications are beginning to hit him. He heads off up the road and into the heart of Wicklow darkness with 'Jayne'. Thanks a losh, mate, he shouts.

We got to go, I say to the ambulance calling woman. We jump back into our car and speed off to Dublin. Well there you are, Matt. A bit of excitement to liven up your Irish visit, I ventured later. Does that sort of thing happen regularly, Douglas? Yes, Matt, every week....... When I got home later, I checked my Lotto numbers. I hadn't won. What's that they say? You've more chance of being killed in a motor accident…….

Brockagh 28/06/00

Leinster League 9

Pos	Num	Name	Club	Cat	Time
1	386	Matt Ebiner			28.22
2	235	Hugh McLindon	3ROC		29.59
3	175	Eoin Keith			31.05
4	161	Declan Doyle			31.23
5	229	Peter O'Farrell	Dal Riada		32.26
6	278	Conor McGrath	Dal Riada		32.35
7	250	John Brennan			32.48
8	135	Alan Cox	Crusaders		32.57
9	266	Paul Mahon	Glenasmole		33.21
10	188	John McDonnell			33.31
11	176	Gerry Lalor			33.55
12	325	Seamus Murphy		M40	34.13
13	400	Gary Tully			34.27
14	327	Kieran Crowley			34.35
15	185	Jonathan Corrie	Fingal	M17	34.57
16	399	Beth McCluskey	Crusaders	F	34.59
17	222	Desie Shorten		M40	35.10
18	141	Douglas Corrie	Fingal	M40	35.15
19	140	Brendan Murphy	Glenasmole	M16	35.57
20	254	Colin Burns	Ajax		35.59
21	117	Andrew Quin	DUO		36.08
22	289	Patrick Breslin			36.11
23	155	Billy Alexander	AIB		36.35
24	251	Martin Flynn	Ajax		37.24
25	223	Tony O'Neill	FAS		37.36
26	156	Vivian O'Gorman		M40	37.42
27	147	Bruce Shenker		M40	37.44
28	240	Gearóid Ó'Cathaláin	Glen na Smol	M40	37.48
29	261	Dermot O'Callaghan	AIB		37.51
30	601	Cathal Cregg			38.28
31	384	Gordon Kavanagh			38.30
32	347	Joaquin Martinez			38.31
33	285	Aaron Shorten		MJ	39.00
34	204	Alan Ayling	GEN		39.34
35	234	Roisin McDonnell	Crusaders	F	39.52
36	110	Eva Mulleady	Crusaders	F	39.56
37	167	Gavan Doherty	GEN		40.04
38	126	Marcus Geoghegan	Ajax		40.08
39	326	Alan Daly			40.22
40	144	Thomas Galvin	Glenasmole		40.23
41	385	David Dunne			40.36
42	138	Gordon Douglas		M40	40.48
43	231	Padraic Hamrock	AIB		41.08
44	249	Deirdre O'Neill	Fingal	F	41.32
45	114	Richard Flynn	SET	M50	41.36
46	107	John Fitzgerald	Sports World	M40	41.50
47	352	Denis Collins			42.00
48	230	Derek Livingstone			43.08
49	177	Nina Philips	Crusaders	F	43.10
50	290	Danny Toye		M50	43.18
51	227	Jimmy O'Brien	Ajax	M50	43.34
52	398	Thomas Sullivan		M40	43.43
53	165	Mick Kellet	GEN	M60	43.58
54	277	Eddie O'Flynn	Eircell		44.03
55	215	Cormac Corrigan	Glenasmole		44.14
56	269	Ercus Stewart	Glenasmole	M50	45.04
57	270	Patricia Murphy		F	45.43
58	241	Rory McKenna		M18	46.28
59	262	Niamh Fitzpatrick	Mirador	F	46.30
60	348	Séan Carleton			47.00
61	343	Sandra Shaw		F	48.33
62	145	James Higgins	AIB		50.20
63	259	Alexis Fitzgerald	Mirador		50.56
64	324	Seamus Kilcullen		M60	51.49
65	169	Ger Power	3ROC	F50	52.43
66	220	John O'Reilly	Bray Runners		52.45
67	102	Mike Gomm	Portmarnock	M60	63.47
68	331	Diane Large	GEN	F60	69.00
		Short Course
Pos	Num	Name	Club	Cat	Time
1	221	Brendan O'Reilly		M14	27.05