The Dream

The Dream of Becomig a

Professional Cyclist 

Year 1959

There were the three of us, Frank Thompson, Jean Mangan and Ronnie Williams.  We met up in London and arranged to go to the Continent to make our fame and fortune.

We travelled to France by train and ferry and then we rode our bikes down through France staying in youth hostels heading for Spain.  In Spain we were to train for our big adventure as it was cheap to stay in Spain. 

Our first stop in Spain was a place called Port Boe.  It was a really beautiful little town on the coast.  We booked into a nice little cheap hotel and stayed there two or three weeks. I was really enjoying the training and the food and the lifestyle there when Jean came to me saying that Ronnie wanted to go home to Dublin, and we were moving on to a place called Fegauica.  Feagauica was more inland, but we could train and race there.

I agreed without hesitation and we promptly bought a little bottle of brandy for our farewell party.  We sat in our little room and polished off the bottle that cost 3 Shillings and six pence (good value) and said good bye to port Boe.  The next morning we set off for the station.  Ronnie headed for Paris and Jean and I headed for Figueres.  We arrived about two hours later and found a suitable hotel to stay.  The owner of the hotel took a liking to us and we were invited to eat with him and his family every night, which we were more than happy to do.  The evening meal took about 2 hours as it was a very social affair and the food was first class!  Jean and I were training twice a day, +/- 100 miles and it was hot, but with all the good food, we stayed the same weight.  We rode a few races, nothing spectacular, but jean kept saying we would get better.

We then joined the local club where they advised us to go to Barcelona and sign up for the Tour of Majorca.  We rode to Barcelona, sorted out all the paperwork and signed up and rode back to our little Hotel La Roca.

A few more months passed, training, racing, eating until my final race arrived.   We were riding a race in France, just outside Perpignan and we were about 25km into the race.  I was in a break of about 12 guys and pushing up a hill.  I touched the back wheel of one of the other cyclists who cut across me.  Down I went and broke my arm for the third and final time.  I was taken to a local hospital where I stayed for two weeks while the doctors tried to decide to move the existing plate in my arm to the new break.  They decided this would be best, so they opened up the old wound only to discover the bone had grown over the screws and could not be removed.  So they closed me up again, put the arm in plaster and sent me home 4 days later.

Jean Mangan was fantastic, he rode the 100 miles every other day to visit me and bring me food, even the other men in the ward were giving me food as I could not stomach the hospital food.  When I got our of the hospital, the president of the cycling club picked me up and took me to his home.  I stayed there for two weeks while Jean sold my bike to raise the money so I get home to Belfast.  I definitely have the ‘Luck the Irish’ with all the good people who helped me and looked after me during this time and if they read this, I can only say ‘Thank You!!’

Jean was the greatest friend, I could not have asked for better.  He told me to join the NICF when I got back home, he told me I wouldn’t be soory and that I would go far in Ireland, and he was right, so another thanks to the greatest cyclist never to ride for Ireland, he was up there in the top 10 of all time greats!  Jean Mangan, Killoglin CC, County Kerry.