Drude Rides Ireland
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Ride Diary Epilogue So, 1339 miles around Ireland in a fortnight and the casual observer might be interested to know how it feels (I've been asked a few times since I got back)…. The Quest You see a lot more from a bike - and smell and hear for that matter, too. I guess that's what drew me into the idea of doing this ride, the whole pace and experience of being on a bike giving you a greater sense of the landscape that you're passing through than you'll get from a car, whilst still allowing you to cover a decent distance and observe the changes. There were many wonderfully scenic moments, as recorded in the daily diary entries, but special repeat mentions go to the Antrim coast, Donegal, Connemara, Kerry and West Cork. Then there's the fact that I'd already cycled about 930 miles from John O'Groats to Land's End 12 years earlier and, although a younger, fitter man back then, you would tend to think that if it's any kind of challenge, you have to top your previous one. So, with a great affection for Ireland, and some experience of enjoyable coastal rides on holiday there, it seemed natural to look for a 1000-mile+ route on the other side of the Irish Sea. This is even before you get into the distant but subconscious connection of my Liverpool-area origins and the strong Irish influence there, including my own great-grandmother and her family who settled after escaping tough times in 19thC south-west Ireland. I must have got talking about cycling "roughly" all the way round with one of my biking pals and then it became one of those things where an off-hand comment somehow builds up momentum, until you find yourself getting off the ferry at Dun Laoghaire in ridiculous black lycra tights and a bright orange top with the prospect of the next two-and-a-half weeks pedalling like the clappers. It may seem strange that I had some doubts about how I would get on in this quest, considering those who know me well would say that I have a fairly dedicated, determined (some might say stubborn, mule-like!) nature and, in doing anything, do it to the fullest extent. However, I was acutely aware that other commitments had not allowed me to train as well as was likely to be needed so, with the best combination having been a training weekend with one 73-mile and one 56-mile ride, my head was full of how I was going to handle 75 miles-a-day for 16 or 17 consecutive days, if everything went to the sketched-out plan. How was it going to feel on day 3 - tired out or, more optimistically, building up day-on-day fitness? As it happens, it turned out to be the latter, but I would like to modestly point out that the weather certainly helped. Springtime in Ireland would tend to bring mixed weather, especially down the Atlantic coast and, whilst it wasn't all in my favour, the wind probably didn't exceed a moderate 15 mph and was either with me or across me for more time than it was against me. So, this favourable weather, and achieving greater fitness as time passed, conspired to allow me to progress quicker than I thought, and most days finished with a mileage of about 90 miles or more. Having said that, I didn't lose my original concern that physical or mechanical breakdown was always a possibility, and never really looked beyond the target for the current day or, once that was out of the way, consider what was coming up the next day. In this way, the completion of the whole quest with the sweep into Greater Dublin on Easter Saturday, a fortnight after departing, didn't exactly explode with euphoric fireworks, as I had been down-playing things all the way. I was certainly satisfied, but wasn't exactly walking on air, and it has felt like the story of the trip has to be retold a few times before what was achieved fully sinks in. Perhaps it would have been different if the final ten miles had been like the approach into Dingle or Kenmare with the adrenalin rush of a tough long hill followed by a swooping downhill to a more momentous finish than the busier traffic of south Dublin. Perhaps it betrays the fact that Dublin had an allure for me 10 or more years ago, but its greater prosperity these days has taken away some of the romance, and my interests lie further to the wild west. The bonus of that furious pedalling was that I completed the quest a couple of days early and had the chance for some extra rest and recuperation in the west but, quite genuinely, I had planned to be in Ireland for three weeks because it could easily have gone the other way, either with the weather or my fitness, and I might have been on the road for 21 or 22 days. As it happened, the nether regions were a little sore and the muscles certainly ached at times at the end of the day, or start of the next, but with a little help from Sudocrem and Deep Heat, they proved to be relatively minor inconveniences. Before I wrote this epilogue, I'd jokingly left a tag-line about "Zen & The Art Of Long-Distance Cycling" so, for what it's worth, I suppose this is now philosophy corner. Having immersed myself fully in rock 'n' roll mythology on a regular basis over the years, various mantras have embedded themselves in the cranium: "let it be"; "it ain't why, why, why, it just is"; "let it happen", all of which helped to not be a slave to the sketched-out plan. Wherever we ended up for the day, that would do, and left the flexibility to make more or less progress according to how I felt. In many ways, my lack of confidence in likely progress made that flexibility a necessity, but enough good karma had obviously been banked so that it worked out positively. Without getting too mystic about it though, the beauty of Ireland being so geared up for drop-in tourism fell in our favour, as there really wasn't a shortage of accommodation in the vicinity of wherever we pitched up each day if you looked in the right places. Coming back round to the actual cycling, a solo long distance ride obviously leaves you with a lot of time to yourself and plenty of time to think. Even though I'm very interested to study more of Buddhism, and Zen teachings in particular, I've never had the time so far. The closest I've got is beginning attendance at a yoga class last autumn, which has been a very positive experience with a good teacher, and has helped to step off the busy conveyor belt of regular commitments once a week, to find some peace and focus. The steady rhythm of pedalling, tackling the next mile ahead, and regulating your breath in line with the demands of the road's contours all bring a degree of focus. Sometimes this is as banal as working out how much longer you might go before your next banana or glug of water (or slug of whiskey!); sometimes a quieter road allows you to drift into a dreamlike state where reality seems distant; sometimes madness will descend and your mind is following crazy lyrics or imagining all kinds of daft scenes or stories of your own; sometimes you feel really grounded passing through some awesome scenery; all of this from achieving a little peace. The Roads The major roads in Ireland have really improved in quality of surface, speed of progress that you can make, and bypassing the towns so that locals and visitors aren't snarled in congestion. However, within larger towns and cities, increased car ownership makes for significant traffic, and cycling in amongst that isn't any more fun than it is in Britain. The regional roads and back lanes are still relatively quiet away from the east coast and the Cork area. The deal that you make with the devil to ride the Irish back roads, though, is to pilot your way around potholes and make do with some very uneven surfaces. Often, they seem to have been made by pouring some tar and then tipping a load of rough chippings on top, so it's hard to glide along. The terrain on these back roads is like a real rollercoaster, as they will just go where the ground will let them, with no concession to smoothing out the contours. Up and down doesn't describe it, and that's what slows the progress on a bike, as the slight downhill gives you little momentum up the next rise and then you have to dig in to get the rest of the way up again. On the other hand, the road just going where the land allows means you get to some wonderful places. You can be snaking around sparsely populated peninsulas with no shortcut roads through the middle, as there are no settlements in between to merit it. The views that you get from those "secret" routes, and the absence of traffic on the lanes, make it a great place to be cycling if you're prepared to put the effort in to the actual pedalling and you're lucky with the weather. The Country If you have waded through the daily diary entries, you'll have realised that we've been regular visitors to Ireland over the last 17 years, and seen a lot of changes. In that time, the Celtic Tiger has roared and there's a real sense of prosperity around the country. The "old" Ireland is still there if you scratch below the surface but, particularly on the east coast and in the cities and larger towns, you see the evidence of the corporate world taking hold: standard chain stores with many of the same names as you see on the British high street, adverts everywhere for new cars and the other trappings of affluence, sharp suits and office buildings, and so on. More of the population have the opportunity to climb aboard the gravy train, and it is probably fair to say that the vast majority of Irish are pleased with this upturn in their fortunes, albeit with some fraying around the edges (increases in crime and gang activity, etc.). This has also meant that Ireland has become an appealing destination for people emigrating from Eastern Europe, but this is a new angle for the Irish to deal with, and they are going through the teething problems of integrating these different cultures, as Britain did 50 years ago. We hear that the young Irish are reluctant to carry out many of the jobs that can only pay at the lower end of the salary scale, so the "new Irish" are welcome for many business owners. However, the indigenous Irish are still coming to terms with groups of immigrants huddled on the street talking in their own language, or going into a supermarket or pub-restaurant and not immediately understanding the accent of whoever is serving them. My long nights in the bar in Kenmare, chatting with local friends there, has given me some of the inside track on the dynamics of Ireland today, and it's very interesting to hear how quick the change has been. The other thing that is easily noticed is how much building is going on in Ireland. There are cranes everywhere for larger buildings being constructed, and many villages and towns have one or more housing estates being built. My amateur observations and generalisations of the change in settlement patterns goes something like this: thirty years ago, outside the main towns in a largely agricultural economy, houses were located on the parcels of land being worked; then, to access services such as phones, electricity and mains water and sewage (still a big issue in many outlying areas), families moved from the old farm buildings to a fairly standard design of regular, long, white-washed, rectangular bungalows near the roads, probably a bit close to the road, considering how much traffic there is now (the side-effect was that this made a number of the old farm cottages available for holiday rental); in the last ten years, the developments have had a little more flair than that standard bungalow design, and the rendering is painted in more than just white, whilst there are often stone-clad features, gables and porches to break up the lines; many of these newly-built properties are set back from the road and take advantage of the amount of land available to them, so that they are large, grand affairs, or the last five years have seen the growth of housing estates to meet the significantly increased housing demand, usually quite tastefully done. From a landscape of quite individual housing plots in the past, a more regular pattern is emerging but, once again, the changes are welcome if they bring modern facilities and standards of insulation, even if there is the same issue as in Britain that many young people simply don't have the money to take the first step into owning a home, due to the boom in property prices. So, to catch a flavour of that "old" Ireland, you have to get off the beaten track. There are still many small provincial towns where the main street is full of different brightly-coloured shop fronts, the land and buildings still owned by families rather than corporations, so they carry the more individual stylings of the traditional pub or store. The wilder country of the north and west coast is hard to tame, and there's still not enough of a population for it to be worthwhile for large national or international chains to invest out there. Alongside all this commerce, the landscape and coastline are still as gorgeous as ever, many of the people are as warm and friendly as you've heard, and you'd be hard-pressed not to feel relaxed when settling into the easy-going atmosphere of the pubs and restaurants with a good pint and usually excellent and good-value food after enjoying poking your nose around the back roads and beaches.
Day
1 - 94 miles!! After
a 4 a.m. departure from home, collected Dave from Great Sutton
(between Castlebellingham was stop two at 53 miles,
meeting Dave at O'Reilly's pub where the Ireland v Wales game
was on fro him to watch, whilst I pedalled on through pleasant
enough rural areas but nothing spectacular. Warrenpoint after 82 miles was the planned
finish for the day, having passed through Day
2 - 91 miles Met
briefly at Took
slightly different routes then from there to Strangford - 36 miles,
me via Downpatrick with a nice looking church on the hill, and
fairly quiet country roads. There
was about 20 minutes' break before the ferry was ready to cross
Strangford Lough to Portaferry and then, after leaving the ferry,
we met up at Burr Point, a further 11 miles on, and the most easterly
point in From
there on to Groomsport just before Then
the haul into Out
the other side of Belfast for about 12 miles to Carrickfergus,
where we had to scout for accommodation (Premier Lodge on the
harbour) before heading back into the city for the Waterboys gig,
which coincidentally was on tonight. Food was hard to come by,
so a beef and red onion sandwich at the venue and chips, spring
roll, and satay chicken skewers from a Chinese that was open just
before midnight back in Carrickfergus. Day
3 - 110 miles A
long day but a very good one; no wind against to speak of, except
in the odd turn on the road by the coast; if any light breeze,
it was mostly across. After turning the corner at Whitehead and
getting past Larne, the coastal drive was especially beautiful,
lovely scenery. One funny thing just out of Carrickfergus was
where a corrugated cattle shed almost looked as though a cow had
punched a hole in it, with the torn-off bit dangling down, and
just enough room so that she could stick her head out and look
out over the sea to Bangor on the other side. It was a good day
for birds and animals; many birds along the coast; shag, oystercatcher,
wagtail, curlew, tern, cormorant. Met
first at Glenarm after about 25 miles, though we'd passed a couple
of times in between as Dave stopped to take in the view. Larne
seemed to have a strong loyalist persuasion "Welcome to loyalist
Larne" with murals, UFF, red-white-and-blue painted lampposts.
From there on to Glenariff where there was a lifeboat station,
and an inland town (Cushendall?) that had a real feel of the south
to it with signposts from Navan/Kells, and a window painted like
a yacht's lifebuoy named with Glengarriff as the port. Second meeting was Ballycastle after 56
miles and more spectacular coastal scenery before turning inland
and up over the hills - a long, steady climb, but okay, and then
a great long freewheel down into the harbour town, from where
ferries go to After
Ballycastle, there was then a tough climb out up to the coast
road for the Back
into Bushmills to pay homage at the distillery, 71 miles by now,
although we were too late in the afternoon for Dave to take the
tour (3.30 p.m. was last orders). Having walked rather than biked
for an hour and a half, there was enough left in the tank to push
on a bit further, and we agreed to meet at Magilligan Point; Dave
was going round the coast via Portrush. From Bushmills to Coleraine
and then out the other side was the first real traffic of the
day as it was about work finish time. Past Coleraine felt like
another long haul, though there were a number of interesting-looking
NT places and a wide sandy beach. The wind seemed to have come
against me a little as I went round that headland, but then I
was grateful to turn off and head for 4 miles out to the Point,
and I flew along with the wind at my back then. I got to the ferry
with about 10 minutes to spare, else we'd have waited two hours
for the next; Dave was two fine Guinnesses to the good from the
Point Bar looking out over Lough Foyle to the Republic and County
Donegal across the water. Just by Magilligan Point there's a prison
and a firing range, so you'd expect that the inmates behave! Loads
of rabbits in the firing range ground. Think the mileage was up
to about 96 by this point. Day
4 - 90 miles Out
to Malin Head first, tough work and a round trip of 25 miles to
get round the head and back to Malin village. The head has various
communications, meteorological and coastguard stations. There's
a tower at the end from the early 1800s, and down below on a patch
of grass, Next
it was on to the bustling town of Day
5 - 85 miles Started
slowly as breakfast at the B & B was not until 8:30 a.m. and
the other guests were talking whilst drinking a cuppa beforehand,
so we didn't get cracking that early. The bonus from all the chat
was that the American guests from West Yellowstone, MT donated
? 20, and the We
met up properly for the first break of the day after 30 miles
at Dunglow; wildlife watch included a heron just leaving the river
area between Falcarragh and Gortahork and heading towards the
sea shore; and a deer later on just out of Dunglow. Next planned
meeting place was Ardara at 50 miles, having passed through Maas
(rain gear out for 20 minutes again) and taken the back road round
close to Porthnoo, with a dolmen view and Red Admiral butterflies
fluttering by amongst the gorse. The riding progress hadn't been
too bad up to this point, but then it took a turn for the difficult
on the minor roads out to Glencolumbkille out at the end of the
peninsula; passed by a gorgeous waterfall (Assnacorry?), but then
the road became a steep rock and stone track up the mountain,
more suited to off-road tyres or 4 x 4 vehicle. It really slowed
progress and, as we were also out of mobile reception, Dave thought
we'd missed each other, when I was just taking a long time to
get there. The scenery was fabulous, but some riding into the
wind from the north-west made it difficult. Eventually reaching
Glencolumbkille, there are a number of places relating to St Columba
- a well, chapel, church, stone, etc. Since the last shower passed
across, in particular, the evening sunshine made everything look
especially beautiful, in that great slanting west coast light,
illuminating mountains and valleys. Met
for a Guinness in Carrick after re-establishing contact with Dave
following his jaunt to look out at the Slieve League cliffs, and
agreed that Killybegs was our target. Just before town, Lismolin
B & B was selected, and we backtracked in the car for a great
meal at The Clock Tower (garlic/herb creamed mushrooms followed
by Beef Bourgignon and mash, then Banoffee Pie) whilst watching
the Ireland v Slovakia match. Day
6 - 96 miles After
another porridge and banana breakfast, set off in waterproofs
as the day started with showers, definitely colder and a light
dusting of snow/hail having settled on the mountain tops. Dropping
down into the town of Met
Dave in the central square in Donegal, had a break for 15 minutes
and agreed on Bundoran as our next stop. Out on to the N15, the
rain had stopped now, so the waterproofs were packed away in the
saddlebags and, with the trucks flying past giving the odd slipstream,
wind in my favour, and the smoothed out contours of the main road,
I got along fairly well, cutting through Ballyshannon main street
on the hill, which I remembered from a previous visit. The
Bundoran stop at 36 miles was very well timed, as I sat in the
car for 20 minutes and ate home-made energy bars whilst a hail
storm lashed down; made a couple of calls, including hearing the
great news of the successful arrival of a baby boy for our good
friends Sally and Murray. As I rode along with just my thoughts
for company, I thought Charlie Coope would be a good name. Next
meeting stop was Drumcliff church, burial place of W.B. Yeats,
at 56 miles, this leg of the journey having been the best of the
day for scenery as I skirted around the mighty Benbulben mountain.
Yeats' grave has the enigmatic inscription "Cast a cold Eye on
Life, on Death Horseman pass by", and I think that, for this trip,
Cyclist has replaced Horseman. Dave had had an unsuccessful detour
in search of Glencar lake and waterfall, falling victim to that
erratic signage, before heading into Leaving Drumcliff, decided on Ballina as
the target destination for the day; passed through Sligo and turned
off the N15 to N56 and Ballysadare before heading west through
a sparsely populated area and not that scenic busy road - the
wind was gusting and buffeting me at this point, often in my face
so it was slow and hard progress. A brief checkpoint at Templeboy
after 77 miles was just before the road turned in a more southerly
direction and there was a bit more help from the wind. Reached
Ballina and a day's total of 96 miles, feeling very tired now;
San Remo B & B was not the world's best B & B (nor Ballina's
for that matter, and was probably recommended by Murphy's Bar
because it was their mum or something!), but it would do as a
stop if you overlook the damp on all the ceilings going with an
overall cold feel, the pathetic dribble of a shower with lice
and mites in residence in the tray, and a bathroom heater that
sounded like a 747 taking off, and crash-landing when turning
it off - I guess it's fine for those on a tight budget, or the
desperate. Managed to get out for a nice meal though at Crockets
at the Quay (chicken & mushroom soup, duck in a cassis sauce
with roasted veg and gratin potatoes, finished off with a blueberry
crème brulee, all washed down with a couple of pints of the Guinness
North Star special brew!) The
breakfast at the rough-round-the-edges As
that was an unscheduled stop at about 21 miles, Dave and I agreed
that the next rendezvous would be Anyway, back at Leenane, no stop for a
beer in the pubs this time after a quick cake-and-banana stop,
and on to Clifden, passing the beautiful Kylemore Abbey. Between
Letterfrack and Clifden, there was much turf-cutting in evidence
up on the high bog land. It's always interesting to see the waters
running clear (not murky) yet so brown; and see the lake waters
looking so dark. It's also interesting to see the precise lines
with which the turf is cut, leaving sharp black-brown cliffs in
the bog and piles of neatly cut turf strips out to dry in the
sun, or later covered in plastic and weighed down with rocks to
keep dry. Clifden is duly reached as the day's total hits 80 miles
and the sun is really warm at this stage, drawing folks out on
to the pavement for a Friday afternoon drink. There's a lot of
development going on in Clifden and it's looking smarter than
I remember from last visit. Meeting Dave out on the bridge that
leads on the R241 round the coast, we agree that we're going on
to Roundstone, and another lovely quiet road this is too, passing
beautiful white sand beaches, often deserted, but one with a small
coach parked up and what looked like a group of students taking
some notes. Reached Roundstone as the day's total makes it to
95 miles and it's been a great day for scenery, the riding's been
managed just fine, some hard sections but nothing desperate and,
although we're struggling to find accommodation again at this
time before the season's started, we eventually do about a mile
out of town. As it's only just 6 p.m., I'm keen to get a few more
miles under my belt and add another 7 miles to Cashel, rounding
off the day at 102 miles in the evening sunlight which is doing
that mad slanting thing that it seems to do on the Irish and Scottish
west coasts, and turning things all kinds of unusual colours and
shadows. Back
to the very comfortable and well set-out Ivy Rock B & B (significant
contrast to previous night), clean up and back into Roundstone
village and O'Dowd's where it's seafood chowder (S), lamb stew
(S), mixed veg soup (D), salmon tagliatelle (D), raspberry &
apple crumble, kiwi and almond tart, and baked lemon cheesecake
(yes, I ate all three of those desserts - must have been the sea
air!), washed down with a couple of pints of very fine Guinness
and a first round of downloading and viewing photos from our cameras.
Guess
what? - in my evening call to Beccy, she tells me that Sally and
Murray have called their son Charlie - I know we're close friends
but, of all the names they could choose, that's weird to have
had such a premonition! I joke that I have druid powers, and then
something like that happens.. Day
8 - 94 miles The
day starts with a cooked breakfast and the lady at this excellent
Ivy Rock B & B outside Roundstone agreeing to donate the fee
for both our rooms to the charity pot, a full ? 90, extremely
generous. As I'd cycled on further the night before, the bike
goes back on the roof to get us to that point, ready to get going
again from Cashel. There's a minor road across the bog and I turn
on to that to cut the loop of that particular promontory and save
myself a few miles. Over about 6 miles, I don't encounter a single
car, but I do encounter some unfriendly wind. It proves to be
the first dose of really sustained wind resistance so far and
lasts until I turn the corner of Galway Bay over 50 miles later,
and it really saps the energy. Due to the bog shortcut and not
knowing if Dave would catch it, we'd agreed a long first leg,
so we eventually meet up in Spiddal after 34 miles and about 3½
hours of beautifully bleak Knowing
that Dave will need to navigate around A
final push for the day takes us to Doolin with the sun setting
over the Atlantic on the right with the outline of the 1st
April 2007 Day
9 - 38 miles What
a slacker! That's what my mum said when I called her to let her
know that we had successfully swapped over the backup team from
Dave to Beccy and Calum. So,
the day started at Doolin, back to porridge-and-banana energy
fuel for breakfast and the landlady kindly prepared me a large
bowl of fruit, too, as well as donating ? 20 back to the charity
pot. A prompt start saw me up over the hills by the Cliffs of
Moher and dropping back down to Liscannor and Lahinch at 13 miles
with its great long, wide beach. I'm not the only nutter around,
as it's before 10 a.m. and people are already returning from surfing.
From 1991, I recalled our September camping trip took in the camp
site at Lahinch and how we'd collected stones/rocks from around
the site to hold down the edges of our old tent against the buffeting
it was getting from the Atlantic wind, but it's a fairly gentle
breeze today. Brief meeting with Dave agrees that Spanish Point
is next, another nice beach at 22 miles, then pressing on and
sticking within 5 miles of each other from there until our midday
cut-off point. An arm-waving, toothless Co. Clare farmer came
into the middle of the road at Creegh and told me how to get to
Cooraclare, which I wasn't going to have any difficulty finding
anyway if I looked at the map and followed road signs - I think
he was just excited that he might have met someone who passed
for a tourist stopping in his village! Midday came just after I'd reached Kilrush
at 38 miles, and where I could see the River Shannon and Co. Kerry
beyond as I came over the crest of the hill into town. Time to
put the bike on the roof and drive back to Day
10 - 100 miles A
very satisfying day overall in completing another significant
distance that included the demanding climb at Connor Pass and
taking in the most westerly point in Ireland on the Slea Head.
No porridge available, so it's another cooked breakfast plus fruit,
soda bread and loading up on the juices. After the previous day's
diversions to the airport, we weren't yet back to the point where
I'd stopped riding with Dave, so the bike was on the roof as we
drove back to Kilrush, which took us over an hour through the
country roads of Co. Clare. At Kilrush, we found the same spot
that I'd stopped and got going again at about 10:20, with Beccy
following soon after as we navigated our way out of the town centre
and on the right road for the Killimer ferry. The change of direction
put me against the wind for about 7 miles, so it wasn't a quick
start to the day, but I arrived with almost perfect timing, as
the 11:00 ferry was just loading; Beccy and Calum jumped in the
car and followed on, and the ferry chugged off across the Shannon
5 minutes later; the east wind was certainly noticeable as we
stood up on the deck. This was another memory from that early
visit to Ireland of our's back in 1991, when we'd camped down
the west coast, including this very ferry ride, reaching Tarbert
in Co. Kerry and meeting up with our friend Catriona whose family
had a dairy farm between Tarbert and Listowel. So
that the new support crew got into the swing of things, we kept
the stops fairly frequent and met up first at Ballylongford, then
the beach and cliffs at Ballybunnion, and then at Abbeydorney,
just short of Tralee, 37 miles into the day, having passed through
some relatively flat north Kerry farmland. We agreed that the
next section would be a short one to ensure that we'd all navigated
Tralee successfully and got out on the right road to Dingle, so
we met at the windmill at Blennerville on the water just beyond
Tralee, with the day's ride at 46 miles so far. Knowing that Connor
Pass awaited, it had been tempting to take a shot of Bushmills
to fortify me for the climb but, in the end, my preparation was
to take off my leggings to unleash my dodgy, knobbly knees on
the world and change to a lighter bright top, as the day had turned
particularly warm, including the exertions. It
was about 3 p.m. as Calum finished his sandwich at the Station
House and I set off down the N86, expecting it would take me three
hours or more before I saw them again in Dingle. The first section
along the Dingle peninsula is straight with just the usual ups
and downs, and the backup crew passed by during that time, before
they made the turn at Camp to take the less demanding road through
the Slieve Mish mountains. I continued, and the traffic had thinned
out by now as I looked over at various nice beaches on the north
side of the peninsula, just on the right of the road. Eventually
I reached the village of Stradbally where the road turned inland
and I began to grind my way up to Connor's Hill, with Mount Brandon
to my right side, using all my "skill and determination, and grace,
too" (that's Tragically Hip lyrics, music fans!). This was definitely
time to be singing to myself to will myself up the hill, and I
remember motivation provided by Grace Too, Fisherman's Blues,
Don't Bang The Drum, and At The Hundredth Meridian "if I die of
vanity, promise to bury me someplace I don't want to be, then
dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously, away from the stolen
sea breeze, garbage bag trees, whispers of disease, acts of enormity,
then lower me slowly and sadly and properly, and get Ry Cooder
to sing my eulogy". It was hard work, but I was pleased to survive
what was the hardest climb since the rocky approach to Glencolumbkille
in Donegal, and probably likely to be the hardest of the trip.
I'd been lucky that the wind wasn't blowing in my face to make
the climb harder, but it was certainly whipping over the top as
the bike would hardly stand up at the highest point of the pass
as I took a photo at the stop. The descent was great, of course,
long and sweeping, freewheeling down to get the payback for the
climb, with views of Beccy
and Calum had found a good guest house, Coastline House, just
on the road out of town towards the bridge, and I enjoyed a nice
cup of tea and cake sitting on the bench outside the room looking
over the bay. Suitably fortified, and feeling that I still had
something left in the tank, I decided to try and carry on to take
in the Slea Head, which had been a practice ride during last October's
half-term visit when we'd stayed in Dingle for a couple of nights.
It had taken 2½ hours last time so, setting off at 6 p.m., I was
hoping I could make it before dark. It was a great ride out, chasing
the sun out into the west, and getting to Dunmore Head, which
is actually the most westerly point in Day
11 - 86 miles In
the absence of porridge, beans on toast is the breakfast fuel
today as I ring the changes from the full Irish cooked option.
Coastline House has been a comfortable and good value stay, so
it's one to note for future visits to Dingle. As we're packing
the car to head off, Beccy's chatting to another guest who's on
their way and they kindly donate ? 10 to the charity pot, commenting
that they'd lost their son to cancer in the last year. The day's
action will involve riding to Kenmare where our friends live and
we've visited many times, so the route is a familiar one, and
was another of the training rides back at our last visit in October.
So, the first 15 miles to Inch is quite nice and varied along
My
chosen route takes us through the beautifully scenic Day
12 - 87 miles So,
here we are in a special place, and it proves to be an eventful
day..we're later starting than usual as we sort a few things out
in Kenmare, including breakfast at Davitt's (excellent porridge
and scrambled eggs with smoked salmon - thanks Donal!) before
getting in the car to drive back to last night's finish point
at Ardgroom. By the time the bike is off the car and everything
is ready to go, it's 11 a.m., and I know the road immediately
ahead out to Allihies holds another one of the toughest rides,
so that's demanding climbs for the third day running. The compensation
is some of the most beautiful scenery of the trip in superb weather,
clear blue skies and only the gentlest of breezes, showing Beara
peninsula at its best. If Iveragh with the Ring of Kerry are the
most popular, and Dingle gets a few coaches (but they can't get
up the Connor Pass, so have to go the other way round), then the
Beara peninsula doesn't seem to get any. So, it's something of
an undiscovered gem and I'm glad that there aren't many people
reading this ride diary, otherwise I feel like I'd be giving away
a secret and the place would have hoards descending on it, and
perhaps spoil it. Each to their own, and those who are comfortable
with coach trips can hopefully at least appreciate the beauty
of the Anyway, all that background gets towards
an explanation that the road from Ardgroom and Eyeries where I
start the day going out to Allihies is well off the beaten track,
has very little traffic and is a real twisting, turning roller-coaster
with many sharp demanding ascents. After about 9 miles, I have
my first mechanical failure of the trip as the chain breaks on
my trusty steed whilst I'm attempting one of those ascents. Three
consecutive days of tough climbing must have put it under strain,
and I need to call in International Rescue, as I don't have the
wherewithal to fix it on the spot. Beccy and Calum had already
reached Ballydonegan beach, just below Allihies, and I phone for
them to retrace their steps about 5 miles to find me. Whilst waiting,
there's nothing for it but to sit on a rock and enjoy the view.
When the backup team arrives, I unload the spare bike, my old
Townsend Hot Rock, and load the Giant back on the roof. It does
feel strange back on the old bike, with a slightly different posture,
and gears aren't quite set as well as the xTc, but I manage the
remaining sections of the rollercoaster round to Allihies, and
report to Beccy and Calum, that Bike Two will do for a bit longer
until Bike One can be fixed. This area at the end of the peninsula
is full of disused copper mines, and it's interesting seeing the
old shaft entrances and ruins of cottages nearby. All the twists
and turns of the roads reveal secluded coves and rocky inlets
with all kinds of bird life and many shades of blue water. Leaving Allihies, the backup team are going
on to Castletownbere to try and find a bike mechanic who we think
is there, and I plod on the 12 miles or so to meet up there. On
reaching the town, I spot the car with bike on the roof and see
the chain fixed in place - marvellous! Even though time has been
lost, celebration is due and I have a Guinness at MacCarthy's
Bar and enjoy sitting outside in the sunshine before swapping
the saddlebags back and preparing to depart once more. We share
a table outside with some Scousers (they seem to get everywhere,
and this lot have a family cottage down by Adrigole) and discuss
the previous night's victory as well as the madness of my ride.
Next
stop is Glengarriff after what is about 47 miles on the day (think
the mileage counter is down by 18 from when Bike Two substituted);
another pleasant section of riding mostly along the water's edge
leading up to There's a long climb to Ballydehob, after
turning off the main road out of Bantry, but a nice long downhill
to follow and then, after a brief meeting with the backup crew
at 68 miles just outside the village, we move swiftly on, agreeing
that Day
13 - 100 miles Those
last three tough days with the mountain climbs have obviously
left my defences down as I've picked up a cold, so the refreshment
stops during the day now involve taking more medicine, i.e. a
shot or two of Bushmills each stop. Leaving the B & B after
a porridge and banana breakfast, I cycle down to After
climbing the sharp hill just before Union Hall, it's a fast, twisting
descent into this nice little harbour village, and we sit by the
water in the warm morning sunshine, and I take a slug of whiskey.
There's an old single track bridge to cross the inlet to Glandore
a couple of miles away, and we agree to see each other again there,
as we know from previous visits that it's a lovely view from slightly
higher ground, back over the harbour and out to sea. From there,
it's on past the lane to Drombeg stone circle that we'd visited
years ago, and down to Roscarbery, another nice spot on the water,
where we hook up briefly before going on to Clonakilty. Although
this is one of the more major N roads on this stretch, it's not
too busy and, after Clonakilty, I turn on to an even quieter R
road once more, to the next meeting place Timoleague. Here, at
38 miles for the day so far, we take a longer break by the abbey
and the river, for the usual middle-of-the-day banana, cake and
energy bar refuelling, topped up by the ice creams we're seduced
into by the warm weather and seeing other folks enjoying their's.
Though the countryside in between is nothing
remarkable, the drop down the hill into Kinsale harbour is very
pleasant in the sunshine, and we meet again on the way into town,
having reached the 52 mile mark now. Traffic's busy in Kinsale
at the start of this Easter bank holiday weekend, as it is at
Carrigaline, our next chosen stop south of We
agree to head for Youghal, where the support crew have some initial
difficulty finding accommodation, but actually find the Avonmore
House closer into town and I'm surprised that, as I roll in there,
I've knocked up another ton. As it's a later finish today, it's
a quick shower and into town, where we forsake another pub meal
and eat in an Italian Restaurant tonight, La Bella Roma, and very
nice it is too. So, it's red wine rather than Guinness to go with
some antipasto and stuffed pepper starters, followed by a spicy
Penne alla Calabrese, Diavolo pizza and vegetable lasagne, then
tirimasu and chocolate cake. Day
14 - 89 miles Porridge and bananas are available again
for breakfast at Avonmore House. Calum reminds me that another
Julian Cope song could enter the singing repertoire, East Easy
Rider, "It's a bruising, shattering ride" - the boy's getting
very good with quoting song lyrics and naming tunes! We head off
in good time on this Good Friday morning and, though I have to
follow a major N road to get from Youghal to Dungarvan, the fact
that it's a holiday means that there's less traffic about. It's
much more open country again now and, on this fairly high road,
I catch the wind a bit, which sets the pattern as I continue east
all day. We'd agreed to meet on the far side of Dungarvan, after
about 18 miles, distances now being measured according to how
soon I might want more medicine! Dungarvan seems a nice town with
a pleasant central square and, when we meet outside a florist's
over the bridge, we agree on Bunmahon as the next stop to break
up the distance to Tramore. Reaching there, Beccy and Calum have
found a parking spot and picnic area that's allowed them to go
off to the beach before coming back to meet me, and we sit and
have the regular middle-of-the-day fruit and cake break. There's
an interesting part of the picnic area where a walk shows the
geological formation of the area's landscape with the information
written in the stones. Between Bunmahon and Tramore, it's a nice
coastline-hugging road, giving great views of the cliffs, and
still testing for the cyclist with the sharp rise and fall of
the road as it goes where the land allows. Meeting in Tramore
about 45 miles into the day's riding, there seems nothing remarkable
about this seaside resort and, after a short break, we continue
in the direction of Passage East which, if found to be running
on this bank holiday, is where we can catch another short ferry
that allows us to cut out Waterford. Sure enough, it is and, with
only a short crossing, the turnaround is quick and we're on board
fairly promptly - all of us together this time! Reaching Arthurstown
on the other side, we've agreed a 10 mile stretch to Wellingtonbridge,
where the heat induces another temptation for ice cream. From
there, the regional R road continues fairly straight across to
Wexford, and I surprise myself by overtaking a group of cycling
club riders on their "proper" road bikes - maybe, even this far
into the day and into the trip, I'm not so knackered as I feel,
after all; in the last couple of days, I've felt better in the
second half of the day, but maybe that's down to the terrain being
kinder. From the road, though the overall landscape is generally
flat and uninteresting now, there are views out to sea, and a
ferry recently left from Rosslare can be seen in the distance.
Day
15 - 78 miles So,
this should be the last day and, after an unremarkable cooked
breakfast served pre-cooked from the hotplate in the hotel, I'm
on my way by about 9.30 a.m. Dublin has become Zap City (The Cult)
for the day as I sing my way into the morning with that as my
target and, at less than eighty miles away, that's less than I've
done on every day so far other than when swapping backup crew.
I must have been spoiled by all of that other wonderful scenery
on most of the other days, and this is back to regular pasture
land, much as had been seen between Dublin and Newry on day one.
I know that the beautiful We
pass out of Gorey and its traffic onto the main N11 for a very
busy section up to Arklow, where there's yet more traffic congesting
the town centre, and then over the bridge and back off to the
quieter coast road, where I meet the crew in a small parking area
by Ennereilly beach, now about 36 miles into the day's riding.
They're not the only ones there, as a group of swaggering young
men are enjoying larking about in the sunshine - a few more people
stop by, but drive on when they see the gang, obviously not finding
the quiet beach experience they were seeking. I had been singing
The Doors song to myself, "This is The End", but there were no
signs of napalm-laden helicopters coming in over the beach. On
up the coast road, past Brittas Bay and beach area, there's a
fair old climb before the payback of a good freewheeling section
down into Wicklow town and out the other side by a couple of miles
to meet just before Rathnew and plot the last couple of stages.
At this point, having passed 1300 miles in total and with about
25 miles to go, I'm starting to allow myself to think of a finish,
thoughts previously banished in a football-like "one game at a
time" mentality, as insurance against mechanical or physical failure
that could have thwarted the whole enterprise. We
meet briefly one more time at Kilcoole, on the quieter road out
of Wicklow nearer the coast, but then I have to join the busier
roads again coming into Bray. Now, though, it's Dun Laoghaire
or bust, and time for one more significant hill to climb outside
Greystones, the Pedalling slowly now as we talk, I enter
the
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