Today, I'd decided to get the ferry from Rathmullan to Buncrana. Idiot.
It went like this. Me; 'When's the next ferry?'
Woman in Rathmulan, whom I was face to face with after riding 20 miles to get there; '16th of June'.
Me: Well, you can imagine.
On a different note, on the road to Rathmullun, a family were on their front lawn and clapped me as I rode passed. This makes me feel almost embarrassed with humility. I really am just riding a bike around in a beautiful country when you boil it down, but it is nice to be given a little encouragement. Maybe being in an environment where only the gold stars of a pay rise or a promotion count as tokens of appreciation for so long as made me a bit bad at receiving praise. I never really wanted to play that game, let alone would have been able to if I wanted to. Still... where was I?
I panicked and tried to flag down a guy in a van to take me back to Letterkenny so I could ride up the other side of Lough Swilly. No luck, I decided to try my luck with the local fishermen. Lough Swilly's famous for scallops and oysters, so there were a couple there at the pier luckily. I struck lucky with Connor who told me he could take me to Inch Island, which is further south than Buncranna, but on the right side of the Lough on Inishowen. Result. Thank you, so much mate! You saved me 40 miles. So, I headed north trying to meet up with Aidan, who'd taken a different road to me and was way ahead of me by now.
We agreed to meet at Malin Head just below the most northern point. I'm not going to bore you with telling you which way the wind was heading, you already know...
Malin town, which is beautifully kept, by the way, was passed and much like Rossnowlough, the kilometres to Malin Head never seemed to drop. Anyway. I rode on and duly reached the place, with an en-route phone call from Andy Salkeld. Cycle Leicester, indeed. It's easy to take the piss from a desk, mate! At least there curry houses in Leicester. There's nothing but rocks up here, as they say...
Anyway. Aidan texted me and I was going to reply in a few minutes when I'd worked out the lay of the land. I took a break to take a leak and look at the map. Five minutes later at a viewing point, I decided to answer Aidan. My phone was nowhere to be found. To say I lost my sense of humour would be pretty accurate. I retraced my steps slowly but saw no sign of the phone. Pants. I went in search of Aidan and luckily he was just rolling into town cursing the hills he's met on his route. We went back to where I last had my phone, and rang it. Luckily I heard the thing nestling in a bank of nettles. I gladly took a few stings to fish it out. Joy!
After a pretty decent meal in a pub with no beer on draft, whose name I can't remember without looking in my guide book, and I can't be bothered, we went looking for our next stop: We found the most northern bar in Ireland, Farren's and asked Hugh, whose cousin I'd met the day before, to see if he'd let us pitch out tents there. He agreed, so we had a well-deserved pint. Hugh's brother Aly asked me if he could ride the tallbike, and before I'd started explaining how to do it, he was off and away. He'd just worked it out from looking at the thing. I hate it when people make it look easy!
So, we pitched our tents next to a gorgeous beach, got eaten alive by midges, had a few more pints, played some pool with a couple from Derry, ate some lobster Hugh had caught that day, then slept like logs with the sound of the Atlantic washing up on the beach yards away.
Thursday 31 May 2007
Wednesday 30 May 2007
Day 32. Dungloe - Letterkenny. 41.5 miles. 4 hours 20
Leaving Dungloe was no wrench... Another fried breakfast saw me on my way. Who knows how much weight I'd lose if I were to eat well... Anyhow, I was heading for Emmet Brady's place in Letterkenny again. I was also to meet up with Aidan on his shortbike and also with Eleanor from Mallin Bay Hotel again. Some stuff to look forward to. Also, I was to meet the Letterkenny Post for a photoshoot, not that press ever generates any sponsorship. Anyway, the roads I took today were very tough, big old mountain roads through the Poison Glen which were every bit as tough as the Connor Pass but with the now inevitable head-wind. From the North. I was more than happy to see what looked like a modern, clean pub serving food. The food was indeed well up to standard at the Lagoon in Termon. Donegal is famous for its ham, and my sandwich was rammed with the stuff. Gorgeous... The last few miles into Letterkenny were STEEP and through roadworks. I thoroughly enjoyed holding up all the traffic, but did not enjoy the terrier that appeared at head height on a banked garden and barked in my ear before chasing me for the next 100 metres. Little sod. I'm sure these dogs are letting each other know when the idiot on the tall bike's coming to town.
After the photoshoot, I followed Emmet back to his place for a huge chicken curry with noodles. Spot on. I'm always hungry at the moment. Emmet's lodger Eweline was there, and had me in stitches with the whole Polish/English translation. Apparently she likes to make a pee in Monaghan... Ahem.
Still, met Aidan and compared our last few days. Hills, Wind, etc... be good to have a bit of company of the next leg to Malin Head, the so-called North Pole of Ireland.
After the photoshoot, I followed Emmet back to his place for a huge chicken curry with noodles. Spot on. I'm always hungry at the moment. Emmet's lodger Eweline was there, and had me in stitches with the whole Polish/English translation. Apparently she likes to make a pee in Monaghan... Ahem.
Still, met Aidan and compared our last few days. Hills, Wind, etc... be good to have a bit of company of the next leg to Malin Head, the so-called North Pole of Ireland.
Tuesday 29 May 2007
Day 31. Donegal - Dungloe. 46.2 miles. 4 hours 46
Leaving Donegal was tinged with the fact that, because I'd spent some time watching the game and hanging out with the Bradys, I was going to have to high-tail it through the county. This meant heading in-land, but I'm here on holiday first and foremost. Without wanting to sound defensive, if anyone wants to accuse me of skiving in Donegal, I say 'Guilty, Your Honour', but the inland roads in this county cross some hills, let me tell you. The Ras comes up here, and foolishly I rode some of the roads they use, which certainly put my fitness and mental toughness to the test...
Oh well. So, I headed out towards Killybegs in cold rain and blustery winds from the North. Which, of course, is the general direction I'd be heading today. Hmmmph. I wasn't going to have time to follow the coast round Slieve League, the tallest cliffs in Europe (not that you can see them without a long walk) so with myself resigned to that, I headed for Ardara. Look on the map. See how many mountains are on that section?
In Ardara a guy called Chris shouted me to stop; He's a cousin of Eleanor who works at Mannin Bay hotel, and he'd been looking out for me. Small world, etc... He introduced me to Anthony Molloy, a proper hero in these parts as he was Donegal captain when they won the All-Ireland Football Championship in '92. Nice guy, bunged me a €20, wished me well and did what I wish folks wouldn't do; Warn me about a hill up the road. It was a right ball-breaker of a hill tho'. As steep as any I'd faced so far. I was glad not to have stopped for lunch or I'd have seen it again straight away.
More hills on the way to Dungloe. Lots of them. Anyway, I arrived at the Rockery B&B which had a marvellous shower, something I've come to really appreciate...
I asked the owner where I should eat. She said NOT to eat in Dungloe. I had no choice, but she insisted I not eat anywhere on risk of an upset stomach. Great.
I tried one place, which she warned me specifially about. It was like the cafe in Withnail & I. It was closing. The only other options were a Chinese takeaway called Doodle Bug. I'm not eating anywhere named after a weapon of anti-civilian warfare, so I tried the hotel bar of Ostan Na Rosann. Dreadful, really. The dead eyed waitress took my order for the safe option of lasagne and chips & salad. A few minutes later a cereal bowl full of oilly, piping hot lasagne arrived with a salad that realy was almost old enough to vote. Curled up peppers, dehydrated cucumber, etc. I struggled through the pasta, and got out without touching the salad or leaving a tip. Dejectedly, I wandered back to Beedy's Bar to listen to the locals discuss the merits of various Transit van models for a quiet pint before bed. Zzz
Oh well. So, I headed out towards Killybegs in cold rain and blustery winds from the North. Which, of course, is the general direction I'd be heading today. Hmmmph. I wasn't going to have time to follow the coast round Slieve League, the tallest cliffs in Europe (not that you can see them without a long walk) so with myself resigned to that, I headed for Ardara. Look on the map. See how many mountains are on that section?
In Ardara a guy called Chris shouted me to stop; He's a cousin of Eleanor who works at Mannin Bay hotel, and he'd been looking out for me. Small world, etc... He introduced me to Anthony Molloy, a proper hero in these parts as he was Donegal captain when they won the All-Ireland Football Championship in '92. Nice guy, bunged me a €20, wished me well and did what I wish folks wouldn't do; Warn me about a hill up the road. It was a right ball-breaker of a hill tho'. As steep as any I'd faced so far. I was glad not to have stopped for lunch or I'd have seen it again straight away.
More hills on the way to Dungloe. Lots of them. Anyway, I arrived at the Rockery B&B which had a marvellous shower, something I've come to really appreciate...
I asked the owner where I should eat. She said NOT to eat in Dungloe. I had no choice, but she insisted I not eat anywhere on risk of an upset stomach. Great.
I tried one place, which she warned me specifially about. It was like the cafe in Withnail & I. It was closing. The only other options were a Chinese takeaway called Doodle Bug. I'm not eating anywhere named after a weapon of anti-civilian warfare, so I tried the hotel bar of Ostan Na Rosann. Dreadful, really. The dead eyed waitress took my order for the safe option of lasagne and chips & salad. A few minutes later a cereal bowl full of oilly, piping hot lasagne arrived with a salad that realy was almost old enough to vote. Curled up peppers, dehydrated cucumber, etc. I struggled through the pasta, and got out without touching the salad or leaving a tip. Dejectedly, I wandered back to Beedy's Bar to listen to the locals discuss the merits of various Transit van models for a quiet pint before bed. Zzz
Day 30. Led astray by the Bradys of Donegal
Right. The Bradys and their mate Ray took me out in Letterkenny and then took me along to the GAA game in Ballybofey. Armagh v Donegal. I had no idea about the rules, or what constitutes a foul. Neither - apparently - did the referee, but I can only take the word of the crowd for that. The crowd is all mixed in, and really, despite a great deal of passion, theres no element of violence erupting. Do not talk to me about the English being how they are because of an 'island mentality.' Please. The real shock for me was the singing of the Irish National Anthem. I'm no nationalist or patriot of any flavour, but this was so moving I was completely taken by surprise and genuinely moved to tears. Everyone in the stadium turned to look at a single flag flying in the corner of the ground and the Anthem was sung at almost a whisper. Apparently the Tricolour has been hijacked by certain political parties in much the same way the St. George's Cross has been, but there seemed to be no element of this here. It was genuinely the biggest surprise of the trip so far. No wonder I often cringe as God Save the Queen is yelled out almost as a competition as to who can sound the most angry.
Anyway. it's all about style, not sentiment, I guess. Other people would probably feel the other way...
So, I don't know really what to say to the Brady family. They raised me loads of €s, paid for all my food and drink and properly made me feel at home. Thanks to Ray, too, for explaining what was going on in the game. Riding round the Diamond on the bike while they drummed up a good wad of sponsorship was good fun, but I do get dead nervous when teenage kids ride the bike... maybe I should be more careful with it now I'm so close to home.
Thanks to Jim White (the manager of the Abbey Hotel), Michael Breslin of Dom's Pier 1 and Adrian McGuire who all sponsored me generously in Donegal.
Anyway. it's all about style, not sentiment, I guess. Other people would probably feel the other way...
So, I don't know really what to say to the Brady family. They raised me loads of €s, paid for all my food and drink and properly made me feel at home. Thanks to Ray, too, for explaining what was going on in the game. Riding round the Diamond on the bike while they drummed up a good wad of sponsorship was good fun, but I do get dead nervous when teenage kids ride the bike... maybe I should be more careful with it now I'm so close to home.
Thanks to Jim White (the manager of the Abbey Hotel), Michael Breslin of Dom's Pier 1 and Adrian McGuire who all sponsored me generously in Donegal.
Sunday 27 May 2007
Day 29. Grange - Donegal. 35.5 miles, 3 hours
My coast host for the night in Donegal, Brandan Brady had quite a weekend lined up for me... But I'll get to that in a bit...
I left Grange with donations and a hangover... I had a great night with Paul and his friends in one of those pubs in shops where there are 40 men squeezed into one bar... No women. Bizarre. Ended up staying out far too late at a guy called Jimmy's house with Mick, Donal, Barry, Paul, Alan, Sean etc. Grange is a strange place, but I had a good time there.
Many thanks to Paul, Mary, Sean and Grainne! At last I've met a Grainne - It's the name I've given the tallbike. It means Grace. Ahem.
Anyway, I made good progress out of Sligo, through Leitrim and into Donegal - I'm in Ulster, my fourth province - Until I got to near Rossnowlagh - The village that is always 2 kilometers away. Who put up the road signs here? Did my head in... seriously, there must be 5 roadsigns along the way and the place never gets any closer...
I missed all the bad weather today, somehow. Roads were wet but I didn't get a drop of it, despite some big black clouds.
I rode through Donegal and found Brendan's place easily enough. We locked the bike away and I had myself a bath so hot that I nearly passed out when I tried to get out. dur. A glass of iced water and a lie down sorted me.
Annette, Brendan's partner, made me the strangest salad I've ever had; strawberries, tuna, ham, banana, cheese. Somehow, it was delicious and I left nothing...
Brendan had been playing football somewhere while the salad & bath had been going on, so Annette & I drove up to Letterkenny to meet some more for my folk for my night out. More Bradys: Emmet, John, David. Ray from Armagh, Brendan & Myself went into town to McGinley's for a few beers where they set about trying to explain the rules of Gaelic football: They'd got me a ticket to the big game at Ballybofey - Donegal v Armagh. Sold out and the biggest game in Ireland today!
After a late night with some guitars, the boys had a whip-round for me and, after not letting me put my hand in my pocket since I've been in the county, bunged me €150. Thank you all! More is to follow on Donegal. What a great couple of days... I'll write it when I get down the road a bit.
Oh. I'm not able to get my staple diet of Yorkies with biscuit & raisin up here. Bah. Double Deckers are just as good, tho!
One major concern is my eyesight seems to be failing. It's always been better than 20:20 but it's getting a bit blurry. Hope it's just cos I'm tired.
Right, it's late, I'm behind schedule and I need to get a wiggle on to make June 9th in Dublin.
There is, like I say, much more to write about this place... zzz
I left Grange with donations and a hangover... I had a great night with Paul and his friends in one of those pubs in shops where there are 40 men squeezed into one bar... No women. Bizarre. Ended up staying out far too late at a guy called Jimmy's house with Mick, Donal, Barry, Paul, Alan, Sean etc. Grange is a strange place, but I had a good time there.
Many thanks to Paul, Mary, Sean and Grainne! At last I've met a Grainne - It's the name I've given the tallbike. It means Grace. Ahem.
Anyway, I made good progress out of Sligo, through Leitrim and into Donegal - I'm in Ulster, my fourth province - Until I got to near Rossnowlagh - The village that is always 2 kilometers away. Who put up the road signs here? Did my head in... seriously, there must be 5 roadsigns along the way and the place never gets any closer...
I missed all the bad weather today, somehow. Roads were wet but I didn't get a drop of it, despite some big black clouds.
I rode through Donegal and found Brendan's place easily enough. We locked the bike away and I had myself a bath so hot that I nearly passed out when I tried to get out. dur. A glass of iced water and a lie down sorted me.
Annette, Brendan's partner, made me the strangest salad I've ever had; strawberries, tuna, ham, banana, cheese. Somehow, it was delicious and I left nothing...
Brendan had been playing football somewhere while the salad & bath had been going on, so Annette & I drove up to Letterkenny to meet some more for my folk for my night out. More Bradys: Emmet, John, David. Ray from Armagh, Brendan & Myself went into town to McGinley's for a few beers where they set about trying to explain the rules of Gaelic football: They'd got me a ticket to the big game at Ballybofey - Donegal v Armagh. Sold out and the biggest game in Ireland today!
After a late night with some guitars, the boys had a whip-round for me and, after not letting me put my hand in my pocket since I've been in the county, bunged me €150. Thank you all! More is to follow on Donegal. What a great couple of days... I'll write it when I get down the road a bit.
Oh. I'm not able to get my staple diet of Yorkies with biscuit & raisin up here. Bah. Double Deckers are just as good, tho!
One major concern is my eyesight seems to be failing. It's always been better than 20:20 but it's getting a bit blurry. Hope it's just cos I'm tired.
Right, it's late, I'm behind schedule and I need to get a wiggle on to make June 9th in Dublin.
There is, like I say, much more to write about this place... zzz
Saturday 26 May 2007
Day 28 Enniscrone - Grange. 55.8 miles 5 hours 11
So much happened today. most of it in the evening.
I'll be brief and fill it in later...
after riding through Strandhill,which does have an incredible surfing beach, and passed WB Yeats' resting place and the worst cycle lane that Andy Salkeld wasn't involved in laying out (hi mate... can you ask the Sustrans guy tor NI to get in touch again, I've been talking to Claire Lundy at Derry council and she's after sorting something out with him, so she is.)
Met Paul and his sons David & Dermot in Grange and got taken back to his house to meet his wife Mary and their wee daughter Anna, who thankfully is too young to be a Liverpool fan like the men of the house. Turns out my host for day 29 in Mary's brother Brendan in Donegal. And the host for the next night is Paul's colleague. Result. Brendan's taking me under his wing for a big weekend, which includes a night out and a ticket to Armagh v Donegal in GAA football on sunday. Can't say no to hospitality like this... will flesh this out when I get time.
Got fed really well, taken to the pub with NO women that used to be a shop, met some great characters and a really unbeleivable Scot, called, of course, Jim, and then to a house of a nother jim where the whole kitchen table was covered in booze. I'm late setting off today.
To Donegal & Ulster. my 4th province! all the way round to Lenster again and I'm done! 2 weeks today...
Day 27. Ballina - Enniscrone 8 miles 48 mins
Short day to a posh hotel to take a rest and a long bath. Much needed after a few long days and the big night in Belmullet. Escaped some truly evil dogs today, but they caught Aiden and ripped his panniers open. You really think I exaggerate stuff to make this more interesting than the reality, don't you?
Diamond Coast Hotel gave me a huge room, after Fiona who works there heard me on Ray D'Arcy's show, did my laundry and fed me... Many thanks... I read nearly all of A Short Histroy of Tractors in Ukrainian in the bath... Luxury!
Better get a move on tomorrow...
Diamond Coast Hotel gave me a huge room, after Fiona who works there heard me on Ray D'Arcy's show, did my laundry and fed me... Many thanks... I read nearly all of A Short Histroy of Tractors in Ukrainian in the bath... Luxury!
Better get a move on tomorrow...
Wednesday 23 May 2007
Day 26. Belmullet - Ballina. 48.6 miles 4 hours 20
We left the B&B at about 12. Sleeping in was inevitable after last night! Maureen's son Kieran drove us into town to pick our bikes up and we desided to eat at The Anchor again as we were both struck with the munchies. Some club sandwichhes hit the spot and Tom Talbot the owner turned up just nin time to tell us again our money was no good in his bar. Thanks Tom! The boys in the rib had set off at 10 so they're made of tougher stuff than me, but then fireman are probably well used to getting woken up when they really should be sleeping.
A largerly un-eventful ride save for getting blown up-hill again, seeing all the anti-Shell protesters east of Belmullet, and stopping at some truly vertical cliffs at Ceide Fields, we really pushed hard for the last 18 miles. After all this wind resistance training, I can really get a wiggle on now on this bike. Also, after swapping for a mile or so with Aiden, I realised how safe you feel on a tallbike and how small a normal bike is. Bizarre.
Anyway. We're in Ballina, Liverpool lost so I'm happy, its bedtime...zzz. Sligo tomorrow!
A largerly un-eventful ride save for getting blown up-hill again, seeing all the anti-Shell protesters east of Belmullet, and stopping at some truly vertical cliffs at Ceide Fields, we really pushed hard for the last 18 miles. After all this wind resistance training, I can really get a wiggle on now on this bike. Also, after swapping for a mile or so with Aiden, I realised how safe you feel on a tallbike and how small a normal bike is. Bizarre.
Anyway. We're in Ballina, Liverpool lost so I'm happy, its bedtime...zzz. Sligo tomorrow!
Tuesday 22 May 2007
Day 25. Westport - Belmullet. 55 miles 5 Hours 30
I asked Mikey to post on my behalf yesterday. I was all set to use my tent for the first time on this trip in a field near the sea in Belmullet.
We were both absolutely knackered after a long day with a big old climb into a nasty headwind towars the end. Aiden's knees were giving him serious gip, too. I remember how that feels...
Aiden found the campsite, and we'd agreed on it and rode back into town to what looked like the best bet pub for food. The Anchor, or An Cheib as it's correctly called. The pasta was lovely and we were all set to traipse out the door dejectedly for a windy night under canvas (yes, I know everything sounds like a double entendre) when a woman on a neighbouring table, who we later gound out is called Geraldine said something along the lines of "I don't want anything off the menu, I want those" and I turned round to catch her pointing at my legs. Blushing, We got chatting, and five minutes later, her friend Maureen had given Aiden & I free beds for the night at her plush B&B Kemar House. Result. After deciding to have a pint, a guy at the bar asked me if I'd fallen off the bike again. Neil Rooney, one of the most generous men I've ever met, had heard me on the Ray D'Arcy show the day earlier and paid for our pints. He then introduced us to the bar's owner, and it turns out he was quite happy that his bar had been mentioned on national radio, and between the two of them, they made sure Aiden & I had a great night.
We were both absolutely knackered after a long day with a big old climb into a nasty headwind towars the end. Aiden's knees were giving him serious gip, too. I remember how that feels...
Aiden found the campsite, and we'd agreed on it and rode back into town to what looked like the best bet pub for food. The Anchor, or An Cheib as it's correctly called. The pasta was lovely and we were all set to traipse out the door dejectedly for a windy night under canvas (yes, I know everything sounds like a double entendre) when a woman on a neighbouring table, who we later gound out is called Geraldine said something along the lines of "I don't want anything off the menu, I want those" and I turned round to catch her pointing at my legs. Blushing, We got chatting, and five minutes later, her friend Maureen had given Aiden & I free beds for the night at her plush B&B Kemar House. Result. After deciding to have a pint, a guy at the bar asked me if I'd fallen off the bike again. Neil Rooney, one of the most generous men I've ever met, had heard me on the Ray D'Arcy show the day earlier and paid for our pints. He then introduced us to the bar's owner, and it turns out he was quite happy that his bar had been mentioned on national radio, and between the two of them, they made sure Aiden & I had a great night.
After a few beers, our bikes were locked at the pub and we were dropped at the B&B and told to be ready for 10pm... it was raining by now, and personally, I was more than happy not to be under canvas.
we were picked up by Tom and taken to the Broadhaven Bay Hotel in Belmullet to meet some truly brave guys. 3 firemen from bedfordshire and their support crew are circumnavigating Ireland in a rib, which is an inflatable speedboat. It was dead easy to spot the guys who were afloat, as they were windblown and tired.
In common with me, they were inspired by guys who'd been around Britain. I have to say, I take my hat off to thses guys. It's one thing being on a bike in gale force 8 winds, but being at sea and being battered by waves must be terrifying. Oh, and if anyone thinks I was exaggerating about the weather, the guys confirmed the wind was gusting to Severe Gale force 9 on friday & saturday and they were harbour-bound. There. I'm double-hard, or double stupid. after many pints, Tom had called us a taxi, which when we tried to pay for, we found they wouldn't take our money. Thanks Belmullet! it was a blast... follow the guys in the boat at www.uk-challenge.co.uk
Monday 21 May 2007
Day 24. Ballyconneely - Westport. 4 Hours 45
So, a better day today. less wind, bkue skies, and a couple of good night's sleep and lots of good food. Thanks again to all at Mannin Bay Hotel. I started the day with a phone call to the Ray D'arcy show. Asked about my progress, my tan and whether I was likely to be presenting myself to anyone naked in the next few weeks, it's easy to see why Ray's show is so popular. It's a shame radio reception is so bad here, as for 5 hours a day, it's often my only companion...
So, with a packed lunch from the hotel, I head off north. the road rose with me today, and I made great progress through Clifden and up to Leenane. No two ways about it, this is some of the most gorgeous scenery I've ever seen. And Hardly anyone around. If you want a hill walking holiday, this is the place, really.
the wind was at my back, and the hills seemed to be easy to climb, and take a lot of free-wheeling to get down. Cycling's all in the head, you know...
I headed on the westerly road to Louisburgh, as I planned, and the wind turned at my face. It was stronger than I realised, and I was a bit disappointed. he says putting it mildly. I was riding on the northshore of Ireland's only fjord, Killary Harbour, when I saw in the distance an Orange KTM Adventure coming toward me. Gerry - 'the Irish Intimidate me, it's the accent' - had taken a detour on his route back from Wales to Glasgow, through Ireland just to say hello. Marvellous. Really good to see him as I've not seen him since last July at a guess. Safe trip home mate, let's make miserable face photos again soon...
So, As I'm running late now after chatting for an hour or so, I take a U-turn, and let the wind blow me the quicker route to Westport, where I met Aiden, who's riding the whole coast to get fit to join the army... Think he's going to do a few more miles than me, but we're going the same way round so I reckon we'll bump into each other a lot over the next few weeks... Anyway. It's a nice day. Sod computers. They're for saddoes. Yes, that means you...
Off for a pint and a meal...
So, with a packed lunch from the hotel, I head off north. the road rose with me today, and I made great progress through Clifden and up to Leenane. No two ways about it, this is some of the most gorgeous scenery I've ever seen. And Hardly anyone around. If you want a hill walking holiday, this is the place, really.
the wind was at my back, and the hills seemed to be easy to climb, and take a lot of free-wheeling to get down. Cycling's all in the head, you know...
I headed on the westerly road to Louisburgh, as I planned, and the wind turned at my face. It was stronger than I realised, and I was a bit disappointed. he says putting it mildly. I was riding on the northshore of Ireland's only fjord, Killary Harbour, when I saw in the distance an Orange KTM Adventure coming toward me. Gerry - 'the Irish Intimidate me, it's the accent' - had taken a detour on his route back from Wales to Glasgow, through Ireland just to say hello. Marvellous. Really good to see him as I've not seen him since last July at a guess. Safe trip home mate, let's make miserable face photos again soon...
So, As I'm running late now after chatting for an hour or so, I take a U-turn, and let the wind blow me the quicker route to Westport, where I met Aiden, who's riding the whole coast to get fit to join the army... Think he's going to do a few more miles than me, but we're going the same way round so I reckon we'll bump into each other a lot over the next few weeks... Anyway. It's a nice day. Sod computers. They're for saddoes. Yes, that means you...
Off for a pint and a meal...
Sunday 20 May 2007
Day 23. Rest Day in Mannin Bay 6 miles
Tony's offer of a second night was so welcome. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning before breakfast and decided to take him up on it...
When I sloped into the hotel bar for breakfast, I was confronted with the tallbike, € notes taped all over it, and a photo of the women who'd had their hen night the night before clambering all over it.
Tony had the bile brought in and basically raised more money for me than anyone since the first night with Eily and Conor (hello guys... hope you're still coming to Dublin on the 9th).
I was so touched, genuinely. I walked into the restaurant to a small round of applause from the other guests and felt so, so humble. I really don't think what I'm doing is such a big deal. People do amazing things everyday, and I'm just on holiday, you know?
Still, I showed a few folk how to ride the bike, had kippers for breakfast which was a complete treat, got the Observer in the village - free book; The weather. Great!
Went for a short bike ride to Slayne Head which is the most western lighthouse in Eire, and you know what? After the day from hell, I loved riding a bike.
people smiled at me today, didn't take my photo without acknowledging me (I hate that. I can see why celebrities batter paparazzo, I can... I must have my picture taken 50+ times every day, and so few want to talk about what I'm doing or even smile).
Anyway, I've loved riding bikes since I learned on my cousin Debbie's Raleigh Chipper in Birmingham when I was a wee boy. I'm sure I always will. Excuse the schmaltz, but bikes have been such an important part of me sorting myself out after escaping from the Evil Empire this year, and I have so much to thank the guys at Cyclemagic for, even if they are too useless to send me my saddle to relieve the horrible saddle-sores!
Do it. Go for a bike ride. Or escape the Evil Empire. Both will be good for your soul, if not your bank balance...
Anyway, I sat at a memorial for a crashed American plane and watched a tractor trundle past with 2 kids and their dad at the wheel. Their ubiqutous border collie ran alongside, jinking about in that lovble, stupid way that no other breed can manage. Such a beautiful image. There was blue sky, little wind, mountains and sea in the near distance. I was listening to Bonnie Prince Billy, The Triffids, Smog and Richmond Fontain on my iPod... I treated myself to an icecream, a pint of shandy at the bar, a walk on the beach, and realised, that for the first time for a VERY long time, I was doing nothing with nothing to do. I loved it. I was on holiday...
If I don't get the chance to thank the guys at this hotel on the radio, and I really hope I do, they should all know. I'm not someone who relaxes easily. But they made it happen. I love it here...
Westport Co. Mayo tomorrow!
zzz
When I sloped into the hotel bar for breakfast, I was confronted with the tallbike, € notes taped all over it, and a photo of the women who'd had their hen night the night before clambering all over it.
Tony had the bile brought in and basically raised more money for me than anyone since the first night with Eily and Conor (hello guys... hope you're still coming to Dublin on the 9th).
I was so touched, genuinely. I walked into the restaurant to a small round of applause from the other guests and felt so, so humble. I really don't think what I'm doing is such a big deal. People do amazing things everyday, and I'm just on holiday, you know?
Still, I showed a few folk how to ride the bike, had kippers for breakfast which was a complete treat, got the Observer in the village - free book; The weather. Great!
Went for a short bike ride to Slayne Head which is the most western lighthouse in Eire, and you know what? After the day from hell, I loved riding a bike.
people smiled at me today, didn't take my photo without acknowledging me (I hate that. I can see why celebrities batter paparazzo, I can... I must have my picture taken 50+ times every day, and so few want to talk about what I'm doing or even smile).
Anyway, I've loved riding bikes since I learned on my cousin Debbie's Raleigh Chipper in Birmingham when I was a wee boy. I'm sure I always will. Excuse the schmaltz, but bikes have been such an important part of me sorting myself out after escaping from the Evil Empire this year, and I have so much to thank the guys at Cyclemagic for, even if they are too useless to send me my saddle to relieve the horrible saddle-sores!
Do it. Go for a bike ride. Or escape the Evil Empire. Both will be good for your soul, if not your bank balance...
Anyway, I sat at a memorial for a crashed American plane and watched a tractor trundle past with 2 kids and their dad at the wheel. Their ubiqutous border collie ran alongside, jinking about in that lovble, stupid way that no other breed can manage. Such a beautiful image. There was blue sky, little wind, mountains and sea in the near distance. I was listening to Bonnie Prince Billy, The Triffids, Smog and Richmond Fontain on my iPod... I treated myself to an icecream, a pint of shandy at the bar, a walk on the beach, and realised, that for the first time for a VERY long time, I was doing nothing with nothing to do. I loved it. I was on holiday...
If I don't get the chance to thank the guys at this hotel on the radio, and I really hope I do, they should all know. I'm not someone who relaxes easily. But they made it happen. I love it here...
Westport Co. Mayo tomorrow!
zzz
Day 22. Oughterard - Mannin Bay. 42.2 miles, 5 hours 16
Right, if yesterday was tough, today was horrific. I'd been offered a night at Mannin Bay hotel by the owner Tony who heard me on the radio and I was desperate to get there.
After a week of hostels, some of which like Aille River are really lovely, I was really looking forward to a night where I wouldn't be woken by snorers, could use the bathroom at leisure, and bizarrely, the desire to watch tv, take my time and not worry about anyone else was eating at me.
So, about 40 miles, and I'd be there...
I know I'm moaning about the wind. A lot. But, it really is genuinely scary riding that thing in 40mph winds. Connemara is bleak and rugged, in the most beautiful way, but there is NOWHERE to hide when the wind blows a hailstorm accross your path.
A few times I climbed off. Once, I contemplated pitching my tent as I was so scared of the weather. More than once I screamed at the weather to leave me alone which I'm properly aware is as futile and vain as praying to an omniscient god.
How many sailors and mountaineers have died after pleading with the elements or their maker?
Anyway, I'm no Rannulph Fiennes, and I just had to tough it out. I did hit my lowest ebb and was nearly in tears at one point. Brutal, and not fun. And in some of the most gorgeous scenery I'd encountered. Shame.
My ears and face are wind-burned today, and I'd really had enough.
Roundstone, Ballnahinch and a river I passed were so gorgeous. The railway station that looked like it could have been transported from rural Victorian Britain that since being de-commisioned has become a home was so beautiful right next to a trout fishery...
I struggled into Ballyconneely in very bad sorts. Halfway through the trip but in a very bad mood. Fed up with impatient drivers but fully in agreement that I was a hazard, exhausted from the hardest days ride I've ever done, scared witless somany times, cold and wind-blown and really missing my bed, my kitchen, my son... Curry, the Criterion, and so many people...
Tony and his staff at the hotel, he says with no hint of exaggeration, made me feel so welcome immediately. Shown to a lovely room with a massive bed and a shower to myself and a tv set, I was left to clean and shave and when I came to the bar, Tony had poured me a Guinness. Too polite to turn down his hospitality, I tasted it.
Cliche number 1. In the world. Guinness is better over here. I had another. And a hams sandwich with home made crisps. Gorgeous. Tony and Joanne and Eleanor and Gabriel and Bernie and Noel, etc. I really, really thank you all very much for the stay here. I was ready to make a decision I'd always regret and quit.
After watching Men in Black on the sofa in my room, I slept like a log...
After a week of hostels, some of which like Aille River are really lovely, I was really looking forward to a night where I wouldn't be woken by snorers, could use the bathroom at leisure, and bizarrely, the desire to watch tv, take my time and not worry about anyone else was eating at me.
So, about 40 miles, and I'd be there...
I know I'm moaning about the wind. A lot. But, it really is genuinely scary riding that thing in 40mph winds. Connemara is bleak and rugged, in the most beautiful way, but there is NOWHERE to hide when the wind blows a hailstorm accross your path.
A few times I climbed off. Once, I contemplated pitching my tent as I was so scared of the weather. More than once I screamed at the weather to leave me alone which I'm properly aware is as futile and vain as praying to an omniscient god.
How many sailors and mountaineers have died after pleading with the elements or their maker?
Anyway, I'm no Rannulph Fiennes, and I just had to tough it out. I did hit my lowest ebb and was nearly in tears at one point. Brutal, and not fun. And in some of the most gorgeous scenery I'd encountered. Shame.
My ears and face are wind-burned today, and I'd really had enough.
Roundstone, Ballnahinch and a river I passed were so gorgeous. The railway station that looked like it could have been transported from rural Victorian Britain that since being de-commisioned has become a home was so beautiful right next to a trout fishery...
I struggled into Ballyconneely in very bad sorts. Halfway through the trip but in a very bad mood. Fed up with impatient drivers but fully in agreement that I was a hazard, exhausted from the hardest days ride I've ever done, scared witless somany times, cold and wind-blown and really missing my bed, my kitchen, my son... Curry, the Criterion, and so many people...
Tony and his staff at the hotel, he says with no hint of exaggeration, made me feel so welcome immediately. Shown to a lovely room with a massive bed and a shower to myself and a tv set, I was left to clean and shave and when I came to the bar, Tony had poured me a Guinness. Too polite to turn down his hospitality, I tasted it.
Cliche number 1. In the world. Guinness is better over here. I had another. And a hams sandwich with home made crisps. Gorgeous. Tony and Joanne and Eleanor and Gabriel and Bernie and Noel, etc. I really, really thank you all very much for the stay here. I was ready to make a decision I'd always regret and quit.
After watching Men in Black on the sofa in my room, I slept like a log...
Day 21 Galway - Oughterard 20.5 miles 2 hours 15
Not a long day today, but, O, it felt like one. I took an inland route as there was places to stay at Oughterard and not really on the coast. Also, I tried in vain to avoid the Beaufort 8 winds. Didn't work. I was genuinely very scared a number of times today. Blown left and right by a very powerful headwind that would unpredictably push me towards the verge or the oncoming trafic: I decided on a couple of sections to get off and walk. IT WAS BAD.
I found the hostel at Oughterard and met, without probable exception, the man LEAST suited to the hospitality industry in the whole of Ireland. I was soaked, cold and scared witless and the man known as 'Arrogance on legs' in town wouldn't let em have a shower til 6pm. If Oliver didn't read this site I'd tell you what I really thought... Anyway. I found a pub in town (called Breathnacht's) that had a tasty looking menu and settled in.
A pint in front of the fire listening to the barmaid fend off the cheesy advances of the World's least sexy men, anglers, soon warmed me up.
Ann, the barmaid and her partner John got chatting to me and the owner of the bar had seen me struggling earlier in the day. Cyclists themselves, John and Ann paid for my meal and bought me a pint. The lamb stew and black pudding with bacon were top class. I went back to the Oughterard hostel feeling pretty good, and ready for a night's sleep.
Sadly, the humourless shower-nazi has no such controls over noisy clients. Boring anglers wittering on until I finally lost my rag and stormed up to their room and told them, in so many words as to shut the f*** up at 0130, kept me from sleeping. As did the snorers. Sheesh!
Genuinely the worst place to stay I've ever paid for, and the IHH should kick the guy off their register. Earliest check-out too.
In case you didn't get it. Oughterard hostel. Pants.
Thursday 17 May 2007
Day 20. Doolin - Galway. 47.2 Miles, 4 hours 33
Right. Day 19 was depressing. Wind, rain, mist, no view at Moher after a bus ride. The hostel was full of Germans and French and other people congratulating each other in pidgin English at how great the other nation's travellers are. Ahem.
I want to meet Irish folk on this trip, predominantly. Spare me from back-packers and other planet-destroyers. Guess I'm not too diferrent in that I'm a tourist, and there ain't no getting around getting round, etc, but I left Doolin bored of tourists. Seriously. I did not hear one Irish voice on my side of the bar last night. How sad. Kerry wasn't like that. I know I'm practically as English as anyone, but 15 miles from my mother's birthplace, I felt a long way from home...
In a flat mood, I set off towards Galway, after tossing up the advantages of getting a a ferry to the Arran Island and then over to Galway. I decided to head inland a little and see some of the Burren and hope the wind wasn't so bad inland. I've heard that wind has driven sailors mad in the past. I can see why. Relentless hard work and fear will mess with anyone's mind...
Anyway. I had the 4 seasons in one day thing today, and I think my plan to avoid the coast a little was a good one. There's no point in photographing the Burren. it's just too odd and has to be seen to be believed...
Anyhow... I had a first today. Graham calls a road in Scotland the Electric Brae. It looks like you're going up hill, but you're going down. I had a similar thing. The wind blew me uphill. Bizarre. I stopped pedalling, and freewheeled up hill for 100 metres. Hmmm.
Galway. one-way systems, exciting, pretty, and no place to be alone. Also full of back-packers...
Oh, I'm in Connacht! Only Ulster and back into Leinster and I'm done. It'll take me 3 weeks...
I want to meet Irish folk on this trip, predominantly. Spare me from back-packers and other planet-destroyers. Guess I'm not too diferrent in that I'm a tourist, and there ain't no getting around getting round, etc, but I left Doolin bored of tourists. Seriously. I did not hear one Irish voice on my side of the bar last night. How sad. Kerry wasn't like that. I know I'm practically as English as anyone, but 15 miles from my mother's birthplace, I felt a long way from home...
In a flat mood, I set off towards Galway, after tossing up the advantages of getting a a ferry to the Arran Island and then over to Galway. I decided to head inland a little and see some of the Burren and hope the wind wasn't so bad inland. I've heard that wind has driven sailors mad in the past. I can see why. Relentless hard work and fear will mess with anyone's mind...
Anyway. I had the 4 seasons in one day thing today, and I think my plan to avoid the coast a little was a good one. There's no point in photographing the Burren. it's just too odd and has to be seen to be believed...
Anyhow... I had a first today. Graham calls a road in Scotland the Electric Brae. It looks like you're going up hill, but you're going down. I had a similar thing. The wind blew me uphill. Bizarre. I stopped pedalling, and freewheeled up hill for 100 metres. Hmmm.
Galway. one-way systems, exciting, pretty, and no place to be alone. Also full of back-packers...
Oh, I'm in Connacht! Only Ulster and back into Leinster and I'm done. It'll take me 3 weeks...
Tuesday 15 May 2007
Day 18. Kilrush - Doolin 50.9 miles, 5 hours 31
More wind, rain and big hills. Terrible food at Doonbeg, but a really nice hostel in Doolin. Knee pain re-occuring. pants. Nearly halfway round! Oi, Cyclemagic. How come my saddle hasn't shown up in Clare yet! Too late now. Rode straight past the cliffs of Moher. too knackered to be a tourist. Maybe tomorrow!
More to follow, oh I should be on Ray D'Arcy's show tomorrow... Look at me. I'm almost as much of a media whore as that lazy, self publicizing fella with the fridge. Hey, Tony Hawks. I bet you one Euro you wouldn't ride the tallbike for one day...
Hmm. that was a tough day. hills, wind and rain. Crap cafe for lunch and not much human contact...
Found the Aille River hostel as instructed by Pauline & John who I met in Kenmare (hello) and the owner gave me 2 free nights and €20, too! thanks Robert. Good name that! Needed the rest. But rest messes with my mind. Inertia is at once my best friend and worst enemy on this trip... When I'm moving, I want to keep going. when I rest, I want to quit. Seriously. This trip is very tough. It's like riding a tandem with the passenger not pedalling... Hmmm.
The food at McDermott's in Doolin was marvellous both nights, especially the beef in Guinness stew. But, without wanting to be disingenuous... I don't like Clare much. I was the nearest thing to a local in Doolin. Americans, germans and French. So much for the real Ireland.
More to follow, oh I should be on Ray D'Arcy's show tomorrow... Look at me. I'm almost as much of a media whore as that lazy, self publicizing fella with the fridge. Hey, Tony Hawks. I bet you one Euro you wouldn't ride the tallbike for one day...
Hmm. that was a tough day. hills, wind and rain. Crap cafe for lunch and not much human contact...
Found the Aille River hostel as instructed by Pauline & John who I met in Kenmare (hello) and the owner gave me 2 free nights and €20, too! thanks Robert. Good name that! Needed the rest. But rest messes with my mind. Inertia is at once my best friend and worst enemy on this trip... When I'm moving, I want to keep going. when I rest, I want to quit. Seriously. This trip is very tough. It's like riding a tandem with the passenger not pedalling... Hmmm.
The food at McDermott's in Doolin was marvellous both nights, especially the beef in Guinness stew. But, without wanting to be disingenuous... I don't like Clare much. I was the nearest thing to a local in Doolin. Americans, germans and French. So much for the real Ireland.
Day 17. Parteen - Kilrush 50.5 miles 5 hours 3 mins
A tough day. More wind and rain. Visited Focus Limerick and Parteen National School. More to follow... Oh, the guys on the Shannon ferry were really nice this time. Thanks guys!
Well, my diary's upstairs, so this is from memory...
Started the day with a visit to Parteen National School, where my second-cousins Niamh, Darragh and Kevin go...
My cousin Tracey had arranged for me to turn up, so I got Focus to meet me there. So, Louise and I faced a palyground full of faces who'd never seen anything quite like the tallbike before. a couple of the teachers rode the bike around the playground... Notably Olivia Parkinson who had no idea of how to get off the thing and rode into a crowd of scattering 10 year-olds... very funny!
Next, I was shown into Miss O'grady's class to talk to about 25 kids about what I'm doing... Then into Miss Anderson's class. My favourite question from the kids was... Have you seen any sharks from that thing?!
Anyway. Off to Focus in Limerick. Seeing what they do first hand was quite humbling. Taking people out of the hostel system and teaching them how to look after themselves in the rental sector is such important work What did YOU do today? Share price ok? Well done...
50 miles into the wind later, I ended up in Kilrush. A guy called Tom O'Keefe stopped me for a chat and bunged me €50 today, as did Jesse at the hostel. Cheers guys!
Well, my diary's upstairs, so this is from memory...
Started the day with a visit to Parteen National School, where my second-cousins Niamh, Darragh and Kevin go...
My cousin Tracey had arranged for me to turn up, so I got Focus to meet me there. So, Louise and I faced a palyground full of faces who'd never seen anything quite like the tallbike before. a couple of the teachers rode the bike around the playground... Notably Olivia Parkinson who had no idea of how to get off the thing and rode into a crowd of scattering 10 year-olds... very funny!
Next, I was shown into Miss O'grady's class to talk to about 25 kids about what I'm doing... Then into Miss Anderson's class. My favourite question from the kids was... Have you seen any sharks from that thing?!
Anyway. Off to Focus in Limerick. Seeing what they do first hand was quite humbling. Taking people out of the hostel system and teaching them how to look after themselves in the rental sector is such important work What did YOU do today? Share price ok? Well done...
50 miles into the wind later, I ended up in Kilrush. A guy called Tom O'Keefe stopped me for a chat and bunged me €50 today, as did Jesse at the hostel. Cheers guys!
Sunday 13 May 2007
Day 16. A rest day that wasn't. Clarecastle to Parteen. 24.5 miles, 1 hour 55
I was going to take a day off, but I wanted to see my cousin Tracey, her husband Colm and their kids Kevin, Niamh and Darragh. I also wanted to meet the Focus people in the morning. So, if I wasn't to have a monstrous day in the morning, it made sense to ride the bike to Parteen, leave it here and then come back tomorrow and then ride back along the Co. Limerick shore to the Tarbert ferry and cross north again and meet the miserable shite fare collector and then head west to Kilrush to continue up the Clare coast.
So, I bashed down the N18 to Limerick without my luggage feeling almost like I was on a normal bike. Well, the gawping, tooting and photo taking reminded me pretty quickly.
Small rant. If everyone who laughed, stopped and took my picture, waved, or whatever gave me a few € I'd be raising a fortune. Sadly I'm not. I don't mind being a bit of a freakshow, but, I'm not doing this JUST for fun. Cough up, you tightwads. That means you too, Burbeck, Hayter, Ted, Alison etc!
Anyway. Rant 2. Dogs. I like dogs, but if I get round this country without being bitten by one of the little sods, I'll be amazed. I've been chased, barked at, jumped up at by about 50 dogs. Please Ireland, if your dog knocks me off, I'm going to make sure I land on it.
Rant 3. Honda Civic drivers. Guys. Your car is NOT a rally car. It's your mum's car she's left you and you've ruined it with a stupid exhaust pipe and some fake Lexus lights and you fill other road users with dread. Really. Learn to drive. Soon.
On a less ranting note. I met Parteen's priest, Tom, in the pub this evening. What a character. A generous character: He chucked me €50! (Hint hint, Ted, et al). I'm hoping to get him on the tallbike in the morning at my second couisins' school.
Right. Back to being sociable... I'll write from Doolin after seeing the cliffs of Moher and all that.
Oh, and Ted. it's my blog. if I want to moan about the wind, I will. Get your wallet out!
So, I bashed down the N18 to Limerick without my luggage feeling almost like I was on a normal bike. Well, the gawping, tooting and photo taking reminded me pretty quickly.
Small rant. If everyone who laughed, stopped and took my picture, waved, or whatever gave me a few € I'd be raising a fortune. Sadly I'm not. I don't mind being a bit of a freakshow, but, I'm not doing this JUST for fun. Cough up, you tightwads. That means you too, Burbeck, Hayter, Ted, Alison etc!
Anyway. Rant 2. Dogs. I like dogs, but if I get round this country without being bitten by one of the little sods, I'll be amazed. I've been chased, barked at, jumped up at by about 50 dogs. Please Ireland, if your dog knocks me off, I'm going to make sure I land on it.
Rant 3. Honda Civic drivers. Guys. Your car is NOT a rally car. It's your mum's car she's left you and you've ruined it with a stupid exhaust pipe and some fake Lexus lights and you fill other road users with dread. Really. Learn to drive. Soon.
On a less ranting note. I met Parteen's priest, Tom, in the pub this evening. What a character. A generous character: He chucked me €50! (Hint hint, Ted, et al). I'm hoping to get him on the tallbike in the morning at my second couisins' school.
Right. Back to being sociable... I'll write from Doolin after seeing the cliffs of Moher and all that.
Oh, and Ted. it's my blog. if I want to moan about the wind, I will. Get your wallet out!
Day 15. Listowel to Clarecastle - 43 miles, 3 Hours 48
So, after a breakfast of cereal and tea - which is a joy after too many sausages, rashers and white puddings - I leave the Yeomans feeling really good about the day ahead. The Yeomans were great company, and it was really novel to start the day at the top of a hill. I headed towards the ferry port at Tarbert and caught my first glimpse of County Clare, my mother's home.
I made the ferry and for the first time on this trip I actaully asked for something for free, ier passage accross the Shannon. The fare collector was the most miserable human being I have ever met in my life. Sadly, I'll maybe meet him agian, but that's another story...
Of course the grumpy old scrote said no. Well, as they say here, he's a bollix.
I rode off the ferry into Clare and turned right. The water's going to be on my right for a couple of days as I need to see the Focus people in Limerick as well as see my Mum's brother Sean, my aunt Nora, my Cousin Tracey, her kids, etc, etc. A big sorry to Travelodge for messing you around. I really do appreciate all you guys are doing for me on this trip.
Anyway. Clare. Up, down, up, down. Never ending undulations, and really different to Kerry. Kerry's roads around the coast are very busy, where Clare seems a little less damaged by tourism. I managed to find Sean & Nora's place after being chased by dogs AGAIN and was more than happy to stick the bike in their study and wolf the enourmous steak I was offered.
Sean and Nora took me in their car to Corofin where my mother was born. It's hard to imagine a family of 10 living in such a small cottage. The view of the Burren from the lane across the way must have been some compensation for the lack of space. Next, we visited my grandfather and grandmother John and Maisie McNamara's grave. It was the first time I've ever visited a relative's grave. Dunno how to articulate the feeling, but I'm glad that the grave wasn't adorned with ceramic squirrels and other tut like so many were.
After a drive to the Burren, which really is the most bizarre landscape I've ever seen... A kind of limestone cross between the Nevada desert, the pyramids and Ayre's Rock littered with Neolithic sites I visited Patrick Power's pub in Clarecastle for some beers... Ireland is truly full of characters...
Slept like a log this mnorning!
Friday 11 May 2007
Day 14 - Dingle to Listowel 48.5 miles, 4 hours 41
The Conor Pass. I've been hearing about it for ages. "Are you really going to ride the Conor Pass on that thing?!"
Well, yes. I was going to ride the Conor Pass on the tallbike, as it's the northern route out of Dingle.
Having a rest day, which I really needed by he way, made me NOT want to start moving again. I'd had a meal which I'd had a hand in cooking for the first time in 2 weeks the night before, had a sauna, a jacuzzi, a massage, wandered round being lazy and hung out for the afternoon with Candice and, well, I was tired.
Candice is quite an impressive girl... bronze medals for Tae Kwon Do at world level and about to resume her medical studies. Good cook too.
Later in the evening I went to the Small Bridge pub with various people from the hostel. The boys playing music there were easily the most moving Irish musicians I've ever seen. the guitar player plays exaclty as I'd like to be able to play... Uilleann pipes are much more melodic and soulfull than the Scots version... anyway. I am become more of a plastic Paddy by the day.
So, bed, wake up and think: "I don't want to ride today". Inertia.
I kitted up, said goodbye to everyone and headed off towards the Conor Pass. 1 hour and 4 miles later I was at it's peak of over 500 metres. Of course I'd started at sealevel. Sadly, it was cloudy and the views to both sides of the peninsula were a little less spectacular than they could have been. I was freezing, too as the swaet I'd worked up was getting wind-blown by the now familiar winds, which were luckily at my back today, and gladly half as strong as they have been for the last few days.
The next hour I managed 14 miles, and it would have been more if the roads on the north of the pass were any cop at all. Single track and bumpy. Still.
A largely uneventfull day once I'd dried out and negotiated Tralee. Busy town!
On the road to Listowel I was wondering why my host for the night, Greg hadn't been in touch. A van driver flagged me down for a chat, and luckily it was he. Born on Westcotes Drive and now a resident of Kerry. Leicesterfarian number 2!
I'm full of curry that he treated me to, and I'm sat using his computer at his family's home... Marvellous. County Clare tomorrow... Sorry Limerick!
zzzzz
Well, yes. I was going to ride the Conor Pass on the tallbike, as it's the northern route out of Dingle.
Having a rest day, which I really needed by he way, made me NOT want to start moving again. I'd had a meal which I'd had a hand in cooking for the first time in 2 weeks the night before, had a sauna, a jacuzzi, a massage, wandered round being lazy and hung out for the afternoon with Candice and, well, I was tired.
Candice is quite an impressive girl... bronze medals for Tae Kwon Do at world level and about to resume her medical studies. Good cook too.
Later in the evening I went to the Small Bridge pub with various people from the hostel. The boys playing music there were easily the most moving Irish musicians I've ever seen. the guitar player plays exaclty as I'd like to be able to play... Uilleann pipes are much more melodic and soulfull than the Scots version... anyway. I am become more of a plastic Paddy by the day.
So, bed, wake up and think: "I don't want to ride today". Inertia.
I kitted up, said goodbye to everyone and headed off towards the Conor Pass. 1 hour and 4 miles later I was at it's peak of over 500 metres. Of course I'd started at sealevel. Sadly, it was cloudy and the views to both sides of the peninsula were a little less spectacular than they could have been. I was freezing, too as the swaet I'd worked up was getting wind-blown by the now familiar winds, which were luckily at my back today, and gladly half as strong as they have been for the last few days.
The next hour I managed 14 miles, and it would have been more if the roads on the north of the pass were any cop at all. Single track and bumpy. Still.
A largely uneventfull day once I'd dried out and negotiated Tralee. Busy town!
On the road to Listowel I was wondering why my host for the night, Greg hadn't been in touch. A van driver flagged me down for a chat, and luckily it was he. Born on Westcotes Drive and now a resident of Kerry. Leicesterfarian number 2!
I'm full of curry that he treated me to, and I'm sat using his computer at his family's home... Marvellous. County Clare tomorrow... Sorry Limerick!
zzzzz
Thursday 10 May 2007
Days 12 & 13 Miltown to Dingle, 34 miles 4 hours
Look at that time and distance. Write it and weep. I've wanted to see Dingle as long as I can remember. Inch Beach, the music, Fungi the dolphin. The Waterboys connection. For a hundred reasons. I have to say the ride here was almost as joyless as writing some UNIX code to provide worthless data to some self-important merchandiser. At least I had a clear motivation: Get to Dingle.
The wind and the rain were hideous, but really, the wind is much, much worse. I left Wilkie & Jill's place with instructions to go and see Lorna at the Phoenix. I struggled along for an hour and found the Phoenix was a building site. I went and said hello, and I'm glad I did. She's made me a veggie stew with black-eyed beans and sweet potato and it was GOOD. If it's any indication of the sort of food the cafe serves, I'd eat there a lot if I were a local. She also offered me a bed for the night, which in retrospect I should have taken. Her son Sam, who's a bike mechanic, confirmed my fear that the chainrings are bent on the tallbike.
Stronglight cranks are shite. Sue me. Useless, bendy, weedy. Do not use them.
The rain was just as hideous as when I'd stopped, but Dingle was only 22 miles away, so I said thanks but no to the ofer of the bed, and headed off.
By the time I'd got to Inch, I was in a seriously bad mood. The rain had stopped, but the wind off the Atlantic was brutal. Wheelie bins lay on their sides, and some of the hideous election posters that have ruined the view all over Ireland were being torn and bent.
One of the sections I'd looked forward to was ruined by the fact I was getting violently blown accross the road and that the headwind was unbearable. On the flat I was i the smallest gear nearly all the time, and even on some sections I could manage no more than 6mph DOWNHILL. I've never done anything more physically and mentally demanding than those 22 miles. Harder than the 3 peaks challenge, easily.
I normaly try and muster a wave or smile for the people who stop and get there cameras out but never sponsor me. Yesterday I was screaming what about a donation into the wind, knowing full well that nobody would hear me above the gusts.
Anyway. I rolled into Dingle in a black mood, after being scared of the winds blowing me over and fighting for every inch of my progress to find out my promised host for the next two nights was AWOL, and I had turned down 3 other offers in this town, too. Hmmmph.
I went to the Grapevine Hostel on recommendation of Eileen. I'm surprised they let me in, I looked so mardy.
Still, everyone there was really friendly. Candice offered told me about the sauna and pool where she works at Harmony health club and offered to smuggle me in in the morning (just been and had the place to my self - Marvellous).
Niamh from Fermanagh cheered me up with her tales of swimming with Funghi and her cycling experience that day which weren't much better than my own...
So, in a marginally better mood I went to Blue Zone for a pizza and a few beers. Nice place, with a good singer and her pissed-up guitar accompianist. Really funny watching Clare's expressions at his 'stylings'. She spent half the night trying to find other guitarists to take his place...
Anyhow the pizza was pretty good, but nowhere near as good as The Criterion in Leicester, but when was the last time the Criterion had any attractive canadian back-packers in there? Or mountains, or the Atlantic, or anything really apart from a sarcastic barman and good beer and pizza. Huh?
I also met Lorna from the Phoenix and her friends in Blue Zone. She introduced me to Terry, a really interesting guy who explained why all the roadsigns for Dingle are painted out, and about the unfortunate associations with the name An Daingean and how it's not even the name of the place in Irish. Hmmm. Confused? Me too. He's a cyclist, and excentric enough to fit right in at Cyclemagic, being a tandem rider and ex penny-farthing rider. Is there no escape?!
Nobody snored in the Dorm:-)
Day off today. and of course, it's not windy. Grrrr.
Oh, and all you store-whores reading this. 8.1% bonus? Surely a fiver each wouldn't hurt? Thanks to Simon who's already sponsored me...
The wind and the rain were hideous, but really, the wind is much, much worse. I left Wilkie & Jill's place with instructions to go and see Lorna at the Phoenix. I struggled along for an hour and found the Phoenix was a building site. I went and said hello, and I'm glad I did. She's made me a veggie stew with black-eyed beans and sweet potato and it was GOOD. If it's any indication of the sort of food the cafe serves, I'd eat there a lot if I were a local. She also offered me a bed for the night, which in retrospect I should have taken. Her son Sam, who's a bike mechanic, confirmed my fear that the chainrings are bent on the tallbike.
Stronglight cranks are shite. Sue me. Useless, bendy, weedy. Do not use them.
The rain was just as hideous as when I'd stopped, but Dingle was only 22 miles away, so I said thanks but no to the ofer of the bed, and headed off.
By the time I'd got to Inch, I was in a seriously bad mood. The rain had stopped, but the wind off the Atlantic was brutal. Wheelie bins lay on their sides, and some of the hideous election posters that have ruined the view all over Ireland were being torn and bent.
One of the sections I'd looked forward to was ruined by the fact I was getting violently blown accross the road and that the headwind was unbearable. On the flat I was i the smallest gear nearly all the time, and even on some sections I could manage no more than 6mph DOWNHILL. I've never done anything more physically and mentally demanding than those 22 miles. Harder than the 3 peaks challenge, easily.
I normaly try and muster a wave or smile for the people who stop and get there cameras out but never sponsor me. Yesterday I was screaming what about a donation into the wind, knowing full well that nobody would hear me above the gusts.
Anyway. I rolled into Dingle in a black mood, after being scared of the winds blowing me over and fighting for every inch of my progress to find out my promised host for the next two nights was AWOL, and I had turned down 3 other offers in this town, too. Hmmmph.
I went to the Grapevine Hostel on recommendation of Eileen. I'm surprised they let me in, I looked so mardy.
Still, everyone there was really friendly. Candice offered told me about the sauna and pool where she works at Harmony health club and offered to smuggle me in in the morning (just been and had the place to my self - Marvellous).
Niamh from Fermanagh cheered me up with her tales of swimming with Funghi and her cycling experience that day which weren't much better than my own...
So, in a marginally better mood I went to Blue Zone for a pizza and a few beers. Nice place, with a good singer and her pissed-up guitar accompianist. Really funny watching Clare's expressions at his 'stylings'. She spent half the night trying to find other guitarists to take his place...
Anyhow the pizza was pretty good, but nowhere near as good as The Criterion in Leicester, but when was the last time the Criterion had any attractive canadian back-packers in there? Or mountains, or the Atlantic, or anything really apart from a sarcastic barman and good beer and pizza. Huh?
I also met Lorna from the Phoenix and her friends in Blue Zone. She introduced me to Terry, a really interesting guy who explained why all the roadsigns for Dingle are painted out, and about the unfortunate associations with the name An Daingean and how it's not even the name of the place in Irish. Hmmm. Confused? Me too. He's a cyclist, and excentric enough to fit right in at Cyclemagic, being a tandem rider and ex penny-farthing rider. Is there no escape?!
Nobody snored in the Dorm:-)
Day off today. and of course, it's not windy. Grrrr.
Oh, and all you store-whores reading this. 8.1% bonus? Surely a fiver each wouldn't hurt? Thanks to Simon who's already sponsored me...
Tuesday 8 May 2007
Day 11. Waterville - Milltown 42 miles ish. Bike computer doesn't like rain!
Luckily, I'd done the worst climb of the ring of Kerry last thing yesterday: Coomakista Pass is only about 300 metres, but you start at sea level, and, well, with the horrendous head-wind which really must have been near-gale force at times (that's 7 on the Beaufort Scale, readers) i was doing 3.5-5 miles an hour all the way up it, only to find the hostel in town was shut down, the B&B was a little spartan, and the pub had a loud-mouthed Londoner with tourettes in it. Before I got there. Anyway... that's yesterday evening. I set out after a ridiculously early check-out. 0930, into cold rain. Nasty. the wind wasn't as strong as the day before, and as I knew I'd be heading inland after 10 miles or so, I was happy to have it at my back for most of the day. I found a library with internet access, but the PC worked so badly that it could have been set up by Prav Gupta. (in-joke for vermin).
Disgruntled, and still unable to work out why these blogs appear to be out of synch (any ideas Mikey?) i rode off and met the German couple on their bike tour that Rebecca had told me about. They had so much kit strapped to their bikes that I was moving about 50% faster than they could. Nice couple, but where's the fun in that?
Nayway. The cloud was low enough to obscure the views accross to the Dingle peninsula, and if I'm honest, the traffic on Inveragh was so heavy and fast at times to spoil it as a cycling route. I did get a glimpse of Inch Beach where Keith and Jane went on their honeymoon and I'm keen to see it properly as everyone says how gorgeous it is.
I stopped for a cup of tea in Glenbeigh as I was fed up of the drizzle, and it was there the day improved. I met Jill and Wilkie (proof that not everyone whose name sounds that way isn't best avoided, ignored or worse) and they recognised my bike from the paper straight away. Being a family of cyclists - their sons Louis and Michael race (I think Ava their daughter is much more keen on her dancing), they were keen to find out about the trip. 3 minutes later, I was offered a bed for the night and the rest is history.
Riding through Kilorglin on the way here I met my first traqffic jam since Dublin. I also met Steve, my first Leicesterfarian, from Huncote. He's left the M69 corridor to live in Kerry and he's been here for 9 years. I can see why, but, oh, I'd miss the curries.
I'll be headed for Dingle when I leave their house, which from where I sit, I can see Carauntoohil from the window. Thanks guys!
Disgruntled, and still unable to work out why these blogs appear to be out of synch (any ideas Mikey?) i rode off and met the German couple on their bike tour that Rebecca had told me about. They had so much kit strapped to their bikes that I was moving about 50% faster than they could. Nice couple, but where's the fun in that?
Nayway. The cloud was low enough to obscure the views accross to the Dingle peninsula, and if I'm honest, the traffic on Inveragh was so heavy and fast at times to spoil it as a cycling route. I did get a glimpse of Inch Beach where Keith and Jane went on their honeymoon and I'm keen to see it properly as everyone says how gorgeous it is.
I stopped for a cup of tea in Glenbeigh as I was fed up of the drizzle, and it was there the day improved. I met Jill and Wilkie (proof that not everyone whose name sounds that way isn't best avoided, ignored or worse) and they recognised my bike from the paper straight away. Being a family of cyclists - their sons Louis and Michael race (I think Ava their daughter is much more keen on her dancing), they were keen to find out about the trip. 3 minutes later, I was offered a bed for the night and the rest is history.
Riding through Kilorglin on the way here I met my first traqffic jam since Dublin. I also met Steve, my first Leicesterfarian, from Huncote. He's left the M69 corridor to live in Kerry and he's been here for 9 years. I can see why, but, oh, I'd miss the curries.
I'll be headed for Dingle when I leave their house, which from where I sit, I can see Carauntoohil from the window. Thanks guys!
Monday 7 May 2007
Day 10. Kenmare to Waterville. 40.5 miles. 4 hours 46
Briefly... Rode with Pauline and John to Sneem after a marvellous breakfast at Bacus in Kenmare. Lovely town, my favourite place so far, and definitely the best porridge I've ever eaten. The road to Sneem was littered with beautiful places. Blackwater Bridge nearly pips the Linn of Dee for my favourite waterfall, the wooded section just before you open out onto the sea views accross to Beara was magical, and well, I'm no travel writer, but it lives up to all the hype. The wind was quite something tho... in Sneem there were postcards blowing down the street as the display outside a shop blew over. About 10 of us scrabbled around picking them up for the lady who's shop had lost all it's stock. Hope she could sell some of them afterwards, and I know she probably had a couple of hours work to sort them out... Shame, but pretty sight.
Anyway, I said see you in Clare to John and Pauline, and then headed into the wind. Horrific. Genuinely. When it was in my face 7 mph was all I could manage on the flat, when it was coming accross me, I thought I was going to get blown off the road. Other more sensible folk were pushing their bikes. It was genuinely scary. I pushed onto Waterville, taking an hour to cover 7 miles at one point. Sheesh. Right... better get on.
Anyway, I said see you in Clare to John and Pauline, and then headed into the wind. Horrific. Genuinely. When it was in my face 7 mph was all I could manage on the flat, when it was coming accross me, I thought I was going to get blown off the road. Other more sensible folk were pushing their bikes. It was genuinely scary. I pushed onto Waterville, taking an hour to cover 7 miles at one point. Sheesh. Right... better get on.
Day 9. Castletownbere to Kenmare. 37.6 miles. 4 hours 10
What a day. chased by a dog, fell off in comedic style on my way to visit the stone circle from Spinal Tap and I got in an argument with a man who's voice was like the policeman from Withnail & I - 'Get in the back of the van' - that one.
I also met the 3 characters from the Big Lebowski-Howard, Donnie & the Dude.
Anyway, after an entirely unpleasant breakfast I set of towards Kenmare in the rain. hmmph. I'd decided to do a little bit of sight-seeing en-route as I'd not really done any off the bike. Uragh stone circle was to be my first point of interest, so after grinding up some hills and not being able to see too far cos of the mist and rain, I found myself on the single track road to Uragh.
Now, I've previously said that one of the advantages of the tallbike is dogs aren't as interested in you as on a normal bike. Well, Irish dogs aren't fussy. I've been chased about 5 times now, but this litttle sod really was quite scary. There's no point in yelling or swearing at anyone or anything in Ireland as it's standard currency. I just had to pedal and hope... anyway. Sweating and shaken I found myself at last at the signpost that said 'Stone Circle. €1 admission. I tried to put my foot on the ground. Only, I can't. I'm on the tallbike. I must have pulled a comedy moment-of-recognition face as I hit the ground pretty hard. My foot, knee, and thigh were all bruised, and I'm glad I had my helmet on as I took a bit of a blow to the head, too. A bit of whiplash is all that remains as a reminder to be more careful next time. I'm glad it happened, tho, because I suppose it shows I'm more relaxed on the bike than I perhaps should be.
I was dreading the ride back as I would have to pass the dog again. I'm considering getting a basket of kittens to sacrifice to the mutts that chase me. It's cruel, but I'm a callous-hearted coward, and I don't want to be bitten.
I met an altogether more objectionable creature on the way back: The man with the shrill voice.
On the single track road, everyone I passed would try and let me through and vice versa. It's how these roads work. This 'Irish Person' as he described himself just blocked the way on purpose so I had to stop on a very steep uphill section. He took exception at me trying to claim my 2 foot of tarmac and then got very irate cos I pointed out he was in my opinion, something I'm not going to repeat because Oliver reads this.
He got more and more iriate, irational, and stupid as the conversation went on. I decided there were only 2 ways out of the situation, and while I'd have dearly liked to have left him cable-tied to a tree, I just headed off into Kenmare. Laughing to myself as I passed the place where the dog had been.
Anyway. In Kenmare, a Canadian comes up to me and asks me about the bike. She's on a bike tour, sadly heading the other way and we chat for a couple of hours. Rebecca is double hard, and has ridden accross Canada in 90 days before, and is off to the Alps and the Pyrenees after Ireland. She gives me lots of tips, including that I should camp in churhyards. I'm too soft for this and plump for the lovely Kenmare Lodge hostel. 5 times nicer than the converted nunnery in Castletownbere the night before. Rebecca's friends John and Steve from Drogheda and Carlow showed up and I taugh them all how to ride the bike. It still looks mad to me when I see someone riding on it... we all agreed to meet for a beer later...
I met John and Pauline who'd just ran a half marathon that morning, and after a chat, and them offering to lock my belongings in their private room, I arranged to meet them for a beer later, too.
So, after a chinese, I headed off to Crowley's bar... What a great night, only spoiled by the Howard character who's boasting about his acchievements was in complete contrast to everyone elses attitudes in our little group. John had ridden Mizen Head to Malin head in 20 hours non stop, Rebecca, Canada coast-to-coast and I'm doing this stupid ride and we all knew enough to know that someone's always doing something touhgher. The Dude character was such a nice guy. Paul Hurley was his name and he's done artwork for Focus in the past and he bunged me €50 sponsorship. thanks mate!
Steve started some singing so that improved the mood. I don't think my father would enjoy the lyrics of some of the songs, but it was a great night, and I'll definitely hook up with Pauline, John and John later in my route.
Oh, there was a snorer in my dorm :-(
I also met the 3 characters from the Big Lebowski-Howard, Donnie & the Dude.
Anyway, after an entirely unpleasant breakfast I set of towards Kenmare in the rain. hmmph. I'd decided to do a little bit of sight-seeing en-route as I'd not really done any off the bike. Uragh stone circle was to be my first point of interest, so after grinding up some hills and not being able to see too far cos of the mist and rain, I found myself on the single track road to Uragh.
Now, I've previously said that one of the advantages of the tallbike is dogs aren't as interested in you as on a normal bike. Well, Irish dogs aren't fussy. I've been chased about 5 times now, but this litttle sod really was quite scary. There's no point in yelling or swearing at anyone or anything in Ireland as it's standard currency. I just had to pedal and hope... anyway. Sweating and shaken I found myself at last at the signpost that said 'Stone Circle. €1 admission. I tried to put my foot on the ground. Only, I can't. I'm on the tallbike. I must have pulled a comedy moment-of-recognition face as I hit the ground pretty hard. My foot, knee, and thigh were all bruised, and I'm glad I had my helmet on as I took a bit of a blow to the head, too. A bit of whiplash is all that remains as a reminder to be more careful next time. I'm glad it happened, tho, because I suppose it shows I'm more relaxed on the bike than I perhaps should be.
I was dreading the ride back as I would have to pass the dog again. I'm considering getting a basket of kittens to sacrifice to the mutts that chase me. It's cruel, but I'm a callous-hearted coward, and I don't want to be bitten.
I met an altogether more objectionable creature on the way back: The man with the shrill voice.
On the single track road, everyone I passed would try and let me through and vice versa. It's how these roads work. This 'Irish Person' as he described himself just blocked the way on purpose so I had to stop on a very steep uphill section. He took exception at me trying to claim my 2 foot of tarmac and then got very irate cos I pointed out he was in my opinion, something I'm not going to repeat because Oliver reads this.
He got more and more iriate, irational, and stupid as the conversation went on. I decided there were only 2 ways out of the situation, and while I'd have dearly liked to have left him cable-tied to a tree, I just headed off into Kenmare. Laughing to myself as I passed the place where the dog had been.
Anyway. In Kenmare, a Canadian comes up to me and asks me about the bike. She's on a bike tour, sadly heading the other way and we chat for a couple of hours. Rebecca is double hard, and has ridden accross Canada in 90 days before, and is off to the Alps and the Pyrenees after Ireland. She gives me lots of tips, including that I should camp in churhyards. I'm too soft for this and plump for the lovely Kenmare Lodge hostel. 5 times nicer than the converted nunnery in Castletownbere the night before. Rebecca's friends John and Steve from Drogheda and Carlow showed up and I taugh them all how to ride the bike. It still looks mad to me when I see someone riding on it... we all agreed to meet for a beer later...
I met John and Pauline who'd just ran a half marathon that morning, and after a chat, and them offering to lock my belongings in their private room, I arranged to meet them for a beer later, too.
So, after a chinese, I headed off to Crowley's bar... What a great night, only spoiled by the Howard character who's boasting about his acchievements was in complete contrast to everyone elses attitudes in our little group. John had ridden Mizen Head to Malin head in 20 hours non stop, Rebecca, Canada coast-to-coast and I'm doing this stupid ride and we all knew enough to know that someone's always doing something touhgher. The Dude character was such a nice guy. Paul Hurley was his name and he's done artwork for Focus in the past and he bunged me €50 sponsorship. thanks mate!
Steve started some singing so that improved the mood. I don't think my father would enjoy the lyrics of some of the songs, but it was a great night, and I'll definitely hook up with Pauline, John and John later in my route.
Oh, there was a snorer in my dorm :-(
Saturday 5 May 2007
Day 8. Skibbereen to Castletownbere. 55 miles. 6 hours 25
Brief one this time. Seems so long ago. I left the Carmody's to their wedding preparations and headed north. Thanks guys... hope it all goes well next week.
I'd decided to skip the Sheep's Head and Mizen Peninsulas as I was suffering with my knee and wanted to make sure I could get round. Pragmatism. I hate it.
I'd also disappointing found out the ferry from Baltimore to Schull wasn't running, so I was sulking a little, cos I fancied covering some miles without pedalling.
I headed to Ballydehob which is where Jeremy Irons lives. Alright for some, I say...
I passed a house on the way to Bantry were the gate ornaments were the strangest I've ever seen - they looked like werewolf heads. I'll post the images up when I get home, but really, really odd. The woman who lives there doesn't even have dogs!
I reached Bantry hungry enough to eat just about anything despite a big bowl of porridge at the Carmody's. Guess I've not been eating enough, so I wolf down some lasagne at some cafe where the girls were overworked. Nobody in Banty spoke to me, which is quite unusual for this trip, and to be honest, I didn't like the place. too many English!
I decided to push for Castletownbere, which Mikey had told me was worth a visit.
I encountered my first rain of the trip on a mountainous road. Grim. Some german and austrian girls stopped me for a chat. I was glad of the rest and sometimes a bit of a chat can break the monotany of riding along trying to tune my radio into a channel with even half decent reception.
Castletownbere is quite pretty. All the shops are painted in different pastel hues, and in decent light, it be picturesque. The hostel was mad, tho. Everyone I meet knows about it. A converted nunnery, with a Polish woman with a voice like a husky man running it. Her boyfriend likes to walk round in his undercrackers showing his muscles to all and sundry. They argue, in comedic style, and the hostel's expensive. I didn't care.
I ate in a decidedly average place called Murphy's. At least they didn't sit me down at a dirty table and leave me there for 5 minutes like the frosty old witch at Jack Patrick's did. I got talking to Pete James, the music for the night in O'Donahues. Nice guy, really, but he didn't tell me til later that if I'd gone accross the road I could have seen the legendary Fureys at the pub everyone knows in town, MacCarthy's. Doh.
I staggered home to the nunnery. I slept, only to be woken by a church bell. Joy. Average breakfast in Murphy's. Castletownbere is NOT a destination for the gourmet tourist!
I'd decided to skip the Sheep's Head and Mizen Peninsulas as I was suffering with my knee and wanted to make sure I could get round. Pragmatism. I hate it.
I'd also disappointing found out the ferry from Baltimore to Schull wasn't running, so I was sulking a little, cos I fancied covering some miles without pedalling.
I headed to Ballydehob which is where Jeremy Irons lives. Alright for some, I say...
I passed a house on the way to Bantry were the gate ornaments were the strangest I've ever seen - they looked like werewolf heads. I'll post the images up when I get home, but really, really odd. The woman who lives there doesn't even have dogs!
I reached Bantry hungry enough to eat just about anything despite a big bowl of porridge at the Carmody's. Guess I've not been eating enough, so I wolf down some lasagne at some cafe where the girls were overworked. Nobody in Banty spoke to me, which is quite unusual for this trip, and to be honest, I didn't like the place. too many English!
I decided to push for Castletownbere, which Mikey had told me was worth a visit.
I encountered my first rain of the trip on a mountainous road. Grim. Some german and austrian girls stopped me for a chat. I was glad of the rest and sometimes a bit of a chat can break the monotany of riding along trying to tune my radio into a channel with even half decent reception.
Castletownbere is quite pretty. All the shops are painted in different pastel hues, and in decent light, it be picturesque. The hostel was mad, tho. Everyone I meet knows about it. A converted nunnery, with a Polish woman with a voice like a husky man running it. Her boyfriend likes to walk round in his undercrackers showing his muscles to all and sundry. They argue, in comedic style, and the hostel's expensive. I didn't care.
I ate in a decidedly average place called Murphy's. At least they didn't sit me down at a dirty table and leave me there for 5 minutes like the frosty old witch at Jack Patrick's did. I got talking to Pete James, the music for the night in O'Donahues. Nice guy, really, but he didn't tell me til later that if I'd gone accross the road I could have seen the legendary Fureys at the pub everyone knows in town, MacCarthy's. Doh.
I staggered home to the nunnery. I slept, only to be woken by a church bell. Joy. Average breakfast in Murphy's. Castletownbere is NOT a destination for the gourmet tourist!
Day 7. Inchydoney Island to Skibbereen. 27 miles. 2 hours 46
I left Inchydoney feeling a little guilty. The irony that I'm raising money for the homeless but living in luxury was not missed on me. Too many people work far too hard and need these treatments when they could just wind their necks in and relax more. I'm not one too talk about stress, but somewhere the balance is wrong, huh? Gorgeous place tho, truly. marvelous food, service, everything.
Anyway... hot and tiring day today, the highlights of which were the three girls who flagged me down to give me their loose change and a few chocolates to keep me going. One of them even said nice things about Limerick, which has an awful press over here. maybe Baltimore where they were headed would have been a more exciting place to stay than Skibbereen, but anyhow.Next, a car with a christian fish drove passed with it's exhaust hanging off. Why does stuff like that cheer me up so much?
Anyway, The Carmody's in Skibbereen put me up and fed me even though they were up to their necks in wedding preperations for next weekend. Thanks guys! much appreciated.
Anyway... hot and tiring day today, the highlights of which were the three girls who flagged me down to give me their loose change and a few chocolates to keep me going. One of them even said nice things about Limerick, which has an awful press over here. maybe Baltimore where they were headed would have been a more exciting place to stay than Skibbereen, but anyhow.Next, a car with a christian fish drove passed with it's exhaust hanging off. Why does stuff like that cheer me up so much?
Anyway, The Carmody's in Skibbereen put me up and fed me even though they were up to their necks in wedding preperations for next weekend. Thanks guys! much appreciated.
Thursday 3 May 2007
Day 6. Cork to Inchydoney. 47.4 miles 4 hours 34
Google Inchydoney. See? Gorgeous. As is Kinsale, Kinsale Head and the beaches en route here are as pretty as anything on Lewis or at Sidney... The town of Timoleague should be in a movie or a TV programme. Gorgeous. The civic art in Belgooly? Bizarre. Truly, I would have taken a pic if I weren't so horrified by it...
Anyway, Ray D'arcy tells the nation my knee is giving me hassle on the radio yesterday, and basically appeals for some accommodation for me...
Which is why I end up here... www.inchydoneyisland.com but it was a tough ride to get here, really. an I didn't eat enough as I underestimated the distance and the hills . Kinsale was pretty much ALL uphill from Cork apart from the final drop down into the port. Kinsale head is rugged, peaceful, wild and spoiled by a golf course on the vey tip. Please, spare me from golf. Please, the Irish need a National Trust equivalent to reclaim this bit of land. It's as crass as anything I've ever seen.. anyway, the beaches heading west? Stunning. The roads? Brutal. hilly, and partially surfaced for about 4 miles that felt like riding through treacle. Can I dispel a myth? Irish roads are OK. pretty good a lot of the time. Honestly. Except the bit near Timoleague.
I was on my last legs when I got to the Spa and met Ruth, who'd offered me the room for the night and the treatments for my legs. I was whisked to a room with a view of the beach and taken to meet Aoife who was to sort out my knotted muscles and to do some cryotherapy on me!
2 relaxing and occasionally painful hours later, after all the knots were ironed out of my legs I was shown to the thalasso therapy spa. I went to a spa in the Pyrenees last year, and it was one of the highlights of my holiday. This one was a little different in it uses sea water. Amazing... Jets of water massaged and relaxed my back and legs and neck and to be honest, I'm falling asleep writing this! zzz.
Short day tomorrow, then press on!
Day 5. Youghal to Cork 42.5 miles, 3 Hours 52
Leaving Youghal, the only place in Ireland where you drive on the right for sections, I hope, and I kid you not, I was in really good spirits. My knee was feeling MUCH better for all the ice, and, well, it's in such a lovely spot. Sadly, tho, the scenery wasn't to last long as after Midleton, there's just no way to Cork without using the N25, which is a bit like riding along the A14, Vanessa.
In Midleton, I realised my complete inability to give road directions is genetic, as everyone I asked made me want to scream and ride away.
I just took the motorway, where Andy the truckdriver stopped me for a chat and bunged me a tenner! Nice guy, too. Earlier in the day I extorted €2 out of two foxy Polish girls to pump a flat tyre on one of their bikes. Maybe I should set up shop?
When I get home, I extend the challenge to all comers: The Tallbike ten mile time-trial. Riding along a dual carriageway certainly gets your legs spinning, and dull as it is, it reminded me of time-trialling. Who wants a race? Anyway, the N25 turns into a 3 lane motorway, and then i gets REALLY scary... I just stuck it out and rode into the middle of Cork, where I realised that big city types are just as capable of staring agog as country folk...
Found the Travelodge and checked in and set about finding a new seatpost for my bike as the one I have keeps slipping down and upsetting my knee. I phone around, or rather the helpful Reception manager Hannah does, and I find one... I'm into a taxi and off to Douglas Cycles like a kid at Christmas.
If I lived in Cork, Brian at the shop would know me well... what a great shop! Tiny, but full of trick racing bikes, any of which I'd swap the monstrously heavy tallbike for in a second...
he refuses to take the €20 for the post, and wishes me well. I take a last longing look at the sexy Cinelli Unica in the window and jump into my taxi.
In Cork I realise I'm walking around like one of those tourists who looks so naive they're almost inviting a mugging, so I look for a bar to hopefully watch United lose...
I settle on Clancy's as I like the menu, and nobody in there resembles Cork boy, Roy Keane. Good so far...
I plonk myself down and get chatting to Heath, the Australian barman, who, like me, is ecstatic Chelsea are out, wants United to lose, then Milan to beat Liverpool. This level of bitterness can only come from an Arsenal fan, so I'm in good company...
I stuff my face with a huge chicken curry with chips & rice, which the boys at the bar said was on the house! Excellent!
United get thrashed, I met an Irishman with a Sicilian dad called Salvatore Toscana who told me why Irish Pizzas aren't great. No wood-fired ovens, apparently. Shame...
Anyhow, Heath's girlfriend Maeve comes in, and we have a chat and it turn out she knows one of my new mates from Dublin, Catherine. Spooky. I introduce the Irish to the word 'Chav', and hear about the young men of cork taking to the roads in their cars to complain about unreasonable car insurance only to end up in loads of crashes and upsetting the Gardai, which cheers me up after the Tramore incident. I cadge a lift back to the Travelodge and get a nice bit of sponsorship from Heath & Maeve, too. A really nice night.
In Midleton, I realised my complete inability to give road directions is genetic, as everyone I asked made me want to scream and ride away.
I just took the motorway, where Andy the truckdriver stopped me for a chat and bunged me a tenner! Nice guy, too. Earlier in the day I extorted €2 out of two foxy Polish girls to pump a flat tyre on one of their bikes. Maybe I should set up shop?
When I get home, I extend the challenge to all comers: The Tallbike ten mile time-trial. Riding along a dual carriageway certainly gets your legs spinning, and dull as it is, it reminded me of time-trialling. Who wants a race? Anyway, the N25 turns into a 3 lane motorway, and then i gets REALLY scary... I just stuck it out and rode into the middle of Cork, where I realised that big city types are just as capable of staring agog as country folk...
Found the Travelodge and checked in and set about finding a new seatpost for my bike as the one I have keeps slipping down and upsetting my knee. I phone around, or rather the helpful Reception manager Hannah does, and I find one... I'm into a taxi and off to Douglas Cycles like a kid at Christmas.
If I lived in Cork, Brian at the shop would know me well... what a great shop! Tiny, but full of trick racing bikes, any of which I'd swap the monstrously heavy tallbike for in a second...
he refuses to take the €20 for the post, and wishes me well. I take a last longing look at the sexy Cinelli Unica in the window and jump into my taxi.
In Cork I realise I'm walking around like one of those tourists who looks so naive they're almost inviting a mugging, so I look for a bar to hopefully watch United lose...
I settle on Clancy's as I like the menu, and nobody in there resembles Cork boy, Roy Keane. Good so far...
I plonk myself down and get chatting to Heath, the Australian barman, who, like me, is ecstatic Chelsea are out, wants United to lose, then Milan to beat Liverpool. This level of bitterness can only come from an Arsenal fan, so I'm in good company...
I stuff my face with a huge chicken curry with chips & rice, which the boys at the bar said was on the house! Excellent!
United get thrashed, I met an Irishman with a Sicilian dad called Salvatore Toscana who told me why Irish Pizzas aren't great. No wood-fired ovens, apparently. Shame...
Anyhow, Heath's girlfriend Maeve comes in, and we have a chat and it turn out she knows one of my new mates from Dublin, Catherine. Spooky. I introduce the Irish to the word 'Chav', and hear about the young men of cork taking to the roads in their cars to complain about unreasonable car insurance only to end up in loads of crashes and upsetting the Gardai, which cheers me up after the Tramore incident. I cadge a lift back to the Travelodge and get a nice bit of sponsorship from Heath & Maeve, too. A really nice night.
Day 4. Waterford to Youghal 53. 5 miles. 5 hours 15
Bit of a mixed day today. Paid for all my own meals and accomodation, but was glad my knee held out, despite it being excrutiating at times. Started the day with a McDonalds. , but hey ho... and set off with the intention of getting as close to Cork as possible so I could tweak the bike and take a rest day at the Travelodge (thanks again Richard and Paul).
I headed to Tramore, which is a beautiful spot, but I had my most scary moment of the trip so far as some spotty little eejit in a japanese sports car decided to practice his 'drifting' on a roundabout with me on it. Sadly my extensive vocabulary of insults has no power at all in Eire as you can say the F word on morning radio here. Cheers, mate. Hope your insurance goes up. A lot.
Despite a horrible hill out of Tramore, I was in good spirits as the scenery was getting really stunning. The Copper Coast is like Cornwall, without all the annoying rich kids, especially Annestown. My Knee started gipping me BADLY as I limped into Dungarvan. I went to a chemist, and took advice from Niamh at Connels. She really knew her stuff and gave me some great cycling specific advice, which did NOT include the word 'stop'.
I met some kids in the town square as I was stuffing my face with the second meal I paid for in Ireland. Sample question. 'What's that?'
Me: 'A radio'. 'Is it for songs?' Me: 'Yes'. 'Give me it Mister'. Me: 'No. Go away...' Or something similar.
I also got my only sponsorship of the day in Dunvargan. €3. Joy.
The 2 mile dual carriageway climb out of the town was possibly my lowest ebb. Pain, dejection, sunburn on my thighs, and not knowing where to stay.
I found somewhere in Youghal, it was pretty cosy with a GREAT shower and the landlady gave me an icepack. The curry house closes on tuesdays, so I went for a pizza at Bella Casa, and not because I paid for it I say this, it was average. The staff were lovely, though, and Youghal, is such a pretty port I'd love to go back.
Watched Liverpool beat Chelsea when I got in. Deep Joy!
I headed to Tramore, which is a beautiful spot, but I had my most scary moment of the trip so far as some spotty little eejit in a japanese sports car decided to practice his 'drifting' on a roundabout with me on it. Sadly my extensive vocabulary of insults has no power at all in Eire as you can say the F word on morning radio here. Cheers, mate. Hope your insurance goes up. A lot.
Despite a horrible hill out of Tramore, I was in good spirits as the scenery was getting really stunning. The Copper Coast is like Cornwall, without all the annoying rich kids, especially Annestown. My Knee started gipping me BADLY as I limped into Dungarvan. I went to a chemist, and took advice from Niamh at Connels. She really knew her stuff and gave me some great cycling specific advice, which did NOT include the word 'stop'.
I met some kids in the town square as I was stuffing my face with the second meal I paid for in Ireland. Sample question. 'What's that?'
Me: 'A radio'. 'Is it for songs?' Me: 'Yes'. 'Give me it Mister'. Me: 'No. Go away...' Or something similar.
I also got my only sponsorship of the day in Dunvargan. €3. Joy.
The 2 mile dual carriageway climb out of the town was possibly my lowest ebb. Pain, dejection, sunburn on my thighs, and not knowing where to stay.
I found somewhere in Youghal, it was pretty cosy with a GREAT shower and the landlady gave me an icepack. The curry house closes on tuesdays, so I went for a pizza at Bella Casa, and not because I paid for it I say this, it was average. The staff were lovely, though, and Youghal, is such a pretty port I'd love to go back.
Watched Liverpool beat Chelsea when I got in. Deep Joy!
Day 4. Waterford to Youghal 53. 5 miles. 5 hours 15
Bit of a mixed day today. Paid for all my own meals and accomodation, but was glad my knee held out, despite it being excrutiating at times. Started the day with a McDonalds. Nasty, but hey ho... and set off with the intention of getting as close to Cork as possible so I could tweak the bike and take a rest day at the Travelodge (thanks again Richard and Paul).
I headed to Tramore, which is a beautiful spot, but I had my most scary moment of the trip so far as some spotty little eejit in a japanese sports car decided to practice his 'drifting' on a roundabout with me on it. Sadly my extensive vocabulary of insults has no power at all in Eire as you can say the F word on morning radio here. Cheers, mate. Hope your insurance goes up. A lot.
Despite a horrible hill out of Tramore, I was in good spirits as the scenery was getting really stunning. The Copper Coast is like Cornwall, without all the annoying rich kids, especially Annestown. My Knee started gipping me BADLY as I limped into Dungarvan. I went to a chemist, and took advice from Niamh at Connels. She really knew her stuff and gave me some great cycling specific advice, which did NOT include the word 'stop'.
I met some kids in the town square as I was stuffing my face with the second meal I paid for in Ireland. Sample question. 'What's that?'
Me: 'A radio'. 'Is it for songs?' Me: 'Yes'. 'Give me it Mister'. Me: 'No. Go away...' Or something similar.
I also got my only sponsorship of the day in Dunvargan. €3. Joy.
The 2 mile dual carriageway climb out of the town was possibly my lowest ebb. Pain, dejection, sunburn on my thighs, and not knowing where to stay.
I found somewhere in Youghal, it was pretty cosy with a GREAT shower and the landlady gave me an icepack. The curry house closes on tuesdays, so I went for a pizza at Bella Casa, and not because I paid for it I say this, it was average. The staff were lovely, though, and Youghal, is such a pretty port I'd love to go back.
Watched Liverpool beat Chelsea when I got in. Deep Joy!
I headed to Tramore, which is a beautiful spot, but I had my most scary moment of the trip so far as some spotty little eejit in a japanese sports car decided to practice his 'drifting' on a roundabout with me on it. Sadly my extensive vocabulary of insults has no power at all in Eire as you can say the F word on morning radio here. Cheers, mate. Hope your insurance goes up. A lot.
Despite a horrible hill out of Tramore, I was in good spirits as the scenery was getting really stunning. The Copper Coast is like Cornwall, without all the annoying rich kids, especially Annestown. My Knee started gipping me BADLY as I limped into Dungarvan. I went to a chemist, and took advice from Niamh at Connels. She really knew her stuff and gave me some great cycling specific advice, which did NOT include the word 'stop'.
I met some kids in the town square as I was stuffing my face with the second meal I paid for in Ireland. Sample question. 'What's that?'
Me: 'A radio'. 'Is it for songs?' Me: 'Yes'. 'Give me it Mister'. Me: 'No. Go away...' Or something similar.
I also got my only sponsorship of the day in Dunvargan. €3. Joy.
The 2 mile dual carriageway climb out of the town was possibly my lowest ebb. Pain, dejection, sunburn on my thighs, and not knowing where to stay.
I found somewhere in Youghal, it was pretty cosy with a GREAT shower and the landlady gave me an icepack. The curry house closes on tuesdays, so I went for a pizza at Bella Casa, and not because I paid for it I say this, it was average. The staff were lovely, though, and Youghal, is such a pretty port I'd love to go back.
Watched Liverpool beat Chelsea when I got in. Deep Joy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)