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!