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 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.

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 :-(

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!