Right. I left Malin with a bit of a dicky tummy, no breakfast in me and a deadline to meet Mark Patterson, a presenter on Foyle FM, the BBC station for the Derry area at 3 pm.
First we had to head to Banba's Crown, the most northern point. Done. Steep, evil little hills that made me almost sick from the exertion. Nasty start to the day...
So, yet again, I had to split from Aidan and take the high road. I've long since worked out that heading across any peninsula is not really the easy option. There be hills that way, and of course, they always involve a long climb and a short fast downhill section, as it was today towards Quiggley's Point in intermittent drizzle, and the wind, which I shit you not, was now coming from the south. FFS! I know it's about pressure equalising, etc, and if it blows west for long enough, it has to blow east at some point, but it just seems to be in my face the whole time. Grrrr. However. I'm bored of typing so I'll be brief. After crossing the county line/border at Muff, yes, I know, all that gave away any sort of border crossing was the road signs changed to MPH and the petrol stations were all out of business as it's cheaper to buy fuel in the Republic.
The 'better' roads of the North just meant the drivers were more aggressive, with - sadly - just as many rally-driving-obsessed Civic and Impreza drivers with exhaust pipes bigger than a Ferrari... Roundabouts where 2 dual carriageways crossed forced me to dismount for the first time since Dublin because of a road system.
Entering Derry was a little odd. The signs just said 'Welcome to the Walled City' - nothing about (London)Derry. Almost desperate to skirt the whole name issue.
Maybe it's the easiest way. I dunno. Either way, Derry doesn't look like any part of Ireland I'd seen. It does LOOK like Britain. Like Scotland I guess. I made my way to the radio station where I was to be on after some child musicians and a young lad born with no lower jaw. Poor sod. He was quite funny tho', with his Steven Hawking voice generator thingie. I wish him all the best for his gruelling operations in America coming up.
After declining the invite to attempt my Belfast accent on air, I headed to the Travelodge to secure our beds for the night. I have to thank Richard O'Sullivan again here as the Travelodge was bang in the middle of town and just what I needed. A room with a bath and a TV to watch 'The Simpsons' (the episode where Homer moves the family out to work for an evil James Bond baddie character).
After eating at a Witherspoons Pub (Yes, I feel dirty. I'm no fan of Tim Martin and his anti-Euro cronies.) I headed off in search of Free Derry Corner with Aidan. Spooky as hell, I turned a corner and knew where I was as well as if it was my own home town. I've seen the streets of Bogside on TV a thousand times. A placard on a house commemorating an 11 year old boy killed by a plastic bullet chilled my blood. I stood in amazement at the murals and the Bloody Sunday memorial. What an introduction to the North. I didn't feel comfortable or happy at all. I still don't. I dunno what to say or think and I'm certainly not going to express opinions on it all here here and now. I can't say I liked Derry very much despite nothing happening adversly and being treated very well. Hmmmm.
Showing posts with label Malin Head. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Malin Head. Show all posts
Friday, 1 June 2007
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Day 33. Letterkenny - Malin Head. 60 miles. 6 hours
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.
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.
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.
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