Leaving derry was easy. For a number of reasons, first of which was a signpost right outside the Travelodge. So, I we (Aidan & I) headed over the double-decker bridge to ride along the south bank of Lough Foyle towards Castlerock. A place I've wanted to see for a while as I've heard great things about the coastline from here East and also because I was booked into to talk to some kids at Hezlett School there about cycling and my trip. With this in mind, I left Aidan at Ballykelly while he filled his face. We'd been photographed at a petrol station by some local phot-journalist. Dunno if he'll sell the story. No that it maters much, as press doesn't generate much sponsorship.
Anyhoo, I head off towards Castlerock, and the views really are stunning. Mussenden Temple siting on the cliff top just near Downhill are just the first national Trust treasue along this stretch of coast. You really could spend a few days along here... anyway. I had to go uphill at Downhill. The irony...
At Hezlett school a few minutes later I found out I was to address the WHOLE school. Sheesh. about 120 kids were wheeled into the room and I was introduced and had to try and explain just why I'm doing this, and clearly, there really is no real reason why. There is no advantage, blah, blah.
I just about blagged my way through the next half hour talking about Cyclemagic, Ireland, Sustrans, Ian Paisley Junior and dogs.Nice surprise was a £50 donation from the school. Thanks Mr Campbell and Mrs Gilpin!
Next stop was Coleraine. I was passed by 2 columns of military Land Rovers, which gave me an excuse to use my best glaring face at the enclosed squaddies. Then I saw my first Union Flag in Coleraine it self. Hmmph. Now, I'm not a fan of cycle lanes, and ususly I don't use them, but they really are well thought out in Coleraine, and they did help me get through town quickly. Let's send Andy Salkeld over so he can see how it should be done...
Anyway. Portstewart is a lovely spot. It was bathed in Sun and everyone was eating icecream, miling around on the promenade and generally having summery seaside fun. I pulled up and got chatting with the Bond owners on holiday with their cute 3 wheeled cars.
An old boy talked to me for about 5 miutes, but his whole patter seemed to consist of 'I understaund'. He did point me at the best Icecream parlour in town so I toddled off to the allegedly famous Morelli's. It was good.
I got chatting to a couple with their wee baby in a bit. Damian had a scooter club tee shirt. Lyn who lives in Leicester is from Portrush just a few miles up the coast and rides a scooter so I asked if he knows her. Of course he did, has done for 20 years, and he's mates with her brother in law. It's a small world, and being a top bloke, he invites me over to his for a BBQ that night. Marvellous.
I check in at Rick's Causeway Coast hostel, and while it's not the most salubrious hostel on my trip, it was one of the most relaxed. Rick isn't a check-out time nazi, a bread head or a people-hater. Shame Malcolm in one of the other beds snored like a drain. Lovely bloke tho, but mate if you read this, try NOT to sleep on your back.
Back to Damian. He picked me up on his scooter and whizzed me up to his place. The little 2-stroke felt like a rocket after the tallbike. At his place were his Mother in law, His brother in law Connell (sp) and his wife Julie and blah blah. There was also quite a impressive motorbike collection, including an old RD500YPVS which had me reminiscing.
A marvellous feed and a couple of beers, thanks Damian & Alice, then we went off to the pub. You know the rest. I met a guy called Kerry, more about whom tomorrow. I also found out the squaddies were out in force cos the Queen had been in Coleraine for the day. Shame I didn't see her, I could have tapped her up for a bit of sponsorship. or got her on the tallbike. Then she realy could be your highness... boom boom.
Showing posts with label Rob Martin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rob Martin. 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.
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.
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)