Day 36. Rest day in Portstewart. Gale force winds, big hangover.

I woke to the sound I dread most on this trip. Strong winds. Not good. I was planning o seeing the Antrim coastline at a leisurely pace as there's so many things along there from Dunluce Castle, Bushmills, Giant's Causeway, the rope bridge, etc. I rolled over only for my phone to go off. It was Kerry. He'd offered to take me for breakfast and I was not out of bed yet. I slung my clothes on (let me tell you how sick of wearing the same clothes for 6 weeks I've become) and dragged the bike out for Kerry to have a ride on the thing. The gears and brakes have long since gone passed a servicable standard and I always worry for anyone fool enough to ride the damn thing, but Kerry seemed to enjoy himsel getting blown accross the road near the harbour well enough. I didtched the bike and went to Coleraine for an Ulster Fry.

An Ulster Fry. I could write a few pages on this treat. Fried soda bread, fried potato bread, fried pancakes, fried eggs, fried bacon and fried sausages. All fried. I never want another one as long as I live! my arteries clogged, I decided tat there was no way I was gonna ride in this weather. Kerry sails a 22 foot boat and rides a touring bike and confirmed my decision was a wise one... He dropped me at the Gian's Causeway (after I'd turned down Damian's kind offer of a loan of his scooter. I'd have take him up on it, but I've promised myself not to drive anything until I ge back home.) The Cuaseway was more impressive than I thought it would be. it's no place to walk in cycling shoes with metal cleats, as the basalt is slippy enough when it's wet to start with. My camera chose a great time to let the batery go flat. When rested on a rock to take my pic on the timer, the wind was so strong I had to dash and catch it as it got blown over. In fact, it was actually hard to walk there, but the place is so beautiful that I didn't mind getting a good soaking to marvel at this plave I've wanted to see for a very long time.

My rough guide book states it's hard to believe the place was created naturally. Well, only if you're stupid. The rock formations are clearly crystals, huge ones at that, but obviously natural, and incredibly beautiful. I'll definitely visit here again.

A taxi back to town before a nap, using Kerry's internet conection, and then a big night out at Ramore's and the Harbour pub in Portrush. Ramore's is a huge, busy place, but manages to serve truly tasty food while providin a great view over the harbour. I had chilli beef pasta and garlic poptatoes and left not a scrap. Kerry and his mates Robert and Steven would not even let me buy a pint all night. Thanks guys. Portstewart/Portrush goes right up there with Belmullet, Dublin, Grange and Letterkenny as nights out I'll never forget.

Oh, thanks to Ann for saying I seem English only in my accent. I think that's a compliment. Or is it?

Day 35. Derry - Portstewart. 43.2 miles. 3 hours 55

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.

Day 34. Malin Head - Derry. 39.2 miles. 4 hrs 8 mins

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Day 29. Grange - Donegal. 35.5 miles, 3 hours

My coast host for the night in Donegal, Brandan Brady had quite a weekend lined up for me... But I'll get to that in a bit...
I left Grange with donations and a hangover... I had a great night with Paul and his friends in one of those pubs in shops where there are 40 men squeezed into one bar... No women. Bizarre. Ended up staying out far too late at a guy called Jimmy's house with Mick, Donal, Barry, Paul, Alan, Sean etc. Grange is a strange place, but I had a good time there.

Many thanks to Paul, Mary, Sean and Grainne! At last I've met a Grainne - It's the name I've given the tallbike. It means Grace. Ahem.

Anyway, I made good progress out of Sligo, through Leitrim and into Donegal - I'm in Ulster, my fourth province - Until I got to near Rossnowlagh - The village that is always 2 kilometers away. Who put up the road signs here? Did my head in... seriously, there must be 5 roadsigns along the way and the place never gets any closer...

I missed all the bad weather today, somehow. Roads were wet but I didn't get a drop of it, despite some big black clouds.

I rode through Donegal and found Brendan's place easily enough. We locked the bike away and I had myself a bath so hot that I nearly passed out when I tried to get out. dur. A glass of iced water and a lie down sorted me.

Annette, Brendan's partner, made me the strangest salad I've ever had; strawberries, tuna, ham, banana, cheese. Somehow, it was delicious and I left nothing...

Brendan had been playing football somewhere while the salad & bath had been going on, so Annette & I drove up to Letterkenny to meet some more for my folk for my night out. More Bradys: Emmet, John, David. Ray from Armagh, Brendan & Myself went into town to McGinley's for a few beers where they set about trying to explain the rules of Gaelic football: They'd got me a ticket to the big game at Ballybofey - Donegal v Armagh. Sold out and the biggest game in Ireland today!

After a late night with some guitars, the boys had a whip-round for me and, after not letting me put my hand in my pocket since I've been in the county, bunged me €150. Thank you all! More is to follow on Donegal. What a great couple of days... I'll write it when I get down the road a bit.

Oh. I'm not able to get my staple diet of Yorkies with biscuit & raisin up here. Bah. Double Deckers are just as good, tho!

One major concern is my eyesight seems to be failing. It's always been better than 20:20 but it's getting a bit blurry. Hope it's just cos I'm tired.

Right, it's late, I'm behind schedule and I need to get a wiggle on to make June 9th in Dublin.

There is, like I say, much more to write about this place... zzz

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...