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?
Showing posts with label Wind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wind. Show all posts
Monday, 4 June 2007
Friday, 1 June 2007
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, 26 May 2007
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...
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.
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...
Monday, 7 May 2007
Day 10. Kenmare to Waterville. 40.5 miles. 4 hours 46
Briefly... Rode with Pauline and John to Sneem after a marvellous breakfast at Bacus in Kenmare. Lovely town, my favourite place so far, and definitely the best porridge I've ever eaten. The road to Sneem was littered with beautiful places. Blackwater Bridge nearly pips the Linn of Dee for my favourite waterfall, the wooded section just before you open out onto the sea views accross to Beara was magical, and well, I'm no travel writer, but it lives up to all the hype. The wind was quite something tho... in Sneem there were postcards blowing down the street as the display outside a shop blew over. About 10 of us scrabbled around picking them up for the lady who's shop had lost all it's stock. Hope she could sell some of them afterwards, and I know she probably had a couple of hours work to sort them out... Shame, but pretty sight.
Anyway, I said see you in Clare to John and Pauline, and then headed into the wind. Horrific. Genuinely. When it was in my face 7 mph was all I could manage on the flat, when it was coming accross me, I thought I was going to get blown off the road. Other more sensible folk were pushing their bikes. It was genuinely scary. I pushed onto Waterville, taking an hour to cover 7 miles at one point. Sheesh. Right... better get on.
Anyway, I said see you in Clare to John and Pauline, and then headed into the wind. Horrific. Genuinely. When it was in my face 7 mph was all I could manage on the flat, when it was coming accross me, I thought I was going to get blown off the road. Other more sensible folk were pushing their bikes. It was genuinely scary. I pushed onto Waterville, taking an hour to cover 7 miles at one point. Sheesh. Right... better get on.
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