From Donegal west to the Atlantic

       Eighteen miles out of Donegal I finally exited N56 to the less travelled 263.  Less traffic but the climbs became more frequent and intense.  Grinding up a long hill, sweating profusely followed by a long downhill run, chilling down to a hypothermic level.   I drove through several towns including Killybegs, a large fishing port, without a break fearing that if I cooled off I would have hard time warming up again. Thirty-four miles along landed me in Glencolmcille (Gleann Cholm Cille in Gaelic). How it sounds does not remotely sound like it is spelled. The hostel there is a dream, my own room with a bath for twenty Euro.  After the usual clean up and nap, I had a Smithwicks at the local pub.  Talked with a few locals who insisted I share their take out.  The town is idyllically located between the cliffs but not remotely touristy, my type of place.  

       What goes down must go up, so tomorrow is a rest day to prepare for the climb to extract myself from this valley. Tomorrow, the sites,  will see the highest cliffs in Europe and the local sites in town.