Winding down, packing up

   Caught the bus from Kilrush to Limerick with a bus change in Ennis.  It was a Chinese fire drill getting the bicycle fit into the bus' luggage compartment.  Once in Limerick, I navigated to the hostel I had booked, dropped off the gear and hit the town.  Lunch and all that followed an amble through a twelth century church under restoration and then off to see King John's castle.  

      I finally was able to connect with Airbnb people I stayed with when I arrived. My luggage was stored at their house and they were away on holiday.  Their neighbor let me in so I could retrieve my bike case other related luggage.  A taxi driver stuffed me, the luggage and the bike into his Prius.  With the hatch open, he drove me back to my digs.  After dinner the bike disassembly commenced.  There must be an easier way to ship my bike but the airlines are brutally expensive when it comes to extra and oversized luggage.   

      I need to get home but would also like to keep riding. Ireland wasn't easy but it was well worth the effort. Why do I put these challenges in front of me? As a driven, task oriented person, it feels good to do something difficult which is worth doing; a challenge that validates my existence. As Teddy Roosevelt said, "it is not the critic who counts but the man in the arena....". Most people don't have the courage to get out there and really live their lives. I am fortunate enough to able to live much closer to the edge than most people.  Life is much shorter than you think, so saying you will do whatever it is you want to do "someday"  is a lame excuse for not having the courage enough to get off the mark. I plan and execute and don't waste what precious time I have left on earth dreaming about my dreams.  

End of the trail

     All good things must come to an end, the last thirty plus miles from Tralee to Kilrush were easy, more downhill than up. Took the ferry from Tarbert over the river and rode onto Kilrush.  Three days running I saw a hostel sign before the town proper.  With an early arrival, I had time to unwind a bit.  Schlepped my laundry over to have it washed, luxury.  Had two beers at a nice pub by the town square.  Checked out the bus schedule  to Limerick for tomorrow and generally contemplated the fact that I had actually ridden my bicycle completely around Ireland.  1500 miles, set off for the west coast May 13 and completed the loop June 22.  A much tougher ride than I expected; the never ceasing hills and rain wore on me a bit.  The country is spectacular and the people friendly.  If I come back, I might Island hop.  After a celebratory dinner at the same public house while watching part of the Ireland/Italy soccer match, I came back to the hostel, FaceTimed with my old friend Migens Bagger and read some. Now for re-entry: pick up my luggage, pack the bike and catch the plane home.  Where next? Maybe Denmark, nice country, loads of friends, very few hills and a lot less rain.  So many rode trips on my list, way to little time.

Rode out early to Slea Head

       Bright and ugly I was out of the blocks headed for Slea Head.  Though bicycling head on into the wind, intermittent rain and low visibility, I had a decent ride seeing two thousand year old beehive stone dwellings and a famine house along the way.  The rock cliffs and outcroppings are dazzling.  On the way back I had the wind at my back but a misty rain peppered me. Am I getting used to this weather? Twenty-four miles and I was back in Dingle and a bit damp.

The owner of the hostel let me stash my panniers so I would have a easier faster ride to Slea Head. As planned, I caught a bus to Tralee and checked into the same hostel from the day before.  Small place with interesting people, we took in Euro2016 soccer playoff game and shot the breeze about just about everything.  Trump is always a lively topic.  What an embarrassment.  

     Tomorrow my game plan is to ride the back roads to Tarbart, take the ferry over the Shannon estuary, then over to Kilrush.  Circumnavigateion completed!  The next day I will take the bus to Limerick where I pack up the bike and fly home the 25th.  

Rolled the dice, off to Dingle

       Woke up this morning with a little promise in the sky, i.e. no rail, maybe.  Here I am thirty miles from Dingle, when will I have the chance again to see this place.  Off I rode, no rain, moderate climbs and very light traffic, Monday.  The rain started spitting at me with three miles. A brief but firm conversation with the rain God stopped the rain.  You know like " Not now dude, don't ---- with me." Once again, a hostel sign caught my eye just as I was entering the center of town.  Two young German blonds were coming out the door.  Yes, the place is nice, clean, reasonably priced.  Checked in, Helen, the owner said I should go do the twenty-six mile loop to the end of the peninsula, like right now. Not. After some strategizing, I will do the loop bright and ugly tomorrow morning then hop the bus back to Tralee and stay at the same hostel.   I try not to cover the same ground twice.  Pray it doesn't rain.  My panniers will be stashed at the hostel for the loop ride, making the bike lighter and faster. 

Rain gear will be on board.

      Dingle is another tourist Mecca but I managed to ferret out some interesting places to see.  The local Catholic 

church (built in 1812), a part of Trinity College, is affiliated with Sacred Heart U. In Stanford, Connecticut. I did a double take.  Picked up a new leather belt for my forty-four year old nickel silver belt buckle at a one woman shop, Elaine does nice work.  Customized it by embossing it with ancient Irish Ogham lettering spelling freedom, a special word over here given their revolution of 1916.  The Gaelic/Irish spelling is written in the back of the belt, it's spelling escapes me. 

    A few more days and not a minute to spare.  Forty-one days on the road and now re-entry is upon me in a few days.  Where next?

     

A wet ride

        Facing a day riding in the rain is not what I usually look forward to but fleeing Killarney was a priority.  At least I met a Dutch couple suited up in rain gear doing the same thing.  What do people see in this place or are they just ignorant tourists "seeing Ireland".  The route was a direct shot to Tralee on a national road. The traffic was light but there was one long climb which I though would never end.  Coming down the other side was a bit nerve racking with strong crosswinds pushing me around. My hands were constantly on the breaks keeping  my descent under control. Of course, there were a few impatient drivers, who had no idea of  my situation, and rode my ---.  One jerk beeped at my and I gave him the appropriate reply.  If only I could meet one of these jerks.  They are always no where to be seen; both bullies and cowards.  My mind has gone wild with ways to level the playing field.  I might  capitalize on my ideas; definitely an untapped market.

     Because of perspiration I was soaked on both sides of my gear.  I walked into the local supper market and looked like Earnest Shackleton walking into the whaling village on South Georgia Island.

You know those high pressure hand driers in the bathrooms.  I found a new use for them.  Doing contortions, I was able to warm myself up and dry my gear to a marginally wearable condition. Having the handicap room all to myself helped avoid any embarrassment from people seeing me in strange positions under the hand drier.

     With lunch down the hatch, I meandered into town and fortuitously walked smack into the best hostel in town.  The hot shower never felt better; absolutely fantastic in fact.  I fell asleep on a couch, later put my wet clothes in the drier and headed to town for dinner and a cold one. Watched more soccer and the US golf open with an Irishman in the lead.

  Tomorrow the wheels are rolling north north west to the Shannon River or close by. Seeing the Dingle peninsula will take too long and probably not much fun given the chances of more rain.

Two mountain passes, add rain!!

        Another gorgeous day in paradise, no where could you find as nice a  location.  The sandpipers woke me up and I was on the road by 7:45.  Good thing I did not any further yesterday afternoon.   A mountain pass greeted me seven miles down the road.  After amillion revolutions in gear one, I reached the  top.  On the way down I went through three tunnels and dodged a few sheep. I arrived in Kenmare with twenty-three miles on the odometer but felt like fifty.  Bustling town but I found a Super Val supper market and foraged for a chocolate milk and a chicken sandwich.  Indulged in some chicken wings as well.  

      A few fellow bikers had warned me against riding the Ring of Kerry, tours and tourist buses everywhere. With time getting short and trying to take it easy on my left calf, I made the executive decision to pass up the Ring and ride directly to Kilarney.  I have been to countless fabulous spots all around Ireland , without any tourists, I felt it was the right decision.  Getting to Kilarney, though only nineteen miles, included another pass.  And then the rain; how good does it get. This direct shot from Kenmare is the in land side of the ring of Kerry, tour buses and all. The road included numerous tight turns on the way down and at one point I was riding faster than a bus.  As Kilarney come on slowly and so did the horse carriages, hotels, and finally the downtown with flags draped across the streets and thousands of tourists.  "It is no time for my sorry --- to be in this neighborhood."  Adding to the commotion, Ireland was playing Belgium in soccer and it being a Saturday, every Irish soccer fan was leglessly drunk stumbling out of every pub.  

     The tourist office found me a hostel around the corner, dead center on the middle of the city. After the usual clean up, I cruised around town, did some shopping for the folks back home and found refuge in a nice hotel where I had a delicious dinner. Add a pint of ale to that. Back at the hostel, I watched a Denzel Washington movi

e and talked with a French med student and college kid from Florida.  The American turned me onto this straw device that allows you to drink from a stream or somewhere similar, purifying the water up to two hundred and fifty gallons. Very cool device for someone hiking or bicycling.

     Tomorrow, early, I will ride over and see the Kilarney castle or whatever it is called and then head north.

Took it easy on the road, pulled a calf muscle

       Woke up this morning to a cloudless sky.  Ireland? No. Beautiful bright day, let me pinch myself.  Was on the rode without having to wait for my tent to dry.  Right away my left calf was feeling like a cramp was about to strike.  Perhaps not enough water but with any strenuous exertion the pain returned.  Kept the gear ratio extra low and let the right leg pick up the slack. I settled in to an easy groove for the remainder of the ride. I could have gone up the north side of the peninsula but some big hills would be waiting for me.  With all the hills Ireland has thrown at me, I am avoiding the routes which have them.  Ring of Kerry has a rough climb and I pray that will be it for rest of the ride.  

      Get your map out. Breakfast at Goleen, rode up the northern coast of the peninsula but avoided the hills, through Durrus into Bantry.  A big festival with vendors of all kinds surround the large town square. Parked the bike and walked around checking the scene.  Made it over to tourist information to learn there were no campsites or hostels in town.  The one I was told about four miles out of town was where I wrapped it up for the day. The site is drop dead gorgeous, located on a small pennicula with a panoramic view like no other.  I set up shop right at the very tip.  So here I am laying in my tent watching the sun slowly slide right to the horizon.  The water, trees, shoreline, what a place. Only Twelve Euros!

        Tomorrow I will bypass the next pennicula and hook onto the Ring of Kerry; supposed to be spectacular but over run by tourists.

So far 1370 miles in the saddle!

Ireland is beautiful

     Learning old Greek is easier than understanding what half the people on this island are saying.   How can a language be so distorted and still be called English? And when the Irish speak fast, I am absolutely clueless as to what they are saying.  They can understand me perfectly, so what's the rub?

        Slept late, the owner of the B&B/hostel cooked me a delicious breakfast.  Leaving Sherkin Island was not something I really wanted to do.  A week here would have been more like it; the place is idyllic.  Quiet, small, totally undeveloped and not a tourist in site. Need some down time?  Try this place, you will be writing poetry before you leave.  

    While waiting for the ferry I met a person with a good size van who gave me a lift back to Skibbereen, where I turned off for Baltimore.  I didn't feel like riding over the same road twice.  The road to Mizen Head only had a few rough hills but nothing serious.  Once again the scenery was fantastic.  While taking a picture on the island, I looked over my shoulder to find a horse about five feet away from me separated by a wire fence. Surprised me a bit.  We communed for a while he let me rub his head.   Anyways, there are so many breathless sites, it is hard to decided when to stop taking pictures.

      I found a campsite near The Mizen Head lighthouse, set up my digs and headed off to check the lighthouse out.  It is nothing special but located on a cliff several hundred feet above the water.  Within eyesight I could also see the fastener lighthouse several miles off shore. Now that is an amazing structure, it's engineering  easily rivals the Race rock lighthouse off Fishers 

Island.  On my way back to the campsite I stopped off at a nice hotel and restaurant where I had dinner and a few IPAs. I shot the breeze with two guys who had their own businesses, one of which retired at fifty-four.  The other guy, John, gave me lift back to my site.

     Tomorrow I ride to Bantry and perhaps beyond.  

A break from the routine

         When an Irish person tells you a road is flat, it is hilly. When told it is hilly, I know I am in for some long climbs. Today just as yesterday was filled with long climbs followed by long decents until I reach Skibbereen.  Rode through a few waterfront towns with nice harbors and boats to match.  Passed a few decent hotels catering to the more discerning tourists. 

     A few days back, a motorcyclist I had been talking with said they were head for Baltimore on the coast.  Wondering what the allure was, I began seeing signs for ferries to a set of islands, departing from Baltimore.  In Skibbereen, worn down by the hills, I stopped in at the town's information center and asked about Baltimore seven miles down the road. Should I take a detour and see one of these islands? Time being on my side, I rode to Baltimore, nice seaside town, and took the ferry to Sherkin, a fifteen minute trip.  The tourist information office had called to check on the local hostel; now a B&B but very reasonable priced. Once on the island, I covered a few miles on very narrow roads, up, down and around until I can to beautiful setting where the B&B was located.  Cathy, who once lived in Glastonbury, Connecticut, showed me around.  A very calming place where I was able to shift the engine into neutral. Picked up food supplies in Skibbereen so I could  have dinner without having to backtrack to the island pub. As for my liquid carbohydrate for the day,  I met a Scotsman in Baltimore, who had an Aage Nelson fifty foot double ender, cutter rig, tied up at the dock.  We had a beer together while I waited for the ferry.  

     Tomorrow, I 

 see a bit of the island and go back to the mainland for a short ride down the neighboring peninsula on the lowest south westerly point of Ireland.