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.

     

One nice town after another

     I wiggled my way out of Cork, getting directions as I went.  Getting caught on N27 a few times was a bit harrowing.  Meandered my way to Kinsale by noon.  Nice little town but like so many quaint Irish towns, the tourists were there by the bus load.  Next came Ballinspittle, followed by Timoleague with the final roller coaster ride to Clonakilty.  Ballinspittle was small with brightly painted buildings around the village center and no tourists so I pick up some lunch and stated for brief rest.  No tourists is the operative word.  Just conversing with the townsfolk is kind of what it is all about.   Each city, town , village has its charm but meeting the people gives each town flavor.

      After many hills and Valleys, I found a nice campsite on a hill overlooking Clonakilty. Three German boys were already set and it did not take long before we were hanging out having a good time.  Fahad, Lucas and Jens, all 19/20 years old out for a two month summer break.  After they cooked dinner and I had a custom French bread grinder of sorts, we walked down to the town for a look-see and had few brews at a famous local pub called Debarra's.  Apparently Jimmy Hendix's bass guitar player had a lot to do with the place. He died not to long ago. Great atmosphere, autographed pictures of all the great sixties singer from McCartney to Ray Charles to David Bowie.  Virtually no tourists just locals. (I am obsessed with avoiding the tourist hordes.) A two man musical duo tuned up and played, encouraging members of the audience to come up and sing with them.  Jens and Lucas made an appearance, good singers.  The four of us talked about everything, what they are studying to be, where they are traveling to while on break and, of course, world politics.  We walked back to our site and cooked up a nite cap of food.  The forty-six years in age

did not seem to matter.   We exchange emails, friended on Facebook and called it a nite.

     Tomorrow I ride west perhaps to Bantry.

      

Short hop over to Cork.

   Dodging N25/8 was the challenge of the day.  People give me directions assuming I know that some roads turn to alley ways and other roads are posted private. They look at me funny when I get very specific, even asking the to draw a map.  Understanding them is the other obstacle.  English is a foreign language over here.  

      Before heading off, the owner of the hostel in Middeton laid out a breakfast fit for the gods, the best hostel breakfast yet and I had the whole room to myself.  Such a deal for twenty/two Euros.  All I expect is a roof, a clean facility, hot shower and a nice bed, anything more is luxury.  Before getting under way, it was off to the local bike shop to look into a persistent and worrisome squeak.  They replaced the crankshaft bearings, adjusted the disc brakes, took up the slack on the chain and charged me relatively little.  The squeak still comes and goes but I am glad it isn't anything serious, I hope.  For a bicycle, it is a complicated machine. There is always something that needs adjusting. My ears are finely tuned to pick up any peculiar noises. I am definitely traveling with a woman.  Well the bikes name is William, so perhaps, it is transgender, whatever.  

     Arrived in Cork and had little problem finding a hostel.  After settling in, I cruised the town, looked up the Apple headquarters, poked around getting a feel for the place.  Had an IPA and lunch, went back to the hosteltook a nap and began reading the book "A Thousand Splendid Suns", same author who wrote "The Kite Runner".

     The European soccer playoffs are in full swing and I have been watching them  here and there.  The Irish love the sport as they do Hurling.  Tomorrow I head west southwest to the coast.  I have been told it is very nice.