It’s a long way to Tipperary

It’s a long way to Tipperary….

After a great nights sleep in the hostel I awoke to wind and rain, so decided to not risk the main road full of freight traffic to the ferry and risk a puncture (and miss the ferry!), so got the one bus out of town to Stranraer ….and sitting in the bus looking at the route I definitely made the right decision, as the road was fast, full of morning traffic and feck all hard shoulder!

Alighting at Stranraer I only had 10k to ride to the ferry terminal which was dead flat so an easy ride.

The ferry to Belfast was singularly uneventful bar the fact it was packed with Chinese tourists who made such a noise. I was bemused by the ferry terminal at Stranraer – it’s now more like an airport security process with bags being sent through an X-ray and placed on the boat to be collected by the passengers at the other end. There were body searches too. But strangely, with my fully loaded bike I was waved straight through!

On arrival at Belfast I had a few hours to kill so decided to go see the Falls and Shankill roads, both flashpoints of the Troubles, one a Catholic stronghold/Republican, the other Protestant/aligned to the British. Whilst the peace process is holding there nonetheless remains a residual tension. It was palpable- and visceral too….houses on one side with British flags, on the other, the Irish republic flag. The murals had in the main been replaced with less provocative ones, but they all pointed to the same deep hatred towards the other side. It was in many ways a little like Cambodia, both having a history of trauma and pain barely concealed beneath the hoped and longed for peace.
I met my WS host at his work. He was a Canadian living in Belfast and had done an amount of cycle touring. An interesting guy, but his in questioning about this and that and this again was a little bit too much. He was however kind enough to show me the local area….walking through the nearby park provided a birds eye view of the tension….kids on the ‘Catholic’ side throwing stones at kids on the ‘proddy’ side, taunting each other. Intergenerational trauma is very real!

The ride out of Belfast was predictably challenging and I ended up getting lost and found myself in the infamous Milltown Cemetery, which is full of republican ‘soldiers’ of the Troubles.

My route to a small village called Clontibet was fairly straight forward though very long and very hilly. I crossed in to the Republic without any discernible border, and got to the village around 4….with absolutely no idea where my host was with whom I was supposed to camp. In the end I asked at the village store, and luckily they knew my hosts location. They were a fascinating couple – she never stopped doing things, whilst he sat around doing nothing but chewing the cud….a genuine, paid up conspiracy theorist who had an opinion on absolutely everything! As it was, they were able to accommodate me inside the house which was just as well as the rains came in that evening.

Unfortunately, as I pulled in to the village looking for my hosts I felt a really bad twinge down my right leg. In the morning it was no better, but I needed to get going. It was bloody cold and wet. In June and I cited see my breath in the air. But there was a bit of a tail wind so I was grateful for that. I was passed by a local group on the road so I jumped in behind them, which significantly increased my speed but also the sheer volume of rain from their tyres! As the day progressed so too did the pain in my hip and leg. There was a monster climb up to and out of a village called Kingscourt, which really pulled on this injury. I had booked in to an Air B and B in Kells (of The Book of Kells fame!) and was pleased to learn that I had the place to myself that night which was great….they even had a hot water bottle I could use on my injury which really helped. I was soaked through from a day of riding in driving rain so really needed to warm up and rest! Both were completed!

The following day the sun was shining and behold, a tailwind! The scenery on the back roads through the hills of the midlands was truly beautiful- and what made it so much better was how drivers treated me as a cyclist – always waving, always waiting. I had 90 or so K of just joyous riding to Tullamore. I was staying at the cheapest ‘bed and breakfast’ I could find at Euro 75….about $120! Except there was no breakfast, it was cold, the dog of the owner was barking, the wifi didn’t work and there wasn’t even tea/coffee making option. Ireland has fallen prey to the cost of living crisis like everywhere, with outrageous prices on everything. But this was pure opportunistic price gouging.

The next morning I found a wonderful breakfast place (seeing as the bed and breakfast was, well, just a bed) before heading off to Thurles. Again, I had the good fortune of a tailwind and sunshine over the Slieve Blooms. Another day to just really enjoy the cycling on quiet country roads that took me by old churches, ruins, religious sites and glorious country houses.
I had booked my last night in another Air B and B in Thurles, and in chatting to the host via WhatsApp he very kindly gave me the accommodation for free….it was the best part of $200! I have been consistently humbled by people’s generosity on the bike. I was watching a doco on a German guy who had been cycling for over 40 years and he made the comment ‘my bicycle is my passport’ referring to how, as a cycle tourist, people open doors, their homes, their world, to you in deed, gesture and conversation….that is just so so true.
I stayed in Thurles in this delightful self contained unit of Eoin and Mary, and on Wednesday hit the road to Cork. Whilst I still had the sun, the wind had swivelled to a headwind, which was not warmly received given I had well over a 100k to ride. But the Ks came and went as I became increasingly familiar with the area as I got in to County Cork. I knew I had one long long climb up Watergrasshill….i had forgotten what a long slog it was! As I crested it with just over a 100 in the legs I was utterly spent. Barry, my best mate from Cork had ridden out to join me for the final 20 or so kilometres….but then I made the fatal error of following him off the main road to a route which added another 10k to the total distance! I was pedalling squares by the time we arrived at his place! But I had travelled from north to south in the space of 5 days, and had been riding without a break for 7, covering just over 700k, so my tiredness was entirely justified!

So here my journey ends for a while at least. I’ve no idea what lies ahead. It’s all a bit unclear to me to be honest. The initial plan was to buy a house here so for once I would have a place called home. But in order to do that I need a short term let, which is by all accounts nigh on impossible given the chronic housing crisis here in Ireland. So I’m house sitting for a few weeks in order to try find a place, and failing that …..well, I have Bob and I have a tent! The open road will once again become my home!

Footnote – Alison politely pointed out that in my last blog I placed Whitley Bay in Yorkshire. It’s not….its in Northumberland! Ooppps! Well, wherever it is….it was bloody cold and wet there!