4 IRELAND793
Kilometres – 14 Days8
June – 11 July 2007
MAP
PHOTOS
8
June – Glasgow, Scotland – Belfast, Ireland – 6 kilometres
Getting
to Ireland, involved cycling from Esther’s house to Glasgow Central station to
catch a Stranraer train. The day started promising, but upon looking around, I
was horrified to see Esther on the ground bicycle on top of her, resembling a
beetle, legs kicking in the air. All this happened in peak hour traffic, but
Esther was undeterred by the staring eyes. She stood up, dusted herself off,
looked them in the eye and laughingly declared, “Take three”.
At
Stranraer, the ferry to Belfast took us across the North Channel. Our arrival
was around 16h30 (peak time) and Esther proceeded to fall over once more. The
reason for all this falling over was Esther’s bike being too big and her legs
too short to swing over the middle bar. By the time her foot was on solid
ground, the bicycle was past the point of no return. It was hence not so much
falling off the bike but falling over. We laughed so much, tears were streaming
down our faces and thus, surprising, we managed to cycle the 6 kilometres north
to set up camp. By evening Esther referred to her bike as Silver. He bucked and
kicked and appeared somewhat unwilling to see Ireland.
9
June - Belfast - Cushendall – 69 kilometres
The
next day, it dawned bright and sunny. The weather was beautiful, and there
wasn’t a breath of wind. With Ol’ Silver loaded and packed, our route followed the
coast, an incredibly scenic ride, especially in such glorious weather. The road
continued past numerous coastal communities and steep white, limestone cliffs. The
coast was littered with ancient ruins from the Red Bay Castle to the ruins of
the Ardclinis Church
Esther
must’ve fallen over at least five times before arriving at the coastal village
of Cushendall. At camp, she didn’t bring the bike to a halt as most would but
instead flopped over, to the surprise of the other campers. Good thing, she
wore a helmet. Still, 43 miles (70 kilometres) were managed that day.
10
June - Cushendall – Ballycastle – 32 kilometres
Packing
up took forever, and late by the time the two of us cycled out of camp. Shortly
beyond the village of Cushendall, a sign indicated a scenic route via Torr
head, which sounded rather lovely. However, the warning, “Not suitable for
caravans and coaches” should’ve forewarned us. This part of the Irish coastline
is separated from Scotland by the North Channel and the views were spectacular.
Still, our chosen path came with incredibly steep hills. Esther claimed she didn’t
fall over that day as she walked her bike the entire way, resulting in blistered
feet.
The
descent into Ballycastle, a small seaside town at the north-easternmost coastal
tip of Ireland, was pure pleasure. After waiting at the bottom longer than
usual, I rode back up to see if I could find my friend. I came upon her walking
down the hill due to a flat tyre. The surprises were never-ending as we soon discovered
Esther’s bicycle wheels had no quick release and thus required a spanner. Not
much one can do but walk the bikes into town and onto the campsite. Every man
in camp had a suitable spanner, and soon the wheel was off, and Esther was given
a lift into town to buy a new tyre and inner tube.
11
June - Ballycastle – Castlerock – 64 kilometres
The
following morning started in its usual way, with Esther providing all the fun
and drama. Loading up Ol’ Silver, a bungee cord slipped and hit her upon the
lip. She was covered not only with bruises and scratches from falling over and
lumps and bumps from the “Wee Buggers” (mosquitos) but also a fat lip. Leaving
Ballycastle, the first stop was at the bike shop to purchase a spanner and new
front tyre for Esther’s bicycle, which looked equally worn.
The
coastline of Northern Ireland is magnificent, and we stopped at Giants Causeway
to explore this fascinating area. The causeway consists of about 40000 black
basalt columns resulting from an ancient volcanic eruption. Weathered by 60 million
years of wind, rain and storms, these unique rock formations form perfectly
shaped horizontal sections. However, I found the legends of the area even more intriguing.
The story goes, a giant Finn McCool had trouble with his Scottish rival Benandonner.
Furious, Finn grabbed chunks of the Antrim coast and threw them into the sea to
form a pathway for reaching Benandonner. Benandoonneer was, however, larger
than expected, and Finn fled with Benandoonneer in tow. Finn was saved by his quick-thinking
wife, who disguised him as a baby. On seeing the baby’s size, Benandoonneer
thought better of it and returned to Scotland.
After
a particularly long hill, Esther declared the trip was killing her and it would’ve
been easier and quicker to have taken an overdose at home. Still, she continued
a further 40 miles, and spotting a campsite at Castlerock, we packed it in. The
lady managing the campground looked at Esther’s face and allowed us to camp
free.
12
June - Castlerock – Quigley’s Point – 32 kilometres
The
following day, feeling refreshed, the first stopped was at the Mussenden Temple,
built in 1785 as a library; this tiny building was modelled after Rome’s Temple
of Vesta. A short ride led to Magilligan Point, from where ferries departed to Greencastle.
Unfortunately, our map indicated a track beside the ocean, which was non-existing
and left us slightly lost. Reaching Quigley’s Point, the tents were pitched at
the first opportunity to give Esther’s backside a rest. Once camp was set up,
there wasn’t a great deal more to do but frequent the pub for a pint.
13
June - Quigley’s Point - Portsalon via Letterkenny – 91 kilometres
It
rained all night, and on emerging, it took packing up in the rain, reaching Buncrana
sopping wet. We intended to take a ferry to Rathmullan. Still, to our dismay,
the ferry only started operating in three days, and I thought June was
mid-summer.
I
loved the foreign-sounding names of towns as we biked from Quigley’s Point to
Portsalon via Letterkenny, a remarkable distance of 91 kilometres. Esther was
getting stronger by the day and wasn’t falling over as much. Ol’ Silver was nevertheless
still creaking and squealing, and extremely unwilling on the uphills. Still,
Esther showed no mercy, and pushed on. From Rathmullan to Portsalon, the
distance was only about 19 kilometres. Still, we took the scenic route and
encountered a few nasty hills before a serious descent into Portsalon. By then,
Esther’s one hand was numb and entirely useless.
14
June – Portsalon
The
weather turned even fouler overnight, and the conditions weren’t only cold and
raining in the morning, but an icy wind blew in from the North. Nevertheless, the
weather made it easy to stay put, and we both crawled back into our sleeping
bags, zipped up the tents and read books for the remainder of the day.
By
5 o’clock, we had enough of lying in the tents and headed to the pub. The place
consisted of a shop and pub (all in one), where a few people were sitting at
the bar. Soon the singing began and the evening became a jovial affair. It was
three in the morning before arriving back at our tents. I guess it will suffice
to say we had a good time.
15
June - Portsalon - Melmore Head – 59 kilometres
For
obvious reasons, there was no rushing in packing up and 12h00 before eventually
getting underway. The weather was horrendous; it drizzled, a strong wind blew,
and the weather became bitterly cold. Still, we proceeded to tiny Carrickart, where
we received information about a hostel not far from there. In arctic conditions,
we headed in the direction pointed. I was frozen stiff; even Esther was in long
sleeves. The Hostel was considerably further than led to believe. Still, we
soldiered forward up a steep hill to an extremely basic and remote hostel. At
least inside, the place was warm as toast.
16
June - Melmore Head - Letterkenny - Belfast and Larne – 72 kilometres
Esther
needed to get back to work, and we made our way back to Letterkenny to see what
public transport was available. Once in Letterkenny, a bus departed in 20
minutes to Derry and another bus straight to Belfast. A shock, however, awaited
in Belfast. Belfast was packed full; each little nook and cranny was fully
booked due to a major international boxing event. Every B&B and hotel was
fully booked, from the cheapest to the Hilton (we even considered that one). By
then, the time was ten o’clock and the weather freezing. I suggested cycling
the 6 kilometres north to our first camp, but Esther refused point-blank to get
on the bike. The staff at the train station was extremely friendly and directed
us to a B&B in Larne to get a ferry to Glasgow. They even phoned to book the
B&B and the ferry and helped us on the train. Wonderful people.
17
June - Larne - Oxford Island – 91 kilometres
We
emerged to a lovely breakfast at the B&B; what luxury. Our guesthouse had a
great location across from the harbour, making easy access to the ferry. Esther
hopped on the 10.30 ferry. After waving her goodbye, I pointed my mobile home toward
Belfast and onto the road leading south.
The
weather was good and being Sunday plenty of cyclists were out, all stopping to
have a wee chat (as they say in Ireland). I took the recommended path south, which
followed the River Lagan, to Lisburn. From there a minor route ran via Moira to
Oxford Island and onward to Lough Neagh. I even came upon the Orange Order
marching, band and all, in one of the smaller villages. I couldn’t believe they
existed in real life. I would’ve thought their supremacist values illegal in
our modern-day. They most likely were practising for the annual march held
around 12 July.
18
June – Oxford Island – Ballyronan – 72 kilometres
Fortunately,
most Irish are friendly, even offering dope. What lovely people.
Lough
Neagh is a freshwater lough and one of the largest in Western Europe. I thus decided
to follow its shore to Ballyronan, situated along the northwestern shore of
Lough Neagh. The path continued along tiny country lanes and minor roads, past
small settlements, and farms. The lake has an interesting legend. It claimed
the lake formed when the Irish giant Finn McCool scooped out an earthen clod to
toss at a Scottish rival fleeing Ulster via the Giant’s Causeway. Finn’s shot
fell into the Irish Channel and formed the Isle of Man.
19
June - Ballyronan - Kesh (Lough Erne) – 101 kilometres
As
usual, I packed up in the rain, but the weather soon cleared, and it became a glorious
day of riding. The route headed west, sticking to the foothills of the Sperrin
Mountains, via Omagh to Kesh. In tiny Kesh it took biking, up a serious hill to
the campsite, only to find the place wasn’t a campsite but a mobile home park
with no camping facilities. Bummer. The owner was accommodating enough and
allowed me to camp on a small patch of grass. He even unlocked a mobile home to
use the shower and toilet.
20
June - Kesh and surrounds – 32 kilometres
Kesh
is tiny, with a population of less than 1000, but with its location on Lough
Erne, the village had a lively tourist trade. I decided to stay in the area to
explore and cycled down the hill to another campsite where one could take walks
around the lake and through the forest. I uncovered dried fruit, yummy, and
proceeded to eat the entire bag. Talking about food, I considered myself the
Queen of carbs. Still, I had nothing on the Irish, as I found them serving macaroni
cheese accompanied by a portion of French fries. I kid you not! Another dish I thought
surprising was a baked potato topped with beans, something I considered a carbo
overload.
21
June - Kesh - Donegal (Dun na nGall) – 72 kilometres
The
way to Ballyshannon followed Lough Erne, and aided by a tailwind, the route appeared
downhill. At Ballyshannon, I turned northwards along the coast to Donegal,
still with a tailwind. My arrival was reasonably early and I set up camp at a hostel.
Soon
afterwards, Eddie arrived by car. As he wanted to travel Ireland but didn’t
bring his bike, we loaded the bike onto the roof and explored the rest of
Ireland by car. Afterwards, I was sorry as the chances of ever getting back to
that part of the world to cycle is practically non-existing.
In
London, I tried my best to obtain a European visa, but all to no avail. I soon
discovered the Schengen visa (for me at least) one of the world’s most elusive
visas. Not only was it necessary to apply in one’s home country but the
application needed a full itinerary and paid accommodation.
I
felt frustrated as nothing was going to plan. As my idea of cycling Europe fell
through, it was time for plan B. After much deliberation, the next best option
was to fly to Hungary (which didn’t require a Schengen visa) and cycle Eastern
Europe and see where the road led. So Eddie took time off work, and the two of
us packed our bicycles and flew to Budapest, Hungary.
11-12
July – London, UK – Budapest, Hungary
Right
from the start, I was smitten with beautiful Budapest and its ensemble of old
buildings, cobbled streets and views of the mighty Danu River. I instantly
understood why it’s referred to as “the Capital of Architecture”. To this day, Budapest
remains one of my favourite cities.
If
today, I would’ve lingered longer, but I had bees in my bonnet and wanted to
get going, as was my nature. Unfortunately, as with most “new” cycle tourers, I
was destination orientated. It took me years before I rid myself of that habit
and enjoyed the touring part of cycle touring, which, in my mind, is what cycle
touring is all about.
