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Published: August 5th 2006
the fab four
soundsavers crew showing what it's all aboutAnd so here I am in Dublin. But before I recount any tales from this city, the journey here must be described.
Leaving Cousin Steve and the hard-working, hard-playing Soundsaver's crew in Lancaster, I struck out along a lovely stretch of smoothly tarmaced cycle path, which took me to a supermarket and then disappeared. Many of the cycle paths I've been on seem to be secret, only to be discovered by accident and when they are found there is no indication of where they are leading other than away from where I am coming from. I stocked up on cinnamon rolls, bananas and orange juice at the supermarket then headed for the sea, because I knew that when I found that I needed to turn right. Having found the sea and cycling along the front to Heysham, I met a young lad who offered to guide me into the port, taking me right up to the entrance. It was here I discovered that my chocolate powder had burst open, covering most of my things in delicious dust. A few sticky minutes later and I boarded the ferry for the crossing to Douglas on the Isle of Man, an island with
roadside repairs
this father and son team fixed my first puncture a population of 80 thousand, where the birch as a legal punishment was outlawed only 15 years ago and where Scotsman wearing kilts can be killed for standing on a beach.
We arrived at six in the evening and after a call into tourist information I headed to the grandstand campsite for the night. This campsite is situated next to the start/finish line of the TT circuit. Again, I was able to stay the night for free and in an added bonus, was given free shower tokens. Morning saw me answering my first photocall in front of the grandstand. I suspect it was a slow news week on the Isle of Man. Now, with the TT circuit being just that, a circuit, I reckoned I would be cunning and leave my trailer behind so as not to have to carry the extra weight. What I neglected to remember was that this extra weight included the repair kit, so when I got the first puncture of the trip, seven miles into the lap, I was completely unprepared to deal with it. No problem, I thought, I'll hop on a bus back into town and get it sorted at a bike
winners' podium
the bike was the only thing I had to hand to hold aloft shop. The bus driver had a different take on matters and refused point blank to take my bike on the bus. Whilst trying to engage him in a healthy debate over his refusal to help a charity cyclist in need, he closed the doors of the bus on my arm and drove off leaving me to pull my arm from the doors of the moving bus. At this stage, the inhabitants of this island were on minus several thousand points. However, they were rapidly regained by the valiant efforts of a father and son team who came to the aid of an obviously woefully inadequately prepared cyclist and fixed my puncture. My faith in Manx restored, I hit the road once more, only to develop another puncture two miles further on. It is times like this that test my faith as an atheist and have me beginning to believe in a prankster god. This time I was saved by a fellow cyclist, Colin, who pulled over and gave me a spare inner-tube, rapidly replacing it in a fine display of roadside repairs. So, with this inner-tube in place I headed back into town to a bike shop to buy my
cowboy joe
this man mounted the bull as I was taking its picture own inner and leave Colin's in the shop for him to pick up later. Four hours after starting my lap, I had reached the second milestone, albeit for the third time and after covering a distance of around 15 miles. This time I was not to be thwarted and set off at a blistering pace, eating up the road like so much black spaghetti, taking the racing line at the corners and making motorbike sounds as I went. The course is lined with hay bales - whether these are for the protection of motor-cyclists or the structures they cover is not clear. The ride out to Ramsey was straightforward, but the climb into the mountain section just kept on coming, proving to be one of the most tiring climbs I have undertaken. Reaching the top was a delight and the journey back down to Douglas was exhilarating, with my speedometer measuring a top speed of 77kph, or around 48mph. And so, six hours after setting off, I completed the TT circuit. Had I been racing against the lad who set the course record at the TT (tourist trophy) races this year he would have lapped me 21 times. He did
a lap at an average speed of 129mph. I travelled a total of 88k.
After my day at the races, I packed up my belongings into the trailer, which is similar to a game of tetris. I often hum the theme tune as I slot my spongebag between my tent and the roll-mat and search for the right gap for the sun-cream. The problem is, if I do it perfectly, everything disappears, but I do score 1000 points.
Anyway, I was away to the late night super-sea-cat to Belfast, which turned out to be not so super but very late night. Running on three rather than the usual four engines and with rough seas to contend with, it limped into port two hours later than scheduled and arrived in Belfast at 3 in the morning. This wasn't so much of a problem for me, but for the indefatigable Patrick, who had agreed to put me up for the night, it meant two hours less sleep before work the next day. I had been introduced to Patrick through his brother, Paul and on the strength of this, Patrick allowed me into his home for the next two nights, even
giving up his bed and sleeping on the sofa. I have been constantly impressed by people's generosity, but Patrick's hospitality was second to none. On waking the next morning, Patrick cooked up a Northern Irish treat and set me up well for a rest day, which I spent planning my route through Ireland and mooching around Belfast by bike. If anyone is ever tempted to go to a cycle shop called McConvey's on the Ormeau road, don't. The owner is a useless p***k who instantly poo-pooed my idea of cycling through Ireland and told me that my machinery would let me down sooner or later. The boys in Bike Dock are where it's at in the cycling world in Belfast - keen to help and full of useful information. For the rest of the day I sat on my behind, contemplated my navel, watched the box and generally did very little.
On the morning of the 3rd, Patrick took me to the cycle path out of town and pointed me toward Dublin, or away from Belfast, depending on your perspective. This was the beginning of my cycle through Ireland and on a glorious sunny day on a traffic-free cycle
path next to a river, I was as happy as a cyclist on a glorious sunny day on a traffic-free cycle path next to a river. During the day I met Laura and Hilary at a roadside fruit and veg stall, where I bought a very reasonably priced apple and peach and where Laura made a generous donation after I explained my mission to her. As I was pretty damn peckish, she pointed me in the direction of Loughbrickland, where the double act of Jemma and Shirlene filled my tank with chicken kiev and Irish stew. As evening approached, I was heading down a towpath alongside the now disused Newry canal, when, head in the clouds, mooing at cows, I cycled over a pile of glass and heard that deflating sound - pssssssssssssst. This time I was aided by an 85 year old cyclist who told me of his cycling exploits in the 50's whilst I used his spanner to remove my back wheel. After the repair, he led me through town and pointed me in the direction of Omeath, a village just over the border, where I camped up for the evening. Here, it was the Maguire siblings, Valerie,
Rosie and Michael who gave me a free pitch and shower for the night.
Today I managed 93k.
Within two minutes of waking the next day, Peter came strolling by and invited me to join him for a morning coffee. After wiping the sleep from my eyes, I duly accepted, and was delighted to be offered digestives and plastic cheese for breakfast. A wonderful regional dish. The target for the day was Dublin, which as the rain came down and the wind began to blow seemed increasingly further away. On reaching Dundalk, I took refuge in Ma Mallory's cafe, staffed by Ma herself and a Polish waitress. On the pretext of waiting for the rain to stop, I stuffed my face with egg, chips, beans, bacon, tea and lemon meringue. Finally managing to engage the svelte waitress in conversation, I discovered that she was impressed by my cycling efforts. It's moments like that which make the whole enterprise worthwhile. So, even though it was still raining outside, I girded my loins and leaving the impressed waitress behind, set out into the Irish rain to reach Dublin before nightfall. I rocked up into town at around 9pm, to find Ronan,
a longtime friend from Sydney and Amsterdam, waiting. He quickly led me to John's bar, the Welcome Inn, where I dumped my stuff, had a cursory wash in the pub toilet, splashing water under my arms and taking the worst of the grime from my face, before hitting the town and several pints of Guiness. We spent the evening in a Korean bar where I met a small sample of Ronan's circle of friends. A good mix of Polish, Italian, Irish, Korean and of course the token Englishman made for an entertaining evening. I travelled a respectable 116k today.
Ronan is now away to a festival over in the west of Ireland, but we hope to meet up again in Galway in a couple of days time. He has left me in his parent's care and they have been looking after me with a level of hospitality I have come to expect from the Irish. I write this blog on their PC after having eaten with them this evening. Tommorrow I head for the Midlands and who knows what adventures.
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Tot: 0.067s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 9; qc: 44; dbt: 0.0333s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 2;
; mem: 1.1mb
a senior toft
non-member comment
keep those legs pumping
You're doing a great job. Enjoy reading the blogs - think we'll be publishing them ready for the christmas book bargains. The photos are great. Keep your puncture repair kit in your pocket. I'm a bit concerned about the non changing of the lycra!!!!!!! Best have a dip in Galway Bay.