On the Road in Ireland - Part 3

“Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future 
of the human race.”
— H.G. Wells


Our return to Cork was sort of a homecoming. We were back at the Garnish House again, after an incredible 500-mile lap around the island. It was evening. All the lights in our room were on, the bed strewn with open luggage and semi-organized piles of clothing and gear. Ah, what to wear for tomorrow? Weather would now play a key role in attire. We had faced morning or afternoon showers most days over the past week—which explains the fifty shades of green in Ireland—to which, when zipping along in a car, is no big deal. But from here on, we would be spinning through Ireland on bicycles.

We had chosen Backroads for the cycling tour for several reasons. First, they were the only outfit that offered three riding options each day. Terry’s knee was the wild card, and this afforded us flexibility to choose how hard to ride day to day. Next, the Backroads trip itinerary was second to none. And finally, their trip dates were the best fit—Ter was scheduled for knee surgery the first week of July, so we had to take our vacation before then. We literally left town on her last day of school.

The tour would encompass rural roads that meander through the coastal mountains and valleys of southwest Ireland. In essence, we would ride all day and our luggage would be transported to the next inn via the support vans. Not a bad deal. And so it was, after re-packing and setting out our cycling duds for tomorrow, we slipped into bed and turned off the lights. Come tomorrow, we'd wake up to a new day on two wheels... and, with a bit of Irish luck, dry weather.

We’re the first to arrive at Hayfield Manor, the rendezvous point for the Backroads gang. We lounge out front, where the morning sun strives to burn through the coastal overcast. The temps are in the 60s: a good day for pedaling. Before long, the others should arrive and we’ll be shuttled forty miles up the Lee River Valley to the Gaeltacht (Irish-speaking) village of Inchigeelagh, where the tour will begin.

Backroads trip leader, Shay Butler, goes over the first day’s ride from our starting point in
Inchigeelagh. From here on, we’ll get a briefing each morning: route options; mileages;
elevation gains; landmarks; where to turn right or left; where’s lunch; where’s the pub. It’s
all there on the sheet that’s passed out each day. There are twelve in our group, hailing
from New York; Massachusetts; Florida; Texas; Arizona; and of course, California. As for
trip leader Shay, he was born and reared in Cork. This is his home turf. There are two
others in the Backroads crew to keep this entourage rolling along—an Englishman and a
young lady from Texas—but I’ll introduce them to you shortly. After the orientation, we’ll
be given our bikes so we can test them for fit. Then we can roll. According to the Day 1 
navigation sheet, our ride will be 25 miles with 900 feet of elevation gain. 

After driving on the “wrong” side of the road for a week, cycling on the left didn’t seem unnatural now. The bikes we rode were brand new and awesome; made by a Dutch bicycle company called Van Nicholas. The frames were lightweight titanium and the components all top-drawer Ultegra. Even on the rough country lanes, they offered a fairly smooth ride. Backroads had gathered our measurements well beforehand so that each bike could be fitted to the rider ahead of time. I don’t know about the other folks, but ours fit like a glove.  

We stop for lunch at Cronin’s Bar & Café on Gougane Barra Lake, a old glacier tarn at 
the headwaters of the River Lee. It had been an uphill ride all the way to get here. And 
Backroads couldn’t have picked a finer locale to relax and have a bite. The lake was in a
serene, alpine setting. Saint Finbarr, patron saint of Cork, lived on a small island on the
lake in the 6th century. He built a monastery there, which a trace of the ruins can still
be found.  

Lunch is served in Cronin’s Bar, where we finally have an opportunity to get to know our cycle mates. The Irish Hurling Championship is playing on the television—hurling is a big thing here—and the locals in the bar are watching it closely on the overhead TV. Around the room, the walls are adorned with dozens of old photos and keepsakes. The Cronin family came to Gougane Barra Lake in the mid-19th century, renting Lord Kenmare’s old hunting lodge, which had fallen into disrepair. They spruced it up, added a sheebeen (unlicensed bar) and turned it into a business. In 1904, they built an inn—the building where Cronin’s Bar resides today—and then constructed a larger hotel next door in 1936. All these years and it’s still a family affair, the photographs on the wall recounting the endearing story.   

The ruins of Carriganass Castle loom in the background as Shay casts light on some of the 
local history and culture during an afternoon break to regroup. Some of the rural areas we 
were riding through, he explained, are Gaeltacht Districts, where the primary language 
spoken is Irish. Pedaling through history and culture, we were. From the castle, it was a 
6-mile romp to the coast, where we would be spending the night at the Seaview House 
on Bantry Bay. 

It's a beautiful day,
Don't let it get away.
— U2

Ter relishes the twists and curves in the open country above Bantry Bay. It’s the morning
of Day 2. Today’s ride will be 31 miles with 1,700 feet of elevation gain, taking us up and
over the Caha Mountians into County Kerry. The first thing we discovered was that there
are numerous road forks and crossings, and rarely do you find signs to provide directions
(only the locals drive these roads: they don’t need directions). Fortunately each bike comes
equipped with a trip odometer, which abetted the navigational effort. Even so, we still
managed to stray off course a couple of times—though one could say it adds to the
adventure.   

Trip leader Jamie Nutt executes roadside repairs, changing out a flat on a client bike. Jamie is from London, England. He gets the job done; humor and quick wit, second to none. His animated monologues and stories were hilarious.  

Shadows deepen as we ride into the heart of the Glengarriff Nature Reserve, where sunlight filters down through a canopy of old-growth oaks and blooming rhododendron trees. The only sounds are the babble of brooks and chirping birds. This is what most of Ireland resembled a thousand years ago. But after many centuries of deforestation, only a small fraction of the oakwood forests remain. The Glengarriff reserve, in the foothills of the Caha Mountains, covers 750 acres. It would be in these woods where we got lost—well, not actually “lost” per se, but definitely off route a couple times. In the end, it added at least thirty minutes to our morning ride.

This is one of the babbling brooks in the Glengarriff woods. We were lost at the time. While Ter was scrutinizing the route directions, I wandered off to take photos. Everyone has a job to do.  

Caitlin Cash samples the scrumptious picnic spread (compliments of Shay!) at the Ewe Experience Gardens. Raised in Austin, Texas, she was our Backroads support guru, in charge of maintaining twelve bikes; driving the second van; shuttling luggage to the next inn; re-filling water bottles; handing out snacks. She pretty much spoiled us. Terry and I were late getting to the Ewe Gardens, arriving as some in the gang were donning helmets to head out. We ate a quick lunch, and afterwards, strolled around the tree-shrouded gardens, where footpaths led us past whimsical sculptures of bikini-clad rhinos; a purse-toting emu; fish on bicycles… This is one trippy place, man. The sculptures are the creations of artist Sheena Wood, who lives here with her husband, Kurt Lyndorff, and their two daughters. Sadly, we didn’t have time for more exploring. We were behind schedule. The road beckoned.

After lunch, we finish our climb into the mountains to Caha Pass (elev 958 ft). The views
are simply spectacular, the steepest grades no more than 5 percent.  

Jamie and Terry vie through the tunnels on the downhill charge from Caha Pass. This was the first “Yeah baby!” moment of the trip: a six-mile streak down into County Kerry. 

Small farms dot the bucolic Bonane Valley where we descend out of the Caha Mountains.
Ahead lays the home stretch back to the coast. 

We’re dressed to the nines at the Park Hotel in Kenmare, where we will be staying for two nights. Backroads is hosting tonight’s dinner here. It’s a swanky affair. The hotel is a luxurious Victorian gem, built in the 1890s.

The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. 
― James Joyce, “Dubliners”

Whiskey scholar and connoisseur, John Moriarty, delves into the minutia with Terry. He hosted a one-hour discourse on the complete history, distilling and aging of whiskey, including the sampling of numerous varieties. Amazing! Everything you wanted to know about whiskey but were afraid to ask. John’s your man.  

Now you’re talkin’.

Shari and her daughters, Sophie and Rebecca, explore the Park Hotel after dinner. They live in New York City and are part of our group. In fact, Shari was off-route once with us today. The more the merrier, I say.  :-)

Terry pedals out of Kenmare in the morning to start Day 3. Today’s “moderate” ride will
take us out the Beara Peninsula and partway back, for a total of 50 miles and 3,100 feet in
elevation gain.    

Susan and Allen cruise along placid Kenmare Bay. They’re from Boston, and took this 
Backroads trip to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary—which is today, hence the 
yellow balloons on Susan’s bike. Salute!

Joel gives the thumbs-up during a quick pit stop at the Cloonee Lake House. He and his son, Jared, are from sunny Miami. From here, our route would leave the coast and climb into the hills for a bout. 

We stop for photos at the summit of Garranes Pass (elev 600 ft). Kenmare Bay is in the 
background. The weather has been in the 60s and partly cloudy: ideal conditions for the 
uphill grinds. 

After a rollicking dash down from Garranes Pass, the gang stops at the bayside hamlet of Lauragh for a spot of coffee. The gentleman in the green jersey is Dick. He’s from Tucson; an avid cyclist; retired and living the dream. No way can I keep up with him all day. Sitting to his left is Susan, then Allen, Jared, Joel, Jamie and my beautiful wife.

The undulating ride along the Beara Peninsula offers breath-taking vistas of Kenmare Bay 
and beyond. The distant mountains on the horizon are the MacGillycuddy Reeks, where the 
highest peak in Ireland resides (Carrauntoohil, at 3,406 ft). We will be riding through them 
tomorrow. But for now, it was onward to Castletownbere for lunch and an appointment with 
Mr. Guinness.

Ter dials in her cadence on the push up the Kealincha Valley, where we will cross over to
the Bantry Bay side of the Beara Peninsula. It’s rocky, wide-open country out here, carved
and scoured by glaciers during the Ice Age.  

When I stop to take a photo near a farmhouse, this little guy appeared out of nowhere. A friendly, persistent beggar, he was. (Note to self: Never break out snacks in front of a sheep dog.)  

We reach the fishing village of Castletownbere around noon. Everyone is on their own for lunch today, so Terry and I wander up the street and find part of the gang sitting at a table in front of MacCarthy’s. It’s a curious establishment: a pub, grocery store and deli, all under one roof, an old tradition that is still found in some rural Irish communities. So far, we’ve cycled 30 miles, gaining 2,100 feet of elevation along the way. To complete the “moderate” ride, we still have another 20 miles to go—up and over the mountains via Healy Pass, which is another thousand feet of elevation gain. Or, we could just hop in the van and call it a day. Sitting there in front of MacCarthy’s, Guinness in hand while seagulls wheel over the quaint village, it was hard to get motivated. In the end, only Dick and Shay went for the Healy Pass return. The rest of us shuttled back to the hotel.  

I will arise and go now,
For always night and day
I hear lake water lapping,
With low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway
Or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

― W.B. Yeats, "The Lake Isle of Innisfree"

While the drive up the serpentine road to Healy Pass was magnificent, the view looking
down the other side is beyond sublime with Glanmore Lake sparkling in the afternoon sun.
With each day, the scenery seems to become even more incredible. Jamie parks the van 
and we get out and snap photos, soaking up the energy around us. “It doesn’t get any better
than this,” I say to Jamie. He just smiles. He knows. But the day isn’t over yet. We have
a plan. Everyone is meeting in Kenmare tonight, where Jamie promises to buy the first 
round. Hey, I’m in.    

To be continued...