On the Road in Ireland - Part 4

And so the journey continues. The first three days of cycling had gone very well, each day seeming to be more awesome than the prior one. Terry’s knee was holding up. It had not rained. Spirits were high. Once back at the hotel in Kenmare, after a grand ride out the Beara Peninsula, we washed off the chain grease and road grit. The plan was to rendezvous in town at Crowley’s Bar, where the Backroads crew was hosting a happy hour of sorts. It would be our last night in town. Shopping, libations and dinner were on the agenda.

It is late afternoon when we stroll into downtown Kenmare for a little shopping before
meeting up with the gang. For a town with only 2,000 residents, it’s a lively burg. The
three main streets form a triangle, plotted in 1670 when the town was founded. Tourism
is big here, especially outdoor pursuits. Due to its geographical location, Kenmare is the 
primo cycling hub for County Kerry. Backroads’ base of operations is here, as well as 
the Trek touring outfit.   

AHH!  We’re walking down the street, and lo and behold, my sweetie has a restaurant!
(Final score: Ter has a restaurant; Ron has a castle.)

“My drinking team has a rugby problem.” 
— Oscar Wilde

In Crowley’s Bar, Mike Murphy (in white rugby jersey) has Jamie blushing and Shay in
stiches during one of his waggish yarns about the British. All in good fun, mind you. Mike
has a heart of gold and he shared many light-hearted stories about life in a provincial Irish
town. He is a venerated figure in Kenmare, where everyone knows him as Master Mike (he
was a schoolmaster, now retired). In fact, he was born in the building right across the street
from Crowley’s. As for the pub, it was opened by Con and Joan Crowley in the 1950s,
where they lived and reared their children upstairs. It is still run by the family, and the
ambiance of the place makes one feel like you’re hanging out with friends in the Crowley’s
living room. It’s where the locals gather to socialize and listen to live Irish music at night: a
genuine traditional pub. And you know you’re in for a treat when Mike breaks into singing
The Fields of Athenrie. 

We start Day 4 with a 700-foot climb to Moll’s Gap, where the Macgillycuddy Reeks brood
in the distance. Our ride today will take us through these mountains to Caragh Lake, a total 
of 38 miles and 2,000 feet of elevation gain. However, ominous clouds are pressing in from 
the north, bringing the threat of rain. We keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best. 

We only get a half mile down the road from Moll’s Gap when the first dollops of rain start falling. Alas, our luck has run out: it’s time to don the rain gear. 

The inclement weather didn't seem to bother this guy. 

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the disheveled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

— W.B. Yeats, "The Land of Heart's Desire"
  

After the descent from Moll’s Gap, the next stretch skirts along the foot of the mountains: brisk, flatland cranking in the top gears, in and out of summer showers.   

This pretty much sums it up. From here, it’s a 6-mile ascent into the mountains to Ballaghbeama Gap. It’s a fairly steady climb, the grade progressively becoming steeper as one goes, hitting 11% briefly just below the summit. 

I share the road with sheep on the grind up to Ballaghbeama Gap. Due to my frequent stops
to take photos, I have fallen behind. It’s just me, the sheep, and ruins of old stone dwellings. 
We had seen the weathered remnants of other farms over the past two weeks: relics from 
the Great Famine that had swept across Ireland in the mid-19th century.

Ballaghbeama Gap (elev 861 ft) is an ethereal realm of fog and drizzle. From here it was
a daunting, downhill dash to the jade fields of Glencar Valley. 

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.

— W.B. Yeats, "The Stolen Child"

A gossamer film of rain floats down along the River Caragh, where I’m told the fly fishing is astounding. The whole West of Ireland is an angler’s paradise.   

Our lunch stop is at the Blackstones House on the River Caragh, where Jamie has prepared a killer picnic lunch. These guys are spoiling us.  

After lunch, we wrap up the day by riding to Caragh Lake, where the road winds along
the east shoreline, beautiful vistas around every bend. And better yet, the sun is breaking
through the clouds: a good sign that the storm has run its course.    

This is the view from the back yard of the Carrig Country House: an idyllic spot to kick back with a beer after a day of cycling. Our room has the same view on the second floor. 

Wearing his grandfather’s hat for a prop, Batt Burns imparts an Irish folk tale, his opulent
County Kerry voice resonating from deep within. Batt stopped by the Carrig House before
supper to spend an hour with us. Part actor, part bard, he is a shanachie, which in Gaelic
means “Bearer of Old Lore.” In pre-Christian Ireland, Celtic history and laws were not
written down. Instead, shanachies would memorize essential records and events in long,
lyrical poems and tales, passed on from generation to generation. They were master
storytellers. And Batt certainly had a gift for telling stories, sometimes in Gaelic, sometimes
in song. His grandfather was also a shanachie, to which he shares in stories of his childhood
in the hills of County Kerry.

“When I was growing up in the 1950s, there was no electricity,” Batt said. “Today we have
television; computers; the internet. But we’ve lost the stories and traditions… and the ability
to listen.”

At the end of his visit, he recites W.B. Yeats’ The Stolen Child in character, as if it was
Yeats himself speaking. A fascinating gentleman.

For more on Batt, go here: http://www.kennedy-center.org/Artist/

Linda and Dennis, from Austin, Texas, are all smiles on the morning of Day 5. Today’s ride will go 37 miles along the coastline of the Iveragh Peninsula, swinging in and out of farming valleys along the way, and then finishing up on Valentia Island. If lucky, we’ll miss most of the intermittent showers forecasted for today.    

Spinning through the countryside along the Ring of Kerry. 

This stretch of the ride contours straight along the coast, where we catch the head-on brunt
of a storm rolling in off the North Atlantic. Sheets of rain; gusty wind; astonishing
scenery… it was an adventure.   

I miss the turnoff near Kells, so we stop to check the directions with Linda and Dennis.

Eighteen miles into the ride, and it’s still raining on and off. But it’s wide-open country down
the Ferta River Valley, cranking along in the top gears; absolutely no traffic but for the
occasional cow. Watch out for the cows.

Terry rides across the River Ferta and into the seaside town of Cahersiveen.  

Land’s end is Reenard Point, where a ferry will take us across the windy strait to Valentia Island. But first, it’s time to grab a bite at O’Neil’s Point Bar—the only establishment here at Reenard—where Jamie has promised us the best clam chowder and crab cakes in the world. This point of land was also the eastern terminus of the first transatlantic telegraph cable, where, in 1858, the first message was delivered from North America to Europe via Morse code. Before then, it would’ve taken a fast steamship ten days to deliver the same message. 

I wish I was a fisherman,
Tumblin' on the seas.
Far away from dry land,
And its bitter memories.
Casting out my sweet line,
With abandonment and love.
No ceiling bearin' down on me,
Save the starry sky above.

— The Waterboys, "Fisherman Blues"

Vintage lifeboats rest in dry dock at the Valentia Island Lifeboat Station, a sea rescue base in the village of Knightstown. (These boats are practically museum pieces compared to the high-tech vessels used today.) We ended up taking the ferry over to Valentia Island after lunch, but only to browse around the village. It was blustery; cold; sometimes wet—sort of harsh conditions to muster the initiative to cycle the last ten miles around the island. However, Dick did it. So did Sophie. They're awesome. The rest of us wandered around the leeward side of Knightstown. Thus we ended our day at 27 miles, ten short of the original goal.    

The talented musicians, Sean, Gayle and Tom, join us back at the Carrig House after
dinner for an enchanted evening of song and dance in the Irish tradition: a fitting way to
celebrate our last night with the Backroads gang.

Gayle’s daughter shows us her footwork at Irish step dancing. This does not look easy. 

The ride slated for Day 6 was a dawn wake-up call for a 16-mile spin around the nearby
countryside. It had to be an early start because, at 11:30, the shuttle bus would arrive to
take us back to Cork. So we skipped the last ride and slept in; had a leisurely breakfast;
went for a stroll; took in the morning splendor of Caragh Lake. It was the last day of our
vacation. Why rush it?   

We gather in the back yard for a farewell group shot. Missing are Cash, Joel and his son, Jared (Cash departed last night in one of the vans; Joel and Jared hitched a ride with her). Before long, the shuttle bus will arrive and we’ll be saying our last goodbyes to Jamie and Shay—they’re driving the second van to the Backroads’ base in Kenmare, while we’re going straight to Cork. And just like that, the tour is over. Good times were had by all. In fact, this cheery photo sums it up nicely: It was a damn good trip.  

For the third time, we’re back in the city of Cork, and the feel of the place is becoming
familiar. Some of the Backroads gang flew out this afternoon. But our flight doesn’t leave
until morning. So we stroll along the tranquil River Lee... and then straight on up Oliver
Plunkett Street to find a pub. What better way to end a holiday in Éire? 

EPILOGUE

Directly upon our return, Terry had ACL reconstruction surgery in her right knee. The operation went well. Seven days later, they took away the crutches and physical therapy began. She told the PT that it hurt like hell. The PT said “Get used to it.” She lived in a full leg brace for some time, but over the course of the summer months, the mobility in her knee returned, slow but sure. The rigorous rehab has paid off: Her PT recently gave the green light to start running on a treadmill—but only for six minutes. Yet, full recovery is on track. It takes a full nine months for a graft to completely fuse to bone tissue, and her surgeon says she’ll attain that by next April. So the summer of 2016 is wide open. And Ter already has a plan: Three weeks on the John Muir Trail. Sounds good to me!

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THE LOWDOWN

We logged 545 miles in the rental car. For navigation, we used iPhones with a Hotspot wifi device that plugged into the cig lighter. Worked like a charm. We also used an old-fashioned road map, usually for mapping out the drive each day. The national motorways are outstanding (our freeways are practically Third World in comparison), and the country lanes are incredibly scenic, winding and narrow.    

On the Backroads tour, we cycled 150 miles in five days for a total elevation gain of 7,700 feet. The climbs to the passes were no more than 5-6%, though the grade to Ballaghbeama Gap ramped up to 11% just below the summit. Two adjectives describe the Backroads crew: "Extraordinary" and "First-Class". Last but not least: The Irish are the most patient, courteous drivers we’ve ever had to share a road with while cycling. It was bliss to ride without fear of being taken out by a car—though you still gotta watch out for those wily sheep.


THE BEST

Reg’s Pub (Waterford) – Sits in the shadow of a thousand-year-old castle tower. One of my best meals was devoured here while a gifted pair of musicians jammed out an eclectic set from Van Morrison to Frank Sinatra to Donovan. 

Crowley’s Bar (Kenmare) – A traditional pub where the locals hang out: like having a beer in a good friend’s home. It’s total icing on the cake if you run into Master Mike. 

Oliver Plunkett’s (Cork) – A little on the touristy side, but the 2-story pub has good food and the Irish trad music and dance was lively. Go for the Murphys stout: it’s brewed right there in Cork. 

Carrig Country House (Caragh Lake) – A country inn on the shores of a Celtic fairytale lake with the Macgillicuddy Reeks as a backdrop. For a place to stay, it doesn’t get any better than this. There’s a small restaurant here as well. I ordered the trout one night, caught in one of the local streams. Perfect.

Park Hotel (Kenmare) – This 5-star establishment has the posh ambiance of Victorian Ireland. Very elegant.  

Heron’s Rest (Galway) – A chic little B&B on the waterfront with seagulls gliding past our bedroom window.  

Garnish House (Cork) – A B&B with the best traditional Irish breakfast in the universe. 
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