Rain, Falling Off (Again), Beaches and Home

But she gazed only at my chart
The valleys and the peaks
Brought back the time she broke my heart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks

(MacGillycuddy's Reeks - Warren Zevon and Paul Muldoon)

Day 4 - Ballaghisheen Pass and The Gap of Dunloe

Tuesday morning, and we awake to a damp campsite, and more rain threatening.  We breakfast on porridge and coffee, tog up, and head in the direction of Sneem. 

The run up to Moll's Gap is enjoyable enough, with spray from the early morning rains rising up from the road.  At the top we turn onto the R568 mountain road, and start the slow steady descent towards Sneem.  Then the rain returns - it's steady and reasonably heavy.  We are wearing waterproof textiles, so no dramas.  Slow down. Relax. Pay attention. After all, it’s only water. 

The view from Scott's GoPro as we climb to Beenarourke

We pick up the Ring of Kerry again at Sneem and push towards Caherdaniel, with ever diminishing visibility, and by the time we are climbing to the head of the pass at Beenarourke, we are in the clouds.  Speed is down to 30-40 Kph, and the view is janky to say the least.  No point stopping at the viewpoints - nothing to see.  We slowly work our way down from the pass towards Waterville.  Even back down close to sea level, we can't see particularly far ahead.

This does not bode well for getting to the island of Skellig Michael.  But there is a saying in Ireland: "If you don't like the weather, just wait 10 minutes!"  So we are travelling in hope!

We turn onto the The Ring of Skellig, to get to Portmagee, from where we planned to board the boat.  What we can see of this part of the peninsula looks beautiful.  As we drop down to St. Finian's Bay, the raw waters of the North Atlantic are pounding the beach, as a 2 metre swell is driven onshore by the westerly wind, desperately trying to reach the village of The Glen. 

We've been riding for two hours, so we dive into the Skelligs Chocolate factory, which had been recommended to us by @gs1200cork on Instagram, to get a hot drink.  We trudge into the foyer of the factory's visitor centre, and strip off helmet, jacket and gloves.  This is the moment I realise my gloves are absolutely sodden!  They are waterproof, but I had stupidly tucked my jacket sleeves into the gauntlet of the gloves, and almost two hours worth of rain had simply rolled off my waterproof jacket and drained into my gloves.  They were so wet, and the lining so swollen, that I was in danger of pulling the lining out of the glove just trying to get them off my hands!

The factory is wonderful.  You are invited to taste every single variety of chocolate that they make, and they are darned delicious.  But it was a hot drink we wanted, and the choice of hot chocolate drinks on offer was extensive.  The hot chocolate is made properly, using hot milk and a generous measure of the appropriately flavoured chocolate drops.  It was gorgeous.

One of the factory staff wandered over for a chat - a fellow biker - curious about the performance of our textiles.  I didn't mention the gloves - operator error after all.  He informed us that there were no sailings to Skellig Michael today - his brother in law operated one of the boats, and the seastate was just too rough for the crossing to be safe.  Bummer.

We rose to leave, and judging by the puddles on the floor of the cafe, the surplus water on the outside of our textiles had decided to leave as well!

The road above St. Finian's Bay

 
We thrust on up the hill towards Portmagee, zigging and zagging up the hairpins, into the clouds.  Once again, we can see no more than 20 metres ahead of us, until we are almost in Portmagee itself.  We ride over the bridge to Valentia Island, and go as far as Knight's Town at the far end of the island. The ferry is closed - so we head back to the bridge at Portmagee.  It's still raining, but it's easing up.  Up the R565 until it intersects with the N70, and heading back to New Chapel Cross, where we will hang a Louie and pick up the road to Ballaghisheen Pass.  It's actually stopped raining. 

Ballaghisheen Pass

This is not a major road - but it does have a centreline to start with, and passing the infrequent vehicles travelling the opposite direction isn't a problem.  The first 10 km or so, the road surface is very poor; a rough almost washboard finish to the tarmac, and plenty of undulations.  This route starts with a 1 km straight, a slight bend, then another straight, another kink, then another longish straight.  This seems to be the pattern.  In terms of the scenery, it's a bit like the farmland that skirts the north side of Dartmoor.

As we got towards the 15 km marker, a subtle change takes place in our experience of the ride.  Either the road surface improves, or we just stop noticing; are we finding the rhythm of this road?  We start to climb gently towards the moor, and the road's geometry changes.  We start to weave through ancient woodlands, interspersed with moorland streams, the curves starting to blend seamlessly.  Our inane chatter over the intercom dries up, as we start to concentrate on the hooking up the bends, and our speed imperceptibly creeps upwards.

I can't see my own face, but I know the grin is massive, as every second starts to matter.  This road is fun.  Proper fun.  On a bike anyway, I wouldn't want to be getting a hustle on in a car - it's far too narrow to relax! 

We reach the head of the Pass, and stop to admire the views and take photos.  Well in truth Scott takes photo's.  I decide not to even attempt to remove my gloves, as I am not convinced I'll be able to get them back on again!  We exchange notes on the last section of road, and both agree that it is the best stretch of road that either of us have ever ridden on a bike.  From me that's not surprising, given my lack of experience.  But from Scott that's high praise indeed.  

North-East from the head of the Ballaghisheen Pass

The surface of Mars!

The view to the North East of the pass is amazing.  It's like I imagine the surface of Mars, but with added brown grass just to soften it all up.  The whole view of the valley is framed with the MacGillicuddy's Reeks mountain directly North of us in the distance.  At this point, the only man-made objects we can see are the road, and a single power line following it.

I think we both could have turned around and done it all again.  Perhaps we should have given in to that impulse - I'm convinced we would not have regretted it.  But instead, we pushed on towards the Gap of Dunloe.  The other side of the Ballaghisheen Pass was an enjoyable wind-down, and had the weather been warmer, we probably would have stopped a few times to admire the views.  But in what seemed like only 20 minutes, we were back in amongst hedges and farms, and avoiding poorly signposted roadworks, amongst the string of villages that live in the shadow of Carrauntoohill.

The Gap of Dunloe

The road from Kate Kearney's Cottage to the Head of The Gap (the highest point on the raod), is about only 6 km long, climbing about 200 m (650 ft) altogether. Within it are five lakes connected by the River Loe.  Between the first two lakes is an old arch bridge called the 'Wishing Bridge' so named because it is said that wishes made while upon it are destined to come true.  I wish I'd made a wish....

The road through it is narrow, winding and difficult for most motor vehicles. Tourists often take a horse-drawn trap up through the Gap.  And it's difficult for the traps as well; we had been told by a local that some American tourist's had sadly been killed in the last month or so when the trap the were riding in fell off the road, and overturned on top of them.  Tragic.

Today there are no horses - the weather is foul, and the tourists are staying away.  Wise tourists...

The easy part of The Gap of Dunloe

 
As we climb into the Gap, the weather once again closes in.  Visibility is really poor, and my pinlock visor is fogging up.  The rain seems to be super concentrated.  I confess that about half way up I'm starting to struggle.  It's a combination of the wet surfaces, the undulations, the change of camber, and my inexperience.  We are in a natural funnel, and every drop of rain that falls just seems to stream across the road.  I can make all the excuses under the sun, but about 500 metres below the Head of the Gap, I face the tightest left-hand hairpin on the whole road. It pretty much turns 170 degrees, and the carriageway is no more than 2 metres wide.  I shoulder check to see what's coming down the hill - nothing - and take the widest possible line around the bend.  As I hit the apex of the turn, which is also the steepest part of the transition, I slip the clutch a little too much.  Something akin to whiskey throttle happens next, and I panic and let the clutch out too quickly.  Gretchen snatches forward, and I clip a large rock on the outside of the curve.  As the back wheel slips and slides, she falls over onto her left hand side!  I successfully leap clear and am completely unhurt.

"I've crashed" I yell on the intercomm.
"What???" What do you mean you have crashed? Can you pick it up?"
"I've hit a rock and dropped the bike"

Biker down!  That's me, Gretchen and two helpful hikers. 

Scott can't see me, as he has gone around the next bend.  And he can't turn around either, as it's strictly single track, with no usable margin for turning, so he just has to stop on the outside of a corner a couple of hundred metres along the track.  A couple of hikers coming down the road offer to help me get Gretchen back upright. 

As we are able to converse via intercom, I fill him in on progress with righting the bike, and checking her over.  The only damage is the paintwork on the crash-bars, once again, doing their job.  A passing car stops and re-assures him I'm alright, and within 5 minutes I've caught up with him.  Now he knows I'm actually alright, the piss-taking can begin in earnest...

In fairness, Scott saves the piss-taking until much later.  I think he is aware that I'm a bit shaken up, and he does give me some much needed advice about taking some of the remaining hairpins.  Primary point - stay away from the clutch! 

Waterfall

My nerves steady, and I start to enjoy riding again.  We pass the most wonderful waterfall and stop to take photos.  We rejoin the N70 just by Moll's Gap, and return to Killarney. 

We shower, change into wonderfully dry clothes, and find a boiler room behind the shower block where I can hang my gloves and textiles to dry off.  I chicken out of cooking by the bikes, and prepare my food indoors, as there are still occasional rain showers throughout the evening.  Happily, the forecast for tomorrow is much better.

We end up chatting with a fellow from Dublin, who is car camping with gear purchased exclusively from Halfords.  He is braver than he knows....

Darkness comes, and sleep is welcome.

Day 5 - Killarney to Tacumshane

We break camp and leave fairly early, having decided to ride towards Tipperary.  Why Tipperary?  Well, it's was purely a random choice as we looked at the map - "Let's find out if it really is a long way to Tipperary".  Also, we hope to find a Leprechaun to take home.  Don't ask...  We set Tipperary as the next waypoint on the SatNav, and simply follow the instructions.  The roads are quiet, and we settle into a really relaxed pace, as we beat across country making an average of 60 -70 kph.

It takes us nearly 2 hours to get to Tipperary, but the route here was pretty.  It's much smaller, and much duller than we had hoped it to be.  We had planned to stop for a coffee, but all we see on the High Street are pubs, charity and betting shops!  OK, I may exaggerate, but we didn't see anything that looked remotely appetising.  So we pulled up, and programmed Kilmore Quay as our next waypoint on the SatNav; we would just stop at the next cafe we saw.

There are lot's of subtle differences between travelling in the UK and travelling in Ireland.  One of the biggest from my perspective, is an almost total absence of roadside cafes.  I think we were riding in the forsaken hope that it would change as we approached some of the more populous towns towards the south coast; Ballyglasheen, Clonmel, Carrick-on-Suir, Waterford, New Ross all pass by with NO roadside cafes.... oh well.
 

Bikes at rest in Kilmore Quay

After another 2 hours, we arrive in Kilmore Quay.   This is a pretty little fishing village situated on a coastal promontory facing out to St. George's Channel.  It's nice and quiet, so we grab a light lunch and a coffee at a quayside cafe, and then go for a walk around. 

The marina at Kilmore Quay

We see at least half a dozen thatched buildings on the main street in the village, something we haven't seen anywhere else in Ireland (I read when I got home that there are less than 1500 thatched buildings in the whole of Ireland ).  The overall look and feel is lovely; this is definitely somewhere I could live!

We locate a gift shop that sells the kind of things we were looking for - you know, quality tourist tat - and pick up a few small gifts to take home.  I do actually consider this to be another unsung and meritorious string to the bow of motorbike touring; it's completely impractical to buy loads of stuff to bring home, because you just don't have the space, so you don't spend vast swathes of money and time on souvenirs!

The vast beaches of County Wexford - this one is 10 km from one end to the other!

There are vast and predominantly empty beaches either side of the village, so we have to go for a wonder before returning to the bikes, and setting off for our destination for the evening, Tacumshane.  Never heard of it?  Me neither.

Bikes at rest for the evening - our AirBnB location

Our return ferry leaves Rosslare Harbour at 08:45 tomorrow morning, and we need to be at the port to board an hour earlier than that.  I'd decided to book a low cost AirBnB for the night, as I didn't fancy wrestling with a wet tent first thing in the morning, and besides, there was no way we would be using the first night's campsite again.  Our AirBnB was a converted small animal barn on a farm that flanked a coastal lagoon.  This provided us with relatively straightforward  access to the beach.

Part of the lagoons behind the ocean

We could hear the breakers rushing onto the shore, and as we crested the dunes, we were faced with a vast and completely un-peopled beach!  We sat down, lit cigars, and sank a beer, whilst watching the sun inexorably descend towards the horizon. 

Day 6 - Heading Home

We join the small queues at Rosslare Harbour, and await loading instructions.  We are at the head of our assigned lane, so keep a watchful eye on the harbour staff. Eventually, a yellow jacketed fellow emerged from the harbour office, and from 50 m away, just waved at everyone the universal gesture for "get moving"!  We realised that chaos would ensue, but as were already astride the bikes, we made it through the gate in second place just behind the racey Range Rover Sport..

Another yellow jacketed fellow pulled us over to check our boarding passes, right in the middle of the exit lane, as containers were still being offloaded!  A port authority car had to take evasive action - chaos! We boarded the ferry, and were directed to the side where we had parked before, and then abandoned.  Whereas the deckhands at Pembroke had organised the dozen or so motorbikes on the outbound journey with great care, taking responsibility for tying the bikes down for transit.  No such help was offered this time.  They didn't even show us where the shackles and seat pads were stowed, we had to go get them ourselves.  After a couple of minutes, Scott said "sod this" and went and grabbed one of the deckhands.

"Can't you do it yourself?"
"What about insurance?  If this comes undone, who is liable then? I'd rather you did it." 

Good point, well made.  Besides, we were the only motorbikes this sailing!  All-in-all, I'd say that the Rosslare Harbour experience was one of the harbour company winging it on manpower and organisation.  Unimpressed.

Bikes properly secured

We fuelled up in Pembroke once again - Scott was on fumes, and my fuel light had just come on as we disembarked, and then set our sights on home.  We start at a steady fuel-saving pace, which we manage to hold until Newport.  At this point we note that it looks like we should be able to make the Severn crossing by 3 of the afternoon.  "Make it so!"  The pace picks up.....

There is no doubt that whilst the last hour of any trip home has some element of boredom to it - our over-familiarity with the roads and scenery, expected traffic patterns etc. - but there is also an element of excitement.  To get home, our comfort zone, back with loved ones, sharing our experiences, a favourite chair...  We love to get away, but we also love coming home.  I swear that Scott - who is leading - is increasing his speed by 1 mph per minute, such is his excitement to get home!

We split up at the roundabout off the motorway junction, as Scott goes straight ahead, and I take the first exit towards Taunton and home. 

Coda

So what has this short trip meant to me?  What have I learned?

Firstly, don't put off your plans - JFDI to use the modern idiom!  You will rarely - if ever - regret choosing to push outside your comfort zones, and visit new places, do new things.  There were several opportunities in the weeks approaching this trip where it would have been easy for me to back out, citing this or that (obviously legitimate) excuse.  But I didn't cave in, and I don't regret it.  It was a small adventure, but it was an adventure nonetheless.

Secondly, it's great to travel with a someone you love the company of.  This can even be your spouse or family, but in this case not, as Angela doesn't ride (yet?) and she definitely doesn't camp!  But having someone you like or love to share an experience with, be it a view, a vista, a meal, a beer, a laugh (Poh-tay-toes!) the silence, the sky.... that is invaluable and deepens relationships.

Thirdly, as a biker, this type of trip improves your riding skills massively.  Travelling nearly 1100 miles in 6 days, over every conceivable type of road, has to have a positive effect on your skills.  Despite the fact that I fell off the bike in The Gap of Dunloe, I know what I did wrong, and have learned from it.  Happily, neither me or Gretchen were hurt in the making of this adventure.  I know I'm a better rider than when I left the UK, and that has to be a good thing.

And lastly, always be planning another adventure.  Preferably several.  Never let the sun set on your ambitions - I know what I'm looking to do next. You'll read about it here!