Third Ireland email

I’m somewhere in the middle of the Irish Sea on my way to Liverpool from Belfast, an 8 hour test of idle endurance.

My last email, sent just before my last riding day, was from Leenane after a hard day riding in the rain. Given the vagaries of Irish weather, the next morning was sunny and clear with just a wisp of fog kissing the tops of the hills on the other side of the fjord. I was surprised to look out my window and see the green hillside across the water, as it had been brown in the dusky dampness the day before.

The run to Clifden, my stop for the night, was not far, maybe 22 miles directly on the main highway. While there aren’t many roads in this part of Ireland, there are a few. I’d mapped 3 possible routes. Direct on the highway and two longer ones that took detours off the National road. I would choose one when I knew the weather.

When I left, it was sunny with a tailwind. But, rain was forecast for the afternoon, so there was a hint of urgency. The riding was fabulous with light traffic and fabulous views across the fjord.

There always comes a day when my experience switches from starting a bike tour to being on a bike tour. It is a settling of the spirit as both my mind and body drop down into bike touring mode. My state of mind narrows to the road, the bike, and the moment. This occurred a few minutes into this day’s ride.

All the rain had created a series of tiny cascades next to the road that formed a kind of eclectic gurgling symphony as the fuschia flashed by.

I was along the fjord for only a couple miles when the road turned up and inland. The slope was gentle and the temperature warm enough for me to stop next to a tourist bus and removed my leg warmers.

Once headed inland, the views changed to lakes, rocky-bottomed rivers, a few trees, and wide vistas tinged pink from flowering bushes. It was just me and Ireland, as traffic was down to a vehicle every few minutes and the only sound I heard was bird calls and the chain moving through the bike’s gears.

The sky was full of white puffy clouds and patches of blue sky. Though, in the distance, I could see some darker patches. With the tailwind, the miles were almost effortless, a joyful way to move through nature.

Unfortunately, I missed the first turn and kept riding on the main highway. I wouldn’t discover this until I was way too far past if to turn around. Instead, I rode past a large lake (Kylemore Lough) with forest on one side and towering hills on the other. There was even a patch of wildflowers on its bank.

The traffic picked up and became a bit of a bother. A few miles further and I realized the reason: Kylemore Abbey. A well-known building with walled gardens that attracts every tourist bus in the region. I didn’t stop but I got a wonderful vista of it across the lake that it sits on.

There was more foliage now along the road, in some places almost forest-like. I was also often passing gushing rivers, which always called to me for a photo. While I regretted missing my turn, it would have meant missing these vistas, so I’m not sorry.

A few miles further, as homes became more frequent, was the real town of Letterrack, where the headquarters of Connemara National Park are located. It has shops, hotels, a grocery, and other services. It was here that I decided to alter my route to ride up into the peninsulas northwest of Clifden toward the sea.

I turned off the main road and the wind pushed me along a couple of long lakes, through pastures, past homes, and the usual fuschia-infused hedges lining the road. I could see angry clouds as I stopped for a sandwich in Cleggen, a fishing village facing the open ocean.

As I turned south toward Clifden, the wind turned too. I could feel drops of rain as I pushed past homes beside desolate terrain. I didn’t want to get caught in a downpour and I pushed hard the last few miles making good time.

I met the main road about 2 miles north of Clifden. The traffic was now constant and the road narrow. I pulled off where I could to let the vehicles pass. I had to climb over a headland and between the howling wind, impending rain, and fast traffic, it was a challenge. I found a bike path into town and it began to rain as I stepped into my hotel. By far, my best biking day of the trip!

I had decided that my ride would end at Clifden after consulting weather predictions and weighing my options for getting from where I was to Belfast for the ferry to England. But, I had planned an extra day in Clifden, in case I wanted to ride around the area.

The next day was bright and sunny and I decided a hike was in order. Instead of biking along the water, I would walk along it. Clifden is a very cute tourist town considered the main access point for Connemara. It sits at the head of a long bay.

Around 11, I walked out along the Beach Road. I took many photos across the narrow bay and even saw a white fuschia, the only non-red one of the entire trip! After this road ended, I walked up the cliff to Clifden Castle, a ruined house built to look like a stone castle. After sitting there for a while, I started my walk back to Clifden. There was another castle along the way called Abbeyglen that is now an attractive hotel. It was a nice day, there was a pretty view, and the John Wayne biography I was listening to was interesting. I sat there for 90 minutes or so enjoying the passing time.

When the weather began to turn, I walked back to town, checked into an apartment for the night (I couldn’t find 2 nights in the same place,so opted for 1 night in 2 places), made a nice dinner for myself and went to bed.

The trip to England effectively started the next day. I took a noon bus back to Galway where the rain limited my time outside. The next day, I took 2 trains to Belfast. One to Dublin, where I rode between stations, stopping at a vegetarian sandwich shop I’d discovered along my route. The second went from Dublin to Belfast, where I arrived about 4pm. A short ride through downtown Belfast got me to a nice hotel right across the street from the block-sized city hall.

Belfast is a odd mix of old formal brick buildings and new glass ones. There are also a number of public art pieces scattered about. There was a certain vitality to it.

I had decided to spend a day in Belfast. My first goal was to ride my bike to the ferry terminal to insure I knew where to go and how long it would take. This was a good exercise as I had the wrong terminal in mind. In the end, it was about a 6 mile ride and took about 35 minutes, almost entirely on bike paths.

I returned to the hotel and after lunch decided to ride over to West Belfast which had been the site of serious violence during The Troubles. It’s walls and buildings are covered in murals and it is a major tourist draw. I mapped a 9 mile loop and rode over. I saw many of the hundreds of murals, most of them quite faded. The most impactful sight was the “peace wall,” a physical separation between neighborhoods topped with barbed wire and with lockable gates across streets. This wall is covered in murals spouting political statements, both old and contemporary, along with ones dedicated to Nelson Mandela and Fredrick Douglas. I was reminded of the Berlin Wall.

I also got a good glimpse of real life in Belfast. Homes, shops, school children, and other artifacts of everyday existence. While I was there for the murals, I became more interested in simply seeing the area. What struck me was that many of the buildings had medallions on them commemorating some one or other, a poet here, a soldier there.

My way back was through a large park full of playing fields and trees. Once back at the hotel, I decided to finish up the food I’d ridden all the way here, which was dehydrated broccoli and ramen.

This morning, I packed up, rode to the ferry terminal in the sun, boarded the boat for the 8 hour trip across the Irish Sea. After an overnight in Liverpool, I take the last leg of this trip, a non-stop train to Norwich and Loddon, the village where Julia’s mum lives.

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