In June, Carla Andringa, Jane Kirk, Denise Nichols, and I were bicycle touring in western Ireland. Also along was a friend, Ellen Smith, who drove and did some riding. (No panniers for us!) We combined up to 55 miles a day of riding through gorgeous scenery with poking around gardens, castles, and ancient forts and monuments. We heard great music, drank pints of Guinness and were charmed by the hospitality and friendliness of the Irish people. It was the first experience as independent cyclotourists for Carla, Jane and Denise and they all say they’re ready for more!
Bike assembly
Three of us brought our bikes with us in boxes. Thanks to Donna Smith, two of us had borrowed hard cases. My bike was in a cardboard box which required substantial reinforcement with duct tape for the trip back to the U.S. The bikes arrived safely after handling by security, needing only reassembly and adjustment. As we fumbled around with the tools, Carla said, “This is harder after 24 hours of no sleep and jet lag.” After a few test rides, we were ready to go.
Rental bikes
Jane and Ellen rented bikes from Irish Cycle in Ennis, our jumping-off town. These bikes were meant to be touring bikes, but they were incredibly clunky and heavy. We saw several heavily loaded tourists on these bikes and felt really sorry for them. Jane took a lighthearted view of her ‘Buick’ and never complained about having to work a lot harder than the rest of us. Most Irish bike mechanics we saw were auto mechanics working out of garages attached to gas stations. The availability of bikes, parts and accessories was very poor by our standards.
Irish Roads
Enjoyment of cycling on Irish roads is a matter of attitude. We soon learned to meaning of signs reading ‘Loose Chippings.’ Somehow, the chippings never seemed as miserable as new coarse and loose chipseal in Yakima! Not only do you have to ride on the left side of the road, but most roads are the narrow, country-lane sort. Everyone in the group had at least one experience of feeling pretty sure they were about to be killed by a passing tour bus or truck. On the other hand, traffic is usually very light and the spectacular scenery quickly makes you forget your near-death experience. A bonus is that the countryside is made even more peaceful by a complete lack of billboards or commercial signs of any kind.
B&B’s
Our accommodations were exclusively at Bed & Breadfast homes. Most were small, with 3 or 4 rooms available. Many addresses in Ireland don’t include numbers, but only a direction, such as ‘Rushlake House, Roundstone, on the road to Ballyconeelly.’ Since most of our destination villages were very small, they were easy to find. We were cheered by the friendliness of the hosts, and had opportunity to hear lots of beautiful brogues and Irishisms. When we reached Rushlake House in Roundstone and said we’d cycled from Galway City, our hostess' response was: “Air ye mad? I’m only after mowin’ the lawn and I’m nearly killed.”
Wind
Much experience was gained with the wind for which Western Ireland is famous. After almost being blown over by the gale force gusts, Denise was a little nervous at first. Now, after being buffeted by 30 mile an hour winds on the Naches loop, she says, “What wind? This is just a little breeze.”
Carla has “worst ride of my life”
Perhaps the quintessential bike touring day was the ride from Cong, County Mayo to Rossaveal, County Galway, where we were to catch the 6:30 p.m. ferry to Inishmaan Island. After riding 40 miles through the bleakest, loneliest bog country of the tour against very fierce gusts, Carla and Denise realized they had missed the turn-off for the ferry. They had to backtrack 7 kilometers. The last ferry of the day would be taking off in half an hour! We made the ferry, which left the dock in a heavy swell. Our bikes had been lashed to a rail outside, and quickly got drenched by the Atlantic. Pretty soon the waves were crashing over the boat as we rolled through crests and troughs, the kind that bring your stomach to your throat. Indeed, stomach contents were flowing into barf bags all around us. When we reached the island and disembarked in the rain, our B&B host met us at the dock in his jeep and asked to take our ‘heavy baggage.’ We followed him on our bikes to our lodgings. Later, from the comfort of our cozy house, Carla wrote in her journal, “This was the worst ride of my life.”
The “full Inishmaan”
Inishmaan is a very small island with a population of about 160. The pace is slow, life is traditional and old men in tweed suits still drive home the cows with herd dogs. Our day there was a fine sunny one and we spent it walking around, since the roads and paths aren’t really suitable for road bikes. Jane and I took off to cross the middle of the island, finding a pathway through gaps in the dry stone walls which seem to cover every inch of it. Eventually there were no more gaps, and we started climbing over the walls. Our B&B host had warned us against this; “Don't start climbing the walls, thinking you’ve found a shortcut. You haven’t.” Finally, lost in the maze, we gave it up and decided to try to retrace our steps. Jane said, “We’ll just call this the full Inishmaan.”
They call it craic
That’s the untranslatable Irish term for the atmosphere of a pub where the music’s good, the bartender knows how to pull a Guinness and the crowd feels like family. We found it in Clery’s of Miltown Malbay, an old resort town on the coast of County Clare. People of all ages spilled over into the living room and laundry room of this tiny house-fronting pub. Everyone from the kids to grandpa was a musician, and by evening’s end they seemed to outnumber the audience. “You won’t find this in Dublin anymore,” sighed an Irish visitor.
Slan go foill! (Goodbye for now!)
Andrea Prentice
Pictures by Jane Kirk.
