King Puck and various Manx types
Now that I'm back home how can I sum up Ireland? In particularly the south-west. Well it's much mis-used word I know but "awesome" does do it justice.
The place is mountainous like the north-west of Scotland or the Lakes but the towns and villages are so much more … Irish. Imagine the best bits of Scotland (I'm thinking Tobermory, Plockton) but far more colour. Everything is painted vibrant colours; pubs, butchers, you-name-it, all have decorated hanging signs, baskets of flowers adorn window ledges or hang in baskets, doors are painted. There is an atmosphere to the place that I can't describe, a sense of time aplenty, history and community.
And the roads. Omigod the roads. This is a biking story after all...
Some road are as shite, as you may have heard, but others are a bikers dream. I'm not talking 150bhp rocketship dreams but lovely sweeping bends, very little traffic, all through the most stunning scenery and when you need a break that old favourite the Irish pub. Although if you're still riding a coffee and eats is your best bet, wait till you get back to base for the first Guinness of the day, the real stuff is just too tasty to just have the one.
It all sounds a bit naff putting it like that so go and see for yourself.
Anyway enough gibberish this is what we did and who did it.
And if you wondering about the sub title it's always been one of my favourite songs and now it has a special meaning to me. The first line......
It's raining. Bugger!!! Still nothing we can do about it so Lindsey and I load up the bikes and set off.
Down the wet A1, over the wet A66, turn off towards Kirby Stephen and things start to look better. On to Tebay and the M6, boring I know but we can't be bothered with anything more interesting, and then M56 and A55 along the top of Wales in the sunshine.
North Wales is as beautiful as always and the drivers are as ignorant and obstreperous as ever.
On to Holyhead, follow an easy set of directions, get lost, find ourselves again and there it is, Wavecrest B&B. The owner lets us park the bikes in his garage and shows us to our room - at the top of the stairs. Here we go again...
Once unpacked and a walk was in order. Holyhead has a nice harbour but other than that it's just like any other town so we went for a drink. The first pub we tried was ok but nothing special so after a swift pint we wandered on and decided to try out a place called "79". Not much to look at from the outside but once in it did a tardis trick and managed to fit a nice bar and restaurant in there, both food and beer where well up to standard which finally convinced me I was on me hols.
Across the bridge and into Killorglin
We awake to glorious sunshine and then a glorious breakfast. We ride down to the ferry and are sent on, I think I only had to select neutral once! The ferry crossing is boring but thankfully quick and on a flat calm sea but my main gripe is the lack of outside bits. What gives? One small external cage for smokers and one for the rest - pain in the arse if you ask me, I like to be outside on sunny ferry crossings.
Soon we reach Dun Laoghairy and are unceremoniously kicked out into cloud. Oh well...
Without too much chaos we soon get onto the N7 to Limerick. The traffic is not just heavy it's stupid heavy, and most irritating. Once off the dual carriageway section it's common or garden "N" road but with miles and miles of solid whites and ludicrous amounts of traffic. This unfortunately continues most of the way.
The highlights been:-
And the low points must be the amount of English caravaners clogging up the traffic and driving me nuts.
Still 6 1/2 hours later we arrive at The Lodge, our house for the week in Killorglin. It's a good one, a large bungalow with plenty of rooms and good parking behind the house for the bikes.
We are met by Janice, George and Mike and soon find ourselves heading pubwards for a pint before back for an early night. This develops into a not early night as we slurp beer in the garden till the early hours.
Our preferred watering hole for the week
And we awake to the sound of little raindrops. Arse...
By the time we've got up and stuffed breakfast it's starting to look a little better with a vague promise of sunshine by afternoon.
Grabbing cameras and coats we take a walk into Killorglin too see what it's all about. It's a very pretty little place with traditional Irish architecture, i.e. every other building is a pub and all are brightly coloured, this encourages me to wave my camera about and generally make a pain of myself.
By midday it's looking good enough to fit shiny visors and go for a ride to Dingle. The first bit to the Inch peninsula (a lump of sand poking out into Dingle Bay) is all long straights and boring, boring, boring. We stop at Inch regardless and have a walk down to the beach, it all seems popular with the locals but fails to hold our attention for long because we're fickle like that.
Back on the bikes and on towards Dingle; and the road starts to twist, and turn, and dive - so Lindsey and I give it a handful each and blurp off to play. It's an ace bit of road, fair bit of traffic but all easily dispatched, which leaves more time for playing "point and squirt" round the corners.
Dingle, a wonderful place spoilt only by the herds of tourists
Dingle is a huge letdown after the whole process of getting there. Yes it's pretty but it's also stuffed to the gills with tourists of all variety.
We mooch about for a bit and then head for the Conair Pass. Another entertaining bit of road with stunning scenery and of course gaggles of tourists in cars creeping along in first gear - it does my head in cos I can't get past. It's worth it though just for the views at the top, mind you it does get a little blowey...
More silliness gets us back to Killorglin with smiles and grins. We chill out in the sun with a beer or two then consume a huge Sunday lunch manufactured with loving care by Janice and consumed in a frenzy by the rest of us.
After a few more beers Jim eventually turns up on his Ducati which seems a good enough reason to got to a pub. We find a good 'un (but they all are) with some music on, it all sound kinda pro-IRA though, which is to be expected in this neck of the woods. The approval rating for the IRA increased significantly in the UK when they bombed Maggie but was tempered by the fact they failed to actually get her...
The top of the Conair Pass. Not too sure if the girls are holding the bikes down or visa versa.
Following another hearty breakfast and continuing fine if not flag cracking weather we decide on a tour of the Ring of Kerry.
The road from Killorglin makes a nice start to the day as the road bounces, twists and turns through the country. To the left mountains in abundance and to the right Dingle Bay, which gives you something to look at while awaiting a safe overtaking chance when stuck behind the inevitable tourist coach and it's convoy of followers. The place is very busy and these little knots of traffic become a regular feature of the day.
We regather somewhere near to Feakecally and look back across the bay to the Dingle peninsula, wave our cameras about and get passed again by coaches, cars and wagons.
Revenge is theirs... The Manx types manage to hold up the traffic.
At a much more sedate pace we pootle on and through Cahersiveen and then out to Valencia Island which I'm distraught to find does not have a race track! We don't actually do much on Valencia, just across the bridge to the visitors centre and wander round aimlessly for a bit. Then decide we're too tight to go into the Skellig Experience Exhibition so come away non the wiser as to what a Skellig experience might be - possibly a sensible move.
We continue round the coast road past St Finans Bay, the place is truly beautiful however mindless touristy gawping must be curtailed by the fact we're on tiny, twisting single track road lined with red fuscia bushes.
We rejoin the ring then stop at Waterville for lunch which consists of the worlds most expensive toasty - if your ever in Waterville mind where you eat...
We all do our own thing on the next stretch and non of us really enjoy it. The road is in a terrible condition with more bumps and lumps than a bumpy lumpy thing, it's also narrow and jambed with the inevitable tourist coaches whose whole purpose is, I am now convinced, to piss everyone off.
By the time we reach Sneem Lindsey has had enough and declares that we are not doing the rest of the ring but the R568 inland to Mols Gap.
This turns out to be the best move of the day, while most the other traffic is queuing and bouncing along behind some coach we have a nice piece of (relatively) smooth and empty tarmac to play with. Best riding bit of the day by a long way and highly recommended. Mols Gap and the visitors centre provides a good place for a coffee and a rest.
Who said Irish roads where all rubbish?
Lindsey and I are just enjoying the views when George burbles past on the KLE towards the Gap of Dunloe, a few seconds later the distinctive sounds of a VFR and big Guzzi signify the arrival of Janice and Mike.
We join them in time to watch a bunch of Army driver training trucks head off down the Killarny road, then coaches and then cars all with a lone and possible mad cyclist in hot pursuit. Arse, guess which way we need to go.
Needless to say within a few miles we catch up with the stragglers (no sign of the cyclist though) and then just when I think things can't get any worse everything stops. Small narrow bridge on tight bend. Two coaches head to head. Large convoy of cars behind each. And us! Fortunately there is gust enough space between the coaches to fit a decent sized motorcycle...
Great I think but then the rain starts leading to low level misery by the time we reach the outskirts of Killarney - and there ahead the lone mad cyclist. Killarney is full of traffic jambs and horse shit (no, I don't know why but the roads are covered) and the rain is starting to look like it means to stay for a bit.
And at last we're out of the town and on open smooth roads again (it's all relative here, back home it would a "B" road) and can get up to the giddy heights of ... 60mph. Wow!!!
Back in Killorglin and I'm knackered, we're only done 120-something miles but I feel like I've done 300+.
By about 10:00 we manage to motivate ourselves to go to the pub for a few well earned pints of Guinness. Janice and Mike start on their comedy acts routine and by the time we get to the one-eye-deer, no-eye-deer, no-fuckin-idea and still-no-fuckin-eye-deer my brain has turned to cheese.
Strange sort of day today. Weather is rain, then fine, then rain etc etc etc. The rest of them head off into Killarny in a taxi, come back, wander into Killorglin for a Chinese then head to the pub.
Me? I'm feeling shit so just slob around and do bugger all except, clean the bike (a futile exercise), read and generally chill out - not the most exciting of days I know...
Still feeling utterly shite, but so is the weather so perhaps it's not such a loss.
Janice, Mike, Lindsey and I take a walk during the late morning during which the rains stop and things start to look a little better so full of hope head back to the house.
George and Jim meanwhile have taken the bikes out to do some mountain passes and as we find out later seem to have had the best of the weather.
Janice and Mike set off one way and Lindsey and I head off to the Dingle peninsula again planning to do the final bit we didn't see before. This doesn't go to plan, a few miles down the coast from Inch we run into drizzle and increasing mist till we're reduced to creeping along at 30mph behind another (English) camper-van. Waste of space really so we bail off towards Tralee and a cup of coffee at the windmill. I don't know what it's proper name is but it seems to be a theme centre to do with people leaving for America - although what that has to do with windmills is anyone's guess. Actually anyone who went in may be able to shed some light on the subject but as we didn't, we can't.
Back in Killorglin and the rains continue...
Yet again I'm not up to the pub, but everyone else makes it and seems to have a good time and free drinks from the Landlord.
After a dodgy start the weather sorted itself out so we all went out to play. Lindsey and I went to explore. Out on the N22 from Kilarny, a road the bike mags seem to enjoy but I don't know why - perhaps is because it's the only place where you can use an R1/GSXR/Blade in the area. We soon get bored and take the R569 down to the Beare peninsula and this is where the fun starts. The road twists and turns through the mountains, has bugger all traffic and generally leaves us grinning. This been Ireland of course it is not race track smooth by any stretch of the imagination - perfect for those of us with GS's. Top marks to the farmer whose bails of silage where adorned, one letter per bail, with the legend "FEKOFFCROWS".
From there we follow the coast out and round till we reach Castleton Bearhaven and have a coffee and butty at the McCarthy pub (if you've read the book you'll know what I'm talking about).
Ace looking bar, we just had to go in.
Back up the coast and then in to the Healy Pass. Wow, Healy has built a supermoto track up and down a mountain. Once over the pass the landscape opens out into an utterly stunning vista - sorry no picture of it, a quick snap would not do it justice.
And thus back to Killorglin in time for the pub. Yet again the Kerry's Vintage Inn provides our needs, live band tonight "Three's a Crowd". Perfect, a folk duo playing loads of good stuff and once they launch into "Whisky in the jar" I'm in heaven and we all commence to get mindlessly drunk. Ace night.
"Three's a Crowd", top band, catch them if you can.
Deciding that a full days blat back with a ferry time limit is more stressful than strictly necessary Lindsey and I head off a day early with a planned stop somewhere in the south east.
It's a much better route, N22, N72 and N25 to Waterford where the fun kinda stops. Waterford is traffic hell and the N25 after that busy beyond belief. So at New Ross we declare enough and take to the N70 (previously N79) to find us a B&B. Suddenly no traffic just lots of fun till we land in Enniscorthy, a reasonable B&B is found shortly followed by the Antique Tavern where we enjoy a couple of well earned drinks. Lindsey, been sensible as ever, stops me at drink number three, plan been an early start to get an earlier ferry, and drags me back to our luxurious digs.
So next time we're crossing Ireland it won't be by the N7!!!
We are up early and on the road shortly after the unholy hour of 7:30am. Without breakfast I might add. Not good...
Still this gets us to Dun Laoghairy in time to get a standby on the 11:00 ferry meaning we can forgo the pleasures of another night in Wales.
Over the sea we go then off to home. It's all pretty easy till we get near Chester and traffic chaos, we filter through for miles and miles past overheating cars and motorists without causing too much damage.
Then it's an easy blat up the M6, the section approaching the south Lakes is particularly stunning so we ease off a little to take it all in. Evening sunlight is bathing the mountains and fields in a wonderful glow - Cumbria is a beautiful place.
But that's the high point, after that it's just keep going till we get back to Durham.
Killorglin (again)
View from Inch
After a long hard thrash there is nothing like a cold beer as the bike gradually "tinks" to itself
Lindsey and Janice show the charm and wit for which WIMA is famous
Wahay it MacCarthys Bar. What do you mean you've never read the book.
The Healy Pass. Moto track extraordinaire.