Goleen to Mizen Head to Kenmar

THE-lady-of-the-house at the excellent Heron’s Cove B/B in Goleen (very highly recommended) told us breakfast didn’t start until 9am then noticednthe look of disappointment on our faces. We had a big day to cycle down to Mizen Head, thennreturn through Goleen and ride northnto Kenmare. About 62 miles. So she had a great idea.

She suggested we got up early, cycled the 6.5 miles to Mizen Head, take our various photos, then cycle back to Goleen to collect our panniers, and more importantly, have our Full Irish breakfast. So that’s what we did.

It was a bright and chilly morning butmit was great to wheel down the peninsula unencumbered by luggage. What a difference it makes. The whole Mizen Head complex was still locked up so we jumped the wall, wandered down as far as we could, and took our Mizen Head to Malin Head selfies! By the time we returned to the Heron’s Cove at Goleen we were more than ready for our Full Irish.

We set off at about tennish and after a few burps from a good breakfast settled into a good rhythm.

After about 5 miles Hamish braked frantically, turned to me with a mild panic and asked me if I’d left the room key in the B/B. I assured him I had left it on the counter when we paid.

Several miles later, when we stopped for a pee, Himself felt something rattling in his shirt pocket. It was the room key!

For some inexplicable reason, probably due to creeping dementia, he had picked the key up from the desk and pocketed it.

We cycled on to the village of Durrus, found a Post Office, and posted the key back to the hotel.

Conscience salved we carried on but a few miles outside the village there, straddling the road before us, stood the Lady-of-the-House! She had driven the 20 or so miles after us and she didn’t look pleased.

“Where’s my key?” she demanded and for the first time in a few years I saw Hamish tremble. Dr Hamish Telfer, respected academic and feared trade unionist, actually shook and trembled. “I’ve just posted it back to you,” he said, before apologising profusely.

I’m actually exaggerating a little because the Lady-of-the-house was actually surprisingly pleasant about the whole thing, and said she would collect the key from the Durris post office before it succumbed to the vagaries of the Irish postal service. But Dr Telfer really did almost shit himself…

After that things settled down. We made good time into Bantry by Bantry Bay of the emmigrations, the folk tales and the traditional songs. We grabbed some lunch in a bakery and then promptly took the wrong way out of town. As Sod’s Law would have it, our wrong route climbed a very steep hill and after a mile or so I stopped a guy and asked him if we were on the right road to Glengarriff. He put us right, and we had to return downhill, through the town, and onto the correct road.

The road largely followed the coast with some great views across Bantry Bay to the Caha Mountains. They looked like great hills with some nice tight ridges. Little were we to know we would soon see them much closer to hand.

We stopped for a pee break in Glengarriff, encouraged by the fact we only had 16 miles or so to go to our night stop in Kenmare. Little did we know that we had to cross a high mountain pass.

The road began pleasantly enough, through some woods with little signposts pointing out walking routes and picnic areas. We were in good fettle. After half an hour we were still climbing, the road had deteriorated into tarmac ruts and Hamish was grumbling about it. I just managed to hear the occasional swear word.

After an hour we were still climbing, and still on the ruts, but by now the views of the Caha Mountains were superb. Just then a sign proclaimed the Caha Pass. A tunnell burrowed its way through the rock at the top of the pass before we hurtled downhill, whooping like children and pretending we were Chris Froome and Bradley Wiggins descending the Tourmalet. There’s nothing like a steep descent to return you to childhood.

In no time we were back at sea level in the town of Kenmare, found the excellent Hawthorn House B/B, settled in and toasted ourselves under a fabulous shower. Hamish has stopped grumbling now and is checking out places to eat and where he can buy ginger beer. Oh, and I’m not letting him anywhere near the room key!

Kenmare to Listowel

Stayed at a very good B/B in Kenmare only let down by our hostess’s recommendation of a good place for music. “You”ll get a great meal in Davitts,” she said, “Then cross the road to Crowley’s pub for some great music.

As it happened there was great music in the restaurant. A fiddler and guitarist kept us entertained while we ate and then, as recommended, we crossed the road to the dingy recesses of Crowleys pub. Dingy recesses are fine, and the Murphy’s was so good even Hamish managed to down a half pint, but the live music was not what we expected.

We were looking for some authentic traditional music, what we got was four Essex accents with guitars pretending they were traditional singers. We left as they strangled Roger Miller’s King of the Road. Trailers for sale or rent, my arse…

Shortly after 9am, the real Kings of the Road left Kenmare, Hamish leading. First mistake. He missed the Killarney road and we ended up immediately climbing a big hill. This, as it happened, was to be our day of big hills.

We eventually found the right road and it immediately began climbing, higher and higher until we were amongst mountains. This was the infamous Moll’s Gap, the high pass on the Ring of Kerry, and it was quite beautiful. We had great views of Carrantoohill and Tomies Mountain, with the Gap of Dunloe in between and, as a real bonus, the sun was shining.

A magnificent descent took us down by the lakes of Killarney, down by the horse shit of the jaunting cars at Muckross and into the fleshpots of Killarney. It was time for a coffee.

We found what looked like an ideal cafe, with seats and a table outside where we could keep an eye on our bikes. We had just ordered two coffees and two fruit scones and I was just about to sink my teeth into the jam covered cream laden scone when a guy came up to us and proceeded to blether for about 45 mins. He was in his late sixties and had a ponytail. All right, I’m maybe slightly biased against older men with enough hair to wear it in a ponytail but this guy was a bore. He kept asking me about places I had been and he had apparently always been somewhere better, bigger or higher, and always on his bike. He had cycled the highest road in the world, the coldest road in the world and, oh yes, he had met the Dalai Lama!

We coudln’t get away from this guy and when the opportunity did arise we rushed off in such a hurry I left my specs behind. At least that’s my excuse.

We stopped some miles out of Killarney to check the map and that’s when I noticed my specs were missing. I have to confessnthis is becoming something of a habit. I put my sunglasses down somewhere on Day 1 and cycled off without them. Hamish has suggested I tie them round my neck with a bit of string.

Fortunately the next village had a pharmacy and sold reading specs. I bought two pairs, just in case…

In a town called Castleisland we asked about the road to Listowel, where we planned to stop for the night. The chap we spoke to advised us to follow the main road to Tralee and then Listowel but we reckoned that might add a few miles to the day’s tally. We wanted to take a direct route that we saw on the map. The guy looked at us, smiled, and said we didn’t really want to take that road. “I live up there,” he said,”and I drive my truck up that road. Sometimes it doesn’t make it. It’s steep, very steep.”

We had just ridden the famed Healy’s Pass over the Caha mountains, and earlier in the day Moll’s Gap – we were pretty sure we could manage another hill or two…

Later on we asked someone else and he looked at us as if to say, “You don’t want to go that way – that’s the High Road!”

But we did, and off we went, and it didn’t take long before we saw what they were talking about. A brute of an incline turned a bend, then went on and on, and on… At one point I decided I’d be faster pushing the bike, and I was, but Hamish heroically pedalled all the way up.

Two miles later we reached the crossroads at the top of the hill and we stood for a few moments, pale- faced, shaking and groaning quietly. We were too knackered to even contemplate the view back to MacGillicuddy’s Reeks.

Little did we know that was only the first of a series of steep hills in the next 10 miles, the most undulating 10 miles I’ve cycled in years. But we made it, not only that but we made it in some style. As we approached Listowell we noticed gathering storm clouds of biblical proportions, and not being very keen on being rained on by frogs or even cats and dogs we went hell for leather. We found a B/B just as the heavens opened.

That was a few hours ago. Since then we’ve showered, napped, and had a delightful meal in a Chinese restaurant. So, now bellyfull of rice and noodles and prawn crackers we are resting in preparation for tomorrows epic – across the Shannon and into County Clare, home of Irish traditional music, the Burren and the matchmaker of Lisdoonvarna.

Listowel to Doolin

I’m writing this blog in the Rainbow Hostel in Doolin, County Clare. We arrived here late this afternoon and it was like arriving in paradise, or at least an Irish version of paradise.

Across the sea the Aran islands are simmering in the evening sun and there’s a scent of turf smoke in the air. The village itself is fairly busy but we managed to beat the busy spell in McGann’s pub where we devoured an excellent Ceasar salad and a huge bowlful of Irish stew with soda bread. The plan is to write up this blog then nip out again for some more Guinness and some traditional music.

We’re still smarting a bit from the rubbish session in Kenmare the other night so we’re prepared to try all the pubs in Doolin tonight to get some authentic music. Most of the sessions don’t start until 9 or 9.30 so it’ll be a late night for us. Normally we’ve crashed out by 10.

We had another good ride today, with no mishaps so far. Listowel was wet and dreary when we left after a superb breakfast at our North County B/B. We felt a bit encumbered with all our waterproofs on and by the time we had cycled the 11 miles to the Tarbert ferry which would carry us across the Shannon we both felt hot and sticky, and wet.

Fortunately the weather improved when we reached County Clare and it didn’t take us long to follow the coastal road into Kilrush where we stopped for morning coffee and a scone. From there we headed north to Cooraclare and Creagh, and we made good time on a straight and slightly undulating road with the wind at our tail. If only all cycling could be like this.

Next stop was Milltown Malbay, hometown of the famous Irish piper Willie Clancy, whose statue adorns the Main Street. We were on the coast again with easy windblown cycling all the way to Lahinch.

With the flattish roads and the winds behind us it came as a bit of a shock to hit the Moher Hill, a double whammy of a hill just before the famous Cliffs of Moher. We had planned a wee stop there to have a look at the cliffs but we didn’t expect the huge car parks and crowds. It was hard to believe the numbers of people there, mostly American (indeed I think we’ve heard more American accents since we arrived here than Irish) and I confess to feeling acutely uncomfortable with so many people.

I’m very aware of the value of tourism but we really are spoiling some of our so-called attractions. The Cliffs of Moher are nice, but are not anything special and this mass tourification of such places simply removes the very thing that makes them attractive. Hamish and I agreed that we’re glad, and very fortunate, to have seen and enjoyed the wild places we have seen before they’ve been overpopularised.

We also agreed that we were fortunate to see these places, and enjoy a journey like ours, under our own steam, rather than have to rely on a tour company. God only knows what the Cliffs of Moher are like in the high season, in July and August?

Enough of this wingeing. We’ve had another marvellous day and it’s time to go out again for some music, and maybe another Guinness or two. We feel as though we’re on holiday tonight. We don’t have to get up early in the morning and we don’t have to cycle 50-60 miles. And tomorrow we visit the Aran Islands, Inishmore in particular, a place I’ve always wanted to visit. It’ll be marvellous if the weather holds and we see the islands at their best, but there again, it could be good to experience their Celtic mystery on a soft and misty day. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.