Waking several times during the night to preempt my alarm, I finally got up at 04:30, left home at 05:00 heading towards Dublin on my bike (40km). The first hour was in the dark, aided by my Black Diamond Sprinter 500 light set and supplementary rear facing red lights for good measure. But just before reaching my destination, Heuston station, I realised something was wrong with my back wheel - it felt, well... wobbly. On further inspection I diagnosed a flat tyre - it got me to Heuston just about before total collapse. I tried pumping it up to no avail. What does one do, stranded 40km from home at 7am? OK, I was equipped with a spare inner tube and basic tools, and the internet. The latter didn't actually lift a hand to do the work, but did inform me how easy it was to remove the rear wheel on a Trek 1.2 road bike. There wasn't time to do the necessary whilst waiting for the gate to open on my chosen service for Westport, stopping at Manulla Junction where I was to transfer to a two coach back and forth service to Ballina. And there wasn't room on the train to do the work, so I had to suffer the ignominy of a broken bike and the anxiety of travelling even further away from home not knowing for sure how things would turn out. Why anxiety? It was beyond my control, I just could not stop that little voice within saying"what if?".
Cyclists on a train get used to watching the bike rack like a hawk at every station to make sure one's own bike is not totally locked in by other bikes. Choosing a seat within sight of the rack I got to sit opposite to another cyclist whose bike was on top of mine but he was to exit before me so all OK. He turned out to be employed as a programmer in the 5G business and amongst other things we discussed 5G conspiracies and he agreed with me about the fragility of the internet as a whole and how the world has become too dependent on it, citing the scary example of remote surgery via the internet.
Always snap a shot before disassembling
So, unable to fully enjoy the journey because of my little demon "what if?", we eventually arrived at Ballina where I requisitioned the plinth outside the station where I took my bike's rear end apart. A local cycler, who had also just disembarked, offered help which I declined but was very thankful for. Cyclists are a tight community. Anyway I finished the job and the new tyre remained inflated all the way home. But the repair must have cost me a precious half hour or so of my time allowance for the next segment of my journey which was to cycle up to Windy Gap in the Ox Mountains, then down along beautiful Lough Talt towards my destination Collooney just south of Sligo town (52.2km, elevation gain 377m). So now I had a double whammy - could I make it to the train station in Collooney in time to catch the one and only link to home - more anxiety but this time a tad more controllable as I had allowed for an extra hour in my planning. "Planning", when there is only one viable option, is a bit of an overstatement. My lunch break (cheese and Branston sarnies) was severely curtailed, but I made it with over a half hour to spare.
Ballina terminus station
The salmon weir, Ballina
From the footbridge across the Moy
Windy Gap
Lought Talt
The route is single track with passing loops all the way until it converges into the Dublin area. My next whammy was at Edgeworthstown where the train sat for 20 minutes waiting for a down train running very late to pass. My train did make up maybe 10 minutes of time, but my itinerary (as recommended by Irish Rail itself) allowed just 4 minutes to make the connection at Drumcondra for Sallins-and-Naas so obviously I missed it. In the event the next service was only 20 minutes later so all was well, except...
I have already mentioned that, due to the diurnal shortening of daylight hours prevalent at this time of the year, I had had to cycle in darkness for the first hour or so of my Foray: I also knew that I would arrive back home in darkness, so that every additional delay meant more darkness. And I just had to stop for F&C along the way.
I sat on a bench in Naas to eat, but could not muster much enthusiasm - the prospect of a hot shower weighed more heavily than greasy chips. So, after cramming in few more mouthfuls, I set off again and arrived back home at 21:15. A long day out!
The morals?Always carry a spare inner tube and basic tools, be visible especially when it's dark, and don't give up and don't give in to your demons!
Amid reports of the remnants of Hurricane Erin affecting Irish weather, I had rescheduled the foray from Wednesday this week to the day before. I consider myself blessed - apart from a few drops during the day the only proper rain started just a few miles short of my arrival home. It's now the day after as I write this and it is raining steadily, and is due to rain the rest of the week.
I can certainly recommend this foray, although it comes even better if you are 66 or over and thus able to enjoy free travel here in Ireland. And it can be done in a day: no need for the bother of finding a suitable wild camping site and the fear of being evicted. So I set out just before 06:00 with nose and tail lights affixed to my helmet. I got to Connolly station with time to spare (42km in just over 2 hours). After an hour by train to Dundalk I then cycled to Carlingford (26km) where I joined the Greenway, which has only recently been extended all the way to Newry (20km). From Newry I joined the Newry Canal Way which follows the West bank of the now defunct Newry Canal (not to be confuesed with the Newry Ship Canal) and thence to Portadown (32km). Finally I boarded the train for Dublin Connolly changing for the commuter service to Sallins from where I cycled back home (21km) via a pizza shop.
Both Greenway and Canal Way are pretty much level which is such a pleasure when cycling. There were plenty of other users, both cyclists and walkers (with their dogs). The Carlingford Greenway in particular seemed to attract cyclists who either can't cycle and have the tendency to ride rather slowly in the centre of the path and thus not making it easy for me, operating to my tight timescale, to pass.
Newry Ship Canal from Victoria Lock
The Greenway hugs the shore line and is largely tarmac, having only a few sections that are compacted small gravel, and a couple of amazing board walk sections. However the section between Victoria Dock and the Albert basin in Newry, where the path follows the narrow spit of land between the Newry Ship Canal and the River Clanrye, is paved with larger size gravel which was a bit scary for my road bike but I successfully navigated it without puncture. In all a Grand Day Out!
---oooOooo---
Some notes on the subject of free travel and travelling with a bicycle, for those for which the experience is new. There is the FT (public services free travel) card which entitles anyone resident in the Republic of Ireland (ROI) aged 66 or over to free travel on any state owned transport (rail or bus) and some privately run buses nation wide. You can also apply for a "ROI Senior SmartPass" card which extends this privilege to Northern Ireland (NI). I have both. Whether a paying customer or not your bicycle can accompany you on trains in both NI and ROI free of charge. You cannot take a bike (unless it folds up) on ordinary buses or the Dublin Luas tram. But a long distances coach (bus) with a large luggage space under the main seating area will also take your bicycle free of charge though I have yet to avail of this. However the trains understandably have limited space for bikes.
In the ROI you are supposed to book a bike slot in advance, but obviously not everyone does, so on the above Connolly to Sallins route there were three bikes (including mine) vying for two bike slots. The the train was overflowing with ordinary customers. In NI you cannot book a bike in advance and space is allocated on a "first come first served" basis, which rule is of course largely ignored. For the bike space: older commuter trains in ROI have a sort of rack where one or two bikes can be stored, although it requires some dexterity to get your bike in the further slot, and if your destination is before the chap whose bike is in the nearer slot... On newer trains including the "Enterprise" service between Dublin and Belfast there is a general area allocated to bikes and similar impediments, but no explicit "slot" so you have to lean your bike against pull-down seats and hope that not too many other bikes will be piled on top.
As stated, in ROI you (or you are supposed to) prebook cycle slot when you book a seat. The Enterprise service is run by the NI "translink" but when travelling north you book in the ROI "transport for Ireland" website whether a paying or free customer. When travelling south you book in the NI translink website. So for the return journey (going south) I attempted to book a seat, going through all the motions until the final "click to book" instead of which a notice was displayed telling me to instead present my SmartPass card to staff at the departure station (Portadown for me), and if that station was unstaffed, to present the card to the conductor on the train. I happened to arrive just as my train was pulling in, so I was flustered. I waved my card at the woman at the gate and she said I needed a ticket, so I found the ticket office waving my card and the woman there gave me all the options - just a single I cried and I need to catch this train! Armed with card and free paper ticket I was finally admitted. And then I had to find the carriage door bearing the bicycle symbol. Fortunately I with my bike didn't have to leg it far, but on finally boarding I found the bike slot occupied by the refreshments trolley (which I was later to avail of). The trolley was hastily moved and all was well.
In summary, it helps if you have been through this rigmarole before, but whether or not you will find the station staff are always helpful and only once have I been challenged: "did you book your bike in advance?" (I had). And all for a service that cost nothing! And if there are others with bikes, talk to them: they just might know the ropes, or if not you can at least commiserate.
Long ago I had considered cycling the Great Western Greenway (GWG) but had dismissed it because folk said its surface was, in parts, unsuitable for a road bike with narrow tyres like mine. A few weeks ago a chance remark about Achill Island by my daughter in law prompted me to investigate again. The GWG links Westport to the Island, and I have free travel to get to Westport by rail. And thus I completed my foray a few days ago and I can confirm that the entire greenway is now good for a road bike, and the vast majority is paved (tarmac). They must have upgraded the surface recently.
The GWG is a 42km off-road cycling and walking trail is mostly built on the former Great Western Railway line. It starts in Westport and ends at Cashel in Achill Island.
The green tarmac but fallen tree
So on Wednesday last I woke shortly after 4am and cycled to Heuston Station (39.2km) where I boarded the 07:35 service for Galway, changing at Athlone for Westport, arriving there at 11:00. After visiting LIDL for my customary hard tack and orange juice (as much for the bottle as for the juice), I tried to find the start of the GWG. My internet research suggested the GWG was well signposted with green markers and, in Westport, by green tarmac. Experience said otherwise - I lost the way at least twice in one case dealing with a fallen tree and ending up in dense undergrowth. This was not helpful, especially when one has a bike! But once out of the town the signage was generally good, although a few warning signs would be handy before acute bends.
I emailed Mayo County Council about signage and, after acknowledging my thanks for the greenway experience, they replied positively: We also value your constructive feedback regarding signage in Westport and Newport. Clear and consistent wayfinding is essential to ensuring a safe and enjoyable experience for all users.
But you'll be wondering why the bottle?
This early in the morning it is still dark, but my son had recently given me his Black Diamond Sprinter 500 for such a time as this, though I had a bit of bother fixing it to my helmet.
My track
My research had forecast a 30km/hr head-wind all the way to Achill, and so it was. I arrived somewhat weary at 16:30. The bright side was that my return journey the next day was a breeze.
Using Google Maps aerial view I had identified a promising location at the eastern end of Keel beach. On arrival I passed a notice "NO CAMPING" and hoped that it did not apply to further on where I pitched my tent. A couple had already pitched their tent and there was a motor-home further on down the road. My dinner consisted of cheese and pickle sandwich and fruit scone, after which I was ready for bed even though it was not yet 8pm. I slept, but was woken by the sound of a large vehicle very close. Had they come to evict us? I kept a low profile whilst conversation was going on between whoever it was and my neighbours. But eventually it all became quiet again - perhaps it was the local farmer come to check on his sheep that roamed wild in the area?
My paraphernalia
I was packed up and gone at 06:00 the next morning, before my neighbours had arisen so I never got to hear the and of that story. I had an Irish breakfast in mind, but I passed the SuperValue in Achill Sound before it had opened. I figured Newport and Westport must have eating places but any I found were of the boutique type and unsuitable for an un-washen man and his heavily laden bike. In the end I had to make do with a meal-deal at Westport's Tesco where, at the checkout, a man in front allowed me to skip his pile of produce and used his Club Card so that I could avail of the lower price for my purchase. Such folk are angels in disguise, God bless him.
One highlight was the beautiful sculpture of a man and his children of yore waving to to a passing train from their trackside cottage. You can read the back story here.
Oh... and the bottle? At my age my bladder can wake me several times during the night with the prospect of extricating myself from my sleeping bag and tent.
Bus 65 from the bottom of our road to the Square, Luas to Heuston station, train to Cork, walk to the bus station via Lidl (to stock up on hard tack: 8 fruit scones), bus 236 to Bantry. Thanks to my Free Travel pass.
The hike proper started at Bantry and my plan was to get to the lighthouse at the end of the peninsula and back in 4 days each of 20km, ending at Durrus Cross where I would hail the 236 bus, etc.
Stock photo of the lighthouse I failed to get to
What actually happened
I did a total of 49.6km in 3 days thus 2 overnights. Overall elevation gain 1417m.
At the end of the first day I figured I couldn't manage 20km in a day with 8.5kg on my back in this heat-wave we are experiencing. So I reduced my expectations to:
First day: distance 13km, average speed moving 3.8km/h, 455m elevation gain, camp elevation 230m.
Second day: distance 16.3km, average speed moving 3.5km/h, elevation gain 552m, maximum height (Seefin, the highest peak) 345m. Minimum height zero at Farrangnanagh beach, my second campsite.
Third day: my original plans scuppered, I realised I could make it home a day early if I left early enough. So I set the alarm for 04:45 but got up at 04:30, struck camp at 05:05 and took the most direct route (so my GPS on pedestrian mode claimed) to Durrus Cross. Distance 20.22km, average speed moving 4.5km/h, elevation gain 409m. With about 30 minutes spare I hailed the bus and made all the connections to return on the 56 bus at 19:15, where my wife (bless her) was waiting to drive me the last mile to our home.
The meaning
Folk at home were asking why did I not fulfil my plan? As if it was some kind of fun I was having. Good question. But maybe these people have never done a backpack hike at 72 years of age, when one's GP has advised me to "take it easy" (I have a partially blocked coronary artery). To know what it is to clamber up and down hills with 8.5kg on one's back, find a suitable site to erect one's tent, get in and don't feel like doing anything other than sleep. Up again the next morning (everything covered in heavy dew) only to repeat the exercise.
When I was young I wanted to demonstrate my strength to myself. Now I am older I set myself challenges to test the onset of weakness. Like, will this be the last time I get to do whatever? And I care less about what other people might think.
Message to other would be's
To hiking amateurs like me, a major challenge of this one was the availability of food and, in particular, water. I was carrying a 2 litre bottle of water in my backpack and up to a further litre in a hand-held bag. For my original plan, that had to last me two days from Bantry all the way to the lighthouse and then some to Bernie's Cupán Tae (open from noon, so limited good for early starters like myself), else The Old Creamery in Kilcrohane (where I breakfasted).
So, do your hydration calculations well. Waterproof boots are advisable (mine were not) as you'll be going through muddy water ankle deep even in dry weather. Have a change of clothing, and remember it gets cold during the night even in good weather. Be prepared for the possibility of ticks (I found one, and had to excavate a second one a day after getting home). Don't worry too much about wondering where to wild camp: there's plenty of places where no one will mind. And I wish I'd known that there's a Local Link bus from Kilcrohane to Bantry.
Pictures
Click here to see my Sheep's Head album. Many of the pictures have a short description. To see this, having first selected any picture, click on the circle enclosing an 'i' at top right.
My son gave me a North Face tent and my wife a backpack upgrade. But what good are they unless I use them? And so, with my medical condition in mind, I planned a trilogy of hikes in increasing order of challenge:
(1) A three and a half day hike along the Barrow Line canal and river and thus on the level;
(2) A three or four day hike along the Sheep's Head peninsula (from sea level to 300m max.);
(3) A three week hike along Offa's Dyke (between Wales and England) max. 685m
So far I have attempted (1) and failed. It would of course look better if I redefined my goal as a two day's hike but... To explain: the Barrow Line is a canal that links the Grand Canal (one of the two canals that link the great and mighty Shannon with Dublin) with the navigable reach of the River Barrow at Athy. My plan was to follow this "Barrow Way" for the majority of its distance:
Summary distances
Sallins to Lowtown 13km along the Grand canal
Lowtown to Rathangan 12.5km along the Barrow Line canal
Rathangan to Monasterevin* 10.6km
Monasterevin to Athy* 23km the Barrow Line meets the Barrow River
Athy to Carlow* 19km along the Barrow River
Carlow to Bagenalstown* 16km
total 94km = 19 hrs suggest 3 days
* Note - there's a handy rail station at each asterisked town for returning home
Whilst "19hrs" was calculated at a walking pace of 5km/h and spread between three days appears to be reasonable, "94km" divided by 3 is over 30km per day. Which is a considerable distance. I actually achieved 66km over two days before I decided "enough is enough". Seriously, I think I could have made the whole distance had it not been for this 8.75kg load on my back. But how can you overnight without a tent and sleeping bag, not to mentions the other accoutrements a minimalistic backpacker considers essential, water being the heaviest?
I arrived in Athy in time for the train and bus connection to get me back home at 18:30. And, oh how I slept that night!
What do you do when walking these interminable distances? You muse. You pray for everyone in your immediate circle. You counts strides in tens, then tens in tens. My stride is about 1.2m so ten is 12m and ten of them 120m... just a measly 120m. Not even a kilometre. When praying I habitually ask for some confirmation that there actually is someone listening. Not just hearing about another person's experience - this has to be my experience. Is it too much to ask God to reveal himself to me personably? But it occurred to me that, maybe, this whole hike and its abortion was God speaking? Perhaps he is saying that 33km per day is too much for me.
OK other people do vastly more challenging challenges like this guy who ran from Perth to Sydney: that's 3,844 km. Maybe he was younger than I am. Maybe he wasn't carrying a 8.75kg back pack?
Ever since I can remember I have preferred to run. I get irritated when, in a crowded street, other folk walk oh so slowly and I want to get past and live my life! My sentiments are aptly described in a dream I had and a paper my daughter in law wrote, and here where I wish I were Mowgli.
Are my running days over?
It started with tightness across my chest when running up a mild incline. My GP sent me to a consultant who interpreted a CT-scan as indicating arterial “plaque, most severe in the mid LAD vessel where there is between 50-69% stenosis” (blockage). Google tells me that LAD is short for a "major coronary artery that supplies blood to the front and left side of the heart. It's considered the largest of the three main coronary arteries and is often referred to as the "widowmaker" due to its significance in fatal heart attacks... usually a blockage of the LAD artery has to be more than 70% to cause significant problems" above which a stent may be advised.
All this is rather scary. They are telling me to "take it easy” and to stop any activity that brings on the tightness (angina). A hard imposition on someone who is used to running everywhere.
I'm now taking a prescribed blood thinner and self-imposed minerals and vitamins. In a few weeks I have an appointment with the consultant who doubtless will impose further drugs which I hate. I'm trying to eat more healthily "no sugar" (well, almost none), reduced carbs, salad and beetroot (can you believe it?).
Looks like this is going to be a journey. I must cheer up and be more positive. If running (~10km/h) is out, I can still jog slowly (~7km/h) even if not "uphill". And so far walking (~5km/h) seems to be OK, even with a backpack, providing the path is not steep. I'm encouraged by testimonies like that of Mark.
Growing older. You don't think about it much until it happens to you. The mountain bike boy I met a few weeks back whilst walking in the forestry, tackling scary obstacles on the narrow bike trails carved out of the hillside: we are two generations apart and yet he had the grace to stop and wish me well. I don't even know your name, but I hope that the brakes on your bike are good - please don't fall and hurt yourself because I want you to live life to the full.
Another boy in his early teens: I teach him woodwork - there's such a sparkle in his eyes, such a rejoicing in his new-found skills, so thankful for the time I give him, so outspoken for his age (in a good way, wanting to complete the projects I set by himself without my interference). Again I find myself looking forward and wondering what life has in store for him.
I wish I were young again. Without a care, no aches or pains, with a portion of that youthful vigour that now seems so elusive.
But then there's T, now in his late teens, suffering from leukaemia - I know him only via social media, but have been praying for his "complete healing" for about eight years now. The medical staff have no doubt been wonderful, but I have hoped and asked for so much more. A young life in the balances - why, why O Lord? And how dare I complain about my own aches and pains when he has had to grapple with this condition for so long, in and out of hospital.
I aim to jog four or five miles several times a week (barefoot of course). It used to be that, when it was cold outside, I would start off with a long enough sprint to warm up. But I find I can no longer do this: chest tightness tells me to slow down. I am told this is due to plaque forming in my arteries - not yet life threatening but the doctor wants to put me on all manner of drugs with scary common side effects. I don't want drugs. I want to be young again!
Generally speaking I think I am relatively fit for my age and I am so thankful for that. But there's no getting away from it: I'm not as young as I used to me. Growing older.
Boys a dear! An exclamation in norn-iron (Northern Ireland) speak. It's a great phrase because it can be used in so many different situations, like "Boys a dear, it's warm today isn't it?"
Something unusual happened today.
First the back-story: the townland of Lugnagroagh includes some forestry on a hillside and is just up the road from where we live so is a favourite destination for an afternoon walk. Recently some bike trails have appeared in the forest and I've made it my job to investigate them. Clearly a lot of effort has been put into creating these trails and I wanted to find out more. My first map (courtesy OpenTopoMaps in OruxMaps) shows the general lie of the land, with the bike tracks in red.
My second map zooms in using Google aerial view to which I have added the existing forestry tracks in green and ESB power lines in yellow. Broken red lines are paths that existed before the bike trails appeared. I have labelled the various bike trails arbitrarily with letters A, B, etc. The blue 'P' is a parking area. Click on the image to enlarge it.
My OruxMaps GPS tracks in red
A few days ago I discovered trail 'A' previously unknown to me up to where it joins an existing path. Whilst ascending this trail I met a trio of boys on BMX bikes. That was no surprise for it was a bike trail on which I was "trespassing": what surprised me was that they chose to stop to talk to me, asking if I often came here, etc. After this brief encounter I continued my upward way, reached the cell-phone tower and, looking for a return path, discovered trail E. Similarly, a few days later I discovered trail D.
These trails are narrow paths peppered with well cambered bends and obstacles sometimes using existing boulders or fallen tree trunks or just man made humps of earth, on what is often quite steep terrain. Certainly exciting, possibly dangerous, but I am so glad that someone has taken the trouble to make these trails and that there are youngsters intrepid enough to enjoy navigating them.
So today I fancied I would complete my reconnoitre and found myself ascending previously undiscovered trail C and met two boys with their BMX's, doubtless the same group. The amazing thing was that, once again, they actually volunteered to stop to talk and wish me well. I asked if they had helped to create the tracks and one of them had, and I indicated my approval. All of which made my day (I am kind of easily pleased by such pleasantries, camaraderie indeed, coming from the younger generation).
The primary purposes of this trip were to meet up with our relatives and (having so done) to spend a few days on our own to mark our 49th wedding anniversary. But in between all those relatives and our anniversary I got to do some exploring:
(1) to revisit the Grand Western Canal Country Park tow-path
J kindly loaned me her bike and so I set out for Tiverton where the canal ends (or begins). Counter-intuitively there is a steep incline up to the canal basin here. But once beside the canal the route is of course level (there are no locks) for the 11 miles to the Waytown Tunnel. You can (but I did not on this occasion) re-join the canal after this short tunnel for the last 1/4 mile. Thereafter what is left of the canal degenerates into at best a narrow footpath.
Unashamedly more walking than jogging, from our airbnb in Kerswell up to North Hill and thence along the Blackdown Hills escarpment beside the gliding airfield before descending to Broadhembury.
(3) to revisit the Ruislip Lido
my track
Ruislip Lido is an artificial lake near Northwood Hills where my nephew-in-law lives. It boasts a 12" gauge railway that runs around a good 75% of the perimeter. It was not running during my visit.
When I first heard about this place I knew I had to circumnavigate it: what else of such importance is there to do on an island? Apart from, in this case, visiting my sister of course.
(5) Lugg Meadow hike
Hereford has many secrets of which Lugg Meadow is one. It is one of the most important surviving Lammas Meadows in the UK, a Lammas meadow being a common meadow opened for communal grazing on Lammas Day, the 1st August. I knew I had to at least visit this place, even if I only explored a small part of it. Much of it was flooded anyway as you can see from my photos.
Lugg Meadow: I entered at the bottom and exited half way up on the left
my track 12.4km
(6) Railways and bridges in Hereford
Whilst studying the map I discovered the Great Western Way which is now a pedestrian footpath and cycleway, built over the culminating section of the Newport, Abergavenny & Hereford Railway Line. So of course I had to check it out, starting at the north (Sainsbury's) end, over the Hunderton railway bridge, and jogging the whole length of the way, down to and past what was Redhill junction.
I stood on the shore of a wintry sea, with a wintry sun just a few feet above its horizon-edge. It was bare, and waste, and gray. Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shorewards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and miles in both directions. There was nothing for the eye but mingling shades of gray; nothing for the ear but the rush of the coming, the roar of the breaking, and the moan of the retreating wave. No rock lifted up a sheltering severity above the dreariness around; even that from which I had myself emerged rose scarcely a foot above the opening by which I had reached the dismal day, more dismal even than the tomb I had left. A cold, death-like wind swept across the shore, seeming to issue from a pale mouth of cloud upon the horizon. Sign of life was nowhere visible. I wandered over the stones, up and down the beach, a human imbodiment of the nature around me. The wind increased; its keen waves flowed through my soul; the foam rushed higher up the stones; a few dead stars began to gleam in the east; the sound of the waves grew louder and yet more despairing. A dark curtain of cloud was lifted up, and a pale blue rent shone between its foot and the edge of the sea, out from which rushed an icy storm of frozen wind, that tore the waters into spray as it passed, and flung the billows in raving heaps upon the desolate shore. I could bear it no longer.
"I will not be tortured to death," I cried; "I will meet it half-way. The life within me is yet enough to bear me up to the face of Death, and then I die unconquered."
This was going to be taking advantage of maybe the last fine weather this year, an overnight cycle exploring the Grand Canal. But I was uneasy for various reasons, one being the uncertainty of how much of the canal towpath was suitable for a road bike. This web page is the most up to date and comprehensive summary of work to upgrade the path to greenway standard. Maybe I'll get to do this exploration next year? But who knows what next year will hold for me?
Instead (and encouraged by A to make good use of the weather) I settled for a one day ride around the Wicklow Mountains, taking me over the Wicklow Gap, through Rathdum, the beautiful Vale of Avoca, Woodenbridge, Augrim, Tinahely, Hacketstown, Kiltegan, Baltinglass and home. Oh, and I tried for the coast but turned back through lack of time: that's the little appendage at far right of my track.
My track: 124.7km, elevation gain 1254m, average 16.3km/h
No photos. No thoughts of great inspiration, lots of hard slog, lots of magnesium supplement to ward off inevitable leg cramps. I also tried adding electrolytes to my drink: I'm not sure whether this helped. But all in all, I did it, I completed the course I had roughly planned the night before. My insides were a mess on returning home but I slept, oh how I slept (always punctuated by loo-breaks nowadays).
Loo breaks. Leg cramps. In a routine doctor appointment some six months ago the blood test indicated a higher than normal PSA level. This is a marker for possible prostate problems. That together with more frequent loo breaks recently. In spite of a second and a third blood test showing normal PSA level my GP sent me to a specialist at St. James, the specialist did an internal examination and sent me for an MRI scan and I now have an appointment on Tuesday next to hear the worst. Am I worried? Am I bothered? It one sense no, what will be will be. But worry isn't that easy to dismiss or control. Of course I am worried. I thought my body was doing passably ok for my age. Sometimes I look at my arms. Younger readers of this blog might think me simply phoney if I told you how I feel about my own arms. I know they've no muscle and are pretty mouldy, but I am so glad to see them. Why should that dreaded word "cancer" invade my thoughts? What right has it over my body? And so I cycled away yesterday with a big challenge before me to blow the cobwebs out of my machinating mind. Of course I am not worried: what good would that do?
Anton Bruckner was born in Ansfelden (then a village, now almost a suburb of Linz) on 4 September 1824, that's 200 years ago. I feel somewhat obliged to mention that given the name of this blog.
My track: 186km over two days, elevation gain 440m
The Royal Canal Greenway at 130km is the longest greenway in Ireland. As an off-road greenway it does cheat a bit in embracing existing roads and tracks alongside the canal that give access to farms and cottages, but none-the-less it is navigable by walkers and bikes for the whole length, and work is in progress to extend it to Dublin. Some of the surface is paved (asphalt) and some is compacted fine gravel, either is good for road bikes even with thin tyres like mine.
My goal was to ride the complete greenway from Maynooth to Cloondara where the canal meets the mighty Shannon river. You ask - why did I make this trip? Partly because the greenway exists, partly as a challenge, partly because that's what I do. Sure, I was in two minds up until the very last moment, what with very changeable weather forecast.
I started off from home and made my way via Naas, Sallins and Straffan to Maynooth which is the current trailhead. There Lidl supplied me with orange juice (with bits and not from concentrate) and fruit scone hard-tack to supplement my home brew cheese and pickle sandwich. Enough fuel for the first day. The weather forecast suggested the slight possibility of rain but in the event it rained several times enough to soak my rain coat and shorts on both days. Despite this I exceeded my expectations by getting to Mullingar where I found a suitable out of the way site to camp. I recognised the place from last year's Old Rail Trail post.
There I slept fitfully (it was cold and my tent was on a slope so I kept sliding down) where I figured I could complete the task in two days rather than the three I had planned. And I did. I re-booked my return train for later the next day, and got to Longford station about 20 minutes before the scheduled departure. In the event the train was about 15 minutes late.
The train took me to Drumcondra where the heavens opened whilst waiting for the next commuter service to Hazelhatch via the Phoenix Park tunnel. The station has nowhere to shelter. The train was packed: a soggy conglomerate of way too many bikes and way too many people standing in the lobby, but no one seemed to mind. From Hazelhatch I rode along the recently opened segment of the Grand Canal Greenway to Sallins (it continued to rain the whole way) where I was mercifully rescued by my wife.
Oh, and let me tell you about the angel at Halfords. The previous week I had noticed my chain had almost broken, and this probably accounted for the gear slipping and sometimes the chain coming off that I had recently experienced. So I took my bike to Halfords in Naas where a guy fitted a new chain. On returning home I took a test ride to the Wicklow Gap and back - lots of gradients. I found the chain was slipping on the highest gear, and some other gear ratios were not happening as they should. So I took the bike back to Halfords. This time a younger guy with bleached hair served me - possibly he was my angel. He identified excessive wear on the cassette which the other guy really ought to have alerted me to. He replaced the cassette and found the chain was too short, so replaced the chain (again) and did not charge me for the chain or any of his time. And he accompanied me to the door in order to watch as I did a quick test ride. He was courteous, technically astute, and generous. An angel indeed!
And all this the day before the excursion which is the subject of this post. The bike behaved itself witness to my angel's good work.
Nearing my destination the heaven's opened - at the next lock I spied a sign "Mac's Shack 800m" in Keenagh. It seemed more like 800 miles but I made it, sodden, and asked for sustenance. The waitress was suitably impressed by my endeavours and served me a very late and second well-earned breakfast (the first was two scones somewhat earlier). And when I was done the rain had stopped (for a while).
A foray needs a focal point, a goal. In this case it was to see where the canal entered the Shannon river.
In this aerial view of the Royal Canal terminus, the red square is where I stood to photograph the Shannon, the blue arrow is the Royal Canal and the red arrow is my path to Longford town via the N5.
This time it was a family affair, six of us. We left home at 5am, drove to the official carpark, climbed via Brother O'Shea's gully as before. It rained on and off, as before. We had hoped to do the Bones, Lough Cummeenoughter, Beenkeragh, descending via the Hag's Tooth but aborted because of the weather, as before.
The only difference was this time was we went past the Devil's Ladder and on to Cnoc na Toinne to descend via the "Zig Zag". Oh, and we passed a group some of whom were swimming in Cummeenoughter, the highest lake in Ireland!
I have a Free Travel pass. There is no additional charge for a bicycle on Iarnród Éireann, but it is necessary to book a bicycle as space is limited. So I booked this trip a few days in advance choosing two days that Met Éireann assured me would be fine. But this is Ireland: on my departure day the forecast had changed to rain most of the second day.
My route was inspired by discovering the An Coinigéar or the Cunnigar, a sand spit which, we are told, has formed as a result of deposition by longshore drift, the movement of sand along the coast by the waves and the estuary emerging at the north of the bay slowing it down. As time progressed, the deposited material has formed a spit, which is 2.6 km long and which almost closes Dungarvan harbour at its northern end.
Check out these drone shots which suggest that there is much more to Cunnigar under the surface that appears to the naked eye. A bit like an ice berg.
Waking ahead of my 05:00 alarm I breakfasted hastily and mounted my trusty steed for the 2+ hour ride to Heuston, Dublin where I caught the 08:00 service for Cork. Alighting at Limerick Junction I took the so called "inter city" to Waterford which pootles through the beautiful Suir valley at a leisurely 60 to 80km/hr. Arriving at last I cycled the 46km of Waterford Greenway to Dungarvan.
Whistlestop Café, Kilmeadan Station
My plan was to luncheon at the Whistlestop Café but in the event their most excellent tea and scone (served warmed with butter and: would you like strawberry, raspberry or blackcurrant jam?) did the trick.
Arriving in Dungarvan ahead of schedule, my first port of call was Lidl where I purchased hardtack and orange juice (not wishing for Scurvy), then hung around until the F&C shop opened. Suitably fuelled I then set off for the Cunnigar.
On turning off the N25 a sign announces you are entering the Gaeltacht after which all road signs are in Gaelic only. In English An Coinigéar means "rabbit warren". This rabbit warren business: last year's Forays to Coney Island and Omey Island were also nominally overrun with rabbits. On this occasion I saw none but, instead, there were cattle freely roaming the whole peninsula - more of that later.
the Cunnigar peninsula, car park at far right
Here is a beautiful video of the Cunnigar by @fardinger:
And here are a few of my photos, or click here to view the album.
Dungarvan town from the tip of the Cunnigar
The beach on the sea side is so shallow
I was not able to ascertain whether the Cunnigar is privately or public land. There is a small public car park which bodes well, but cattle are roaming freely on the peninsular itself, which might not bode well for camping. I stumbled on a group with their tent already erected - they had tried to request permission but the locals didn't seem to know who to ask. So we didn't ask. I positioned my tent where it would not be seen from the only house visible and hoped for the best. I then walked / ran to the end of the peninsula and back (about 6km) and by then was ready for bed. I slept soundly until I woke in the dark and could here noises without: I cautiously looked out with my head-light - the cattle were investigating this new intrusion into their territory. Worried that one might stand on and buckle my bike or push the tent over, I waited watchfully but after a while they moved to pastures greener. I slept but was woken again, now dawn and a little before my alarm, by the pitter-patter of rain. There is nothing quite so charming and quintessential of camping as lying snug in one's sleeping bag whilst on the other side of the canvas the elements are raging. Of course I knew rain was coming but still I had to decide where to strike camp or wait till the weather turned. But I knew I had to go - hadn't I promised by daughter I'd be back soon after 3pm?
My planned route to Mallow: 95.9 km
I took no pictures on my return journey to Mallow because was raining most of the time. All I wanted was to complete the journey. It was long and wet and tedious and gruelling. But challenging. Had it been sunny the countryside would have been glorious, no doubt.
My route initially followed the tiny river Brickey, but "route" turned out to be a euphemism: it was in fact an badly overgrown and rather narrow farm track that my GPS had led me to. I persevered but the undergrowth wound itself around my derailleur cassette so that I could not from then on access the higher gears. Thankfully no punctures or tics. And so I arrived at Cappoquin where my route joined An Abhainn Mhór which translates to The Great River otherwise known as the Blackwater river. There are numerous Blackwater rivers in Ireland - this one is the Munster Blackwater.
I breakfasted on hardtack on the Avonmore bridge as it crosses the Blackwater, and where the river abruptly turns to the right and southwards. I would have taken a photo of the bridge but it was raining and my cell phone was wrapped in a poly-bag and I hadn't the enthusiasm to extricate it. So you'll have to be content with a stock photo.
Avonmore bridge Cappoquin, stock photo
The bridge has some history. It was a Potato Famine relief project of the Keane family and was opened in 1851 but the original name, ‘Victoria Bridge’ was later chiselled out by nationalists. The bridge was a target of attack during the Troubles of the 1920s. There is a place where an explosion required extensive repairs to be done. For all that, it was my planned route, rather than follow the probably easier going but boring N72. But all places tend towards boring in the rain.
The plan was to cross the river again at Lismore and then follow the R666 which would hug the river all the way to Fermoy, but it didn't happen. The rain.
Historic photo of Cappoquin railway bridge
Proposed Greenway
But I did notice the old railway bridge at Cappoquin and, later, numerous land-owner signs condemning the proposed Mallow to Dungarvan Greenway which would follow the old railway and, you can see, would take a similar route to my own. Greenways are now The Thing, doubtless fuelled by Covid and the Green Party. Do I approve? Largely yes because I love cycling, but only after due consultation with local land owners and, anyway, where is the money coming from? I must say that the Waterford Greenway has been a major success judging by how many folk are using it.
Using Google maps aerial view the route of much of the original railway can be traced, but so much has been lost, and it was only on 25 March 1967 that the last train ran. Very recent history: well within my lifetime.
The final stretch from Fermoy to Mallow was hard work. Even though it looked relatively flat on the map, in fact it was a continuous long up hills and ridiculously steep and bendy downhills. But I made it, and with about 20 minutes to spare before the service to Sallins/Naas via Portlaoise. Lunch on board: a squashed sandwich from home, and hardtack washed down with Irish Rail tea.
Proof of arrival at Mallow train station.
Oh - and regarding having to book a bicycle space - on the Mallow Portlaoise segment all three bicycle hooks were in use, plus a couple more bikes randomly distributed, and that before I added mine! So somebody wasn't booking, and nobody seemed to care.
