T1me to Ride

 Saturday nights in Clonakilty are quite something. The bars and restaurants were packed out and I eventually opted for takeaway pizza eaten at a table in the adjacent beer garden. It’s a popular arrangement which seems to suit both pub and pizzeria. I then went in search of some live music, found some, and spent another couple of hours listening to Glen, a medical salesman who packed it all into play music. Fair play.  This morning therefore started slightly slower than I was anticipating, however I was tucking into my pastries by 9:30 and on the road just before 10. Not too bad.  The first few miles were straightforward, hugging the coast and traversing causeways before the road inevitably heading up. I say inevitably - Garmin very proudly showed me in great detail all 18 climbs which today would hold in store.  The sun was already beating down and the heat was bordering on uncomfortable. I needed to not wish it away as the weather forecast showing the traditional ...

I love a 5:00 alarm.  Bleary eyed, I threw on some clothes, made a coffee & breakfast and fell into the car for the drive to Heathrow, all in good time.  Checked my watch for a sleep quality update. “Short. Poor quality.”. Hmm, sounds about right.  Nothing says chaos like an Aer Lingus check in and I wasn’t disappointed. Fortunately said chaos meant that the battle-worn chap at the check in desk had no desire to bother checking the weight of my bike.  “How heavy is the bike sir?” “Oh about 20kg” “Sounds about right, carry on” The early morning haze continued through security where my box of ground coffee, cleats on my shoes and bag of insulin needles passed without question. Old school.  Cork airport is - to be fair - superb. Get off plane, trot across the tarmac, show passport to a disinterested customs official, collect bike (which was already there). Through non existent customs. Out.  Well, I say out. What I mean is find somewhere to empty (literall...