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Heat & Hills

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 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 ...
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Airport Antics

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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...
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There may be trouble ahead....

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The Wild Atlantic Way - Part 1 Christ. Really? If I've been unprepared for previous tours it's not a patch on this one.  I've been eyeing up the Wild Atlantic Way (let's just call it the WAW given that I'll be typing the blog on my phone) for a few years. With family living in Ireland I've been perilously close to it but never really able to ride it.  Cue father in law's 80th birthday.  "We're all off to Gregans Castle on the west coast of Ireland" says my better half.  The cogs are already turning. How long would it take to ride from Cork to Gregans Castle?  1 week. Lovely. "Oh that sounds like a great idea!", says I.  Locked and loaded, I have a plan. Or at least half a plan. The full WAW starts in Cork sure enough, but it follows the west coast up to the north coast and finishes in Donegal. I reckon I can do about half of it and then skirt inland for a few miles and meet the family for lunch. Job done. I can worry about the 2nd par...
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Day 7: Delirious Descending

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It was with a mixture of sadness and blessed relief that we packed the bikes this morning. Our final day would take us to Nice over the Cols of Braus and Saint Pancrace before swooping down to meet the sea.  The weather, true to form, was hot and sunny - even at 9am. We found a shady spot and devoured our newly christened “breakfast of champions” - 2 croissants and a coffee.  Once done, we did a final bit of faffing before heading down into Sospel to start the climb up the Col de Brauss. The climb itself passed relatively easily: 11km at an average of 6% was a pleasant change from some of the beasts we’d tackled in the previous few days.  The top of the climb was fairly bleak so we quickly pointed our bikes downhill towards L’Escarene, 10km of downhill delight losing 640 metres through no less than 17 hairpin bends.  At L’Escarene we found a cafe who’s owners made such a fantastic job of ignoring us that we headed to the spar shop and enjoyed a brunch of coke, a muff...
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