Airport Antics

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 (literally) everything, build the bike, repack, pump up the tyres, have an expensive sandwich, out out. 

Leaving the airport I realised that one of my gear shifters wasn’t working. That’s not good. I checked everything and drew to the conclusion that I was out of battery. I found a nearby petrol station - “do you sell batteries”?

“Yes”

“Great. Any button batteries?”

“No”.

“Oh, anywhere nearby that might?”

“Cork”.

Right. 

I left the airport and instead of turning right, headed left, towards Cork and its wonderful plethora of batteries. It was an easy enough ride, sailing downhill for a km or so before suddenly and with no good reason my shifter sprang back to life. 

I did a prompt u-turn and struggled back up the big hill that I’d just quite unnecessarily sailed down. 

The next 3 km were superb. Quiet lanes heading downhill on superb tarmac, courtesy of the EU. I’ll leave that there. 

The road was so superb that I missed my turning right and ended up in the valley. I wasn’t climbing back up so navigated a new, longer but glorious, to get back on track. 

The purple jersey is back. 

My 64km ride was now a 75km ride but the sun was shining and I had time to play with. No issues. 

The road became fairly busy however the thoughtful Irish folk very kindly provided a cycle lane, separated from the road by some fairly industrial barriers. The patch was fantastic. Until it wasn’t. 

The next milestone was the coastal town of Kinsale. I was tempted to stop for a coffee but thought better of it when I stumbled across Gypsy Heather Fortune Teller. 

Instead I carried on to the Old Head of Kinsale, a stiff climb up to a superb vantage point. I was going to carry on to the lighthouse but was quickly discouraged from doing so by the enthusiastic security guard for the local golf club. Members only, apparently. 

The cafe however was open so I stopped for a well earned coffee and pecan caramel brownie. Superb. 

 The next few km hugged the stunning coastline with a good few climbs and rolling descents. And, say it quietly, a tailwind. 

I had by now picked up the Eurovelo 1 bike route which runs from Portugal through Spain & France and I think continues into Scandinavia after Ireland. Another time maybe.. 

my destination was Clonakilty, a mouthful comprising no less than 4 syllables and not easy to say (or write). 

Coming into the town I picked up signs for Desert House campsite. My mind turned to all the glorious small campsites I’ve previously come across, lovely pitches for little more than 6 Euro. 

Riding past a supermarket (SuperValu), I hedged my bets and loaded up on croissants and pastries for the morning, just in case Desert House was unable to fulfill this essential need. 

Pastries, apple juice and a couple of cheeky beers for less than 10 Euro. SuperValu.

Arriving at the campsite, it was little more than a field with basic amenities. 

“Do you have space for a single tent?”

“Yep. 24 Euro”. 

Not SuperValu. 

“And the shower needs 1 Euro”.

Definitely not.

I searched out 2 sqm of flatish ground and pitched the tent, then headed for the shower. 

My 1 Euro bought me 4 minutes of what can only be described as a luke warm watering can. I had the option of another Euro for another 4 minutes. I decided not to invest. 

That said, it’s not a bad view and will do me just fine. 

Once sorted, I headed into town. I’m told it’s lovely, and lively. I’m about to find out.

Tomorrow is a longer day, 125km but the good weather is set to hold so fingers crossed…