Beautiful Beara

Some days on a bike are just magical. This was one of them. 

 Having hit my tent early and slept like a log, it was still 9am before I woke up. Looks like another late start then. 

I poked my head outside the tent to find cloudy skies, not the ominous type but certainly not the deep blue I’d become accustomed to. 

I made myself a coffee and tucked into the 2 remaining Rocky Roads, breakfast of champions #2 then packed the bike and headed off. As I left a child camping in the neighbouring pitch shouted “goodbye Mr Biker Man!” It was a fittingly cheery comment within a cheery and cosy campsite. Chris and his wife, farmers of the various animals dotted around the site, decided to diversify and build the site (camping pods and campsite) just before Covid hit. They spent months building the site but ran out of money. Eventually lockdown eased and they took lots of bookings, each paying 50% deposit which Chris used to complete the build. 

“If we had another lockdown and I had to return the deposits we’d have been in a right mess” said Chris with a smile on his face. 

It’s a great site, I would recommend it. 

Heading out of the campsite I joined the coast road and headed up the sheep peninsula with Beara, the site of much of today’s upcoming grunting and panting, sitting on the far side of the Bantry Bay. 

Soon enough I reached Bantry and stopped in a shop / deli / cafe for a coffee and a tremendous salami, cheese, slaw and dill roll. It was superb. But then it should be, with said establishment having gained “best in Ireland” awards every year bar 3 since 1999. I can only imagine their disgust when that particular accolade was unfathomably not awarded.

The road then took me towards Glengariff, the place of seals it would appear although I didn’t stop to spot. My mind was focussed on something altogether more challenging, the 8km climb up Caha pass, out of County Cork and into County Kerry.

 It is described as a mountain; at 1,000 feet I wasn’t sure until I saw the tell tale sign: a tunnel. Yep, that’s a mountain in my book.

Through the tunnel and onto Kerry, the road immediately became smooth tarmac and I whizzed down with little drama. Until that was I came to my planned shortcut, a lovely road which would climb back into the hills before dropping me on the north shore of Beara. Now, there will be people reading this who would not be a fan of my detour, the obvious ingredients being grass in the middle of the road, and what can loosely be described as gravel.

It certainly demanded a degree of concentration and big boy pants but I escaped unharmed onto the coastal road. The road was stunning, but devoid of any hope of food or drink. I’d been going 75km and already climbed 1,000m. My pace was slowing. I needed sugar; not jelly babies, the good stuff. I passed a posh looking walled garden with a signposted cafe, but decided they may not appreciate a ragged looking and slightly smelly cyclist so carried on another km or so to Lauragh, the start of the infamous Healy Pass climb. 

Lauragh didn’t have a shop. Or a cafe. Or a bar. It had a restaurant. Which was shut. 

I stopped to ask someone where I might be able to get a drink & some food, who very kindly pointed me back in the direction of the walled garden. 

“2 Cokes, some of that ginger cake and a toasted sandwich please, and if you could fill my water bottles that would be great”.

The guy didn’t miss a beat. The food was excellent and I felt like a new man riding back out and towards Healy Pass. 

It’s a beautiful road going up, if you’re into that sort of thing. 

It’s even better coming down. If you’re into that sort of thing. 

The climb spat me out on the south coast of Beara which I was to follow for 40-odd km, with Bantry Bay now to my left and the road I’d cycling along this morning just about visible in the distance. 

With a stiff tailwind I swallowed up the distance before not 1 but 2 stings in the tail; 3km stiff climbs. 

Coming down the 2nd I could see my campsite sat gloriously next to Ballydonegan Beach which is partly manmade: sand was a by-product of copper mining and the river swept it down to the shore where it has stayed. 

The campsite itself was both beautiful and confusing, with no obvious reception. Fortunately a friendly local saw me right

“Just follow the road to the end field, keep going as far as you can, that’s the best place to camp. Your man will be round later to take your money, it’s 10 euro a night.”

Finally. 

I set up tent then rode into the village to find some sustenance, which I found at the local shop. Pasta and Dolmio sauce will be my food of choice this evening, looking at this view.

I’m not talking about tomorrow’s weather forecast.