Wheely Wild

Dingle was lively. 

I had 2 requests: eat some proper fish & chips given that I’d been by the sea for the past 6 days, and watch some live music. 

I wasn’t disappointed on either front, destroying a huge platform of fish & chips, and seeing not 1 but 2 local bands. 

The first attracted a boisterous crowd, despite the hour. It wasn’t even 8 and punters were in fine voice. 

I awoke this morning to dark grey skies and a muggy heat. My clothes had basically been damp since the rain on Beara, so with a resigned sigh I put them on for another day. I must proper smell… 

I made light work of packing up, and headed off towards the first (and only real) challenge of the day: Coner Pass. Billed as one of the highest and most scenic roads in Ireland, it was certainly high but I couldn’t vouch for the scenery as it was covered in low cloud. 

The climb went well enough once I’d negotiated the first km. A classic Gough shortcut along a road which turned to grass road which turned to gnarly track. It was relentless. Once I rejoined the main road I was soaked, partly through sweating, partly through my clothes being wet anyway and partly due to the humidity amongst the clouds. 

The descent of the climb was fun, the road on the other side was certainly more narrow and sheer and it then started raining. 

The road dropped down to the coast and took me fairly unremarkably to Tralee, a pretty market town, the centre of which is very popular and entirely closed to traffic. Searching for food I came across a deli / bakery / butcher / cafe / wine merchant / grocery store. Once I’d got my head around all of that I opted for a chicken and mushroom pie, sausage roll and cake, washed down with a coke. 

From Tralee I had already planned to travel inland up towards Tarbert, and the ferry over to Killimer. I’d picked a good day to avoid the coast due to the low cloud / mist but it still felt a little bit like cheating as I crossed North Kerry. 

The relatively flat, good but quiet road meant the kms ticked by, but there was little to write home about. A good day for drizzle, if ever there was one. The road took me into Listowel, a surprising little town that punches above its weight. The centre was pleasant so o stopped for a double espresso and a coke. I do wander whether anyone who is not a cyclist orders that particular caffeine fuelled combo.

It did me well, getting me up to Tarbert and the ferry. 

The timetable suggested that the ferry leaves on the hour and half hour. It was 20 past; great, I had a short 10 minute wait. 

A chap wandered over and said “oh there will be a ferry in about 20 minutes”

“Ok, great thanks” said I

“No, wait, what’s the time?”

“Twenty past”

“Twenty past what?”

“Three”

“Ah, it’ll be here in 5 minutes”

10 minutes later, the ferry arrived. 

A short hop across the Shannon and I was in County Clare. A flatter, quieter neighbour to Kerry. 

On the ferry a chap asked where I was headed. 

“Doonbeg”

“Oooh no. No no no.”

“Oh, you don’t sound keen?”

“That self obsessed idiot in America owns a golf course there. No.” He said. 

“You’ll be talking about Trump I assume?”

He didn’t answer. 

I rejoined the Wild Atlantic Way and made quick progress towards the land of milk and honey. When I arrived, I realised that Mr Boatman had a point. It was dead. 

I didn’t want my last night to be spent in a town with nothing going on, so decided to press on. The nearest campsite was 20km further up the road. I stopped at a shop and consulted my map, how much further, and is that campsite any better? 

A local suggested that all o needed to do was head to the next hotel, go 4 bungalows up, take a track and the guy at the end would let me camp there. Er, ok.. 

passing said hotel, I saw they had rooms available. It was my last night and I knew it was going to rain tonight and most of tomorrow. A warm shower and an opportunity to properly dry my clothes was tempting. 

I went in.

“Got any rooms?”

“No”

“Oh. Anywhere I can camp near here?”

“You have a tent?”

“Um, yep.”

“Ah well great, go down towards Spanish Point and wild camp anywhere you want.”

It sounded tempting. I checked it out. Turns out it is so named from the Spanish Armada ships which hit rocks and were wrecked during a storm.

Ominous.

Soon enough I found a quiet spot overlooking the beach.

I had the conversation with myself, because that’s what smug people do.

“Room for a small one”

“Yes”

“How much”

“Nothing”

“Showers?”

“Not as such. But that bar you just stopped at is 200m up the road.”

That’ll do. 

Tomorrow is my last stage of this section of the WAW. I very much want to complete part 2 another time, but for this year my adventure is nearly at an end. It’s been full of surprises, I’m hugely grateful for the opportunity to ride part 1, it was everything I wanted and more. Sure the weather was dodgy in parts. Sure the roads could have chosen to be flat in parts. Sure the Audi’s, Renaults and (overall surprise winners) VWs could have been less eager but therein memories are made. 

I’d recommend it to anyone. 

Well. Anyone with a good raincoat.