Day four
My second night as a 30 year old was one of little sleep and never-warming feet. I crawled out of my tent early the next morning with bleary eyes, and hair a matted mess, into a cold, wet world.
Throwing everything onto the bike as quickly as possible I set off in search of coffee, a place to freshen up, and mentally recoup. Luckily, I found a cafe open on the edge of the car park I’d ridden through the previous evening, and was soon settled inside enjoying a basic, but satisfying, beans on toast breakfast.
Feeling fresher, I hit the road, the beautifully fresh country morning beginning to warm as the sun rose. Scenery throughout the day danced between a multitude of luscious greens, and tufts of orange, brown and purple, lined in the distance by a tall row of deep green pines. I was in awe at the many different landscapes I rolled past in such a short space of time.
Foolishly, I’d thought the best way to dry my shoes would be to wear them. This didn’t work, instead leaving my feet feeling cold and damp for a whole morning longer than necessary. Genius hit me at lunch time as I stopped in a small town, at a pub whose occupants gave the impression of long time regulars. I sat outside to eat my random selection of food items, and from time to time had company, in ones or twos, as men came out to smoke. Each one of them wanted to ask me about my journey. I found some, try as I might, near impossible to understand! I decided to choose a plausible sentence or question that they may have expressed, reply, and hope my decision was the right one. The mixture of facial responses told me I was not always correct…
On my way again, feet, now in sandals, were dry and being gently warmed in the sun. My day continued as a peaceful country cruise until the last few kilometres, whereby I battled rush hour traffic, an uphill struggle, and a few blasts of icy rain. The irony of a cycleway emerging as I entered Westport, several kilometres after I could have had use for it, was not lost on me. Though by this point, on a high from successfully completing a 100 km day, I could only chuckle, take a photo and continue on towards the centre of town.
I soon made myself comfortable in a small, cosy establishment along one of the main streets, eagerly awaiting an Irish coffee. This was enjoyed with utter delight, and a slight tinge of guilt, as I realised the cream that sat atop my coffee was most definitely not vegan. Safe to say this was my only ‘real’ Irish coffee of the trip.
After enquiring with the barman about places to set up my tent for the night, and discovering there were no known opportunities outside of a campsite (which an internet search told me had closed for the season), I set off with hopes of coming across a hidden corner of grass that could be borrowed for the night. By now, so tired and done with my cycling, that I was choosing to walk.
Eventually realising the search for a camp spot was being significantly slowed by choosing to walk, I was back on the bike, heading downhill towards Westport Harbour (and quickly discovered it also offered a serious lack of options to camp).
I’d taken to checking down dark streets, but was reaching the point of asking one of the many B&Bs I’d passed if they would allow me to sleep on their property. I emerged from the grounds of a large, lit, empty house, having decided it was not wise to set up on someone’s land without permission, even if no one was home, when a girl walking her dog passed by. I fought that inner nervous feeling that didn’t want to call out to strangers, instead asking her if she knew anywhere I could stay for the night.
The girl, whose name I would soon discover was Orla, happened to be close to my age, visiting home (and her dog), for a week or so from her current residence in Berlin. She initially led me towards a field she would walk the dog in, but as our conversation continued, generously offered a bed in her home. Having experienced travel herself she wanted to pass on the favours she had received from others, and was more familiar with my position than one might expect as it emerged her parents were currently cycle touring Italy!
So it was that my evening ended once again enjoying the amazing generosity and hospitality of the Irish. After showering, making myself more suitable to the senses of sight and smell, I found myself curled up in yet another armchair enjoying enlightening conversation. I listened with interest as Orla told me about her job working with virtual reality as a therapy tool. The more we talked, the more we discovered we had much in common. We’d been to some of the same places, had similar passions, and both had some interesting experiences.
