Day 9
I awoke with a start worried that my tent might collapse under the force of the storm at any moment. The intense whooshing noise from the wind was accompanied by clattering sounds as objects outside were blown around. What to do? It sounded wild outside, should I sit here to wait it out? But no, I couldn’t sit in my tent all day, and I was also very aware that I was camped under some trees, which now felt more a hazard than a safety feature!
I clambered out and, with an effort from all limbs, managed to get the tent away and bike loaded. There was not a chance of cycling in this, so I began my journey back to Lahinch on foot. Making my way towards the source of the wind was a constant and slow battle. Once in the town centre there was nothing I could do but wait, and of course, eat a ridiculously big breakfast.
Several hours and coffees later, I finally decided to push on. It was around 3pm, very late in the day to begin heading anywhere, but there were no obvious camping options in the area and I didn’t want to be delayed anymore. Some moments the wind seemed to have finished its work, other times it came at me in a sudden rush. Taking a route that took me away from the coast, I hoped for some protection, but what I hadn’t taken into consideration was the elevation that came with this road, making me a perfect target for the elements!
It was not a long ride that day, but it certainly felt eventful. Only a few minutes into my journey came a shudderingly cold downpour, leaving me soaked to the feet. A kindly lady stopped next to me along the country roads to check I was not lost (on one of my many stops to check directions) and an Alsatian chased me down the street! After much internal debate I decided any more country routes (where even Google sometimes seemed lost) were a bad idea and so I aimed for Kilrush, a longer route but easier to navigate as the day began to darken.
On arrival this time, I chose to ask in the off licence about any place to camp. Here I met Mary, the wonderful woman who offered me a bed for the night, and even closed the shop for ten minutes to let me into her house so I could shower and eat without having to wait for her to finish work!
Exhausted, I had an early night and so it was only the next morning I had the opportunity to chat with Mary. It emerged she had also spent time travelling and living abroad, returning only to help care for her father.
Day 10
After saying our goodbyes I was back on the road and reached the port just in time to catch a ferry heading out. I was taking the Clare to Kerry ferry, heading towards the Dingle Peninsula. This meant I not only got to a enjoy a fleeting, but enjoyable boat ride, but that I also cut out a large portion of main road riding.
On land once more I took a couple of minutes to rearrange my luggage, when yet another concerned local (either I am a magnet for them, or Ireland is full of them!) warned me about another storm on the way and suggested I stay in the town until tomorrow. This was a serious hit to my motivation, was I going to be able to finish my journey before my time ran out? If these storms kept coming I would have to take a depressing train journey back to the ferry for England. Seeing a museum, I stuck my head in the door to ask for more information, and here was assured that there would be rain, but there was not another real storm due for another few days. Now I am very appreciative of every single soul that helped or gave me warning of danger along my journey, but I was beginning to feel exhausted from this emotional, weather report induced, rollercoaster!
So on my way I went, head down through the teeming rain, seeing nothing but tarmac for the next few hours. I had two breaks to try and re-energise and to take a break from the cold, wet world. Travelling in these conditions was tough on motivation as well as my energy levels, and when I reached Tralee I had to make the decision as to whether I should continue on to the peninsula as I had planned, or if I should let the weather dictate my decisions and instead head straight south to Killarney. A coffee and some wonderfully hot chips later and stubbornness prevailed, I would make my way to Dingle as I planned. The rain had at least become more manageable so I was able to lift my head and look around as I rode.
Finally, I was away from main roads and back to beautiful scenery, an apt reward for the exertion the journey required. The air was fresh, the road was a slowly winding incline and soon I was riding through undulating, hilly terrain. Lighter green on the ground was interspersed with the dark patches of trees and hedgerow, the ocean frequently coming into view at one crest or another. One town from Dingle I stopped at a local shop to enquire about the prices of hostels as my phone battery was nearly dead – due no doubt, to the hours of damp and cold it had endured – and the paper map I had picked up in Tralee was close to disintegrating. I quickly discovered the couple in town were a little out of my price range and so jumped back on my bike for the final leg to Dingle.
Around an hour later I pulled into town and quickly located the nearest pub for a whisky coffee and to charge my phone. In a corner seat of the bar, wet clothes dripping onto the furnishings, I watched as a group of men appeared, clearly getting ready to begin a wild evening in this small town. I would be doing nothing wild, that was certain. Hostel booked, trip for food supplies done, one hour or so spent eating, and I was tucked up in bed, well and truly finished.
