Day 11

It took five Weetabix and a banana for me to feel anything like human after the long day of wet riding to Dingle. With a plan to cycle the peninsula loop that morning, I realised my bike would first need some attention. At the end of each day I had been diving into my tent, concentrating on my own battered body, always thinking the bike’s should be checked over soon. The chain was now beginning to show signs of rust, it was in desperate need of a clean and a grease, and the frame was altogether just exceptionally dirty!

Though the man in the local bike hire shop didn’t seem particularly pleased that I hoped to use a little degreaser and oil without actually needing to buy anything, he was good enough to lend me the items and told me just to go round the corner so as not to block the entrance.

This delay in starting the loop, mixed with my depleted energy made for a poor amount of motivation. I set out as planned, but was barely 15 minutes along the road when headwind and a threat of rain made me turn back to town. Suddenly, being at the end of that beautiful peninsula had me feeling a little isolated, knowing it was a good day’s ride from here to any new place. Unsure how best to proceed with my day, I opted for a little help from caffeine in the hope it would boost my inspiration and motivation. Honestly, it didn’t feel like it improved either, although my time in the coffee shop was enjoyable. After much indecision, it was not wanting to pay for another night in a hostel that finally had me on my way again.

So I trudged out of town (as best you can trudge whilst rolling on two wheels), and despite the self-imposed grey cloud hanging over my head, soon found myself cheering. The surrounding landscape was the perfect antidote to a tired, beaten soul. The journey was largely downhill, making me realise the end of yesterday had been mostly uphill (it had been that sneaky not so noticeable kind!), which at least bolstered my pride at having accomplished it in such a tired state.

The skies were wonderfully clear and I was able to use my camera to take some lasting memories. Reaching a fork in the road I opted for the coastal route, an absolutely brilliant decision if I say so myself. The vistas were jaw dropping. Across the water was a line of undulating hills, which led your view along and out to the distant horizon. Now my only issue was wanting to continually stop to take photos!

Apart from the one ridiculously cold and heavy downpour, and the double rainbow which followed, the rest of the day was calming and uneventful. Around 20 km from Killarney my camp-spot scouting began, having now learnt that once near the centre of a town or city it was much harder to find a spare piece of grass. I spotted a football training field no more than 5 km from the town and seeing some excellent corners for hiding in, knew it was a winning location.

Day 12

The next morning came with a surprising chill, getting me up and out of my tent with excellent speed. All I could think of was packing up, getting to town and finding somewhere warm to huddle down for an hour or so.

As it turned out my whole morning was spent in Killarney. In a mild state of despair, I struggled to work out my next move. My knee was really hurting again and the cold, wet weather offered no inspiration. It seemed that the rain was to be a feature for the foreseeable future. A couple of coffees, two breakfasts, and a phone call to Danny (my Irish friend) later and my decision was made to swallow my pride, give myself time to recover and get a bus to Cork. My determination turned out to be was short-lived however, after finding out it was an extra €11 to put my bike on board. Heading next to the train station, I found it unmanned, and an online search told me all trains for the next few hours were booked. So with stubbornness returning in full force, I was soon heading out of town on those trusty two wheels. Danny had told me of a town a little south of Cork called Kinsale, that was to be my new destination. So there I was, leaving Killarney at 2pm, with a 90 km journey ahead!

That afternoon turned into one of the most exciting and rewarding of my trip. The main road from Killarney to County Cork was a long, slow incline, surrounded by an array of colourful hills,  which were dotted with clusters of pine trees. Here and there were large rocks with drawings etched into their sides.

After a spell on a winding road where drivers seemed to have a penchant for speed, I was thankful to reach the outskirts of a town where it felt less likely to be hit at any second, and where I could refill my water bottles. As I recovered from the stress, my phone battery died, still a good 40 km from my target destination, and with the constant worry of daylight ebbing away before reaching it. This though, is when my journey really got interesting. Without the reliance on technology, I had to instead rely on the goodwill of people.

First, was a man who had pulled over in his car for his own navigation purposes. After he recovered from his bewilderment at how far I planned to travel, he was able to assure me that it was still the correct road.

Next stop was a bar in the town of Lissarda. Not wanting to ride the main road all the way to Kinsale, I needed to find out a back-route. I left my bike at the side entrance and went in to see if they would be so good as to draw a rough guideline on a piece of paper for me. The pub was a hive of activity: families sat eating dinners; solo men lining the bar on high stools; waiting staff bustling around delivering or taking orders. I drew far more attention than I’d been ready for, what with being red faced and dressed in hi-vis attire.  I was soon pointed towards the owners of the establishment and once again was blown away with Irish hospitality. Once they realised what I wanted they went away to print off a map and directions, and gave me a free coffee in the meantime!

Now armed with a map and new confidence in my success, I jumped back on the bike and set off. The directions were not completely clear however, and the main road came into view again a short while later. I had somehow missed the turning. Circling back around and feeling a little perplexed, my eyes scoured all signs in search of the right road.

Killarney to Kinsale

After receiving some help from a man out walking his dog, things went a little smoother. Though his warning that it was a long way to travel and it would soon be dark had me a little on edge about reaching Kinsale in time!

The rest of the way was along wonderfully quiet country roads, sometimes elevating to give me sweeping vistas of surrounding farmland, at others plummeting to give me the joy of freewheeling downhill.

I stopped a family heading into their house to confirm I was still heading in the right direction; knocked on a lady’s door at a fork in the road to query which way to go next; and stopped a lady in the street in Kinsale’s neighbouring town, Inishannon. Finally, there was no need to ask, after one insanely steep hill climb, signs for Kinsale appeared on the road before me and I could relax, destination in sight.

On the outskirts of Kinsale

With Kinsale a short distance away I spotted a large metal gate leading to an empty, slightly overgrown field. Pushing it open and dragging my bike through the tall wet grass (having just gotten permission from the neighbouring house), my mind ran over the madness of the day. I’d gone from perhaps cycling no kilometres, to a mere 20, to speeding 90 km in around 4 hours! There had been so many adventurous stops and amazing encounters that would not have happened had my phone been up and running. It was mere minutes before my tent was up, my head was down upon the pillow and my eyes were closed.