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? …
Day 8 continued… If I had thought the wind was bad at the top of Corkscrew Hill, the gusts that met me as I neared the Cliffs of Moher were horrific! The further I got along the road the less protection there was from the elements. There were no trees and few houses, all of …
Day 8 The first couple of hours out of Galway were highly uninspiring, and I was soon feeling that the best of the journey had already passed. It is a hard thing to feel motivated when you just see uninteresting road ahead, especially when there is so much of it yet to come. I was, …
Day 6 The journey to the next town was only an hour or so, and I pulled into Clifden just as it was coming to life. There was an arts festival taking place in the town which, in wonderful small town style, meant the centre was adorned with colourful festooning. A tall silver shard-like structure …
Day five It was a blissful start to the day, waking up clean, warm, and dry. I enjoyed Orla’s company and some breakfast. By mid-morning I’d begun my journey around the coast, taking in the ocean and mountain view. One hour into my journey, life no longer felt so rosy. The road was taking me …
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 …
Day two Safe to say I started my year as a 30 year old with a slightly sore, but happy, head. I’m quite certain the fuzziness contributed largely to the most ridiculous route I took out of Dublin. Not following the converted cycle way along the canal from the centre, instead needing many direction stops …
In typical English fashion the train was over thirty minutes late. My anxiety increased as it pulled slowly into the station, the doors opened and I struggled out with my bags and bike. Then came the tedious pace of the station lifts, and of course, the platform for my next train placed separately to its …
At 4am I dragged myself out from shelter to stand beneath the dull light of dawn, wanting to be gone without trace before any early risers made their way past on a morning jaunt. I had the joy of packing away under the rising sun. The light blue sky began to emerge behind the clouds, …
The turning into The Peaks introduced one of the hardest physical and mental challenges I have faced cycle touring. As the hills continued, albeit none quite so steep as this first, I began to question everything. Why was I doing this? This is the Peak District, named as such for a reason. Why did I …
