Day 34

November 6, 2021:

Just as it was a cold night, it was a cold morning too. I woke to the sound of runners passing the tent at about 10:00 am. They kept coming. At first I assumed it was a small group, but after several minutes of gravel crunching outside, I knew it must be some sort of race or marathon. I unzipped my sleeping bag, put my shoes on, and poked my head out. Indeed, hundreds of runners were going by. I asked a few what it was, and got a response that I didn’t hear. Oh well. I packed my bags. There was rain on the forecast, supposed to arrive at around 11:00 am. I considered staying in my tent through the rain. But the thing with rain in Ireland is that it can pretty much go on forever. And more than ever, I’ve finally found a serious motivation for packing my bags quickly: the cold. Pack your bags faster, and you’ll be on your way faster. The sooner you get going, the sooner your body will warm you up.

I followed the Royal Canal Trail to Enfield, stopping at a place called the Streetside Café to escape the rain that had just begun to fall. There was a line out the door of the tiny building, and they didn’t go anywhere as the rain came down. Dedication. This place must be good. I waited for about fifteen minutes, actually getting a seat ahead of several large groups that had been in front of me because I needed a much smaller table.

Looking over the menu, I missed a section that read that lunch started at noon, and tried first to order a steak sandwich, then a lunch omelet before the waitress kindly explained that I’d have to wait about half an hour for the kitchen to prepare those. She asked if I needed more time to consider, but I quickly flipped the menu over and selected the breakfast omelet since I wanted to be back on my way. I also got a hot chocolate, which ended up being the best one I’ve had on this trip so far. The omelet itself was alright, but not exceptional. I paid, used the restroom, and left.

It had stopped raining while I was in the restaurant, but my seat and helmet had gotten wet. I wiped them off as best I could and returned to the Royal Canal Trail. A strong headwind brought more precipitation, this time a thick mist that made my helmet drip. The trail glistened with the moisture.

On a particularly steep incline up the side of a bridge, my rear tire slipped sideways. I’m unsure if this caused the tire to pop or if the tire was already flat, because I started to notice bumps with every pebble my tire went over. At first I tried to pretend that the problem didn’t exist, and kept riding. When has that ever worked? It was clearly no use, so I laid my bike down at the side of the trail, removed the tire, and looked for the leak. Before I had even gotten the inner tune out to inspect it, I noticed little bubbles of air literally seeping through the tire rubber itself. This was a very cool effect. Since it was definitely flat, I removed the tire and went to replace it. While I worked, a woman who was walking the trail passed, asking if I needed help. “Thanks for offering, but I’ve got a kit.” She kept walking, saying she’d see me on her way back.

The heavy mist kept me motivated. I worked quickly. I’ve noticed that the patches don’t work nearly as well in the cold and rain. I skipped the patches and just went with an entirely new inner tube. As I was putting the tire back on my bike, the woman I’d seen before returned. “I see you’ve got things handled.” “Yep, nothing too serious.” She introduced herself as Jo. She asked about my trip, and where I was headed next. “You Americans all seem to love Ireland. I think it’s miserable. It’s always so cold, wet, and gloomy. I want to go back to New Zealand.” “Is it better there?” “We’ve got the best sunshine in the world. It reflects off of Antarctica.” “Huh.” Not sure if I believe that. But I’m sure it’s pretty there too. Maybe I’ll even see her there again if I make it that far.

With the rear tire back on, I found that the brakes were fully applied to the back tire, even though I wasn’t squeezing them. The bike was completely unrideable. Had I not seen this issue before, I’d have been completely screwed. But each time I’ve had a serious issue with the bike in the past, I’ve specifically asked bike mechanics to explain the issue to me. In this case, it’s an issue of the back tire not being properly seated. This happened because I’d been lazy; instead of removing all my bags and flipping the bike upside down to re-install the tire, I had hoped to get away with doing it sideways. This time, I did it properly, making sure the tire was fully seated in its mount before I screwed it in. While doing so, the springs that are part of this assembly got a little messed up. One got stuck, and I had to try to bend it back into position. The other fell onto the pavement, and I spent several minutes looking for it. I nearly couldn’t find it, even after looking straight at it several times. I don’t think they’re very important, but I did ultimately find it.

With the tire properly repaired, I kept going. I passed a coffee shop that was situated inside a trailer called Deja Brew. Jo recommended a bar called Nanny Quinn’s, but I decided to skip it, not feeling in the mood. In hindsight, I probably should have gotten a late lunch/early dinner there though, as that would have saved me time in Mullingar.

I made it to Mullingar before dark. I left the trail to cycle along the main drag, looking for takeout. One place stood out on Google Maps: a place called Wholesome Kitchen. I got Thai street noodles with chicken plus sweet potato wedges. I dangled the food over my handlebars and cycled through town to the trailhead of the Old Rail Trail. I made it about four kilometers west of Mullingar when I found a suitable spot on the side of the trail by a bridge that crossed a farm road. I locked my bike to the railing posts and set up my tent on the wet grass. I made my tent quickly, eager to eat the food while it was still warm. I heard one runner pass by, then all was quiet, except the occasional MOO from the cows grazing in a nearby pasture.

After dinner, I checked my messages and got into an argument with Mama about timing expectations about my trip. She felt very strongly that I visit my little brother in London for Christmas, but with my current plans, that’s just not possible. Following my current plans, it’ll take me about a week to be ready in Cork, about six weeks to do the Wild Atlantic Way up the western coast of Ireland, several days in Glasgow and Edinburgh, and about two weeks at the very minimum through Scotland, Wales, and England. That would put my likely arrival in London at around mid-January. If I wanted to be there by Christmas, I’d either have to skip substantial parts of Ireland or miss out on the Scottish cities, or accelerate my progress by pushing myself to greater distances each day, or do something drastic like finding a place to stow my bike and flying to London for a few days. Those just aren’t reasonable options. Setting an artificial deadline would make my trip substantially less fun. This is my trip, and my little brother will still be in London by the time I get there, and we’ll still have fun together. Period. I told Mama I’d call him tomorrow to talk it over, but I have no current change of plans. The argument made me really angry. I’m usually an accommodating person, but it’s not like this is the last chance I have to see him, and this is my only real opportunity for the foreseeable future to do this cool trail.