Day 62

December 4, 2021:

I woke, packing my wet sleeping bag into its dry bag. I packed everything else up then too. I understood now what had happened. The last two days of rain had raised the watertable of the bog I had been camping in, and the perception that I had been sinking into the mud had very much been real. I again carefully lifted by bike over the fallen trees, then gathered myself and rode out of town.

I was going to head to the small municipal airport outside of Limerick, because I had seen a small plane cruising over the city yesterday, and was interested in what it might look like there. But as I started down the road that led there, I saw a bike shop and doubled back. I asked if they might have any warm packs for camping, but they said no. They told me to try certain outdoor shops in Limerick or go to a chemist - basically a pharmacist. I wasn't sure why going there would help, but whatever.

Leaving, I saw a storm coming, and decided to skip the airport and instead rode onwards towards Shannon and Ennis. The thought was that by cycling further, I might beat the storm. Such an idea had worked back in Ohio, but I suppose I'd just been lucky then. The storm arrived before I could escape it. The rain hit slowly at first, then built in intensity. I stopped under a freeway bridge, adjusting my buff and putting on my ski goggles. Doing so had a very protective effect, sheltering my face from the cold of the storm. I'm so thankful I brought the ski goggles with me. Luxury item, sure, but they have markedly improved my trip.

I didn't wait long, instead continuing from the underpass, up a ramp, ... and onto the highway? It was the N18, and I checked signs to make sure I hadn't accidentally gotten onto the Motorway. I was correct, but it nevertheless felt odd. It was an exceedingly busy highway, with cars, vans, and lorries whipping by. It felt very much like being on an interstate in the US. On the way, I saw a cool-looking castle on the other side of the highway. I waited for the right turnoff, then crossed a bridge and pedaled back.

It was Bunratty castle. I went around the back and saw it was being used as a venue for a kid's Santa show. He was telling the kids that it was just a few more weeks until Christmas, and reminded them to be nice, not naughty. The whole Santa tradition is basically ruined for me now. It's just another way to control children, to keep them in line, to ease the job of parenting. It's a convenient foil for the holiday, but I feel Christmas would be better without Santa. Guess that makes me a joy-kill.

I went to a pub called Durty Nelly's, having seen a charger under the roof of their patio. I plugged my phone and power bank in, thankful to have found a place with an exposed charger. But I felt a bit guilty, and went inside to get food. The staff there told me they weren't open yet, but would allow me to use the charger nevertheless. I waited, watching the percentage fill up. The phone had almost been out of battery before, and the power bank had been completely drained. The strava recording was still going, thankfully. I like that app. It lets me know exactly how far I've gone, recall precisely where I've been, and offers proof to any skeptics that I really have done what I claim to have done in cycling this way so far - at least in Ireland.

While I waited for the restaurant to open, I spoke with a guy named Frank who was wiping down the tables on the patio. He told me how the old street in front of the pub had used to be the main highway before they built the adjacent, current bridge. The new bridge can carry more weight, so larger lorries can pass through. He said Bunratty Castle was closed. It had been passed into different ownership, and run down a bit. The children's show today was all there was.

He talked about having once wanted to visit the US, but had gone to London instead. Time had slipped away from him, and he'd lived there for 25 years. Now he was back in Ireland. He'd bought a house here. His mortgage had been something like 200 euro/month, but when the banks went bust in the crash, they'd raised the rates to something like 1700 euro/month. I'm surprised they'd be allowed to do that. Wouldn't he have signed a contract with the banks at a fixed interest rate / set repayment schedule? He said he took on extra work to keep up in order to pay off the house. It did have the benefit of paying itself off more quickly with the higher rate. He worked as a carpenter. But then one day, he was using a miter saw to cut a piece of wood, when the blade skipped on a burl and sawed through a finger. He brought the end of the finger he'd lost to the hospital with him, and surgeons had put it back on. His hand was heavily scarred, and the finger a little bent, but at least he wasn't left permanently disfigured. Still, he almost wished it had stayed off, since he'd be able to support the tooling better with his other fingers, and now had a still painful finger always getting in the way. But the house was now paid off. He now just worked at the bar, among a few other part time jobs. He was a nice guy.

When the restaurant opened, I went in to get food, but they told me there had been a misunderstanding. The restaurant was open for drinks now, but I'd have to wait another half hour for food. I decided to skip it. I waved bye to Frank, then went back down the street.

I didn't make it far. My rear tire was totally flat. I wondered if it had happened on the N18 and been a slow leak while I had waited for my devices to charge, or if it had just happened. No matter. I went back to Durty Nelly's, taking a seat exactly where I had before. I went into the restaurant to profess I had changed my mind, and ordered a hot chocolate. Outside, I wanted to pretend the tire actually hadn't gone flat. But doing so would be stupid. I knew it was flat, no use in pretending otherwise. I took the tire off, getting out the patch kit as I did so. Frank made another round then. We talked some more as I fixed the tire. At the end, he showed me a trick for getting the tire rubber back on that didn't require the tire irons I had been using. Despite his finger, he was strong. I was impressed. But he showed me exactly how to do it, demonstrating the proper way to hold and lever the tire into place. I thanked him, repacked, and left. The hot chocolate had been good, if overpriced.

I got back on the N18 to Shannon. I got off the N18 onto the N19 into Shannon. There was a roundabout to the town center. I cycled right past a Lidl and a small shopping plaza that could have been the small plaza where Joshua's dad used to own a shoe repair business on the other side of Alma. It was that small. I passed it, looking for the city center, and ran right into the coast. It occurred to me then that Shannon was pitifully small. What I had seen before with the Lidl had been the city center. I had imagined a larger city given the name of the River and estuary. There's also a large international airport in Shannon that serves both Galway and Limerick. Wouldn't the airport be in a large city too? Apparently not.

I followed some trails on the estuary, finding a few nice picnic tables overlooking the water. I could easily have camped there, but it was too early in the day to stop. Instead, I went to check out the airport. I go a good look at the planes. There were numerous jets lined up on the runways in temporary/long-term storage due to the pandemic and subsequent downturn in air travel. I was sort of surprised to see them there regardless. I thought the industry was mostly in recovery. But I was not mistaken. Each of the planes had covers over their engines. I passed the rental car facilities, a college for hotel management, a fuel farm, and a golf course. I wanted to get around the airport up the other side, but the road I would have taken went through the golf course and had 'strict: no trespassing' signs on it. I just went back the way I had come instead. It was odd seeing a giant orange 'Welcome to Ireland' sign as I left the airport.

I followed a trail through an industrial business park. One was called ElementSix, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to remember that 6 was carbon. I reasoned that Carbon 14 was unstable because it had a couple too many neutrons, so an atomic mass of 12 would make sense. I wonder what they do there. Or in the other businesses in that vicinity. I recalled how nondescript the Northrop building had been in LA, and that was actually a missile production facility. I suppose such facilities were all over LA. They could have been here in this business park too, unlikely though that may be.

I followed a country road north from Shannon towards Ennis. It took me through pastures. One B&B was closed permanently, with a sign that indicated they were retired. There was also a sign for the Lufthansa facility on the north side of the airport. I passed a facility with an interesting array of antennas. It kind of looked like the radar antennas I had seen in Birr. Turns out, they are aviation related, for the north Atlantic. I wonder if it was like a TRACON.

I passed a wooded area, noting that here, there wasn't bog like there had been near Tipperary. I very well could sneak into the woods. But while it was getting into evening, I needed food before I could stop. I had to press on until I found a Centra or something. The road neared the motorway again, and there was a bridge leading over it. A man was tending to his cattle, leading them from one paddock into another. The cows blocked the road, so I waited for them to pass. Then I summited the overpass, checking my phone for nearby hotels. They were all too expensive.

Instead, I continued north to Clarecastle, where I found a Centra. I picked up a few items, then made my way to the checkout. Right as I was about to set my items down at the counter, I lost control and the yogurt I was carrying slipped out of my hands and smashed on the floor. It was a big, quart sized yogurt too. It spilled on the tiled floor. I felt so bad. The clerk asked if I wanted to get another. I did, and she didn't charge me extra for the one I had broken. Very nice of her. I helped clean it up, wiping the floor with a towel, and handing her the still mostly full yogurt tub to throw away. I ate a few cinammon raison twists outside, then loaded the rest into the bike.

I cycled through town, dismissing the idea of camping beside the River Fergus. It looked like the spot I had seen before was too close to what looked on satellite to be a chemical or maybe wastewater treatment plant. Instead, I checked satellite, and saw a wooded area by Killone Abbey. Naturally, I went the wrong way getting there. It was dusk as I approached. I went down a dead-end road, past several houses with lit windows. I wondered what anyone would say if they saw me. I reached the end of the road. There was a sign warning that crossing onto the Abbey lands was strictly forbidden AND that CCTV cameras were watching the area. I considered setting up my tent in the cul-de-sac there, technically on public land. I maintain that that could have worked. But I still didn't want to be discovered.

Instead, I cycled back towards Clarecastle, and saw that had I just inspected the map a bit more before heading all this way south, I would have seen Ballybeg Woods to the north of Killone Abbey. This was a public park, with a parking lot and a heavily wooded area I could hide in. I cycled, and it got dark. A few cars flashed their brights at me, telling me my headlights weren't on. Trouble was, I couldn't get them to come on. My rear one worked, but my white front lights were out of battery. In Tralee, I had left them on. But I had the second pair of red lights, so I moved those to the front. It was better than nothing. I rode on, through the night. I hoped I wouldn't be seen by any Garda, who would ask about my lights for sure. I cycled back into the suburbs, then down the darkened road to Ballybeg woods. I almost considered stopping in the woods before then, but was glad the next morning that I didn't; there were houses very near by that would have seen me.

I reached the parking lot, then found the trail leading up into the woods. I pushed my bike up, searching for a good spot to camp. I leaned the bike against a tree, my red lights still on. I set off with my power bank as a flashlight, happy I had gotten at least some chance to charge it earlier in Bunratty. I stumbled through the undergrowth, almost tripping on the rocks beneath my feet. Thorns pulled at my pants, but I carried on. I found another path in the woods, then realized there was an intersection just ahead of where I had stopped. I walked further, then off the path again, up a hill. I went a good distance, finding a relatively disguised spot among a cluster of trees, with a small, relatively flat spot. It wasn't flat, but the ground was at a uniform angle, so I knew if I positioned my head at the top, I could be comfortable.

I faced the conundrum though that if I went to get my bike, I would almost surely not find the spot again. I opted to leave my flashlight there, on, pointing out back to the trail. I would be able to find my way back up, but would not have a light to guide me as I fetched the bike. I took my time, careful not to twist an ankle among the rocks and undergrowth. Then I found my bike by the blinking red lights, and hauled it up. It was a pain. The red lights weren't bright enough to truly illuminate the path ahead. Then I set up camp, putting everything I could inside, plus food. I ate. I triggered the inreach device to send a message that I was well. Then I went to bed. My phone still didn't have much battery.