Day 68

December 10, 2021:

I got an early start towards Galway. I had a Warmshowers host set up on the outskirts of the city, so it would be a huge day ahead. Were I to travel directly, it would just be 50 or so km, but since I also wanted to detour to see Burren National Park and the Father Ted house near there, I knew I needed to be swiftly on my way. I should probably have stopped for breakfast before I left, but just wanted to head out. I thanked Hendrik for his hospitality and was off.

I cycled back through Ballinruan, down the hill, and into the countryside past Doon Lough. It was a bright, crisp, clear morning that reminded me of some of the early mornings that I would cycle between San Luis Obispo and Edna to reach the Cornacopia farm stand along the idyllic fields in that valley. It was a morning that reminded me how good it was to be alive. How I really like the choices that have led me to this point. I blinked, almost like Shallon might in Words of Radiance, saving a memory of the moment. The back roads here were green with moss, and only the tire tracks of vehicles revealed the brown dirty layers of pavement beneath. I pedaled a bit on the R458, then continued north, passing Tubber. A few dogs barked at me as I passed, disturbing me from the meditative trance I had fallen into. Rain clouds swirled above me out of the northwest, and a cold wind blew at my neck.

I stopped to adjust my buff, then reached around to get my ski goggles out of my bags. They weren't there. I had just been thinking how glad I was to have brought them with me, since they're a key part of my winter gear. How could they not be there?! I had had them just yesterday. In fact, I remember having packed them this morning before I left Hendrik's. I turned around. I'd gone about 11 km so far. That's nowhere near as far as I had gone that time I had lost my cycling gloves back in eastern Ohio. And again, contrary to some belief, I do care about my things. It was obvious I needed to go back for them. And to think that afterwards I would still need to get to Burren, and then to Galway. It was a task that struck me as impossible. For a morning as idyllic as this one, that mental image of perfection I had had earlier was smashed.

I hurried back, trying to force myself faster. But wearing myself out now wouldn't end with a warm bed in Ballinruan. It would just be the start of the longest day yet. I made it back just before 11 am, and found my ski goggles on the porch at Hendrik's where I had packed my bike. It must have fallen out immediately. Or maybe I had just placed them atop my pack without properly packing them into the pannier. I turned back again, again riding into Ballinruan.

This time I stopped at a bench. Hungry, I got out the lasagna dish I had purchased yesterday that was meant to have been last night's dinner. It was alright. The lasagna actually tasted a bit like shepherd's pie. I couldn't finish the cabbage or the potato. While I ate, I checked Warmshowers. I was going to send a cancellation message to my planned host in Galway, because there was just no way I'd make it at this point. But when I checked, I found they had sent me a message of cancellation. A member of their household had just tested positive for covid, so there was no way I'd be able to stay there. I wished them well, promising to keep them in my thoughts. I sent a last-minute request to another potential host in Kinvarra, and soon received a reply that I could come to stay with her. So nice!

I got an immediate sense of deja-vu cycling the same paths for a third time now. Back down the hill, past Doon Lough, past the old school bus, onto R458, back down the side road. Past the house with the red gate. I actually stopped there to take a closer look. The sign on the gate said something like 'Failure to close this gate will result in a fine of 40 shillings.' I laughed. Must have been an old gate, when 40 shillings was actually an amount of money people cared about. Or maybe it was a joke. I carried on. The houses with the guard dogs had let their dogs in, since they weren't there to greet me again. I finally made it past Tubber, where I had turned around before. Fresh territory now.

As I continued, I saw two men approach on horses. It's a very narrow country road, so I respectfully dismounted from my saddle to let them pass. I didn't want to spook the horses, though I was confident they could probably have handled it. The gents asked me where I was going. "Istanbul." "Are you.... alright?" He asked, as if I might be mentally a bit wack. "I'm alright, though sure, I am a bit crazy." "May I ask.... WHY?" "For fun. For the same reason you guys are out riding today." "Ha! No, we're doing our jobs. These are race horses, and we're training 'em. If it weren't for this, we'd both be at home watching the telly." I waved them adieu, then carried on.

Along the way, I listened to Words of Radiance on Audible as it played from inside my jacket pocket. I'll have to do it like this again. It's very entertaining to ride like this, though it does drain my phone battery a bit more quickly. The route took me along R460, then right into Burren National Park.

I knew immediately I had entered Burren National Park when the scenery noticeably changed. Instead of green moss covering everything in sight and fenced-off pastures with sheep dotting the landscape, I was instead confronted with a rocky, boulder-filled landscape with large rocky hills protruding from the ground. It was no longer a peat bog, but rather a rocky plateau that reminded me of the ragged lava floes of Craters of the Moon national monument.

I passed a few cars at a trailhead, then went back to where they had been. I leaned my bike against a rock wall securing the front wheel to the frame with my bike lock. If nothing else, I'd be making it a bit more difficult to move around, but there was nothing to lock it to. I set off with a bag containing my gopro, my phone, my power bank, and the charging cable. I scrambled over the rocks, following small cairns and signs pointing the way the trail led. Even so, I lost the trail a few times, generally taking shortcuts across the rock towards the hills. As I walked, it occurred to me it would have been wise to bring a bottle of water and my inreach device. While the hike was short and I likely would be fine, there was no one else out here now. I doubted anyone would find me until tomorrow if I fell. My power bank has an automated SOS light signal setting, but that only works if you have line of sight to a town, and someone just happens to look. I decided to continue on, figuring the risk was low enough that it wasn't quite worth going all the way back.

The trail took me up the side of the hill, with its rocky ridges setting natural bounds for the cattle that meandered the ranch, eating grasses that grew between the rocks. I reached the top. From above, I imagine the hill looks like a giant rocky cinnamon roll, frozen into shape. There are other twisted hills in the area with a similar visual appearance. The view from the top is incredible, reflecting the tumultuous clouds off the loughs below. It was like standing atop the Cinder Cone volcano at Lassen National Park in CA. As I observed the landscape, a roiling mass of clouds barrelled straight towards me. Another storm, and this one had the potential to thoroughly drench me.

Instead of taking the longer path down the other side of the hill, I went back the way I had come. I didn't make it far when the storm wall hit. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as I had expected. I did get a little wet, but the storm passed quickly and the winds dried me before I got back to my bicycle. I listened to my audio book in my phone on the way down. It made the return hike feel quite fast. I didn't even need a drink of water when I got back.

Then I cycled up past the Father Ted house, snapping the obligatory photograph. I think my favorite bits of Father Ted I've seen so far is the "Is Father Ted a Racist?" clip compendium. It's not so much an episode, but rather a collection of clips from that story arc in the show, especially the episode involving the perfectly square dirt smudge on Father Ted's window.

The road out of Cloon went uphill a good bit. On the way up, I paused to take a drink, and I met a woman walking the other way named Brigid. It was dusk when I met her, and I really needed to be going. But following my hard and fast rule that I always make time to talk to people, I stood by and patiently listened. She was a local guide who was coming home from work at the Cliffs of Moher visitor center. She asked if I'd been to Burren, and I told her that's where I had just come from. She also gave me a few recommendations for Connemarra National Park, which I will go to after Galway. She recognized that I probably needed to go since it was getting dark, so I exchanged some contact info with her and headed off. She had liked to talk, so I'm glad she was understanding of my situation. Nevertheless, she's also pretty much exactly the kind of person I need to meet, with specific recommendations of places I should go.

I followed the road through a canyon made by the oddly shaped rocky hills. Burren NP could really be a lot larger if it included the nature preserve right next to it. These weird hills were just as good. Between Killarney and Burren, Burren is definitely the superior park in my view. They're both really small though. I look forward to both Connemarra and Wild Nephin.

The canyon led me out of the hills to a flat, slightly downhill plateau that extended to the sea. Distant lights illuminated where Kinvarra was on the horizon. I stopped to get my power bank setup as a headlight and checked my Warmshowers messages to give Esther an update on my arrival time. She asked if I'd like to have her cycle out to meet me. I warmly accepted, but acknowledged I wasn't really going to pass through any villages on the way, so just laid out the route in my reply. As long as I went the way I planned, she would be sure to meet me going the other way. I gave Esther a description of me so she knew what to look for.

As I cycled down L4507, a cyclist came alongside me from behind. "Another night cyclist!" he said with enthusiasm. We cycled together for a good little while. His name is Alex, and he's Dutch? He's lived in Ireland for a while now though, and has a house nearby, which we passed on my way to meet up with Esther. I told him I was meeting another cyclist, and that therefore I had to follow the route through Pol na Gcan. He said it's not really a village, but rather a historical reference. It goes back, as many things do, to one of the many atrocities the British conducted against the Irish while they ruled the land. One of the things that was forbidden was practice of religion, and the Brits came in and beheaded a bunch of priests who had been living in this area. And Pol na Gcan translates to something like 'the rolling heads' and it is meant literally. And it's not just a legend. Archaeological digs have found skulls in the soil where the story says it happened. A grim tale.

At the intersection with the N67, another cyclist pulled up: Esther. Alex had been in the middle of telling a story of flat tires on one of his bikepacking cycle tours. She listened to the end of the story. I got Alex's number, and he took off. Then Esther cycled back to her house, and I followed. She has a dynamo in her front tire that powers her lights. If you go fast enough, it can also charge your phone, she says. I had seen SON dynamos online before the trip started and had thought of them as terribly expensive. I suppose they are, but I now see the immense value in the investment. I think it's something I'll definitely want to upgrade to at some point.

When we got to her house, Esther showed me to the shed so I could store the bike there. She explained that she lives with her mother, and that her mom was out at the moment fetching groceries for dinner. We went in, and she showed me around the house. Since it was a last-minute request, she hadn't had time to clean up, but I didn't mind at all. It kind of just proved that real people live there. I would sleep in the study with my sleeping bag. It would be nice to have a roof over my head again. Despite not having eaten anything besides the lasagna this morning, I wasn't very hungry yet, and turned down an offer of leftover soup. I went upstairs to wash up.

When her mother arrived later, we sat in the living room, chatting. Esther went to cook dinner. She made a risotto. While she cooked, her mother Christiana and I watched the Tagesschau. She's German, and I found I understood about 90% of the news. I was able to fully explain what was said to Esther when she came back in to ask. Christiana mistook it for my being well-informed, which I suppose I am, but I reminded her that I had just listened to it, and I had understood. Esther had come to tell us dinner was ready.

It was good, soft food. While I was eating, I noticed that two of my molars bugged me. One on the lower left, one on the lower right. Eating such a soft food should not have triggered such a reaction, so I was immediately concerned that I had one or more cavities. It would have to wait. American insurance wouldn't apply here, and while my international travel insurance does cover dental, that coverage only starts the first week of February 2022. They specifically warned me of a 3 month delay on coverage for dental when I signed up. I put the matter behind me.

After dinner, Christiana went to watch German comedy shows. First, Oliver Winkel, then Jan Bohmerman. The news is one thing, but comedy is very much another. With news, I have context. I am well-informed, so it's easy to piece together what is said. With comedy, there are word plays, cultural references, and less context for what is being spoken about. I can barely understand the words, let alone the comedic meaning, and that makes it hard to laugh. I understood maybe 20-40%, and that's a generous estimate. While we watched, Esther brought out mince pies, and I sipped a plum-flavored gin & vodka drink. Then, after the shows, I went to bed, visibly exhausted from the long day.