Day 83

Christmas Day: December 25, 2021:

The next morning, diarrhea struck early. You’re not going to want to hear the details. Long story short, I was up early. I ate the rest of my salad, using more of the vinaigrette dressing to make it tasty. The morning was quite windy, so I packed my tent quickly, then my bags. The storm that had been forecast to arrive last night seemed like it was on its way now. I used the opportunity to filter some water from the stream running down the mountainside to the Strand below. The water was cold and surprisingly deep. The dirty bag was full of rather yellow water, and the filter did clean it up a bit, but there was still a tinge of yellow to it. I wonder what caused that. Was it just some of the peat discoloring the water? Or did a little bit of sheep shit get in the water? There are so many sheep up here, it’s probably the sheep shit. And seeing as the filter didn’t get it all out, that weakens my confidence in it. I filled up one 1.5L plastic bottle with it, but decided not to drink any unless I ran out of the creek water I had filtered the other day.

I walked my bike up the road the whole way. It was just too steep to cycle without hurting my knees. Then I went down the other side, the cold wind whipping into me. Gilty’s pub was closed, but that’s to be expected before noon. All of the shops in Dooagh and Keel were closed, even the convenience store where I had planned to get a cinnamon roll or something for breakfast. That’d be a problem, as there weren’t any public restrooms to satisfy my diarrhea. It was an unpleasant ride, to say the least.

In Keel, it started raining again. The drops pelted my clothing, and I cursed myself for not putting on my rain pants. The water quickly soaked through my hybrid pants and through the longjohns beneath. It sort of formed a layer of warmer water like a wetsuit. I faced a headwind again, but there was no other option but to keep going. “One foot in front of the other….” I tried to stay positive, but it was difficult. There weren’t any shops open in Bunacurry either. I figured the Circle K in Cashel would be open. People would need to get gas, and as such there’d need to be an attendant, and if there was an attendant, the shop may as well be open. I’d stop there for shelter from the rain while I warmed up inside to tea. I’d buy some food to fill my stomach, charge my phone, and make calls to find a hotel to stay at nearby. Thinking about the Circle K got me hopeful. “Wouldn’t it just be perfect if it were closed?” And it sort of dawned on me that that would be possible. I rounded the corner, and sure enough, the lights indicating fuel prices was off. The lights inside were dark. I pulled under the roof to watch the rain puddle around me. The relief was short-winded, though, as I soon got a little cold. It was clear the rain wouldn’t pass quickly. The horizon wasn’t made up of individual passing clouds, but instead had that gloomy, foggy, deep-seated gray that indicates a giant, slow-moving storm. I kept moving.

In Achill Sound, all the shops were closed, including the SuperValu. One guy encouraged me, calling out my dedication for riding in the rain. I should have pulled over right then and asked if he had a guest room. I didn’t, not feeling quite that desperate just yet. But seeing the SuperValu closed was an indication that I was royally screwed. I wouldn’t be getting any more food today. I kept riding, thinking that maybe the spot I’d had before on Achill Beg would be dry enough for me to setup camp. It wouldn’t be terribly comfortable, but I knew the spot, and I knew it would be sheltered from the worst of the storm. I made it maybe 1/3 of the way there, but upon passing a small farm, hit a full flat tire. It took all the wind out of me. All the momentum that I had to reach the prior campsite was gone. I’d have to walk the rest of the way if I wanted to make it there. The rain still fell around me, and I was soaked through. I’d have to find a place to stay, somehow.

I hooked up my phone to my power bank and was surprised to find the power bank still had just a little charge left. I would have been willing to bet otherwise. It gave my phone just enough charge to put out about a dozen calls. There aren’t many B&Bs on Achill, but I called every one. None answered. Finally desperate enough, I started knocking on doors. I started with the farmhouse I had passed when I got my flat. They had seen it happen and had waved at me. I asked if they had a spare room, and said I’d be willing to pay 100 Euro for it. They said they were full up. It was a bad day to be asking around, what with it being Christmas. They had relatives over, and all their rooms were taken. They recommended I camp in a small grove just down the trail. They explained it’s like a protected den under the trees that’d offer me a bit of shelter from the wind, and that they often have campers there in the summer. I thanked them for the advice, and left. I found the spot they had referred to, and stood with my bike, out in the rain, for a few minutes, wondering what I should do.

I heeded their advice and set up my camp in the copse of trees. When the campsite was ready, it was about 2 pm. I got in, taking off my shoes, socks, jacket, and pants. I tried to snuggle up in the sleeping bag. It occurred to me after a little while that I should use what daylight I have left to keep myself moving. I got my clothing back on, and went around asking more people if they had spare rooms. I knocked on at least a dozen doors. Everyone turned me away. I don’t blame them. It was Christmas Day, and people want to be celebrating with their families. They probably saw me as a strange man, maybe a burglar come to rob them or something. I don’t expect such kindness, but I nevertheless would have appreciated it. I spent about two hours walking around doing this. I finally returned to the tent, a bit dejected, but figured I’d have to make do.

It occurred to me that I still had one packet of freeze-dried food, and I was a little hungry but mostly in need of warmth. I got my cookware out and tried to boil water. I found that my fuel canister was low, and so wasn’t hot enough to boil the water, even on its hottest setting. It was just enough to make the water lukewarm after some fifteen minutes of trying. I estimated how much water I’d need, and poured it in. I let the pack sit for several minutes, careful not to spill it in the tent. It was a soggy mush when I ate it, and though it did have some flavor, I had added too much water. I was glad to have it regardless.

I curled up in the sleeping bag, trying to conserve heat to stay warm. The hotpack I had was a total dud. This was difficult, because every half hour, I had to get up and walk barefoot across the pine needles to the spot I had selected to satisfy my bowels at. It was horrible. I remembered to drink water, since they always tell you to stay hydrated when you have diarrhea. Every time I left the tent, my sleeping bag would get a little wetter and I’d be a little colder. Around 7 pm, I decided not to leave the tent again, and to try to hold in every fart. It was unpleasant. The hours passed slowly. Lying in my tent, in the darkness, trying to pass the time. No light, no entertainment. I did have my InReach device, so saved a waypoint and sent some messages out to friends and family. I looked around on the map, looking back at the way I had come, and thinking about the decisions that had led me to this point. I should have realized that everything - everything - would be closed on Christmas, and planned accordingly. I’m sure this’ll happen again on New Year’s, so I have a chance to learn the right lessons from this experience. I did eventually manage to get to sleep.