Ireland

We went on an organised motorcycle tour. We had signed up quite a while ago. The trip was organised by Paul Beattie, my motorcycle instructor of a few years ago and mostly involved a group of friends we had met through motorcycling. Seven years ago we had all done a very enjoyable trip around Scotland. Ireland offered the chance for another great journey and to catch up with friends. It also made a novel change to how we normally travel. Usually I plan ahead but not too far, we can change our plans easily. This time, I did not have to worry about where we were going, we just had to turn up at the right place at the right time. Day by day instructions were on my phone, the route was loaded into my satnav. We no longer had many choices but we were ready to go.

Our trip actually started in North Wales, at Betws-y-coed, in a lovely little cottage about the size of a toolshed. We came here to make an easy start for the journey. Most of the others would be up early to get to Holyhead for the afternoon ferry. We opted for a more leisurely approach. Next day we took a lovely route through the mountains of what used to be called Snowdonia. The mountain range has a different name now. Not sure of the new name, I imagine it to be unpronounceably Welsh but I do not really care. I was brought up walking and climbing in Snowdonia and there is no way that will ever change inside my head. I do wonder however, what authority it takes to change the name of a mountain range. What group of people feel they have the right to change important place names? Snowdonia is a fabulous UK national treasure so possibly nothing short of a national referendum should be needed. Caution though. We have encountered problems with badly thought out referenda in the past. Making significant changes on the basis of insignificant majorities leads to instability and unrest. I would also suggest that a pre-determined majority, say 65%, should always be required as an indicator for major policy changes.

The sound of screaming engines focused me back in reality. Having shunned the main road we drove around the coast and stumbled across a motor racing circuit where some sort of track-day was happening. This looked great fun. We watched for a while as an assortment of riders of wildly different skill levels wrestled their street bikes around the track. Eventually, dragged ourselves away and presented ourselves at the Holyhead MacDonalds to meet up with the others. Ten of us in total. A motley crew of aging, overweight bikers making more than our fair share of engine noise. The ferry was straightforward. Dublin was busy but the rather nice hotel was only a short way. Not long afterwards we were heading down O’Connell Street looking for somewhere to eat.

In the morning, we set off for the anti-clockwise circum-navigation of Ireland. Diane and I made a heroic effort to get up early but were still last to breakfast. By the time we were ready to start riding everyone else was long gone. This seemed to set a pattern for the rest of the trip. The concierge took us down to the underground car park and casually mentioned that our bike, the last one there, had a flat tyre. This was very worrying and could easily cost us a day or two stuck in Dublin. However, as we neared the bike he conceded that the puncture was a joke. I smiled weakly but in my mind had already smashed him firmly in the face and was considering kicking him as he rolled on the floor.

Up the coast through the lovely Mourne Mountains to a ferry where we briefly met up with the others. After lunch they gave us the slip again but we were happy following the coast northwards. We skipped past Belfast on the motorway network and arrived at hotel number two a little way further north. Next day was a tour of the Giant’s Causeway and other NI tourist attractions. We had been here a few years ago, so instead we followed a very tiny road to the far top right-hand corner of Ireland. Here, at Torr Head, we were rewarded with peace and quiet and terrific views across the sea to Scotland. Encroaching rain and wind encouraged us to get on with the riding. We made our way to Portrush just as the sun was returning. Parked up at the very cosy B&B then wandered into town to find a perfect gin & tonic on the balcony of the old lifeboat station.

First café next day was the Pickled Duck in Derry. For me, the name alone made it worth a visit. There was more rain and as we came into Derry we caught up with Paul and Jeannot. They split at a junction. We followed Paul, figuring he was most likely going the right way since he planned the route. However, he did an unexpected double loop of a roundabout and we lost him. Undeterred, we found the Duck as the rain was getting heavier. Cappuccino with some mushrooms on toast made for an excellent second breakfast by which time we had dried out a bit and were keen to get back on the road. The rest of the day was mostly about rain. Final call was a stone circle which, when we finally found it and walked down the track, was a handful of small rocks. I took a photograph of some cows instead.

The next couple of days we crossed and recrossed the border to Ireland several times. As promised by numerous politicians, this remains frictionless, although it is quite clear which side you are on by the density of Union flags. I could not help reflecting on how this border, which is now a boundary between the UK and the EU has to remain sacrosanct while other UK, EU borders are being reinforced and becoming increasingly difficult to cross. Border controls are now in place for traffic across the Irish Sea to NI. The UK is possibly unique in having an internal international border. To my mind, this all serves to illustrate how ludicrous and artificial Brexit is. Whatever your opinion, it is hard to see how this border situation can be tenable. The riding was good if a bit damp. There was plenty more rain but realistically this is just part of bike riding. Especially in Ireland. We had two long riding days roughly following the Wild Atlantic Way. Fabulous scenery, wild cliff tops, open moorland and quiet, rolling roads. We stayed at a posh hotel in Galway that turned out to be rubbish. It was probably much nicer back in the day but had been sitting on its laurels too long. We rode right out onto the Dingle peninsular, which was terrific, and ended up in an interesting hotel in Killarney that featured an immense rainbow flag outside a pink themed bar inside. The room proved to be very nice.

Diane and I are the odd ones out in this group. For a start we have never travelled with Globebusters. This is a company that organises motorcycle trips. Everyone else had been on grand adventures with them. South Africa, Patagonia, China and elsewhere. Paul had organised this trip just like a Globebusters trip. It was all a bit new to us but comfortably familiar to everyone else. Secondly, we were the only KTM on a BMW outing. KTM (Kraftfahrzeuge Trunkenpolz Mattighofen) are based in Austria, BMWMotorad (Bayerische Motoren Werke) are based in Germany. Both companies have built bikes since the 1920 and, worldwide, KTM sell about twice as many as BMW. I am assured, by the BMW riders that KTM has a poor reputation for reliability. My experience is limited but our current bike has already done 14,000 faultless miles and not quite reached its first birthday. From my point of view, I still feel too young to ride a BMW. Each to their own. We are the only bike with a pillion. It does make the bike a bit heavier, slower and harder to handle but suits us well. Diane has no ambition to ride a bike. Finally, we were the only bike to get knocked down. This happened approaching Killarny. We were stopped, at a stop sign, when someone drove into the back of us. Fortunately no one was hurt and there was not much damage. Luckily he did not hit us square on because we would then have ended up lying in the busy main road. After everyone had calmed down a bit and the police had visited, we negotiated the cost of damaged paniers and went our own ways.

We stayed two nights in Killarny. This gave us a chance to ride the picturesque Ring of Kerry. The route started up some winding mountain roads where we had to bunny hop past slow tourist traffic. Further on the road opened up towards the Skellig islands. On Great Skellig are the remains of the Skellig Michael monastery which has since been revealed as a Jedi temple and final home of Luke Skywalker. Unfortunately we did not have time to visit the island although, heading back, we managed to slip an extra and completely unauthorised ferry trip into the route. We arrived back in Killarny feeling much calmer and more relaxed than on the first night and rounded off the day with an excellent curry.

In the morning we set off for the Ring of Beara. Heavy rain was forecast until late morning so we lazed around, pretty much like we normally do in the morning, before setting off around 11am . Heading south west, again, through the Killarny National Park we noticed several new waterfalls since the day before. Pushing further south we rode out into the wilderness of the Beara Peninsula with tremendous sea views, mountains, moorlands and winding roads. On the way back we stopped at a Buddhist retreat for tea, a sandwich and some calm peacefulness. Lovely. Last item on the official agenda was kissing the Blarney stone at Blarney castle near Cork. At €20 a snog, we decided to leave this to those that had a reason to kiss a rock.

Travelling around Ireland is usually a story involving rain. The next day was no exception. We stopped at Dungarvan for a quick look at the remains of the castle and a very good espresso from a van by the docks. Next stop was Tipperary, I am not going to say anything about how far it was but will mention that it was tipping it down with rain. The town was crowded and wet so we pushed on. Kilkenny was a similar story. Packed with tourists and throwing it down with rain. We glimpsed the long queue to visit the castle and carried on to the hotel.

Last day in Ireland took us over the surprisingly remote and very pretty Wicklow mountains. Mid-morning we met up with the others at a café. For a moment there looked to be the possibility of a group ride to the wonderfully named Deke’s Diner and then on to the port. There might even have been a group ride, I do not know because yet again, they gave us the slip even though we left less than a minute later. I followed the route carefully on my satnav and we arrived at the port. No sign of Deke’s Diner or everyone else. Not really sure how they managed this but this is why, in all the photographs from the trip there are virtually none of the other riders. We did not mind, this just seems to be the way. They turned up, together, about 15 minutes later and we all happily boarded the ferry back to England.

Diane and I have packed the bike away for the winter now. This may seem a bit premature but we have great plans, starting with Iceland. We will be back on the bike but it is going to be a long break.