Spokes Irish Tour 2004.
There are more pictures from Ned, Norman and Richard here - On this page - hold the mouse over the pictures to read the captions.
Diary
of a Cycle Tour Virgin
It
was a dull February day when I paid my deposit and committed to going on my
first cycle tour, with Spokes to Ireland. September seemed so far away but
after months of carefully thinking about planning what I would take the time
came to take some positive action and see what would fit into two panniers
and a bar bag. Following good advice from old Spokes hands I had prepared
well and bought light weight trousers, lightweight fleece and a super thin
lightweight towel. I then tried to pack these along with everything else I
wanted to take with me into the aforementioned bags. Oh how we laughed in
the Cartwright household as my lack of spatial awareness became apparent.
First to go were the silk pyjamas and dressing gown, dinner suit and bow tie.
The tour was definitely going to be casual dress for me.
After
several tries the bags were packed. I followed our leader’s advice and cut
3” off my toothbrush to save weight. I regretted this later as I found it
difficult to use without any bristle head. Mosquito repellent and snake bite
serum were safely stowed but there was no room for the recommended spare spokes
or cables.
The
day for departure dawned fair and my travelling companions arrived promptly
to load their bikes on my car. Richard with the kitchen sink skilfully stowed
in two bags as usual, Graham with two jumbo panniers, a bar bag and the largest
rack box known to man, Rhian strangely
bereft of any luggage at all, except for her famous basket.
A
swift and safe journey accompanied only by the sound of snoring passengers
soon found us at the glamorous key side of Swansea. If ever a venue was designed
to make Portsmouth dockyard look attractive this was it. Catering extended
to a small portacabin with an even smaller selection of food, but luckily
the wait was a short one. Using nylon rope to lash our bikes to the main brace,
or at least the metal grid on the lower deck, took a matter of seconds and
we were set fair for Eire. The ships departure was slightly delayed as Norman
asked the Captain to take a photo of us all. This pattern of stopping for
photos was to become a familiar one.
I
had done well to choose a cabin as sleeping space on board appeared to be
limited to standing room only, along with uncomfortable reclining chairs and
floor space under the stairs. The only slight draw back to the cabin was that
the top bunk, in which I foolishly volunteered to sleep, was quite close to
the air conditioning unit in the ceiling, so close in fact that I found myself
dreaming of Captain Scott and husky dogs and many of my extremities were wrinkled
in the morning. An uneventful night passed, we were roused from our slumbers
by shouts of ‘cabin please’ and we saw dawn approach. At least we would have
seen it had it not been for the dense fog, one of the few lowlights of the
trip, which found us marooned outside Cork harbour for almost 6 hours. Still
the bull dog spirit saw us through, that and beans on toast, lasagne, chocolate
bars and copious amounts of coffee.
We
soon found our way out of Ringaskiddy following the directions Peter had obtained
from a kindly chap on the ferry. This kindly chap had obviously never been
that way on a bike as we promptly encountered an enormous hill all of us gasping
for breath and praying for the top.
The
delayed arrival meant the head of Kinsale had to be bypassed so Kinsale itself
was our first stopping off point, a beautiful harbour side town but with little
to offer the hungry cyclist save for a fish and chip shop and a garage making
up sandwiches. I plumped for the latter and ended up not needing to eat for
the rest of the day, the sandwich resembling not so much a doorstep as one
of the pillars at Stonehenge. The last time I saw so much Tuna was in a documentary
on Japanese fishing fleets. My first taste of the bountiful fare we enjoyed
during our stay.
We
arrived at our first night stop Clonalkillty in good time and found the accommodation
quite easily. One of the good things about being in Ireland was that almost
every B& B and hostel was signposted. I was one of the softies who chose
the B&B option and our first nights accommodation made me glad I had as
it was very comfortable. I approached my first night on the Town with some
trepidation, having heard of the hard drinking reputation of some of my fellow
travellers but I need not have worried as moderation was the order of the
night. Clonalkillty had a long main street with many delights and eager to
sample traditional Irish fair most of the party adjourned to the Taj Mahal
Balti for a curry. We all met up at the end of the evening in the local hotel
where the entertainment revolved around the local down at heel cabaret artist
and his karaoke machine. He was an odd mix of Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra,
Sammy Davis, Englebert and Tony Christie but sadly lacked the good points
of any of them. It was time for bottle walking. Valiant efforts were made
by all but the undoubted champion was Graham who appeared to defy the laws
of gravity with an amazing reach. He thought he had won until Rieta actually
did defy the laws of gravity (and probably bottle walking) by being lifted by two volunteers back to an upright position
after an almighty stretch.
The
next morning Peter made a terrible mistake, not using the wrong knife for
his porridge, but asking the husband of our host at breakfast for directions.
Twenty minutes later we were still listening to his amusing version of directions
as the rest of the group paced the pavement outside waiting to get off.. Multimap
it wasn’t! Some short extracts I remember
included :- “first
you go to the end of the street and when you get to the no right turn sign
you turn right, don’t worry every one round here ignores the sign” “When
you get to the signpost with the corn and scythe sculpture you need to go
straight on but if you are not sure go in the post office and ask Brieda” “Glendore
is worth a detour, it was the home of the wealthy English until we shot the
buggers in ’22 and threw them out” 
Luckily Andy Mack had a good map and led us on a delightful route and we did not need to call on Brieda in the Post Office. Our journey was an eventful one and with a ferry to catch at 2.30 there was some pressure to keep going. The first signs of revolution appeared when Peter suggested we did not need a tea stop, a crime akin to treason amongst Spokes members ever anxious for refreshment. Arriving in Schull with barely half an hour before the ferry we scanned the horizon for the majestic craft that was to take us to Clear Island only to find that it was the small green vessel already in the harbour. “Eleven bikes will never fit on that ” we thought, until we saw the salty sea captains brilliant plan of stacking one tightly against the other and lashing them together with the now familiar nylon rope. When in Rome do as the Romans do they say, so prayers were offered up to the Blessed Virgin for the safe arrival of your precious cargo.
Clear
Island appeared to get its name from the fact that all cars on it were clear
by some way of being eligible for an MOT certificate. I had not seen a more
motley collection since Frank Berrys’ scrap yard was moved from Bede Island.
A beautiful and peaceful Island none the less and many of us enjoyed our first
swim in the crystal clear sea here. A welcome respite from the morning rush.
It
was on Clear Island that we began to pickup a few word of the local language.
Unintentionally so I am afraid as it was quite by accident that we discovered
toilet doors marked M and F stood, not as we though for Male and Female but
for Miens (Ladies) and Firs (Gents). Of course being a worldly chap I realised
in time that the door through which I spied urinals was most likely to be
for men but others were not so observant. As I passed water I twice heard
the distinct click of Shimano cleat on stone floor as one of my fellow gents
entered the ladies and another followed his lead (names withheld subject to
payment of appropriate fee).
Our
onward journey was via a second ferry and if we had concerns over the carriage
of our bikes on the first one then these were intensified as the captain and
his octogenarian cabin boy proceeded to lift all of them onto the roof. Time
for more Hail Mary’s. The trip onto
Schull harbour was a pleasure made more so by the entertaining commentary
by the aforementioned captain. Commentary over (we learnt a distant castle
is the home of Jeremy Irons) he proceeded to entertain us with a few songs
accompanying himself on the Accordion. We wondered at his amazing talent,
we wondered at his harmonious voice, but mostly we wondered how he was steering
the boat. Tears were brought to our eyes by a delightful rendition of “forty
shades of green” a traditional Irish song made famous, I am reliably informed,
by the traditional Irish Johnny Cash.
Schull
was a one horse town and the horse had clearly left sometime prior to our
arrival. Here arose my first cause to question the decision to take the ‘softies
B&B’ option. We found ourselves in a garret above a restaurant that had
closed for the season. The room Richard and I shared could hardly be described
as spacious. The content of two single beds filled the small void barely leaving
room for the only other fittings, overhead lights of the latest low voltage
variety that glowed red hot after being on for a few seconds causing ones
hair to ignite as you lay in bed reading. Only one bathroom for Richard, Graham,
Rhian and myself to share could have been a problem but at the pub over dinner
we agreed on a rota system. Taking full account of the differing bathroom
habits of our respective genders. We allowed each of the gentlemen 3 minutes
and Rhian 30. Our plan was thwarted come the morning when as Rhian was about
to enter the WC a burly and quite hirsute man appeared out of no where and
proceeded to occupy the room for the whole of Rhian’ allotted time. Who he
was we will never know but he certainly confounded our sexist pre conceptions
on the use of bathroom facilities.
The
saving graces of our B&B were the delightful hostess we met in the morning
and her even more delightful breakfast, the largest plate of muffins and bread
we had ever seen. Unfortunately it was not the only time some of us would
see it. The local Soda Bread being quite hard to digest, it returned to haunt
me throughout the day. Suffice to say it was a good job for the group as a
whole that I had volunteered to be back marker.
Ever onwards our journey took us 30 miles to Glengarriff and the prospect of a rest day. Another town with less than one horse but thankfully it had about 6 pubs, a hotel , several restaurants a good hostel and an even better B& B. The prospect of no cycling and no early start did lead to some of our party rather letting their hair down in the pub that evening. Names are withheld to avoid embarrassment but Richard and I, ever noble, made sure we saw Andy Mack and Peter safely home and reminded Andy that he was in the hostel that night and not coming back to the B&B with us when this fact momentarily slipped his mind, due no doubt to tiredness.
The wild events of the night allowed us to sample Irish hospitality and their relaxed approach to licensing laws at first hand. Calls of last orders at 11.30 were followed by a further 30 minutes drinking and drinking up time. Midnight came, the fiddlers stopped fiddling and the curtains were drawn. All appeared to be ready for closing. Ten minutes later the fiddling, drinking and good times recommenced, accompanied now by smoking. A local kindly explained (after offering us rolling tobacco and cigarettes at bargain prices) that as we were all breaking the law by drinking after 12.00 they always smoked as well after this time. We all hoped this attitude did not extend to other more serious crimes.
One other notable event that evening was our involvement in a domestic dispute when a colourful local lady with a certain fading glamour, concealed by significant amounts of make up and cheap perfume joined us outside on the pretext of wanting a cigarette. She sat very close to poor Peter. We soon realised we were the pawns to invoke jealousy in the game she was engaged in with her errant lover who soon joined us on the bench as well, begging forgiveness for some misdemeanour we could not quite catch the drift of. Experienced as we all were in matters of love we did not feel it appropriate to intervene and did what any helpful group would, slid down the bench as far away from them as we could, started another conversation and ignored the row proceeding in the background. A lucky escape for us all. It could have got very nasty if Norman had asked them to take a photo.
We
all benefited from the rest day on Wednesday. Many of us went to Glengarriff
Island enjoying the glorious weather, the beautifully landscaped gardens,
the fine views from the Martello Tower and again swimming in the sea. Particular
mention should be made of Norman, Liz and Andy who braved the waters to swim
around the bay to try and join some seals on an isolated rock. However, their
plans were thwarted when the seals spotted the clubs they carried and swam
away. There were to be no sealskin cycling shorts for anyone this trip.
Evening
saw Peter, Richard, Rhian, Graham and myself suffering withdrawal symptoms
and heading off down the coast for a quick 20 mile ride before tea. We enjoyed
our little jaunt and felt it fitting, as Spokes members, to be out on Wednesday
evening and we thought of everyone at Ratcliffe
Road. It also gave us prior warning of the route for the next morning which
was a straight 5 miles up hill!
A
quieter evening followed and the next day was my big chance Yes, I was leader
for the day and not back marker. The plan was simple, we would ride to a convenient
point and those of us who did not fancy the arduous nature of the Healy Pass,
akin to Everest rumour had it, could take an easy saunter around the coast
and meet the hardy expeditionary force led by Sherpa Simmonds in Kenmare.
Little did we know that the reverse was true and the much more difficult route
was actually around the coast.
My
leadership skills were tested to the limit as our small group found ourselves
on one of the most arduous rides we had ever encountered. I began to appreciate
how my hamster used to feel on its wheel as the route seemed never
ending, up and down, bending this way and that, up and down some more and
then just for a change up and down. I was unsure if we would ever reach our
destination of Kenmare and were grateful when a pub loomed into site that
sold afternoon tea. Our delightful young host told us that the other group
had been by about two hours before. So much for the arduous ‘over the top’
route. Never was pot of tea more welcomed. Refuelled by energy bars, mars
bars, cakes, nuts, crisps, fruit and tea we emerged stronger and ready for
the remaining journey of about 18 miles. This seemed a lot easier than the
previous 40 and we fairly flew along it, chased as usual by errant dogs which
turned tail and ran as soon as Ned bared his teeth and charged at them. They
are obviously not used to fold up bikes in this part of the world. Oh how
we laughed on arrival at Kenmare to find how easy the other group had found
it. In fact many of their members remarked that that last 18 miles were the
hardest!
One
of the best B&B’s awaited our arrival in Kenmare, managed by an ever cheerful
landlady Mary O’Brien. There was a little confusion as she thought we were
all partners so we had to explain this applied only to Rhian and Graham and
that Andy Mack, Peter, Richard and myself were not romantically involved.
Not
too many high jinx in Kenmare that evening. Entertainment was limited to a
rasping voiced chap who started with two good covers but sent us running for
the exit when he tried a falsetto version of an Old Stylistics number (my
ears are still ringing) a quartet of local musicians who seemed to be playing
inside the cupboard of another hostelry and at our final destination a country
duo who brought the pub to attention
at the end of the evening with a rousing version of
“A nation once again”. At this point we made a hasty exit , not through
shame at our Imperial British past but because the bar closed promptly at
12.00, an event hitherto unknown in the more rural locales in which we had
stayed.
Friday,
the last full day cycling, back to back marker duties for me. The route out
of Kenmare soon found us climbing, climbing and climbing some more until we
eventually had to don waterproofs as we had disappeared above cloud level.
Of course it was only my loyalty to back marker duties that saw me following
up the rear and not the rigours of the climb. Our morning coffee stop was
shrouded in mist and over hot drinks there was much discussion over the route
ahead. Andy, our leader for the day, was in fear of our safety and wanted
to take the easier route but the “no fear mountain biking” attitude of the
group as a whole strongly in favour of attacking the Gap of Dunloe. Democracy
won through in the end. I think we were all glad it did. The journey through
the Gap over Macilguddy Reeks was one of the highlights of the week. A hard
climb like nothing else we had experienced previously but it was the scenery
that took our breath away. We negotiated countless other cyclist coming the
other way along with numerous pony and traps with their cargos of gullible
American tourists.
We
reached the top to be greeted by some bad news. Peter had misread the timetable
and we did not have until 6.00 to reach Killarney , we had just two hours
to make the journey as the train left at 2.45. We all agreed to ‘go for it’,
get our heads down “cycle like we meant it” in Peters words and catch that
train. We set off with all haste for the first two minutes, until nice scenery
came into view and everyone stopped to get their cameras out. This process
was repeated several times and it was only a final mad dash in small groups,
with Peter and Ned racing on ahead to buy tickets and make arrangements that
allowed us to make our connection.
Phew,
we all reclined in our seats and relaxed until the moment when Peter casually
reviewing the time table, told Richard and I that his original assumption
was in fact right and we could have caught the 6 o’clock. Of course we took
it in good heart and the Guard was soon able to extricate Peter from the Luggage
Rack and release him from the strait jacket we had created from spare inner
tubes.
Was
the rush worth it? I am not sure. The final B&B in Cork, and I believe
the Hostel, was probably the worst of the week. Despite the best efforts of
a very kind host who even cared for our bikes and bags throughout Saturday
it was not the glamorous hot spot I had hoped for on our last night. Cork
was much like any other Town – Boots, M&S, Superdrug etc. lining the High
Street. Our evening passed pleasantly with more traditional Irish fare at
the Raj Tandoori, just like any other in Leicester except they had no licence
to sell beer due to the lack of a fire escape. Did the lack of basic safety
put us off? Of course not, we simply despatched Andy Mack with a tray to the
pub across the road and he came back smiling, slightly damp from the heavy
rain outside but with 5 pints of Lager. A good night was had by all.
The
final day in Cork saw us all split up into small groups. It was the worst
day we had for weather. Ned, Richard and I were almost reduced to buying umbrellas
in the local Tesco. We toured the streets gazing fondly at the delights of
Cork whilst the female residents of Cork gazed fondly at Richard in his legendary
cycling shorts. Take it from me, they raised more than a few eyebrows in the
sophisticated and genteel atmosphere of the Art Gallery tea room. I had not
expected to end my holiday sharing a cell with Richard, but did so. Luckily
it was not because Richard’s shorts broke stringent Irish modesty laws it
was only the local tourist attraction Cork County Gaol. This was well worth
a visit even if only to remind softies like myself complaining of the poor
standard of B & B’s that it was not much more than a hundred years ago
that the population of Cork would rather steal and face the harshness of this
environment than face certain starvation on the streets through their poverty.
Back
to our bikes at the end of the day Ned, Richard and I found ourselves facing
death ourselves as our selected route back to the Ferry saw us suddenly in
the middle lane of a three lane carriageway surrounded by irate motorists
waving fists and beeping horns. Although not legally obliged to stay off the
road we beat a hasty retreat at the first opportunity fearing for our safety.
Stopping only to change our trousers due to the tense nature of the experience,
we made our way safely back to the Ferry on minor roads. More fear and trepidation
awaited. We had only glimpsed the weather forecast in the giant screen at
the pub the previous evening but writ large on the map in the Irish channel
we could clearly see the word GALE. Many of us were concerned for our welfare
and I was not alone in ingesting more than the recommended dosage of ‘Sea
Leg’ tablets and ignoring the warning to avoid alcoholic drink. I need not
have worried. The Ferry was a beautiful multi coloured hue, the sea was tranquil
and calm and I dreamt the most wonderful dreams in my cabin , vivid colours
and psychedelic music abounding, or was that the effect
of combining Sea Leg tablets and Guinness. Seriously the crossing was
not as bad as we had feared and 0730 saw us safely off loaded, photographed
by Norman, and saying our farewells at the Quay side in Swansea.
My
first cycling tour was over and what a great one it was. The sun shone every
day, we had only two punctures in the whole of the week and no mechanical
problems worth speaking of. In fine weather cycling is certainly the way to
see a country and experience the joys it has to offer.
What
did I learn from it for my next expedition? On a practical note the first
thing you should do is find a kind partner who will carry your luggage through
the week. If this is not an option then you can fit a lot in two panniers
but remember that you have to carry them all week and it is not compulsory
to fill every inch of space. Man made fibres come into their own when living
out of a bag. I took a couple of cotton tops which proved bulky, creased into
a mess at the first packing, were hard to wash and even harder to dry. Next
time I would definitely invest in a couple of light weight Polo shirts or
T shirts for off bike wear. The light weight towel, fleece and trousers I
bought were worth every penny and I could have got through the whole week
with only one pair of trousers for the evening, augmented by cycling leggings.
I did not use my D lock once and if in a group this is something I would ditch
straight away next time. It was easy with fine weather to wash through socks,
cycling shorts etc but this might have been a problem in wet weather and perhaps
might lead to the packing of more of these. Given free rein and budget I think
I would try and pick a temperate country for my next trip to avoid all the
difficulties that bad weather would bring. I still can’t believe how lucky
we were in this respect.
Finally,
on a personal level, it confirmed my belief that there is nothing like the
camaraderie that cycling generates. Away from the stressful world that we
inhabit it was great to be off the treadmill of daily working life, share
experiences, laughs and diverse conversation amongst a bunch of funny, caring,
considerate people with a shared love of cycling and the freedom it brings.
I would go away with every one of them again.
Patrick
Cartwright
Spokes
Trip to Ireland – 4 – 12 September 2004 (Saturday to Sunday)
A one-week tour of the coastline of West Cork in southwest
Ireland and on to County Kerry. The
terrain is typical of the coastlines found on the south and west coasts of
Britain – fairly hilly, with good views and hidden corners.
Most of the riding will be on unclassified roads though Regional
(R classification) have to be used in a number of places. In a few cases the use of National (N classification)
roads is unavoidable. These are similar
to UK A roads. Traffic levels are
generally low, particularly as we will be outside the main tourist season
(which is Jul-Aug). Road surfaces
are thought to be fine – road tyres should be OK. We aim to get to Killarney and catch the train
back to Cork.
Cost
The only fixed costs are the Ferry (about £70 return per
head + cabin if required) and train (about £15). You can book cabins on the Ferry (cost about £36 each
way (2 berth)). However, cabins are not absolutely essential as passengers
can sleep in chairs or on floor. The
Swansea to Cork Ferry takes 10 hours – dep 21:00 arr 07:00. The advantage of this is that we will all arrive
fresh for a day’s cycling. (Cork is the best disembarkation point for a tour
of the SW)
Accommodation costs will depend on individual taste and are
yet to be determined. (B&B about
£25/ night. Hostels £12/night).
We hope to provide a choice of either B&B or Hostels.
So a budget price for the week is about £190 min to £300
max plus food, drink and transport/parking to Swansea.
The guides say that Pub food is slightly dearer than UK,
but not significantly.
Itinerary
Saturday 4th September 2004
Depart Swansea Cork Ferry 21:00. Aim to arrive two hours
before sailing.
Sunday 5th Sep
Arrive Ringaskiddy around 07:00. Ride to Kinsale for morning coffee. Kinsale Head for lunch, then on to Timeoleague and Clonakilty.
Distance 40 miles with optional extension via Butlerstown
50 miles
Mon 6th
Sep
Clonakilty to Baltimore for lunch. Ferry to Schull. Explore
Mizen Head. Stay in vicinity of Crookhaven.
Distance 42 miles with Ferry crossing; 62 miles if Ferry
not available.
Tue 7th Sep
Crookhaven to Glengarriff 30 miles
Option to extend journey by exploring (50 miles)
Wed 8th Sep
Potential Rest Day. Opportunities
to explore town of Bantry and Garinnish, which is a very attractive island
including a fantastic Italianate garden. Choice of cafés.
Thu 9th Sep
A choice –over the Healey Pass (what fun: steady 845ft climb
in 4 miles, but the descent into County Kerry is fantastic – watch out for
the Guinness pump!) and along the coast to Kenmare (lunch at Bunaw), a longer
trip along the peninsular to Castleberehaven (joint longest place-name in
Ireland) for lunch and an easier crossing of the hills and along the coast
to Kenmare.
Mileages: Via Healy pass and Bunaw 32 miles. Via Castletownberehaven
52 miles but much less hilly.
Fri 10th Sep
Kenmare to Killarney. Catch
train to Cork (30 miles hilly cycling)
Sat 11 Sep
Spend day in Cork and arrive at Ringaskiddy Ferry port for
21:00 sailing (need to be there one hour before departure)
Insurance
You should provide your own cover for cancellation costs
and personal accident.
What to do if you’d like to come:
Send a cheque, payable to Leicester Spokes, for £100 to Ned Rice, 3 Walcote Road, Leicester,
LE4 9FR to arrive by the end of February 2004. Places will probably be limited to 12 people,
so book early to avoid disappointment. State
your preference for Hostel/B&B accommodation and state if you’d like a
cabin for the ferry crossings.
Date 13 January 2004