Ireland Day 6 – Pass

Martin recommended a route over the mountains, Martin has a kick ass adventure bike. I digress, that was around the campfire the night before. I woke early, daylight attracts me like a moth to the flame. Kevin was up too, he’d had a night disrupted by leg pains brought on by recent back surgery. He was more concerned that he’d disturbed Maree, I made coffee for us both on my trangia stove (cheating by boiling the water in an electric kettle) and we chewed the fat. I packed up and said or commissioned my farewells and hit the road again.

Martin’s route did not disappoint it surprised and petrified me, the lane prescribed from Kealkill was single track mindless to the niceties of having tarmac in the middle, it settled for grass or gravel and rose abruptly towards the pass. I sweated and cursed the popularity of ‘go anywhere’ adventure bikes that rarely go anywhere save in the hands of my recent campmates. It appeared that the first mile was the most daunting, perhaps to dissuade the faint of heart, after that it settled to a lower level of alert, perhaps defcon 3. I marvelled at the beauty, the bike plodded on, arrested in the case of occasional oncoming vehicals by its linked braking system that applies the back brake with a degree of front when the pedal is pressed. Off road riders have a saying “front brake, fall off” because too much front brake without grip can result long periods in traction, healing the bones (Ed: surely they got that one?).

I crested the pass, impressing none bar (Ed: surely ‘baa’) the attendant flocks of sheep. My descent was smooth as I built momentum and confidence in my 45 year old companions’s ability. We’re not going to win any prizes, they seem for, and important too, someone else. In Sneem I was approached once more by a previous Guzzi owner keen to share their appreciation of the marque with a mark so obviously committed. Sneem has the most picturesque rocks in the river that are nearly impossible to photograph without the inclusion of modern blight, between the new builds and the caravan park I gave it a go.

Tiring fast, having not eaten, I headed on down glorious winding roads with breath taking vistas, absorbed I overshot and had to retrace my steps to find, at second time of asking, a campsite that met my needs. Well most of them, the pitch is spectacular but so well organised that we sit in our own islands of privacy, although I did chat to Steve who had a T3 and sent a selfie of himself with mine to his brother Dave.

The site shop closed at 7 and only sold wine, I bought a panic bottle and after a well aerated beaker felt no inclination to walk to the nearest tourist bar 1km away. I sat in my ‘desert island luxury’ ground chair and typed this message to you eating Babybel cheese and Belvita biscuits (it’s not a good shop). It’s getting cold again now, and so to bed.