Ireland Day 7- coasting

I do not have the words to describe how fair this land is as it meets the sea. I’ll attempt to compensate with images and imagine that you might, have you not already, come see for yourselves.

I rose after the Sun, delayed by nightmarish dreams of a previous partner tendering gifts of love and damnation in seemingly equivalent and almost simultaneous offerings. Time away, like this, creates head space, not the crass newspeak, “can I get more blood before you bleed out?”, but the honest combined meaning of the words. Into that space the subconscious creeps whispering truths in dreams.

On a lighter note, I wonder whether you think that I save you from the mundane details like showering in the interests of brevity? This morning I took a shower, armed with two tokens, take one token into the shower? I just washed and went, after packing up.

I aimed high setting my destination beyond my expectations and then followed my nose, stopping whenever I felt. Lunch at Inch beach was a treat, potato soup and a sandwich gazing out over the sands.

Not having any power at the campsite last night focussed my attention on recharging my physical batteries. The Guzzi has notoriously low alternator output and although I have a device that tells me the battery voltage and has USB sockets. I’ve been loathe to use it. Needs must so I plugged in a power pack and watched the volts with interest. No need to have worried apparently as I charged the pack, my phone and revived my GoPro on the go. One less thing to fret about. How tenuous our dependence, how fragile our lifelines.

Tralee has more bars than you could, should you so choose, throw a stick at. There’s also a campsite within easy walking distance. Guess where I pitched up? The Brogue fed me and the Munster Arms (after the regiment not the TV show) served me well. I returned to base for a quick chat with German bikers Michael and Sabine and now it’s bedtime.