Category: Irish Sea Tour

Aberporth was warm. I’d had a picnic breakfast in the hotel and planned a proper breakfast stop in Llangrannog.Yesterday was the shortest full day of the trip. And it was the hilliest. My legs felt like lead and were about as much use.

Of course there was a big hill out of Aberporth. There was some brief respite as the road dropped towards Penbryn. Then a relentlessly steep hill away from Penbryn. I stopped to lean on a chapel wall to catch my breath and cool down and after some tense negotiation, managed to convince my breakfast not to disembark unceremoniously right there.

As these narrow lanes started to lose height, they turned into a valley and developed a ferny, sub-tropical appearance. Suddenly I emerged on the headland at Llangrannog next to St Carannog’s statue overlooking the bay.

Tuesday it seems, is not a good day to be in Llangrannog. All the cafés are closed on a Tuesday. Coffee was available from the village stores, whose proprietor was busy trying to set up for the day and meet the caffeine needs of half a dozen gathered tourists. This wasn’t the breakfast break I’d planned. It gave me the chance of a longer lunch break in New Quay.

Just the the four 20% hill climbs on the way to New Quay. I stopped briefly at Cwmtydu beach. It was as tranquil as it always is.

New Quay would not have looked out of place on the French Riviera.

I’m done my best to avoid the A487, because I know what the traffic is like on it. After exhausting the back lane options, I sat watching the traffic, or lack of it, for a few minutes before deciding to ride it into Aberaeron. Half a mile down the road the lack of traffic was explained by roadworks. I waited my turn in the long queue, and once through the contraflow, let everyone pass me. I had a lovely traffic-free ride into Aberaeron.

All day, I’d been liaising with Cycle Mart in Cilcennin to see if they could help with my front brake. From Aberaeron, I headed up the cycle track to Llanerchaeron and then pressed out the pedal strokes climbing the final 600ft of the day up to Cilcennin where the brilliant Cycle Mart team welcomed me with coffee and took the brake apart, fixed it, fitted new pads and a new disc all wile I was outside snoozing on the grass in the sunshine. When the bike was ready, I called it a day.

Day totals: 32 miles; 3,978ft of elevation gained

Tour totals: 958 miles, 37,895ft of elevation gained

Arriving late into Fishguard yesterday meant I didn’t get the best night’s sleep. I trusted in the breakfast at the Rose and Crown to see me through the morning.

Wales’ welcome was an immediate 200ft climb up into Fishguard followed by stocking up for the day at Coop and visiting the fabulous volunteers at the Goodwick and Fishguard heritage centre Ein Hanes Our History.Back down to sea-level, the town’s old harbour was as tranquil as a place can be. I thought about coffee at the yacht club cafe and decided I’d make my first stop in Newport. The climb out of Fishguard took me up 400ft and I started wishing I’d had that coffee.

Back down to sea level at Dinas Island. The two beaches were joined by a level, accessible path, which took me to see the bit of a church at Cwm-yr-Eglwys that was left after a storm in 1859.

The hill back up to the main road was like riding up a wall. And with every turn of the pedals, I was wondering why on earth I went down there in the first place.

I stopped for lunch at Newport. A craft market was in full swing on one of the side streets. I wandered through and saw bikes parked outside Blas cafe and there were tables free outside. I went inside to order and by the time I’d got back outside the tables had been claimed by bags. Lesson to leave my helmet and gloves on the table next time.

After lunch the coast road took me up and up. And up. The sun was beating down and the air was still. The turbines I could see weren’t turning. It was hard work. My rewards were the never-ending vistas and seeing a Red Kite being chased noisily away from a nest by a much smaller bird.

The ground fell away and I arrived at Popin Sands on the Teifi estuary. This break was more of a second lunch. I must have been there an hour. I would happily have booked into a hotel there, but I spent the time looking for one about 15 miles away.

I went into full tourist mode in Cardigan. Delaying and delaying getting back on the bike. I stopped in at the local bike shop to see if they’d fit a new brake caliper for me. They didn’t have one and it would be at least Thursday before it would arrive.

Heading back down the estuary to Gwbert, the exquisite view was impossible to capture well enough on camera to do it any kind of justice. The challenge presented by the hill out of Gwbert is impossible to describe sufficiently well in words.

Aberporth felt like a million miles away. When the road started to go downhill, it went downhill quickly. I was going so quickly, I completely missed my accommodation and needed to walk back up the hill.

Day totals: 38 miles;  3639ft of elevation gained

Tour totals: 926 miles;  33,917ft of elevation gained

The brilliant people at the Bridge Hotel in Arklow set me up with the perfect start for a day’s cycling: Homemade porridge, toast and scrambled eggs on toast. I got away on time. There’s nothing quite like a booked ferry to focus the mind on getting somewhere.

Fifty-eight miles on the map. Ten hours to do it in. Plenty of time! What could go wrong? Plenty…

The Swiss guys I met yesterday, shouted hello as I was looking at some tourist information in Arklow. They were off to play another round of golf. Arklow gave me a red-carpet ride out off town and for all I know, the impressive cycle lane continues along the highway all the way to Wexford. I’m hee for the byways, so I turned off toward the coast as soon as I could.

 

The lanes rolled through the countryside. It was already hot and I was pleased to have the breeze and some shade. As I climbed round Tara Hill, I saw the coast all the way down to Rosslare. The Irish Sea shimmering as it hugged the shore.

Courtown was very pretty with a beach and a little quay built where two rivers join the sea. When I arrived, a cyclist I’d met in Dalkey (place with all the castles) yesterday said hello. He remarked that it’s a very small island. I had coffee at the Harbour Cafe. Sixteen miles in the bag. A quarter of today’s miles already done in time for elevenses. I planned to be in Wexford for a late lunch. Two hours, twenty it said on Google Maps.

Down to Ballygarrett. I rode a few miles with a cyclist going the same way. He’s just back on a bike after a long time away from riding. He was on a hybrid he had in the shed, and is already talking about buying a lighter bike. We rode together down to Cahore. I stopped to look at the quay and watched the independent inshore rescue boat crew being put through their paces on Saturday morning training.

The narrow country roads were pleasant to ride. There were some testy little climbs and some lovely rolls down. I started to push down and use the momentum to carry me up the other side. Then I met a huge blue Newfoundland tractor with an enormous trailer. It was barrelling along and taking no prisoners. Then there was another, Then one overtook me. Having lunch at Kilmuckridge, I think I noted five different rigs going up and down the road at speed.

At Blackwater, I stopped to rest in the shade. I got talking to a lovely couple who were sitting with their dogs in the little park. They asked which bays I’d seen and where I was going. They told me Curracloe Beach was a must-see and only a few mins off my route.

How right they were. Curracloe is amazing the sand stretches for miles.

It seems everyone else in Ireland knows too and wanted to be there this afternoon. The lane was gridlocked. Every possible patch of ground was parked on. Some impossible ones and a, frankly, implausable one wre too. A chap in an enormous 4×4 was deliciously frustrated at everyone elses’ ineptitude. I watched the show as I devoured a Mr Whippy. I took no joy in passing that same 4×4 further up the lane as the traffic was perfecting the auto equivalent of the do-si–do. Okay, you got me. I lie like a cheap rug.

I saw Wexford Bridge before I saw Wexford. At half a kilometer in length, it’s hard to miss. I crossed and found myself in Redmond Place, a little, grassy square surrounded by roads.

The monument there is to Major William Redmond MP, who was killed in action near Iper, Belgium in June 2017. Like hundreds of thousands of other soldiers, he is still in those Flanders fields. Unusually perhaps, given the size of many of the war cemeteries, his grave is in a little out-of-the way cemetery near the village of Locker. It’s up a path away from the road in a corn field. There are only a couple of hundred graves in that cemetery and one of the other men buried there is my great grandfather who died a five weeks after Major Redmond. I’ve never been to Wexford before. I have no connection with Major Redmond, except somehow I feel one.

There’s a guy sitting on the base of the monument enjoying the sunshine. I ask if he’d mind moving, so I can see the inscription. He asked what I know about Redmond and we start chatting. Jimmy tells me there’s another, more modern monument to Redmond in Redmond Park a few minutes walk away. He offers to show me. Itt’s surprising what you can learn in just a few minutes about someone you’ve never met. As we approached the park and the monument, I saw there was a bust of the Major. As I looked him in the eye, I was briefly taken back to being in that Flanders field with several generations of my family to mark the 100th anniversary of my great grandfather’s death.

I’m genuinely grateful to Jimmy for showing me the memorial. I love the opportunities I have to meet people when I’m out riding. People I’d never meet. Conversations I’d never have.

The centre of Wexford was still busy on this Sunday afternoon. At 4pm it was mostly busy closing down. I tried two places for coffee. Both had open doors and closed counters. I touristed my way out of town and struck out for Rosslare, the last of my Irish seaside villages.

Even the roadworks on the main route couldn’t dampen the joy of riding safely along a major highway. Tucks and cars thundered past. I pressed on never worried if someone was going to cut me too close, because I was more than two metres from the roadway. I stopped a few moments in Rosslare. It has a lovely beach and a great view of the EuroPort with ferries docking. I didn’t want to delay, so I went to the port, where I waited in the sunshine in the queue for the ferry, knowing that my day was done and I’d be sleeping in Wales tonight.

What started in Belfast on Monday morning finishes in Rosslare Harbour on Sunday evening. Ireland, you have been incredibly kind and generous. Thank you.

Postscript

We arrived at Goodwick Dock just outside Fishguard. I was first to leave the ferry and directed out through the train station. My first night ride of this tour was three-quarters of a mile to the Rose and Crown.

Day totals: 66 miles, 3,010ft of climbing

Tour totals: 888 miles, 30,278ft of climbing

It was after 10am when I first turned the pedals. I had packed up some things I’m carrying and don’t need. I spied a post office and planned to drop then in as I left. I should have checked the branch is open on a Saturday. It wasn’t. So I went to the city centre branch on the tram.

More of Dublin’s fabulous cycle lanes guided me out of the city past old docks out to the coast.

My front brake cable had stretched and it was putting virtually no pressure on the disc. I passed a bike shop in Blackrock and decided t see if I could borrow a spanner or socket to fit the nut that holds the cable – it’s one of the few things I can’t sort with my toolkit.

I asked if they could tighten up the cable a little, I heard the lovely front of house guy, say “check the pads”. I should have screamed “leave the pads alone’. I took them ages to get it set up again and a few miles down the road, I found I’ve got all the same problems Mark sorted for me in Workington on day four.

The brake problems almost made my pauses in these beautiful seaside towns more enjoyable. Sandycove remembered James Joyce and had a bumblebee bike parade.

Dalkey went big on castles. It might outdo Ardglass on that front. Killney Hill tested the resolve my legs had brought with them. They pressed on upto the top and rested on the way down the other side.

Bray was gorgeous. I walked along the promenade, enjoying the sunshine and met an 83 year old cyclist called TJ, who had cycled down fro Carrickfergus. He’d run a marathon recently too.

I stopped for lunch at Greystones. More stunning seaside, more dedicated cycle lanes. Ireland, you continue to impress.

It felt like I fought the bike all the way to Wicklow.  The front brake seemed to come on of it’s own will whenever I hit the slightest bump.

I stopped to admire Wicklow’s bridges, watched kids hoisting big crabs from the water with simple lines and met two Swiss golfers who are planning to cycle from Switzerland to Hamburg. 900km. Just because. I love it!

I tried to sort the brake, but what am I going to achieve at the roadside that a mechanic with a workshop could not? In the end I fettled the brake to not working again, rather than being stuck on most of the time. It was a result.

Wicklow has three lighthouses. The first wasn’t big enough. The second was too big. The third, which you can’t see from the road, does its job. The second and tallest is a beautiful octagonal structure. You can rent it as a holiday home if you like your kitchen up 109 steps.

The lanes took me down past Brittas Bay and through the dunes with tantalising occasional glimpses of the sea.

I arrived in Arklow to cross the 19 magnificent arches of its famous bridge and arrived at the bridge hotel in time to get myself sorted and fed in time for Eurovision. (Pic from later in the evening)

At some point between Wicklow and Arklow, I found I had resolved to replace the whole front brake caliper unit first chance I get.

Day totals: 55 miles,  2515ft of climbing

Tour totals: 822 miles, 27,268ft of climbing

 

A rest day bimble around Dublin. Up to Phoenix Park and to see some of the sights. Loved the cycle-friendliness of the city.

I’m halfway in time. A bit over halfway in distance. And, I suspect, nearly halfway in hills.

Day totals: 11 miles,  247ft of climbing

Tour totals: 767 miles, 24,753ft of hills.

Some pictures here

 

When I woke, my energy tank was still empty. I thought about asking reception if I could keep the room and take my rest day. I decided I’d press on to Dublin and take my rest day there. The route I’d planned was only 50 miles.

Breakfast got me the five miles to Skerries. I bimbled around the harbour and seafront mainly resting at points of interest. There were lots of people swimming.

The rest got me the five miles to Rush where a giggle (henceforth the collective noun for a group of  of swimmers exiting the water) of swimmers extolled to me the invigorating virtues of sea swimming every day. Not having my swim shorts didn’t cut it as an excuse. I spared them details of what salt water could do to destroy the anti-chafing properties of Lycra on a long ride.

Next stop Donabate. Nine miles this time. On the way, I survived today’s first encounter with a regional road and executed my first ever overtaking manoeuvre on a dual carriageway. To get over the excitement, I sat for Coffee and lunch at the fabulous Triangle Coffee Co.

The weather was amazing and riding the lanes was enjoyable, even when I added a couple of miles of wrong turn to the cycle to Malahide. The tourists and day-trippers were out in force. I joined them in an ice cream.Three miles down the road from Malahide, Portmarnock had a surprise for me. A dedicated cycleway that took me all the way into Howth, interrupted only by some roadworks (accompanied by specific instructions for cyclists and pedestrians,) and a train crossing.Howth was stunning. Larger and busier than Malahide, it offered the full harbour town / tourism experience. Boat trips, restaurants, ice-cream, drinking in beer gardens overlooking the water. I headed out to the end of the pier, where I met Dave.

Dave noted I was touring from the bags on the bike and asked about my trip and plans. On a Thursday afternoon just outside Dublin, I thought it would be impressive to say I’d started on Monday morning in Belfast and followed the coast down. Dave told me of cross-border mara-cycles that he took part in in his younger cycling days. They rode from Dublin to Belfast in a day. I decided not to compete. It was obvious I had no game.

Dave said I had to go up to the summit and take in the view from the top of the cliffs. I’d half had in mind to turn round and head straight into Dublin on the flat. I knew it was a steep hill to get round the peninsula and didn’t really fancy it.

As I set off, I knew I couldn’t let Dave down. It was steep. I settled in the lowest gear and spun the pedals. Luckily it was steepest at the bottom. I got to the Summit Pub and climbed the hill at the side. The pedals were barely turning when I got to the car park. I had made it. Thanks Dave.

Dropping down the southern side of the peninsula, I picked up speed that I didn’t seem to lose all the way along the glorious cycle track into Dublin. And as I reached the city, cycling infrastructure was everywhere. I revelled in a city-centre cycling Nirvana that took me on safe routes right to my hotel.

Day totals: 54 miles,  1,366ft of climbing

Tour totals: 756 miles,  24,506ft of climbing

 

 

Harbourside picnic breakfast brought from the hot deli in the village shop, because my otherwise excellent hotel started serving breakfast at 9am and I wanted to get away.

First stop a few hundred metres away was the Irish Fokelore and Leprechaun park. It’s a free attraction in a little public park on the seafront. I saw no leprechauns or fairies.

The roads weren’t busy as I tracked the coast eastwards. The tide was out and tractors were out on the flats tending to the oysters.

The lanes were a flutter of red and white flags and bunting. These are the colours of County Louth, whose GAA team won the cup on Saturday for the first time in 68 years. It seemed every house had some sort of flag flying, though there were lots of different designs.

Dundalk was lovely. Much lovelier than the ride along the main road to get to it. I did a bit of shopping, some sight seeing and sat a while in the sunshine. Fortified by cake, I set off around the coast to Black Rock, a charming and seemingly thriving seaside village.

Through Castlebellingham and Annagssen, I battled a stiff breeze. At Lurganboy, the coast turned south and Port beach opened out in front of me. It was hot. I was working hard. I treated my feet to  paddle.

On to Clogherhead. Coffee at the Beach Hut. It was mid afternoon and really was too warm to cycle.

I turned inland, following the estuary, drifting along the waterside road, propelled mostly by the breeze. The day was really taking it out of me and I had little left in the tank.

Drogheda welcomed me with its magnificent railway viaduct. It spans the Boyne valley, carrying trains 30m above the water and high above the ships that still use this port.

Drogheda is much bigger than I was expecting. It’s not big enough for its traffic. I waited inn the queues getting nowhere fast, so I bailed and walked the bike through town.

A long, late afternoon break left with the illusion of being rested and thinking about where to stay for the night. I picked Balbriggan 15 miles away.

I’d forgotten I’d be cycling into the wind down the other side of the estuary. The four miles to Mornington were a beautiful ride. For me it was a battle against an empty tank.

I stopped in Bettystown. I stopped on the beach in Laytown. A short spell on one of the regional highways left me searching for an alternative route and I crossed the border into County Dublin on a lovely back lane and rolled down the hill into Balbriggan at 6.30.

Day totals: 74 miles,  1,507ft of climbing

Tour totals: 702 miles,  3,120

Well-rested after a night staying with friends, I set off through the lanes with picture-perfect view of the Mourne Mountains ahead.

I had my first experience of riding on one of the wide hard shoulders Irish regional roads seem to have an sped down to Dundrum and on to Newcastle.

Newcastle is a very fine seaside town. I’d done 15 miles and the striking public art on the superb promenade gave me the perfect excuse to stop, take the place in and sample the local tray bake offering.The coast road is the only road. It skirts Slieve Donard, tracking the coast. No hard shoulder here. I found the drivers to be courteous, patient and considerate. It was hard going in the heat. I had the breeze with me and welcomed breaks at Annalong and, for a garage-bought, picnic lunch, at Kilkeel.

I had resolved myself to the news that the Carlingford Lough ferry wouldn’t be running today. It’s running only at weekends until the end of May. It meant 30 extra miles on my trip. Without them I would have missed out.

I’d have missed Rostrevor and Warren point and the stunning views over the lough.I’d have missed the chance to ride the hard shoulder of a busy dual carriageway into Newry. Not entirely sure of the safety aspects of this yet!I’d have missed the brilliant people at Bridge End Bikes in Newry, who tuned my front gears for me.  I took the chance to replace the cheap bottles and cages I bought on Sunday. In the shop, Adam fitted the cages, filled the bottles for me provided electrolyte tablets as well.

I’d have missed a land crossing into Ireland.I’d have missed the joy of riding the completed parts of the still-under-construction Carlingford Greenway all the way into Carlingford.

And, of course, I would have missed Carlingford. And that, dear reader, would have been a crime.

Day totals: 72 miles, 1,716ft of climbing

Tour totals: 627 miles,  21,613ft of climbing

A leisurely trip across the northern end of the Irish Sea. The north Channel as the stretch of water between south west Scotland and Northern Ireland is known.

Unlike any other ferry crossing I’ve been on with the bike, on Stena Line at Cairnryan, cyclists use the foot passenger  entrance, then wait to be escorted onto the vehicle deck.

I met another cyclist in the queue to board. Kat is a student from Dundee and has two weeks to cycle to see her sister in Dublin for a couple of days then return via the Atlantic coast of Ireland. She’s covering 80-90 miles a day and wild camping. We talk bikes, road surfaces, and routes. When eventually we disembark in Belfast, we cycle into the city together and say goodbye at the Big Fish. Kat heads of towards Dublin. I wheel around the corner and check in at my hotel before exploring this fabulous city.

Day totals: 4.5 miles, 35ft of climbing

Tour totals: 477 miles, 17,697ft of climbing

My earliest start so far. Belfast was damp. It had rained overnight and the forecast was for more. I got my waterproof out for the first time this trip.

I started the day at the Big Fish next to the Lagan and headed out of the city along Airport Road to the coast path at Holywood.

The costal path was very rideable, making me wonder why its not been designated a dual use route. As it started to wind, I looked to the map for a more direct route and my quiet, winding morning became a a torrent of rush-hour traffic. Exactly what I had hoped to avoid.

It was raining as I left Bangor, by 11am it was dry and bright again. Cloud cover and the breeze made cycling easy. Charming seaside towns and villages populated this coast. All adorned by the greatest number of Union Flags I’ve seen outside of a Jubilee or Coronation celebration.

Donaghadee, Millisle, Ballywater, Ballyhalbert, Portavogie.

At Cloughey, I turned onto the lanes to follow the coast around Quintin  Bay and onto Portaferry.

I spent an hour in Portaferry. Google told me the cafes in Strangford village were closed on Mondays. I toured round the little town and got coffee from Paws for Coffee on the quayside. Watching life go by for half an hour was one of the best bits of the trip.

The ferry was a bargain. £1.30 to save around 50 miles. Strangford is stunning. Castles in Portaferry and Strangford started a trend for small, square defensive castles along this coast. I was tripping over them until Ardglass, which must have the highest number of castles per head anywhere. Castle, castle, castle. Even the golf club clubhouse is a converted castle.

Around the bay to Killough, drinking in the shoreline views, and on to St John’s Point. The first black and yellow lighthouse I’ve ever seen. Campaign signs urge visitors to keep the iconic light shining. A successful campaign, I realise later as  I see the light sweeping the seascape.

Just a few miles to my hosts for the night with my first proper views of the Mourne Mountains and my day was done.

Day totals: 78.3 miles,  2,200ft of hills

Tour totals: 555 miles,  19,897ft of hills