Saturday May 20th - Sligo to Dungloe - 116 miles - Total so far 1274 miles
It's sad to say that I shall forever associate Sligo with torrential rain. Having cycled in the rain to get here last time I cycled here, having arrived on the bus the previous day only to be greated by rain, and having heard the rain spatter on my window all night it was with great relief that waking up this morning it had at last exhausted itself and stopped.
The bus trip had been long and uneventful up from Dublin so when I at last arrived at 21.30 I was looking forward to a relaxing evening at the B&B and something to eat. Using the directions that I had been given by some of my work colleagues I easily found where I was to stay. Sad to say the B&B was a huge rip off as it was shabby and obviously more used to providing a bed to partying out of towners who didnt really mind that the beds had plastic undersheets. At least dinner was nice as I found a little Italian Bistro and had some pasta, good complex carbohydrates for tomorrow.
Not the best nights sleep as the combination of crackling plastic, cheap nylon sheets, singing in the streets and drunks coming back to their rooms at 3.30am meant that by 5am I was eager to get out and start what was going to be most likely a tough days cycling, Further disapointment when I found that, despite assurrances made the previous evening, that the dining room was locked. No cerial for me this morning. So I started the day with a banana, one of the most disgusting coffees I have had the misfortune to drink and a packet of digestive biscuits (you know the type, 2 biccies next to the kettle you find in most B&Bs)
Just North of Sligo was the first expected find of the day, the burial place of WB Yeats.
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this deathI have always liked that poem.
Like most people my life has been marked by events which on reflection have been instrumental in defining who I am today. Some I share in common with most people such as first starting school, leaving school, getting a job, and falling in love. Then there are the personal events which mark more your individual experiences; for me there was getting married, starting my own business and employing my first person. Riding through this area of Sligo though bought back the event that marked my early life; it bought back the fact that I once was a soldier serving very close to where I was now.
Yeats poetry sums up my feelings at the time:
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;Why I became a soldier at 16 had more to do with wanting to start my life, though in reality it came closer to ending it, and wanting to do something different.
Something to mark me as being an individual and capable of breaking the mould, I hated the idea of conforming, so in my youthful naivety I joined one of the few orginisations that does it's best to strip every ounce of indivduality and non conformist attitude from you and rebuild you an obedient soldier.
In 1983 I found myself based in Belfast and for one month in the winter of 83/84 I was based in Enniskillen just across the border in Fermanagh. What bought all this back was not just the sign posts to this small town but the sign post to the tiny border village of Balleek.
One of my roles in those distant days was to visit the various bases my battalion had dotted around the county. Some were PVCP (Permanent Vehicle Check Points) which were little more than a couple of portakabins by the side of the road surrounded by blast walls and protected by chikanes and pillboxes constructed of brieze blocks. Others were police stations that resmbled forts and it was to one of these in Balleek that I visited one cold and wintry morning.
I remember driving into the forecourt through the reinforced gates to be greeted by a typical buff coloured police station that stood out from the normal because it was draped in blue plastic sheeting. In addition the tarmac surrounding the station was cratered and split. Only a few days prior it had been subjected to a mortar attack from just across the border which was barely 200 meters away at the bottom of the road and over the bridge. It was a stark reminder of the hatred directed at me and all I stood for. It was going upstairs into the "ready room" where the troops spend there spare time in between patrols though that really bought home the dangers. On the wall was a payphone above which was a huge stain which seemed to spray itself up the wall. Enquiring as to what it was I was told that the previous unit here had had an accident. A young recently married lad was on the phone talking to his wife when one of the soldiers accidently shot him dead. The stain was in fact the residual remains of the blood and brains that had sprayed all over the wall. Guns kill, they do not distingious between friend and foe, and the difference between life and death is the merest pressure from a finger.
I didnt really need this reminder though. I was only 20 when I serverd in Northern Ireland but this wasnt my first encounter with violent death. I was 18 when, just over a year earlier, I had gone through the Falklands War. As a stretcher bearer and ammunition mule on Tumbledown I was all too aware of the effects of the impact of metal and the human body. The smell of blood on wet grass mixed with cordite and the sounds of battle are something that never leave you. I can honestly say that I found Northern Ireland a very scarey place in those days.
It would be fair to say that as I cycled through Ballyshannon I was glad that was all another lifetime and although I did feel somewhat reflective it was good to turn my back on it and cycle north knowing that it was something that was behind me both figuravitely and physically.
The morning was damp and clouds were heavy overhead. First priority was to try and find somewhere for breakfast because what I had had so far was really going to do the job. As the first part of the ride was pretty dull I put my head down and determined to find something in Donegal as everywhere I was cycling through at this early hour was shut. Reaching Donegal though at just before 8.30am I still couldnt find anywhere that served breakfast so had to do with some more bananas and cereal bars.
Some of the early morning views were wonderful though even if I couldn’t find anything to eat
By the time I reached Killybegs I was no longer in need of breakfast as they morning was going well. I had been able to keep a steady pace but the roads were very "undulating" which combined with the gentle head wind that I seemed to be constantly fighting meant my average miles per hour was back down to the 10-12 rather than the 15-16 of the previous weekend. This told me that I was going to have to be careful with committing myself to too many miles.
The town of Killybegs, Irelands most important fishing town, came and went. Was funny to see lorries bearing the names of other fishing ports that I remember passing through on my journey. The one from Union Hall bought back memories of oatmeal biscuits from Centra and eating bananas.
At last the clouds lifted and the rolling countryside out to Glencolmcille was a joy to cycle through
Next priority was to get some lunch for the day was far from over yet. Derry was still a long way away and I had set my sights on Dungloe as my stop for the night. The hills and wind though were taking there toll so a large lunch and rest were essential. On reaching Glencolmcille I planned to get some food but arriving there it was just a pub that didnt do food, a shop and few houses. Asking directions in the shop was interesting as the chap replied in Gaelic which meant that as soon as I left the shop I asked 3 teenagers having a crafty cigarette by my bike. They pointed me in the direction of a resteraunt but before leaving them I couldnt refrain myself from asking what the heck they did for fun in such a small place as this at the end of the world. The 2 lads and a girl, all probably 16 or 17 replied that today a lot was going on as it was time for mass and confirmations. Hmm, can't think of many teenagers that would get too excited about going to church on a Saturday afternoon.
So off I cycled the "3 miles down the road" to the resteraunt. After 6 miles I was beginning to think they were winding me up especially as I was cycling deeper and deeper into the foothills with mountains in the background. Houses were getting less and less and I was getting worried when suddenly there at a cross roads in the middle of nowhere was a resteraunt. Actually it was a transport cafe for farm workers run by two girls, one of which didnt see smile once the entire hour I was there. The serving girl was all smiles though I took my order and before long I was tucking into my omlette with enough potato's to feed a small family.
Somewhat refreshed and certainly refuelled I then tackled Glengesh Pass before dropping down and cycling on to Dungloe keeping to the main roads and taking the most direct route.
On reaching Dungloe I was dismayed to find that there were no B&B in town. Nor was there a tourist information that I could find (though there were signs) so I was just about to go to the local Guarda station when I spied a sign advertising a B&B at the top of a hill. Now my normal reaction when faced with a steep hill at the end of a long day of cyling was not to bother but for some reason I made the effort and was rewarded not with a B&B (they had stopped doing that) but instead with my own little self contained apartment. I had everything I could possibly want for a mere 25 Euro so this more than made up for the previous night in Sligo. The only thing that I couldnt work out was the hot water and after mistaking the switch for the hot water with the light for the bathroom I eventually managed to have a shower. The apartment was heaven with a kitchen, TV, fireplace and big comfortable beds. On top of this there was even a Chinese 2 minutes walk away!! Enough to say I had a very relaxing evening, a nice meal, read my book and was in bed early.
