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| From My Pictures |
There is nothing more likely to get to out of bed in the morning than knowing that I have a hard day of cycling ahead and its not getting done by lying there. That and a lumpy mattress and a sea of squashed yoghurt raisins.
A cold breakfast courtesy of the landlord had been laid out for me and off I went into the pre dawn gloom heading back on myself and back to Waterville with the idea of following the Inny river into the heart of the Iveragh peninsular. I had been debating with myself if I was going to do this or whether I would go for the easier option of hugging the coast and taking the N70, especially as Dingle looked a long way on my map and I had a deadline of 4pm to get there. In the end I chose to go the hard way and boy was I in for a reward, the morning ride was a joy that would have been a shame to have missed.
In contrast to the well trodden Ring the interior of the Iveragh peninsular is peacefully quiet. Only after Glencar does traffic become noticeable (and the roads more potholed). Though it's surrounded by mountains the route mostly follows the valleys. However its also known as "the road over the pass", Ballaghisheen Pass is a tough climb, almost 3km of moderately steep gradient incorporates a couple of very steep sections. Just before the top you can see down the valley to the sea. At the pass MacGillycuddys Reeks, among which is Carrauntoohil, Irelands highest peek lie ahead
What had been a rather dull and drizzly start to the day was suddenly transformed as the sun at last shone down on the rain sodden countryside. Everywhere I looked the valley lit up and sparkled with silver where the sun hit water. Roads and rooftops glistened in the early morning sunshine and my spirits sawed as I just drank in the beauty. It was one of those moments that only few people get to see and I felt so privaliged to witness such a magical moment.
A long gradual descent to Glencar (which they say translates to "Valley of the Happy People") follows the initial swoop down from Ballaghisheen Pass.
After some scratching of my head and careful map reading I was able to find the various roads that eventually deposited me at the shores of Lake Caragh. I would like to say that I had heard in advance of the beauty of what I was to see but in all honesty a body of water is normally found at the bottom of a hill rather than the top of one and that sounded to me like a great idea concidering the size of the mountains surrounding me. What I had forgotten was that bodies of water are where all sorts of insects hatch and munching a biscuit while cycling means that there is a good chance of ingesting a few.
Once I had rejoined the N70 the rest of the ride to Dingle was on main roads and was destined to be a test of endurance rather than one of jaw dropping scenery. What I hadnt know was that Dingle was hosting a car rally and that everyone and his brother was off to spectate. At first I thought it was just the hillbilly locals taking their ford escorts with go faster stripes for a Sunday spin but once I was past Inch I saw the marshalls and the taped off roads and realised what was the cause of so much traffic.
Inch itself had a wonderful beach but the cars, wind, aching legs and intermittent rain were all contributing to me spending more time looking down and grinding out the miles rather than taking in the scenery. That plus the fact the road was long and straight which only seems to taunt you with its perceived infinite length made for a gruelling couple of hours.
The last few miles into Dingle was accompanied by the roar of high performance rally cars that Dad would have been thrilled to watch as they roared down the main road between stages pursued by wanabee boy racers in their souped up cars. Even me, who hasnt driven a car in almost 20 years and is constantly cursing them as unfriendly enviromental menaces was taken in by the high octane charged atmosphere and couldnt help myself from wandering around the tents and displays at Dingle.
I found a nice quiet pub, well quiet if it wasnt for the 150 rally cars going by outside, and had Sunday lunch and an icecream. I had made it to Dingle with 2 hours to spare so had a walk around the town and took in the sights. Did that a few times as its a small town.
The bus was on time and I had a sneak peek of Tralee (next destination) before catching the train home. Found out the next day that one of work colleagues had been at Dingle watching the rally. In fact he would have loved to compete as he is an international rally champion but this event was only national and he and his team didnt think it would have been a good idea to compete as budgets, as always, are limited.
A great weekend and now I am almost half way around Ireland
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