December 19, 2014
Page Ninety-Eight: Dublin Port to Ravensdale then Home.
Two pints of Guinness are enough to knock me into a slumber for the couple-hours sailing and waking up bleary eyed, the ship has docked. A look out the window reveals Dublin port illuminated by thousands of lights in predawn. I still feel tired. Not exactly full of enthusiasm. I could do with remaining in the comfortable seat a few hours more as I and the other passengers await a disembarkation announcement. Apart from anything, it was freezing cold in Holyhead and it'll be even colder here once I leave the ship.
The call comes but I remain seated as long as possible, until the bottleneck of passengers have descended the stairs to the decks. My brain is now in gear as I remember the right door out onto deck to the bike at the front by the open ramp door. The din of trucks fill the enclosed hull as they lurch forward and down the ramp, as I rap up warmly, donning my down jacket and rain jacket over that. With hat and gloves on, I descend the ramp and follow the line of trucks.
I reach a small passenger lounge building, something I am hoping to see where I can sit in and wait until daylight. Inside there's a row of seats and a drinks machine. Tea is fifty cents. I have one cup and take a seat, then a second cup before beginning to read my book. An hour passes until the inky black outside the window turns grey and it looks light enough to go.
There's quite a long road through the port with signs "Port Exit" arrowed ahead, while I feel empty, not having eaten on the ship as the prices were a rip-off. I'm going to have to stop for breakfast before I ride very far. Then faith seems to be on my side as the next sign has: Topaz Services 300 m.
The petrol station has a large shop on the ground floor, but no sign of a restaurant at first until I ride around the side where I find another entrance and stairs up to a restaurant on the first floor, where I lift a tray by a food-counter and join a queue of burly men, most wearing yellow hi-vi vests. When I pay later, the bacon eggs, hash-brownies, toast and coffee comes to a cheap four euros.
The sky is cloudless-blue; the sun an orange stripe to the south, later casting a rich yellow glow in the mirror of modern glass buildings that line the opposite riverbank as I follow the river toward the city centre and would hover just above the horizon for the duration of the December day.
Riding out of Dublin I follow signs: The North, N1 N2, and soon find myself on N2 until I come to right turn, R103 toward a place signposted St Margarets. The surface is patchy: a mix of potholes, cracks and chip seal; and although the traffic is light, the occasional car brushes pass a little too close. The road is perhaps called "The Old Belfast Road" that preceded the motorway.
And to sum up the day remain inspirational; a crisp Winter day; the traffic not too much of a worry further north and reduced to a trickle north of Drogetha, where the mountain of Mourne loom beyond the sea on the right.
Today's ride: 162 km (101 miles)
Total: 9,773 km (6,069 miles)
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