The Burren

July 5, 2014

With the exception of a quick look around town, I spent the whole of Thursday off in Galway updating the journal. Then Friday dawned wet and I still had a little left I could do, so I didn't need much convincing to stay another day, except when I go to pay. Maria the girl on reception tells me, the price goes up from seventeen euros on a normal week day, to twenty-five at the weekend. Ah. Is that okay? she asks. Since its raining, it'll have to do, I suppose.

A dedicated photographer, is one who always has the camera at the ready. Like the Japanese girl with red hair at breakfast on Saturday. She put the lens to the scones and snaps. Then the jams. Snap. And when the woman behind the counter wasn't looking, she points the lens and goes, snap, snap. This is the woman serving breakfast in Galway, she'll say.

Looking out the window it is a bright sunny morning through broken cloud, and wearing my warm fleece top, it looks as though I may be too warm. Though once I've eased the bike downstairs out into the street, I'm hit by cold squalling drops of rain. I ride a little with the oily smell of fresh rain on tarmac thinking it would soon be over, but the sun has gone completely, replaced by complete dark cloud cover. The rain is getting heavier and I take shelter under a tree to pull on the rain jacket. It feels like retreating, having accidently turned the cold tap on in the shower.

I think if I hadn't of put the rain jacket on, it would've gone on raining, but no sooner than I start riding again after putting it on, than the rain eases and the sun reappears.

Riding south I've a blustery headwind which makes progress slow, struggling all day to maintain a reasonable speed, though, I make many stops to admire the surroundings. First approaching the area called The Burren. The grey rock of bare hills, smoothed by the winds of time. I lunch in a crossroads village, spending too much for a few essentials in a Spar shop. Then sit a long time outside a cafe over coffee. Turning right at the end of the street, the road onward follows the coast round. I stop at a place open to the road on the beach side, where I've camped on previous visits; having lots of level short grass down to a rocky shore where the waves crash up over great big blocks. And out at sea today, a dark cloud with shafts of rain is approaching land. I'm just riding back out upon the road when it hits, a heavy cold squall. I duck in under an overhanging rock. Lying on the ground looking out at the rain, the eyes blink, feeling sleepy. Then I'm no longer able to resist, so I sleep for seemingly a short while. Looking at my watch, it is quarter to six, so actually, I'd been there forty minutes. Time to press on if I'm to reach the Cliffs of Moher.

Swinging inland, it's all uphill for a bit. Then after a long straight road in late horizontal sunshine, there is a stiff climb coming at the end of a hard day to the cliffs, where it come on another cold shower just as I get inside the visitor centre for a well earned coffee. Then looking out the window from the cafeteria, there's a rainbow, so it must be over. Not for long, as I climb the path to the clifftop, another sharp shower comes on, and I and a few others that are up at this late hour, run for the nearby tower.

The door is locked, so an Australia woman, her Irish boyfriend and I cower shivering in the arch doorway. The Irishman tries sliding the door off it's hinges, joking, "I'll say in my defence, I was thinking of my preservation."

I ride a kilometre or so, down the hill towards the next village and turn off along a narrow local road back uphill with grass almost growing up through the middle. The road levels out and heads towards the coast passing two houses on the way. Looking for somewhere to camp, I pass a stone quarry, then turn along a farm track and turn again into a little enclosure used for plastic wrapped bales. Apart from the bales, there's plenty of space for my tent, so I set up camp for the night.

Today's ride: 91 km (57 miles)
Total: 716 km (445 miles)

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