July 29, 2009
Fishguard to Cork and Kinsale
We sail overnight from Wales, Debbie sleeping on the bench-like seats of the ferry while I'm prostrate on the carpeted floor. Surprisingly, we both get a few decent hours of shuteye.
It's dismal and just gone dawn when we dock in Fishguard. There's a chill in the air.
I'd read somewhere that the southern coastline from here and further west past Rosslare isn't brilliant for cycling and we ask about catching a bus to get us across to Cork. In the large parking lot a bus guy tells us we shouldn't have a problem getting our bikes accepted and we don't.
About 30 minutes later, the two are put into the coach's hold and we sit and watch the countryside zip by for a few hours.
Cork. It's buzzing with shoppers and walking the bikes around the central streets is a bit of a pain. An hour or so is enough. Then we try to get away, heading roughly south.
It's never that easy to escape a city. Getting lost is inevitable. We do.
An hour later the sky has darkened and we find shelter under an overhanging roof outside a suburban shop as it spits, wondering where to go next. A notice in the shop window says they have the Internet, so I pop in. The owner switches on his computer and I pay for 10 minutes' worth.
The map I have with me is crap - the whole of the country on a piece of A4 paper - and so search online for some detailed directions (Being a car-driver, the owner says he doesn't know the way on back lanes). Then a local shopper comes in and the guy asks her about the route we want to ride. She says she has a large road atlas at home and nips back to fetch it. A minute later I'm flicking through the thing. The detail is great - one inch to a mile - and so I quickly photocopy all the pages I think we'll ever need and thank her profusely. What luck.
It's still grey outside, but at least it's stopped raining.
We pedal off and soon find the rural back lanes, which are super. There's no traffic and grass is growing down the middle where you usually find a white line. We follow cast-iron road signs that probably date back to the early 1900s.
The sun suddenly comes back out. That's Ireland.
It's a swooping, downhill glide into historic Kinsale. its quaint harbor area is crested by a fuzzy rainbow and various leisure craft are floating on the calm water. We cycle around and get a feel of the streets, and look for a B&B.
It suddenly becomes overcast and seconds later it absolutely pelts it down, the rain pinging up off the roads. That's Ireland.
We get a room above a cafe on cobbled Market Street, which is one of the town's oldest. The room is small, but it'll do. It's just one night.
Kinsale is famed for having a fair few gourmet restaurants and tourists from around the world visit the place. However, Debbie saw a Chinese eatery nearby so later we pop there for a cheap dinner - it's basically a takeaway with a couple of tables - then find a pub and have a beer. The Guinness tastes divine.
Today's ride: 30 km (19 miles)
Total: 30 km (19 miles)
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