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Relatively Irish We raced a drenching cataclysm to Glencar. The skies opened and buckets of water released on our heads. We arrived cold and dripping wet. Glencar boasted a pub; hostel; food store; tea shoppe; post office; restaurant; gas station; tourist information and bed-and-breakfast all combined into one building. We tromped in and stood hungrily eyeing the sparsely stocked shelves. We selected scones and tarts, then transferred our soggy bodies to the restaurant. Our homemade wooden table wobbled. The waitress noted it never used to. They must have made it when it was green and still growing. We drank a large pot of tea, and a refill, while devouring our scones and watching several downpours come and go. One chap slapped his knee, "There was even t'under. She rattle the sky." Oh yes, she certainly did. Ain't Mother Nature grand? A Guinness imbiber, finding out we lived in Canada, told us, "My brother lives in Canada." He questioned us, "Do you have any Irish relatives?" Sharon told him, "My Grandmother's maiden name was Sheehan." Delighted with that news, he intruded, "Where was she from in Ireland?" Sharon told him she didn't know. Appalled, he chastised her, "Well, you should know!" Rescuing Sharon from the inebriated patron, I politely enquired where his brother was living in Canada. "Beats me," he shrugged and took an unconcerned draft of his Guinness. I liked that. We were expected to know, three generations back, where our Irish relatives came from, but he couldn't even keep track of where his brother lived today. Two other cyclists had also found refuge in the tea shoppe and wandered around from window to window dejectedly peering into the rainy heavens. Finally, they gave up their wait, and slogged out into the downpour. A half-hour later, when the sun made a long-awaited rare appearance, we followed. The road was wet, but progress was fast as we still headed downhill. Outside Killorglin we reached a T-intersection with no signage. After consulting our map, to no avail, we stopped to ask directions from some fishermen. "If you can't see the mountains that's because it's raining," one fisherman standing on an arched bridge before Killorglin told us. "And if you can see the mountains, that means it's going to rain." His weather-wise words rang true in my ears. I almost drowned today. The road was virtually a river in places. I had put more air in my tires so I would float better. "It's one of our worse days--if that's any consolation," the fisherman offered kindly. Pointing to a beautiful spot below the bridge, he warned us not to camp on the bank of this river. "Tides," he clicked, by way of explanation. I cast a doubtful eye in his direction. He snorted, "I've told campers that before and they wouldn't believe me. That is, not until two am when high tide came in. And then they had water beds." He beamed devilishly. Changing the subject, he grumbled, "Not very good fishing today--the fish quit at five on Fridays and take the weekend off. They're 'slimmin'" "Yep," I said, "they go to the beach for the weekend." I figured with all the Catholics around: the fish fasted on Fridays. We had seen Virgin Mary shrines in many backyards.I told the fisherman, "I knew it was going to be a wet one today when I saw the sheep hopping around the fields with lifejackets on." "They know the weather," the fisherman nodded. "I even saw a fish jump in a puddle on the road." Now it was his turn to cast a doubtful eye in my direction. We listened to his local expressions for a few more minutes then pressed on. Sharon and I debated directions: whether to head straight for the ferry at Larne or take the eighty-five mile peninsula loop around Dingle Bay. Several persons had told us how splendid it was; and well, we were so close. The fisherman told us, "Tomorrow, no rain; you'll have to worry about sunstroke." Always something. It was a fast ride on the main road and we managed to reach the Dingle Peninsula before darkness fell. We pushed our bikes up a bank and through some gates to a farmer's field. The sun set on Dingle Bay as we ate cereal. Hopefully the rainbow I saw over the bay was a good sign. |
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