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Martin During the night the wind changed directions and we awoke to a screeching tailwind. Off we rode into the gray mass toward Atheny. A partially destroyed abbey displayed skeletal remnants of graceful arched windows. Atheny exhibited a well-preserved castle. Outside the castle we met four German cyclists who possessed less than a command for the English language. They nebulously nodded to our questions, looking hopefully at each other for leadership. We re-washed our sour clothes in a gas station's washroom sink. Since our arrival on the west coast of Ireland, our garments had stayed in a quasi-perpetual state of dampness. Even my supposedly dry clothes, sealed in airtight plastic Zip-loc bags, felt clammy. Sharon asked the station attendant if he thought this would turn to rain and he looked at her like she was completely daft. On our way to Ballaghadereen we came across a shelter at another school. Casting an ever wary eye to the motionless gray sky, we went under the roof. School shelters appeared to be quite common. A good thing for teachers. They could send the kids outside at recess to gather in the shelter to breathe fresh air while teachers took their coffee break. I hard-boiled eggs, then dropped a tea bag into the boiling water. Sharon made a face and sputtered she didn't find tea made from leftover egg-water appetizing and wouldn't indulge. "Do you know where those things come from?" she asked. "Super-Valu," the urbanized dolt replied. I encountered clean washrooms. I told Sharon, "Even though you may not have to go at the moment, maybe you would like to just go in and set for a spell to admire the salubrious hygienic surroundings." She did. Passing through Ballaghadereen* a guy yelled out, "Hey, sexy on the bike!" I yelled back, "Hi, honey!" If he thinks that's sexy, I thought, he should see me when my pants fall down. A gale force wind, at our backs, pushed us all afternoon. Progress was swift until I looked up. In the valley ahead, towards Lisacul, I saw a massive ebony bank of clouds dumping buckets of water. We were riding straight for it. Just before it enveloped us, a school shelter loomed and I yelled to Sharon to pull in. Just as the heavens began to gush, we stowed the bikes under the protective overhang. Supper cooked while we waited to see if it would clear. Still socked in after supper, we were happy, sheltered under the school's roof with even room for our tent. The heavy downpour played out to a light fizz. A baker's dozen teenagers came to play soccer; a little precip didn't deter them. Martin, one of the older teens, stood in the shelter smoking a cigarette while talking to us. The crew asked him if he would like to play goal for them, but he declined, explaining, "I wouldn't want to become fit. I won't go anywhere near a football." He advised everyone in the village would be talking about us for the next week. "They can all see you when they drive by." Martin imitated the women speaking, "What are those people doing in our school? Why, it looks like some cyclists got caught in the weather. Must be Germans. Germans are always riding bikes around. Don't know why they'd want to come here though, when they don't even speak the language." Then, he mentioned death was a big conversation around the village. "They get at least a month's worth of conversation per funeral." He imitated his ninety-year-old Grandmother's voice, "Old Billy was a good one. Why I remember.... I went to school with Billy. He was a rascal...." Dawn, a promiscuous lass from London showed up in the latest Grunge style. "Nice bit of a skirt," Martin sniffed. I noticed she possessed rather shapely legs to show it off to its full advantage. Dawn looked at a lad and asked, "How's your cock?" He replied, "Its got a bit of a sore throat." When the soccer game became too waterlogged, they retreated into our shelter and smoked cigarettes while debating which establishment they would favor with their drinking tonight. It was disappointing to see how many young persons still smoked. It was heartening though, to see teens find ways to amuse themselves other than vandalism. They talked of everything from the war in Bosnia to Americans who came to Ireland to find their roots. They didn't like Germans because "they're always pissing in our rivers." Canadians were okay; we were "tree huggers." Eventually, it got dark and the pub called. Inviting us to come along, we feigned exhaustion and passed on their offer. Leaving for their favored drinking establishment they each wished us well, bid us good-bye and gave us directions to the pub in case we reconsidered their offer to join them. We were finally able to set up the tent and crawl inside to listen to the radio and falling rain as we drifted off to sleep. On the radio, we heard the weather forecast: Rain in the morning; rain in the afternoon; followed by clearing to scattered showers in the evening. Where I came from "clearing" didn't mean scattered showers. |
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