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They Don't Get Many Tourists The riding was pleasant with rounded hills dotting the terrain, speckled with flocks of sheep. I hadn't realized Ireland had so many sheep. I can't imagine what New Zealand must be like. Northern Ireland was resplendent with wooded valleys and dark brown coffee-colored rivers. The color emanated from peat bogs and not pollution. We hadn't seen many signs of industrialization. Workers in the fields dug blocks of peat. There continued to be a noticeable difference in Northern Ireland's citizenry. People eyed us suspiciously and most didn't wave or say hello when we did. The farmers stared silently as we rode by. The kids yelled, laughed and pointed; they were obnoxious. Vicious curs barked, snarled and snapped at us. Northern Ireland didn't entertain many tourists yet--let alone cycle tourists.Past Fintona, over rolling green hills and one forest mountain pass near Gortin, we stopped in Plumbridge to buy groceries. The persons working at the Mace store (catchy name for a grocery store) were engaging. A gaggle of six-to-ten-year-olds played in the park. The boys surveyed us while dashing to their bikes and riding wildly up and down the street waving their arms in the air. On our way out of town, one tyke whipped by me and screamed in my face, "Race yuh!" and then did an abrupt U-turn directly in front of me. I swerved sharply to miss him. At the marina in Carrybridge, I went to use the washroom and to my delight found there were also showers. I returned to my bike and grabbed my towel. Inside the shower stall, standing stark naked, one arm outstretched frozen in the icy stream. Cussing and muttering I pulled my clothes back on and dejectedly went out to my bike. Sharon returned from the Women's a few minutes later all smiles. "You had hot water, didn't you?" I rumbled accusingly, like it was her fault for my shower being cold. "Of course," she smirked sweetly. Her answer renewed my swearing with added vigor. Sharon suggested I use the women's shower. There was plenty of hot water. The women's shower? After pondering a couple of minutes, I rationalized if I could call a shower, a douche in France, I could muster using the women's shower in Ireland. It smelled peculiar. |
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