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July 5 Wednesday sunny windy 25º C Bicycle
touring Ireland At Authersville, Ireland, we take a seven-minute ferry crossing for £1 each (good thing I got those coins from the Tintern Abbey info woman) to East Passage. They call this crossing Hook to Crooke. Very cool. I wonder if that's where the saying "By hook or by crook" originated? Waterford, Ireland is world-famous for its beautiful crystal factory, but I am more enamored that the town of Waterford has an Instant Teller. Even better, it allowed me to take money from my Mastercard -- now that I have remembered my correct PIN. Nasty little things when one forgets them. Maybe I could just have a chip implanted in my brain to help remember passwords. The hills we are cycling are steep. The signs showing cars going uphill are set at almost 90 degrees. I would even find the road signs comical if I didn't have to grunt up them on a fully loaded ultra-heavy touring bicycle. It is windy. The rows of hedges protect us somewhat as we cycle along, but we are blown sideways every time we pass a farmer's gate where the wind whistles through unobstructed. With some difficulty we find a sheltered spot to eat salad in Tramore, Ireland. It has a beach, a camping area, and a huge carnival. Two boys -- about ten years old -- each with freckles and fair hair, come by and ask us questions about bicycle tours in Ireland. We ask them some questions too, so I can put some information about Irish youth in my postcard back to the kids at Crawford Plains School and Sakaw Elementary School back in Edmonton, Alberta. The Irish kids told us that on vacation they like to go rock climbing. At home, when they're not on vacation, they play soccer. Their accent and manner of speech is so funny that it is all I can do to keep from busting out laughing. They must be finding the same thing when we speak, as they ask us to say certain words again, in our "American" accent, as they call it. "Can you say 'you guys' again?" one asks. Maybe they don't get called 'guys' in Ireland very often -- more likely it's 'lads' that young boys get called in Ireland. I ask them what their favourite food is and they say they like a lot of different things. Not satisfied with this, I keep pressing them until one lad says, "Stew is lovely." After a brief pause, he adds, "And lasagna's gorgeous." Gorgeous! Gotta say, I've never heard lasagna described as gorgeous before, but I like it. They describe the Ring of Kerry as "brilliant." They live in Dublin and are here on vacation. They said Dublin has a lot of "knackers." I asked them what knackers were. They said, "Travelers." And then hastily added, "But not like you. Smelly ones, with old dirty clothes." I told them I would be a knacker tomorrow. We cycled along the coast for more wind and then decided to cut inland to hopefully get away from the blustery wind. We cycled across a little river that looked like it would make a great free bicycle camping spot, but we couldn't get down to it. We cycled onwards and turned onto a side road. Four kids came cycling toward us -- on their way home from a corner store. They pull their pushie bikes to a halt to talk with us. One boy holds out his can of 7-Up and asks, "Do you want a drink?" Everyone is so friendly in Ireland! Everyone says hi and waves to us as we pedal past. They even say hi or wave first, which we haven't seen in other countries before. The kids are very polite and they always say hi too -- which has been the exception in other countries rather than the norm. Hey, when we're bicycle touring in Ireland we're no longer space aliens. Ireland is a great place to spot redheads. There are lots of redheads in all shapes and sizes. Pat and Wall's daughter has red hair and a fair complexion -- which is fairly rare for an Australian. But in Ireland, she looks like a local. She told us that Ireland is the first place where she feels like she fits in. No one even looks twice at her in Ireland. We bicycled a side road which took us down near a river. I say near, because we still couldn't reach the water. An old bridge was only about ten feet above the water, but rock walls and brambles prevented us from even daring to attempt to reach the riverbank, although the many small green patches alongside the river looked inviting enough for free bicycle camping. Suddenly, I had an urge to pee. We seemed to be by our lonesome, but for some reason I didn't whip it out. Seconds later I heard voices far above us on a graceful multi-arched disused railway bridge. The railway bridge, unnoticed when we stopped high above us, spanned the valley. Two boys, with a pair of high-powered binoculars, were looking through them and giggling like a couple of teenaged school girls. Obviously peering at something down river that they shouldn't have been. Judging from the excitement of their falsetto voices, I'm sure it was Mrs Tweedlebum's curvaceous daughter nude sunbathing. Ah, the hot summer days of youth. They were still panting and ogling while we rode off on our bicycles, up the hill in search of overnight camping accommodation. An abandoned house with glassless windows and an overgrown weedy yard looked like a great spot for free bicycle camping. However, upon closer inspection, it proved to have far too many flies. We opted to turn our touring bicycles around and rode back to an open farmer's field we had seen nestled between rows of trees. The field was lit by expansive sunshine and we had a fine view of some blue mountains to the west. After eating two bowls of chili and pasta shells, I grabbed the pot to finish the remaining bit. Carelessly, I set the camp pot on my pants. When I finished eating, I found, to my dismay, a large glob of water-stained soot had inconveniently transferred itself onto my previously clean green pants. See? I was right when I told those lads that I would be a knacker soon. I sulked that my pants should be sullied by the damn pot ... I usually always put something under it, but of course, this time I did not. Sharon wanted to know what the big ta-do was about, as I certainly didn't seem too particular about my appearance. "Your trouser legs are rolled up double to ridiculous cuffs. And those two pins you have slashed through the belt loops at the waist in order to keep your pants from falling down. And they're green! Tres chic." I tell her that's not the point. At least I feel good when my trousers are clean and I feel like a grub when they are dirty. Sharon called me a knacker. By the way, green is a perfectly acceptable clothing colour in Ireland. It is actually quite common. As a matter of fact, almost everything is green in Ireland, not only the scenery in the countryside, but also the reflectors on road warning signs are green, telephone booths are green, post office boxes are green, post offices are green, post office trucks are green, many buildings are green, signs in towns for businesses are green, and, of course, the ubiquitous green three leaf clover symbol. |
