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July 14 Thursday rain Bicycle touring Ireland We laid around this morning listening to the rain beat a stiletto beat on the taut tent fly. Finally, between cloud bursts, we decided it was time to pack up our bicycle touring gear and go. It was 3 PM. For the rainy periods, we would duck beneath a tree for shelter until the worst of the squall was over. We stopped at G*, which has a food store, post office, tourist info, bar, restaurant, tea shop, hostel, bed and breakfast, and gas station -- all combined into one. Talk about shades of the Trading Post in good old Tulameen BC. We had tea and a refill while watching several downpours come and go. One old chap said, "There was even T'under. She rattle the sky." Oh yes, she certainly did. Ain't Mother Nature grand? Our homemade wooden table was wobbly. The waitress said it never used to do that. I told her they must have made it when it was green and it is still growing. A Guinness imbiber told us he has a brother in Canada. He asked us if we had any Irish relatives. Sharon told him that her Grandmother's maiden name was Sheehan. With this news he is delighted. "Where was she from in Ireland?" he asked. When Sharon said she didn't know, he was appalled, and chastised her saying, "Well, you should know!" Trying to rescue Sharon, I attempted to change the subject and politely enquired where his brother was living in Canada. "Beats me," he shrugs. Oh, I like that. We're supposed to know three generations back where our possibly Irish relatives came from, but he doesn't even know where his brother lives today. We pedalled off into the drizzle, shaking our heads. "If you can't see the mountains that's because it's raining," one fisherman standing on an arched bridge to K* tells us. "And if you can see the mountains," he continued, "that means it's going to rain." His philosophical words of weather ring true in my ears. I almost drowned on our Irish bicycle tour today. The road was virtually a river in many places. "It's one of our worst days, if that's any consolation," offers the fisherman kindly. There are lots of waterfalls coming off the tops of mountains. The fisherman warns us not to camp on the bank of the river, as he points to a beautiful spot below the bridge. "Tides," he says, by way of explanation. I cast a doubtful eye in his direction. Seeing my doubtful expression, he hastens to say he's told campers that before and they wouldn't believe him. That is, not until 2 AM when high tide came in. And then they had water beds. "It wasn't very good fishing today-the fish quit at 5 on Fridays and take the weekend off," he said. "Yep, they go to the beach for the weekend." I figure with all the Catholics around, the fish probably fast on Fridays. We have seen a lot of roadside Virgin Mary shrines. I told him I knew it was going to be a wet one today when I saw the sheep hopping around the fields with life jackets on. "They know the weather," the fisherman replied. Next, I said, "I even saw a fish jump in a puddle alongside the road." Now it was his turn to cast a doubtful eye in my direction. "I put more air in my tires today, so I would float better." We debated directions on whether to bicycle straight for the ferry at Larne, Ireland or take a loop around Dingle Bay. Several people have told us how spectacular Dingle Bay is, and well, we're so close. So here we are about fifteen miles into the eighty-five mile Dingle Bay loop. The fisherman told us, "Tomorrow, no rain. You'll have to worry about sunstroke." "It's always something," I replied. We found an open gate leading up to a meadow and pitched our Kelty tent overlooking the crashing surf of the Atlantic. Saw a rainbow over the bay. A sign of good things to come? |
