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July 19 Wednesday overcast rain Bicycle touring Ireland The wind changed directions some time during the night. We awake to a howling tailwind. We pack up our bicycle touring gear and ride off into the grey mass. In the next town, Atheny, Ireland, we meet four German touring cyclists with about as much command for the English language as I have of German. They just kind of vaguely nod when we ask them questions. There is a castle in Atheny and an abbey with graceful arched windows. We re-wash our sour clothes. Everything is in a constant state of dampness. Even our supposedly dry clothes in plastic bags have a clammy feel to them. Sharon asks a garage station attendant if he thinks this will turn to rain and he looks at her like she is daft. Of course it is going to rain. We're in Ireland, aren't we? We encounter a clean washroom and I tell Sharon that even though she may not have to go at the moment, maybe she would like to just go and set for a while to admire the wonderful surroundings. She does. We found a roofed shelter by another school and wheeled our touring bicycles in to make chicken noodle soup. These school shelters appear to be quite common in Ireland. A good thing for teachers, no doubt. It rains so much in Ireland that they just send the kids outside at recess or lunch to huddle in the shelter and get some fresh air while they take their coffee break. If they didn't have the roofed shelters, practically every day would be an inside day. I boil eggs and then make tea. Sharon said she didn't find tea made from left over egg water all that appetizing and doesn't have any. "Do you know where those things come from?" she asks. "Super-Valu," I reply. Cycling through town, a guy yells out, "Hey, sexy on the bike!" I yell back, "Hi, honey!" If he thinks I'm sexy now, he should have seen me when I get off my bike and my pants fell down. We could see a massive grey bank of clouds ahead in the valley. It looked like it was dumping buckets of water. And we were riding straight for it. We rode closer and closer. Moments before we ride into it, I see a school and yell ahead to Sharon to pull in. We get our bikes under the overhang just when it begins to pour. We pull out our Whisperlite stove and make supper, giving us time to see if it will clear. But it is totally socked in and looks like it may rain for a month. We are dry under the shelter and there is room for our little bicycle touring tent. Later, some teenagers come by to play soccer on the school field. The heavy downpour has become a light fizz, and a little rain doesn't deter them. Compared to before, this isn't even raining. "Hey, it's raining out." "No, it's not. You call this rain? Pffft. This is nothing." "Yeah, well where I come from, we call this rain." "Strange place you come from." Martin stands in the shelter and smokes a cigarette while talking to us. The others ask him if he would like to play goal for them. He declines, saying he wouldn't want to become fit. "I won't go anywhere near a football," he tells us. He mentions that everyone is going to be talking about us in the village for at least the next week. "They can all see you when they drive by," Martin says. He imitates 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, when they don't even speak the language." Martin tells us that death is a big conversation around the village, too. "They get at least a month's worth of conversation per funeral," he says. He imitates a 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 shows up in the latest tart style. "Nice bit of a skirt," Martin sniffs. I must say though, she does have rather nice legs to show off the bit of material though. When the soccer game becomes too waterlogged, they all retreat into our shelter. They smoke cigarettes and plan where to go drinking. Dawn looks at one of the lads and asks, "How's your cock?" "It's got a bit of a sore throat," he replies. They all leave for the agreed upon drinking establishment, but not before inviting us to come along. We're too tired and pass on their offer. I have a headache, I tell Dawn. We turn on our radio and hear the weather forecast for tomorrow. Rain in the morning. Rain in the afternoon. Followed by clearing and scattered showers in the evening. Hmmm. Well, where I come from, "clearing," doesn't mean scattered showers. |
