There was a wide choice of continental breakfast set out in the lounge, electric kettle and tea and coffee-making facilities but no sign of staff at any time. It seemed that, like a Travelodge, that there was only one person on duty who set out the breakfast during the night. The bike was produced and was I quickly down the road to discover rural Ireland.
I was looking forward to seeing what the Irish countryside looked like and, on a bike, the first noticeable difference were the road side hedges: they were rampant and there was little apparent planned planting. The rich variety of species made them very colourful and I was brought to a stop by a stretch of wild rose and fuchsia.
The condition of the road surface matters more than every other aspect. In Essex, though the original road surface is good, potholes are allowed to develop which become dangerous enough to bring you off. You learn where they are and during a Club ride those in front continually look out for them and shout warnings to the following pack.
For some time before I came I had been enquiring of Irish acquaintances about the condition of the roads and could never get a clear answer. Their expressions were pained and there were references to subsidence at the side of the road, patching and variable surface and I now understood the reason. As a cycling tourist I would rather go for teeth rattling patches than dangerous potholes.
I was soon brought to a sudden stop by a glimpse though a gateway. It seemed like something I had not seen for 50 years, we would call them a “Cob Cottage”, and you can sometimes still see the name in villages. Everything was there, a thatched roof for lightness, thick walls, and only a few narrow windows to protect structural integrity and for longevity most important of all a sturdy outside coating. Where there is no stone the walls are formed from the local earths, baked. I wondered what they would use in this area but quickly discovered the answer from a derelict barn – a rubble earthy combination.
I also came across a notice about the Japanese Knotweed which seems a remarkably good idea as the seed pods are forming now.
I had seen lots of tourist/large traffic notices to Kilmore Quay so, intrigued, diverted to see what was there. On the way down I had been overtaken on a relatively narrow road by two large foreign refrigerated lorries. Found a busy little fishing port and could see a fishing trawler heading towards the harbour entrance. A woman was by the dock was watching so I asked her about the trawlers and she suggested that I went through the dock to the harbour entrance so I headed that way rather expecting notices saying “No Admittance” but no one seemed surprised by my appearance.
The trawler had docked and nearby was an empty van with its doors open so asked the driver and his mate if there was a market and he said most of the catch went direct to France and rather bitterly “the Irish don’t eat fish”. There were some large foreign refrigerated lorries nearby including the one which had passed close to me on the narrow road on the way down to the quay.
I spent some time looking around. Nearby there was a large memorial area dedicated to those lost at sea, either locals or others who had drowned in the waters off the coast including teenagers drowned off the nearby beach, locals in boat bombed by the Germans and locals drowned when a ship with over 300 migrants aboard went down on its way to America in the 1880s.
On the way back to return to my route I spotted this board. We could do with some in England where the same rule applies. I had already noticed that the vehicles in Ireland gave you more room.
After a really enjoyable ride of 40+ miles I was given a good welcome when I arrived at the B&B in Duncannon called Harbour Lights. I was shown into a room where you could just see over the wall into a small harbour.
Went on recommendation to what seemed to be the usual pub on the corner but found it was called the Strand Tavern Seafood Bar and Restaurant. Saw that on the Specials Menu was Pan Fried Hake. It had an exquisite taste and just crumbled under the fork. I asked where it came from and was told “Kilmore”: it was today’s catch.