Day 23. Part 2 – Millstreet to Killarney

640px-MacGillycuddy's_Reeks,_Ring_of_Kerry_(506619)_(28239522935)
MacGillycuddy’s Reeks*

After four 40+ days, including yesterday’s 45.25 miles, I woke with the knowledge that the distance to Killarney was potentially under 30 miles. There was about four miles down to Rathmore on the N72, which had previously been very unpleasant but would be a quick way to meet with the main N22 road from Cork, and then a short ride into Killarney. I did not fancy the N72 and I had started to miss the hills which I cursed as I rode through Wales. If, when I got to Rathmore, I went straight over the N72 I could instead take something of a diagonal to Killarney along potentially scenic Irish lanes.

When I did cross the N72 in Rathmore it seemed a normal road through a country town without heavy traffic but I pressed on wanting to take to the hills anyway but within a hundred yards was brought to a stop by level crossing gates and I was soon joined by more traffic. Most of the drivers seemed more relaxed than is usual in those circumstances in England and as they arrived some started using their mobiles and some got out of their cars. The crossing was by Rathmore Station and eventually a train arrived and stopped and gave no sign of moving so I got off my bike and walked up to the gate. The explanation was that the line was single track until it reached the Station where alongside the platforms it became two tracks and, as the locals presumably knew, the train was waiting for another train travelling in the opposite direction. It eventually
arrived, the passengers got off and we were away and I headed up a hill on a narrow lane.

trains

There is a certain pleasure of climbing a hill on a bike. There is the pleasure of anticipation , a sense of satisfaction as you plough along, nose down, making your legs grind up the steep slopes, making slight gear changes to keep the right cadence and, finally, the sense of satisfaction of reaching the top and, as a relaxed tourer, stopping to look at the view and take a drink of water.

The verges of the hills were interesting because the distribution of the flowers and grasses often subtly changed as you climbed. One reason, notably in Wales, had been because of an increase in height giving slightly cooler temperatures and stronger winds in the exposed sections. Another common reason was that the soil decreased in quality and depth. One bright orange flower 2/3 feet in height had been brightening up the verges in the sunshine, and it was also often in the cottage gardens. In fact, it had always been in the verge within a 100 yards of a cottage but for the first time I saw one that wasn’t and now, as the soil thinned, it became more common often covering
several yards.

orange juice

Also on the verge was a blue notice which I had frequently seen when nearing a village. It had been erected by the Garda and one I saw later had attached below a handwritten note from a parish confirming that they did text the Garda if they saw something suspicious.

sign

There was a confusing network of lanes to navigate through until I joined the long straight main street of Gneevgullia. There was a village shop which, by now I had discovered, would have a coffee machine and sandwiches. I sat down outside at a table in the sun with a feeling of satisfaction and watched the life of the village pass.

The route looked complicated through the lanes and, as I was looking at my map, a passing shopper asked me if I needed help. I said I was going to Killarney and told her I was looking for a route through the lanes but she did not think much of the idea and said the lanes were narrow and difficult. She suggested that I went to the end of the street and then downhill to the N72. This had already been suggested by someone who had sat down by me so I decided to take their advice and went to the end of the street. There was suddenly a spectacular and expansive view not only along my route but across the water to the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, which climbed to 1000 metres beyond.

I hadn’t realised how high I had climbed and with a couple of turns of the pedals, I was off down the road freewheeling all the way back to the outskirts of Rathmore. It was an exhilarating 10 minutes with enough sweeping corners to add to the excitement, challenging me to keep off the brakes to keep up the speed.

Hitting Rathmore, I found the main street flourishing with flags and placards on all the shops, commercial premises and houses, the most noticeable being at the entrance to the town.

team photo

The match was at the coming weekend. It was clear that the players came from Rathmore and what was striking was that all the notices were in red, the colour of the flag of Cork Country which Rathmore is in.

It interesting going along the road to see how cycle friendly it was. As soon as possible after coming to a built up area you would be taken off the road with a cycle path or a shared cycle/pedestrian path so you did not have to overtake parked cars. Otherwise there was a hard shoulder of varying width. In the few stretches where there was no hard shoulder there would be a white line a short distance from the kerb. Though not designated as a cycle path, you would be given a wide berth.

Entering Killarney and nearing the junction with the N 71 there were notices warning of potential queues and, at the roundabout, more warnings. The N 71 was the road from Cork and was carrying heavy traffic and lorries. There was a cycle path skirting around the outside but this did not keep me away from the real tangle: leading onto the roundabout from the far side was a wide roadway from the large area in front of a school. It was the afternoon pick up and there was the familiar chaos from a mixture of children, parents and cars trying to pick up the children and getting from and into the roundabout. One mother had even parked on the roundabout itself and was trying to scramble her child into the car despite a looming lorry. I got off and picked my way cautiously through the melee, and set up my route on Google maps through the suburbs to the Cherry Tree B & B.

There was a notice outside proclaiming “Fibre WiFi” and what was striking was its evident age. I never had any difficulties in finding WiFi whether in a lodging or eating place and the implementation of WiFi in Ireland is way ahead of England’s. The initiatives now from the local authorities is to have public hotspots. In Fermoy I had been told that the town centre and main street was all a hotspot. Later on in the journey in a town centre I went into one of those peculiarly Irish establishments with a deli
counter from which you could order take away food and that also had a modest traditional cafe behind and small bar at the back. When I was getting the food I asked if there was WiFi and, if so, what the password was and was told that it was better outside where I was sitting with my bike and I did not need a password.

The establishment attracted three different sets of customers: those wanting a quick take away which you could eat outside, a small cafe with no great pretensions but providing a good meeting place with coffee and cakes, and the small bar invariably at the back, which usually had a few veterans sitting down with a Guinness.

Places like this in England could flourish providing a local meeting place where cafes and licensed premises now fail. Unfortunately, the different types of regulations would make it almost impossible to set up.

The B & B was not far from the centre of Killarney and, after a short day of 34 miles, I went to the pub/restaurant, highly recommended by the proprietor, earlier than usual with the comforting thought that tomorrow was a rest day. It was a good recommendation.

 

* Photo of MacGillycuddy’s Reeks by Bob Linsdell at https://flickr.com/photos/92487715@N03/282395229

 

 

Day 23. Part 1 – Millstreet: a tidy town

10-Minor-Row

Ireland had been markedly litter free and one thing that helped was the absence of plastic bags as it has been many years since shopkeepers were allowed to give them out. If you need a bag then your shopping is put in a quite strong brown paper bag and I did not see plastic bags used generally at all. The only time I did see a plastic bag was in a hedgerow. Though the towns were litter free, not infrequently I had seen, thrown at the side of the road, a collection of items together: used coffee cups, sandwich packets and empty bottles and cans – Red Bull seemed popular. It is not usual to see the same thing in England but it was really noticeable in Ireland, perhaps because everywhere seems so tidy or perhaps it is more frequent in Ireland.

In the morning I asked Noreen why this happened and she said it was a problem as the litter was thrown out of cars from people who had been to a takeaway. She said that litter generally was an issue and I mentioned that I had seen, when coming into Millstreet, a display which said that the town had won three Bronze medals in the Tidy Town competition. She said she had been involved with the group trying to keep the town clear of litter. In 2016 Millstreet had won 1st in the Anti Litter competition and a Bronze Medal in the Tidy Town Competition. There was a further Bronze Medal in 2017. It was hard work for their group to keep on top of it, and she told me of a friend who always went out from 6am to 8am on Sunday mornings. The Tidy Town award went beyond litter and took into consideration more general improvement and conservation
including flower beds.

I had not realised that the freedom from litter I had noticed the previous day in Fermoy probably represented a lot of voluntary work, so I looked on the Internet and found a picture of very cheerful Fermoy volunteers with spades and hoes.

Fermoy Tidy Towns Web 1920px 1@11-04-2018-18_28_20

Day 22. Fermoy to Millstreet

Fermoy bridge

Today promised to be the longest ride of the Tour but, before I set off, I walked into the town after looking at the bridge over the River Blackwater.

When I arrived the previous evening I had ridden up and down the main street where I had expected the hotel to be but it had actually been on the Quay. What had struck me was the variety of shops and some of the magnificent old-fashioned fronts which had been designed to impress. I called at the stationers and, when I was being served, I mentioned this. The proprietor, who I guessed it was, picked up on my approval and came around the counter to tell me more. He was very proud of his town and explained that Fermoy had missed the boom when prices in Ireland had shot up to what proved to be ridiculous figures. Then the old heart of most towns had been destroyed by redevelopment of the aged properties but Fermoy had escaped and was now thriving. He told me something of the history of  Fermoy and, just as I was leaving, took a 70 page booklet published by the Fermoy Enterprise Board, tore off the price label and gave it to me. The origins of the Fermoy had been dated to the year 1170 when the Cistercians founded a monastery. The booklet said that an ambitious Scotsman bought the ruins in 1751 and turned its vicinity into one of the most prosperous modern towns in Ireland. Another factor was that, until the 19th century, the bridge was one of only four, or possibly five, that crossed the river which is the fourth longest river in Ireland.

I had noticed that there was a lot of traffic coming over the bridge from the N72. The main route from Dublin to Cork passed the outskirts of  Fermoy where there was a junction allowing the traffic to join. The lanes which I was following became less direct and, as I had a long ride, I had decided to travel a few miles along it before returning to the lanes. It would be interesting to see which of all the various descriptions of the hard shoulder was correct and, not surprisingly, there was some truth in all of them.

The road consisted of one wide lane in each direction separated by a yellow line with an equally bold line defining the outside of the lane leaving the “hard shoulder “ beyond it. Generally the hard shoulder’s surface was the same as the roadway but sometimes it dipped away badly towards a rough surface edge. Where there had been recent improvements to the road there was a good wide hard shoulder of a standard width wide enough for a small lorry to try to undertake a slower, larger one to a chorus of hooting, but other parts of the road had a variable width down to that of a handlebar. The rule about leaving 1.5 meters when passing a cyclist did not seem to apply so traffic could then be passing within inches and my most scary moment was where, opposite a right hand turning lane, a large lorry passed within inches with a great roar buffeting me with its passage. It was a relief to turn onto the lanes again.

Soon afterwards I came round a corner to see an interesting long bridge down a road on my right so I investigated and had a most intriguing sight of a tower peeping over some houses. I decided to check it out and cycled up the hill. At the top was Ballyhooly Castle and, from an information board, I discovered an Irish female warrior to compare with the female warrior I had discovered in Wales.

tower

In 1645 Ballyhooly Castle was occupied by Irish Royalists and was recaptured by the parliamentary army of Oliver Cromwell. In the absence of her husband, Ellen Lady Roche bravely commanded the defence of the family’s stronghold at neighbouring Castletownroche. After a siege, the Cromwellians captured the castle and Lady Ellen was executed in Cork in 1652.

Ballyhoo castle

Noticing some early fallen apples by my feet as I read the boards explaining the history, I discovered the tree had been planted by local schoolchildren years ago to commemorate a local tradition. The bridge I had crossed had been an important ford. An ancient manuscript stated that St Carthage, founder of the neighbouring town of Lismore, had picked up an apple from the water when he crossed the ford and, later that day, he had given it to the deformed daughter of a local chieftain and, on accepting it, the girl’s withered arm was immediately restored. The name Ballyhooly is derived from ancient Irish and means the ‘ford of the apples’. I walked into the castle gardens which seemed to be in private hands and took a photograph of what remained of the castle.

Not being very far into the day’s ride I resisted the temptation to visit Mallow Castle, a National Monument, when passing by the town and pressed on mostly remaining close to the river, and, after a day’s cycling of 45 miles, reached Millstreet. There had been little climbing except where the lanes had diverted from the valley near Nagles Mountains.

I was  staying at a B & B  that I had booked over the phone with a very friendly proprietor who called herself Noreen and who had given me very clear instructions on how to find her. Millstreet, l found out, was purported to have one of the longest high streets in Ireland. The welcome was just as friendly and the house and room were very comfortable. Noreen and her husband were good company and had a wealth of local information.

As it was getting late and, as the pub/restaurant they had recommended was closing soon,  Noreen drove me the three-quarters of a mile to the pub, where I had another excellent meal. Noreen and her husband were going for a walk so could not pick me up afterwards but I said I enjoyed a walk after a good meal and a beer. The beer was brewed locally and was delicious and a day’s cycling always improves the thirst quenching properties.

Afterwards, feeling in a good mood, I set off down the road and, after being crouched over the handlebars all day, it was good to straighten up so I set off with long strides and happy thoughts.  I then passed Noreen and her husband walking in the opposite  direction and  Noreen asked “Are you are going for a walk then?” It was only after some time it occurred to me that the road did not seem familiar. Noreen’s directions over the phone had included an instruction to pass by a cemetery and that they were further down on the left and I had carefully noted it near the bottom of a valley.  I had not noticed any cemetery but seem to have walked a long way so when I came across a male  contemporary by the side of the road I spoke to him and, after an exchange of usual Irish pleasantries, enquired as to the whereabouts of the cemetery. The exact situation I found difficult to explain with any success so we then each started to give descriptions of places in Millstreet, resulting in one of us starting to give details which the other failed to recognise. His descriptions were full of extra information and I started to find out a lot about Millstreet which was all very interesting but I had to confess and say I was looking for the B & B where I was staying. Then I described the B & B which had a very large ornamental sign saying ‘Bed and Breakfast’ and its name. He had no recollection of it. I had only taken a cursory glance at the name and my attempts to pronounce it failed to have effect and he could not remember any B & B. He then asked me who I was staying with and I said I could only remember the Christian name – Noreen. “ NOREEN!” he exclaimed loudly, “you are staying with Noreen!” with a very approving tone and it became clear that Noreen was someone notable.

Of course, it turned out I had continued up the road away from the B & B and had forgotten to u-turn and go back on myself. Later, when I got in, I told Noreen I had had a very good walk. The name of the B & B was Knockdrish.

 

Day 21. Dungarvan to Fermoy

 

First view of River Blackwater
First view of the River Blackwater

When I researched the route I was struck by a phrase in the Rough Guide about Dungarvan which it describes as “largely unscathed by the blight of chain-store similitude” which turned out to be apt. It was a pleasure to walk round such a variety of shops.

I woke early to look around in the daylight and make some small purchases but first walked along the Quay again. The previous night had been dark and raining but I had spotted some ancient looking walls which I guessed must be the Castle. It had been built in 1185 as an Anglo-Norman command base, like many of those castles I had visited in Wales. Inside there had been a barracks occupied during the IRA in the Civil War and burned by them when they abandoned it. The main parts of the old castle left were the walls.

Dungaven castle entrance and walls

As I walked down the Quay I was struck by the blueness of the Harbour, such a contrast to the Bay when I first saw it the previous night.

Dungarven harbour in morning sun

 

My route so far had been hugging the coast going though the towns which had grown up at the first crossing points of the rivers. Now I would cross to the River Blackwater, following its valley west along the lanes.  My next overnight stop would be at Fermoy, with the inland countryside to explore.

On leaving Dungarvan I saw a sign showing a cycle route which was named after a famous local cyclist Sean Kelly, and followed the lanes which were part of my own route.

sean kelly tour of waterford route sign

Sean had been one of the most successful road cyclists of the 80s, his most famous victory being the Vuelta a Espana in 1988. He had been born in Waterford in 1956 of a farming family. The inaugural Sean Kelly Tour of Waterford was in 2007 with 910 participants including Sean. The numbers rose to over 8,000 over two days with three distances. It was cancelled this year with a view to restructuring it including moving the date. The council Head of Enterprise said that “August does not work any more”. One of the problems was accommodation. I can relate to that.

Something struck me as being incongruous and I realised it was the metal pole that the sign was attached to. English practice is to put notices on metal poles which are often an  eyesore. Like many continental cities, Ireland uses them as little as possible and in an unobtrusive manner.

After a few miles of very quiet lanes through rolling countryside, I freewheeled downhill into the picturesque village of Villierstown, with a shop/delicatessen coming into view at just the right time.  Part was a shop and the other half something I saw at a number of places along the way: a counter laid out rather like a Subway with a motherly figure behind, waiting to have an Irish chat and prepare a sandwich. There was also a microwave to prepare toasted snacks. A sandwich was made up for me and I sat at a table outside, with coffee, in the sun, watching residents walking up the street to the shop exchanging banter and local news – all was good with the world. I finished and went to go when I saw a door marked “Library” so I went to walk in and met an engaging lady coming out with keys in her hand. It was one o’clock and she was leaving for lunch but was pleased to tell me about it and how it was run entirely by volunteers, now on a part-time basis.

I cycled off up the road and through some big ornamental gates. They were part of  an extensive park and gardens and I emerged at the other end through a startling minaret- topped archway with single-cell porters lodges on each side, I then passed over the Blackwater, for the first time, on a handsome bridge. It was called the Dromana Gate. It had been built in wood and papier-mâché to greet the owner of the estate, Henry Villiers -Stuart, and his wife Theresa on their return from their honeymoon in Brighton in 1826. The couple was so enchanted with the gate that they later had it reconstructed in stone.

Dromena Gate side 1 Dromena gate side 2

The first Duke of Buckingham was George Villiers, a favourite of King James I and from 1616 built up Irish estates.This had been a seat of the Villiers family, hence the name of the village. I then stopped to look at a very delicately coloured flower, so pretty that you can understand why the plant was brought into the country for ornamental damp areas but it was now rampant alongside this section of the Blackwater.

Flowers along river bank

I had found the rough patch repairs increasingly irritating as my unsprung bike rattled over them. They tended to be splotches of tar often laid over similar, worn splotches. The big plus was that I had not seen a pothole all day, admirable safety-comes-first in Ireland. I had wondered how the repairs were laid and the sign gave a clue.

How its done

I eventually arrived in Fermoy after a 42 mile ride but the lateness was mainly due the number of  times I had stopped in this very interesting section of the Blackwater Valley. Often, through a gateway, you would get a view of a meadow decorated with grazing cattle sloping down to the river with a longer, steeper slope with more meadows and an interesting  building.

I was, again, staying in a large hotel with a small cheap room and it was just after 8pm when I went out to find some food. I was starving as it was a very long time since the lunchtime sandwich. I saw that the hotel restaurant had closed at 8pm. I went into the town and could see nothing so enquired of a passer-by where she recommended but she said everything was closed except the chippy but there was a Chinese and an Indian near the hotel. I went in the Chinese, this time, and had a very filling meal. I was the only customer but there was a steady trade in takeaways.

It had been a good day with Ireland at its most pastoral.

 

The Tour – first stage completed

The Tour of Ireland will have distinct stages and the one I have just completed could be described as the Tour of the Estuaries. I had followed the coastline passing the estuaries at their first crossing place. Because of the local fishing ports, this stage had unintentionally started to turn into a gastronomic tour as well but there is nothing like a good day’s ride to make you appreciate the local delicacies.

What had I discovered? The modest friendliness of the people, the calm pleasure of cycling though the pastoral countryside undisturbed by inappropriate development, roads in generally better condition than those of Essex, and very welcoming pubs in the evening.

The next stage will be to cross the mainland to Killarney near the west coast where I will have a rest day. Tom Cooper, the author of Cycle touring in Ireland*, had found that the problem of this section was the lack of accommodation.  When booking up, Fermoy was an obvious target for the first day but the next day was a problem until I found a B & B at Millstreet. This will be a long day’s ride but I was encouraged to find that on both the first two full days in Ireland I had cycled 43 miles.

The second stage is also mainly along the valley of the Blackwater River. The main road, the N72, runs along the north side of the valley but I will be able to avoid all of this, except a few miles, by taking lanes running along the southern side, usually close to the river. This could have been the cross-country route before motorised transport as it would be sheltered and the donkey trains would have easy access to water.

Pastures new ahead.

Day 20. Duncannon to Dungarvan

pe ferry

Woke to bright sunshine, first I had seen, up to then it was varieties of “Irish Mist”, never really raining but never sunny. I had been warned by Irish friends there would be plenty of days of this. I could now see the estuary properly. I looked around the small harbour and then followed the estuary until I reached the vehicle and foot ferry to Passage East. It was followed by a long climb over the hill to Waterford, made memorable by seeing my first pot hole.

pe on ferry

Waterford is a busy city and once an important shipbuilding port. The quays are now  deserted with some used as car parks, but behind the Quay there were bustling little lanes.

Its origins go back to the early tenth century when the Vikings built a settlement there and controlled much of that part of Ireland. It had city walls but most had been demolished, the Clifford Tower remains with a Viking boat displayed in front of it.

cliff tower

I sat down at a pavement cafe in the sun, had a snack and coffee and watched the congregation leave the cathedral, standing in groups chatting amiably, and tourists wandering by, a happy scene.

Waterford Crystal was founded in 1783 and has helped to create the town’s prosperity producing 45,000 pieces a year and I cycled by the recently built, and much larger, shop, easily accessible by coaches. The shop has beautiful displays of their crystal and the popular tours of the factory itself start from there.

I was heading for the Waterford Greenway, a 46k cycle and walking  trail opened last year between Waterford and my ultimate destination for the day of Dungarvan. There had once been a railway line which had closed and the area left derelict until a railway preservation company had opened about 7k of the route again. The trail was being heavily promoted by the Tourist Board as being spectacular and beautiful. Already, when mentioning my route, I had been told several times that I must take the trail. My host of the previous night had been one of these and she explained that not everyone had been in favour but it had been a great success. Along the way, access points had been created with car parks, and cafes had sprung up with activity areas and cycle hire.

The trail was very carefully designed with a tarmac surface wide enough for emergency vehicles. At first there were mainly a few walkers but the access points were very popular and the closer you approached one, the more cycling family parties there were. Near the access  I would usually come across several groups with very young children  learning how to cycle on the traffic-free way. There were many leisure cyclists and a few fast club cyclists but the family cyclists had claimed the territory for themselves. The families were arriving at the junction station from the small train running a shuttle service up and down the line. The platforms had displays and extra facilities for the families and walkers. I stopped and had a coffee and a couple of cereal bars, more sensible than the inviting ice cream.

station

The fields I came across were now mainly used for gazing. Many cattle were Friesians but there were Herefords, cross-breeds and a I saw a huge Charolais bull stalking round a field full of cows. Took a picture of yellow flowers which had been brightening up the verges, with a butterfly taking up the nectar.

butter 2

The landscape forms changed and the Greenway plunged downwards crossing increasingly steep valleys, eventually using viaducts. One is really impressive and much featured in the advertising. It seemed a long way down to the valley floor on the viaducts, which were matched by a couple of short tunnels and then a long lighted one. Through and outside this tunnel along the walls were colourful decorated stones and small slabs, each bearing a child’s name as part of the design. I was told that they had been put there by children from the local school.

waterford bay
Waterford Bay

For some time there had been an Irish mist and I was getting used to it; a sort of not quite rain with brighter intervals. I had started the day with it and it had cleared by the time I had reached Waterford Bay, which was a brilliant blue, but it returned about 10 miles along the route and then annoyingly turned into real rain and I put on my rain jacket. Just before the long tunnel it started coming down heavily and I waited for a couple of minutes on the exit for the heavy rain to clear. I then remembered a lesson my grandson Mikey, then aged 14, had taught me that for a few minutes heavy rain seems unpleasant but then you stop noticing it as it becomes the norm, so I set off again down increasingly  steep slopes. The rain eased, I shot round a corner and there was Dungarvan Bay with the rain clouds retreating.

d bay

After another 42 mile day I checked into a top quality hotel with another small, but cheap, room and, on advice, set off down to the quay to find a restaurant. The best seemed to be an Indian so I had a big meal, went back to the hotel and straight to sleep.

Day 19. Rosslare to Duncannon

memorial
Memorial at Kilmore Quay

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.

wild rose

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.

cob cottage

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.

barn

I also came across a notice about the Japanese Knotweed which seems a remarkably good idea as the seed pods are forming now.

knotweed

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.

truck

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.

trawler

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.

memorial stone

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.

notice

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.

room with view

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.