Jeremiah Watt Cycling around God's Creation

long distance bicycle touring

Blog 16 – Shamrocks and Kilts Tour

I met a Hillary supporter while in IRELAND……….. they are the same here as they are in USA.
It must be near the end of the journey, homesick and lonesome cling to me like a ghost, whisping and seeping through my every thought. Sitting here this morning having tea in Cavan, and the radio played Willie Nelson’s cover of a special song for Mom and I…..”Unchained Melody”….can’t explain it, but it dang near brought me too tears. So my best explanation is that I guess the world’s most nervous dancer, could actually picture himself holding my sweetie and gliding/stumbling round the floor.. Mom, I sure miss ya.//////
Tired of the coast again, and not inclined to take rest in a hotel in Dublin for six or 7 full days…….so what does a cyclist with “anxious leg syndrome” do with extra time……right…… he adds just over 325 extra miles at the far end of his trip in order to avoid more hotels. My butt has been on fire with complaint ( I have found the back roads of Ireland to be particularly rough at the edges – hemmroud pounding ruff ) but my mind is at peace with the whole choice. My butt has the rest of its life to heal up the way I see it.//////
The Wicklows folks, I loved my ride up and thru the Wicklows, And to make it easier on YOU when you come visit Ireland, these hills are just miles south and west of Dublin. My approach was from the south as I had been riding the southern coast……and all the while as I road. My thoughts are on how many ways to kill a screaming sea gull. My thoughts were not on the waves crashing onto the rugged Irish coast…….nor was it on the billowing white sails of yet another sailboat slipping silently along the beautiful and rugged coast….. nope, just those damn seagulls. They are like finger nails on a chalk board for me. So, somewhere around Arkold I allowed “Shirley Surly” my all-steel steed to take the reins and choose her direction. We slipped away from the coast in an almost imperceptable 138 degree hook to the left…..almost imperceptable may be an overstatement.//////
The route winds it’s way up a fast flowing river, the river Avoca if I read it right. Keep in mind it was written in Garlic so the may have been a silent pee in there somewhere. The trees are mostly huge old Oaks, Elms and the like. Huge trees and  tiny emerald pastures contained within stacked rock walls. It goes without saying that as beautiful as the surroundings are, and as close as the coast is, that the houses are pretty obviously those of the wealthy. I am cycling right thru Irelands version of the famous Scottish golf capital of St. Andrew’s. Is it the same or better, hard to tell since I have only played the Andrew’s course one time. I can tell you the area around is drop dead beautiful and worth seeing, my roads were narrow and winding and yes steep in a few places but not as steep as Scotland nor England.. So bring your clubs if yer a “gulffer”, and if not……just incase you do see a seagull.////
Up, up the walls of the riverbed we climb. The huge trees forming dense and dark canopies thru which I must ride. The rain, or falling Irish sunshine has once again chose too bless us with its presence. Shortly after the mist rain began, the overweight OPPRA-esque clouds dropped closer to the hill tops obscuring my view even further, which was already limited by both tree and hedge. Just about the time that I thought I may be getting wet today, I came to a place called ” the meeting of the rivers” and there sat a hotel and coffee shop. No, I didn’t get a room. I did however park my bike and get a pot of tea with ingentions of waiting the rain out. Exactly what I done for better than an hour. Figured I had timed it all about right, and thru my leg over Shirley and headed strait up a steep climb. I got no more than maybe 500 feet, and it just poured down.///////
It’s only 4pm and I ain’t quitting just yet. Pedal, pedal, and keep the rhythm of the climb going, the breathing and cadence…..time that pedal stroke with each click of my tongue in the front spokes. All things considered it was actually quite a long climb, sort’a caught me by surprise. Pulled under the protective boughs of a huge Spruce tree and checked my phone and map. Dang, I actually rode up the wrong hill after all that. My route will just have to change it seems, replanning and find another way to get to the next town. It cost me an extra 8 or 10 miles, and the rain was just pouring down. And I was already soaked and nothing that I could do about it at this point.//////
I have been looking for a place to set my tent up but too no avail. Finally I came across a soccer field, plunge thru this gate and seek a flat spot off to the back edge of the field against a tall row of spruce trees. The wind is really ripping, and I know my tent will need some protection from the wind. A note about lightweight tents, the rain fly is always a second or separate layer when setting up. Needless to say, I pitched as quickly as I can, but the tent was soaked on the inside just from the set up.  It’s the curse of this little REI tent, one other aspect to keep in mind, the tent design has sloping walls and once inside when you unzip the doors the roof top rain pours into the tent…..yes, aggravating. So it was a very wet night in the tent to be sure.//////
Rode out of there in the morning in heavy rain clouds and a light breeze were keeping me company.  Glendalough National Park was on my morning agenda, and once again it was not a disappointment, well worth the few extra miles. The sun was out and blazing like an Olympians torch. The clothes were off……..well let’s back up a bit, we were down to my cycling bib shorts……and the answer is no, I don’t really give a hoot what the rest of the world thinks of my outfit. Do I say anything when a 312 pound women squeezes into a pair of 102 pound yoga pants……….no sir not me, silent as a mouse. Glendalough is a long narrow lake, that lays at the head of a ancient moraine created by the last ice age. This moraine however was just a little deeper than all the rest as it has been recorded that apparently one certain squirrel was seen digging for that one last acorn……to be continued I am sure in another sequel hit. The water is clear and cold, brilliant blue in the morning sunshine. The lake is flanked by majestic Red barked Pines on the south facing bank that obtains the most sunshine, while Larch and Spruce have taken up all the heavily shaded areas along the opposite edge of the lake where a slim patch of ground clings desparingly to a steep rocky moutainside. No, the beauty of it was not lost on me, I certainly appreciated it for it’s natural beauty. However, there was another very distinct aspect of this Park setting that was equally overwhelming. This area was being logged everywhere you looked. Some areas fully clear cut and replanted, others it appeared to be done in a singular selective fashion. Gavin Nuesome could really take a lesson from folks over here as it pertains to forestry management. Matter of fact, I am totally caught off-guard by the amount of forestry that there is happening in Ireland. Its embarrassing when I compare it to what’s happening at home, shame on the greenies and the complacent Democrats in power of the California Politburo.///////
Dang, it is so obvious that I may have been on the road a week too long. I am mentally glazed over like a Krispy Kreme Dougnut, riding along staring at inappropriate things like realtor’s signs and utility warnings. Completely caught off guard by the road signs that really matter when they should. So I rolled over and sat in the ditch and ate an apple and a jar of peanut butter. Guaranteed, I will have to do a thousand burpee`s tonight to get the gut to work that thru the digestive tract. Somewhat sharper now,  I roll back out of the verge and continue on my way to the top of Sally Gap. This ride is not a leg breaker, it is however long for UK standards and gorgeous. The climb begins in Laragh as you make the turn out of an 18 foot diameter mini traffic circle and claim the Sally Gap single lane route.///////
The early part of the ride finds one comforted by a swift and noisy brook on the left hand, and a growing rocky outcrop that occupies the right shoulder like military epaulets. The brook is not always visible as dense growth attempts to mute its affect on its surrounds, except you cannot subdue this brooks voice as it lashes out and rock and root to be sure it is heard. The road undulates and winds like a slow cork-screw into the clouds above, taking all comers on a twisting tour of Irish beauty from the hands of our Creator. That watery voice of the visible stream is getting much louder than seems proper, and finally off in the rising distance a faint silvery ribbon becomes visible. A waterfall of some 200 feet tumbles and catapults down a rocky face exposed overmillennia. This sort of natural formation is the type of thing that predates picnic tables, which is equally unimaginable. The cyclist is winding his way up the turns which have been cut into the sheer rocky mountain side,  to the left hand of the creek, resplendant green valley floor occupies everything out and across the dale to a rising tree covered slope on the opposite side of the valley./////
Sally Gap waterfall is just the first third of this chain-drive adventure, what comes next is a drastic unbelievable change like that of a moonscape. The first third of this ride is all about a surreal garden type setting rich earth abundant growth and live water. You top out at the upper edge of the waterfall only to find yourself in what is best described as a Scottish Moor. Huge rolling hills or mountains in this case, covered in bracken, fir and gorse. Where possible logging is taking place in large fashion. There are precious few sheep and no cattle to be seen, and I am uncertain if it’s the wrong season for livestock up here or the ground is simply to wet and boggy for livestock. The top  winds along for some 12 miles or more, undulating hills and valleys, logging roads and walkers footpaths………they are playing JAZZ where I sit and type……..little surprise that jazz musicians are the most often murdered artists in the world……more often than accordion players which may come as a surprise.///////
Berry pickers……….well, maybe they are picking Gorse buttons which apparently can be eaten. I had just topped out at Sally Gap where I was greeted by a 4 way uncontrolled stop……so I rode right thru without stopping because I am that rebellious type. From this junction, I am less that 18 miles from the center of Dublin. Now what, that was my thought. To my right the turn would take me to another coastline ( I imagine that on an island ), the road to my left takes me into the county with the heaviest horse population in Ireland. Besides all that heady thinking, it was now past 6pm, the wi d was whipping g, the clouds had once again grown threateni g and the sunshine was running timidly for cover. I had been on the hunt for a place to set up my tent, but everything on the other side was to wet and ruff. So, directly north into horse country I turned. Holding the brakes so as to avoid havi g to use a runaway ramp, I coasted downhill for a few miles, where we make a 90 degree bend and leap over a humpback stone bridge. This is one of those humps that will Introduce you Adam’s apple to your anus if ya hit it too hard. Right on the other side is a soft grassy verge where sheep had been working this portion of the hills, a perfect spot for my tent. Tents up, and the bed is laying out in the to steal away a little moisture if at all possible. I was about to strip down and take my nightly nipple stiffening one bottle bath……… then rub briskly with my towel hoping not too much material fuzz was wedged between the goose bumps. ////////
” nasty stiemizi nordradavick Pavel”…….Being a world traveler I knew instantly that was no ordinary seagull cry. Upon closer inspection of my surrounds, I see the berry pickers or whatever they were doing walking right thru my curtainless spa. Yes they confirm for me they are picking wonderful peet bog blueberries, they grow very very well up here she affirms. Now as we talk, myself, Ladonna which is not pronounced like Al Pacino, and Pavel, it becomes very apparent that we are all horse nuts…….well, two are horse people and one is just nuts. The discussion turns from cycling to saddles, clinics etc. My new friends are from Poland and have a small training facility in southern Poland. They are immensely interested in soft starting horses, and talked about 3 different clinicians. Small world time……one of those was my friend Randy Reiman. You can bet I placed my bet on Randy and gave them a number to try to get ahold of him.////////
I slept well that night as wind whipped at my tent and dense fog settled in upon me like packing peanuts in a box. Read the last 5 chapters of my 8th book since I began this trip. Awoke in the morning ready to face the new day. Coasted and pedaled down out of the Wicklows under dense cloud cover, nothing new with that. I had one more very steep climb to make before I hit Irelands grand valley wherein so many race horse and steeple chase barns are located. It’s also rather like Minnesota in some ways as it’s a land of 10,000 lakes as well. With that said, while it is pretty, it is also hard to capture an image due to its flatness. I rode north till I was only 8 miles from the border of northern Ireland. Figured that was far enough north so I turned my bike around and found a different route back south towards Dublin once again.////////
Along the way I had a visit with Collum who was nailing down slate roof tiles on a VERY STEEP pitched roof. I actually wondered if he had a prehensile tail that he was holding on with as he nailed.sure glad I don’t have your job I holler at him from the road side. I don’t want it iether he says with a smile, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do he says. We visited for an hour about all sort of things, found out that the bulk of all slate is now cut in Spain. That there are almost no young people within the traditional slate and thatch roof installations. A good slate roof will last 50 years at least with minimal care. He did not care for Trump, to verbose to be a world leader, but I like how he thinks on business he states. Sure glad I don’t have your job he says with a smile……don’t think my arse is designed for a bicycle seat he states. Well, I assure him, we can’t all be on bikes…..some have to walk.//////
Then there was Lorkin, a young fella that I actually met twice in two different towns. An avid traveler, and cyclist, who badly wants to travel. We talked for better than an hour considering we met twice. While I did notice that maybe Lorkins travel confidence was somewhat hindered by a broader based media view, I assured him that the majority of people that we meet while traveling, really only want to be helpful not a hindrance. I sensed that once Lorkin got out there and got his feet wet so to speak, that he would find they travel further abroad quickly became easier and safer feeling. I know that you will be reading this my friend, as I always tell my kids ” don’t let fear and common sense hold you back” it only takes one pedal stroke to begin an adventure./////
And lastly Maurice my friend, it was such a pleasure those few minutes of conversation that we had. I know that you want to place me on a fitness pedestal, but I assure you that’s not the case. So get out there and go for that ride you have been longing to do. My congratulations again on being that guy who is caretaking Dad in his old age. Trust me the day that ends is when you will truly long to talk to him again my friend, the road you long for will always be there. Maurice, when I come back to Ireland, I will contact you for those fly fishing lessons and guiding that you do. All the best and God bless, safe travels wherever you go.
That’s the end of the road for me folks, glad that you came along as it made my journey all the more enjoyable. Not sure what comes next, although I have a pretty good feel that the next trip will be to someplace quite a bit more obscure than this ride. Meantime, I say a prayer of thanks to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ for the safety and protection that I have been granted on this trip. Thanks to the many Szints who prayed for me daily. Thanks to each from me.

Blog 15 – Shamrocks and Kilts Tour


These religious vestments lay hidden away and lost for almost 200 years. Protecting them from Cromwellian looters and pillagers. There are 7 vestments total, all embroidery work was done in Bruge Belgium, the thread is handmade silk and 22k as well as 24k gold and silver. These pieces were started in 1461 and finished in 1632, and then hidden but forgotten about.

Currently parked in a hotel in the city of Waterford. As most of you know the entire family,  Nevada and Levi as well as Pine and Whitney and Mom are all due here the 31st on July. And Jim-Bob has had to severely cut mileage and change his course to be sure to coincide with thier arrival in Dublin. It will be a fun week together, we will see some sights, eat some fine Irish food and enjoy our time together. Looking forward to it.///////
Have I ever taken a moment to explain to you all that this soul is not an ocean loving soul, Iam much closer related to a desert tortise than a dolphin. The Wild Atlantic Way, is a primarily coastal route around the west coast of Ireland as a destination type journey to boost tourism. Don’t get me wrong, it is indeed a beautiful and very scenic route. The downside is that it hugs the coastline like a new brides lingerie, meaning every nook and cranny is taken in…..very time consuming ( stop right there….lingerie is no longer a part of this ongoing description…so just drop it ) And secondly, it is primarily an auto route and it becomes very busy on a sunny afternoon and always busy within certain sections just due to proximity to larger cities. So as much as my wife wanted me to ride the WAW route, honey I rode some of it, but avoided much of it as well for the reasons mentioned. I can only be spellbound for a short time by screeching gulls and waves hungrily lapping at a rock strewn coastline. A coastline that will hold my attention would be covered in big busted mermaids, playful sea otters splashing in tide pools…….and maybe a few decomposing Narwhale carcasses so I could retrieve the horn. Now that’s a shoreline I could get into. A seagull however is just a white version of a crow….that’s it folks. Plus Jim-Bob don’t swim a lick./////
I am a certified interior type country soul, give me hills, grass, cattle, horses and just enough sheep for a couple of good sweaters and I am happy. RETIREMENT DREAM……..Quartsite California amidst the cactus and gravel that fills the unlush countryside, reweaving discarded lawnchairs using baling twine that has been found laying along rural roads after ranchers finish feeding ( lets call it “repurposed” ranch twine it sells well )…..oh, and don’t forget a 115 degree blazing sunset to ensure a constant trickle of sweat runs between your shoulder blades just set the mood for this scene of Jeremiah’s luxurious retirement villa set up behind his 1974 Winnebago Scout motorhome a blue irrigation tarp flaps in the breeze as it acts like an awning. No recycle bins, no dog dropping containers nor Bouganvillea…..the dog droppings are stuck to your left foot and the empty beer is thrown on the pile over to the right…..we will haul it away next year….. or start a new pile?///////
Pretty much always a village within less than 10 miles, so it’s hardly a journey where a person ever feels vulnerable shall we say. It’s not a complaint nor intended as a slight, it’s just here in text to tell you the reader more about what rural Ireland really looks like or most of the UK to be honest. Indeed Scotland had some places with far less population and that out on the edge feeling. There have only been a few instances where I encountered a greater distance between villages, and even fewer where you are overwhelmed by that “I am totally alone` sensation. From my many conversations along the ride, Irelands average farm is between 45 and 75 acres, it would have as many cows as it does acres, and if they raise sheep they could have 2 ewes or sometimes more per acre. They will raise pretty much all their hay on this same farm ground. The value of sheep wool is so low today that it’s now a financial burden to the producer to have it removed. The lambs value is minimal at best, as one producer said to me,  ” in America, when was the last time you sat down to a meal of lamb at your own table” and therein lies the problem, lamb has fell out of favor as has wool itself. As I have been told many times now, the Irish cattle industry is hanging by a thread and a thin strand at that lad. If it weren`t for the EU subsidies we would be gone already. The only ag product holding it’s own is milk, those fellas are doing pretty good right at the moment. The EU subsidizes our beef programs, the wool and lamb prices, it pays us well to rebuild our rock walls and barns, it pays us even better to return to thatched rooves……don’t forget that Poland and Ukraine are the primary producers of fine quality river edge reeds for long lasting thatch rooves and at least Poland is an EU member. As one farmer stated, we have a protected market and that ensures our existence but it does not ensure nor allow profitability because the market is so heavily manipulated. He closed by telling me that while he loves farming, he would be unwilling to talk his children into the lifestyle.///////
So, since we are talking lifestyles and markets, let me summarize the many conversation I have had with regards to education. I think you all know how I feel about advanced education……its totally unnecessary if you have a hard working wife. Okay, okay, put the long knives away I was just kidding. Dang, just imagine what retirement would look like if you could have 2 hard working wives….wowzer.//////
Maybe the longest and most indepth education conversation I had, was with young Claude who was minding the little store in some now forgotten village. Claude has his sights set on forensic type accounting. Claude readily agreed that too many young people were locked onto the notion of requiring a 4 year degree, he himself has student friends who had great grades but have already opted for the skilled trades route. The problem that I see, says Claude, is that the Irish political system, once again it’s one of assurances and equity of outcome, it does not allow nor Invite entrepenurship, matter of fact students leaving University have a skewed version of being in business if you compare it to the same thing in USA for instance. I did assure him, that there are plenty of young people under 30 say, who feel as though financial equity should be guaranteed not just random chance. The Irish follow politics closely, especially the USA, as a young person, I can tell you what all of the EU needs is a little American competativeness tossed into our system, we should take a lesson from Trump on that accord.//////
It struck a chord with me at just how similar the thoughts of my Math degree friend Luke’s thoughts mirrored those of Claude. Keep in mind, one was graduating while the other fellow was just about to begin his education. Luke, readily acknowledged that Ireland was both special and beautifull….but you cannot make dreams happen here nor in Europe. Old money, established money, still rules the day says Luke. If you want to give a dream legs, you almost have to go to the USA , or too a lesser extent Canada. I will try my luck in Canada first says Luke, and if not there, then I will try something in USA. The biggest problem we face right now are Trump administrations tightening immigration restrictions. Certainly a problem for me now, but I agree with the policy. Ironic he says that I am caught in this dilemma. You understand he says to me, that our Irish immigration problem is born out of an EU mandate that has not proven to be healthy for our economy in the long run, nor is it the best thing for the economy that people are leaving he says. That has me curious, so I ask him why he thinks that to be the case. Well says Luke, if you consider the demographics, most of the ones who arrive are in that 18-35 age group. These are the next generation entrepreneurs, that effort and energy should be happening internally to the struggling country in order to help it grow……or at least that’s how I consider it today. Admittedly, it may look and feel different when I move to Canada. Finally there was Chris, who swore off University for that of a trade. Oh, I had good grades and could have done the University route he assured me, but consider that that age group has the highest unemployment rate in our country. My Dad sat me down and showed me the cost of going to 4 year schools ( by the way here in Ireland a 4 year degree means you can be done in 4 years, it’s only California who sells you a 4 year degree that takes the average student 6 years to get due to class impaction ). The income of the tradesman is almost par with that of a college graduate says Chris. Plus, with the degree inhand, you will very likely be working for a large Corp here in Ireland, not very often will you begin your own business. So, I am going to get my electrical journeyman license and buy my first house with the education savings.//////
1725 or it may have been 1726, but it has been a long while that this house has been in my family says Connor. Initially what caught my eye as I rode by, was the simplicity and starkness of the old whitewashed rock cottage. Quite often these cottages are really dolled up with flowers and paint etc, they are beautiful don’t get me wrong……but this one reeked of honesty. The owner in a somewhat tattered wool sweater, wellies and disheveled hair, was out front by the door feeding a mess of kittens fresh milk from the aftermath of his morning chores. An overaged, and over tired collie dog never lifted his head from his gunny sack bed, not for the bothersome cats, nor for Connor and I as we spoke for over an hour. Sadly says Connor, the house will remain in the family but not under the same surname as it has since the beginning, I have never married and have no family left who carries the same last name now he says rather sadly. As though breaking from that thought, Connor exclaims, you sure look healthy, may I ask your age. So rather than tell him my age, I ask how old would he guess me to be. Well says Connor, I am guessing somewhere right around 50, it would be my guess ya couldn’t do this sort of ride if you were much older. Well, I am 63 I tell him. Oh cracky says Connor, your a year older than me……..that’s just hard to believe……are us sure. Oh yes I am pretty sure that’s my age. So, I assure him that the oldest aged long distance rider I have met was a German fellow who at the time was 86, but the STUD that I met was an Austrian aged 79 who was in amazing shape. So, I don’t think it’s purely age that dictates ability, but attitude and a program of continuous fitness maybe as a better determinor of ones health. So Connor asks,  have you always been a over active healthy fella…… I says, I started last week. LOL////////
Sitting here letting my hand washed clothes dry hanging on the fence outside, drinking coffee and talking to Abdul the hotel manager. We are talking about I migration and education, both are tender edged subjects, and both of us are visitors to this country. The problem here in Ireland, is the willingness to work says Abdul, the Irish youth are just not willing to do what is needed to be working, they have expectations far in excess of what is available.  The immigrant kids that come here have no expectations they just take whatever is available and move on from that to the next job that comes up. So while it looks like the jobs are being taken by a foreign body, the company hiring would most likely hire the Irish person had they even applied he says. His point makes sense, not being here everyday, I cant argue with it. The immigrant kids that come here are mostly uneducated, so they have no expectation based in the fact that they have a degree to substantiate their rate of employment, on the other hand says Abdul, there are not enough jobs created In Ireland each years to employee all the degrees being turned out each year iether. When you take a look at what is going on here Ireland, most of the immigrants will gravitate towards the tradesman skills, they see that as a huge opportunity to them within this economy. I think this is very smart choice, you are earning money even as you train, and there is no out of pocket money for the advanced education.  By the time a young man hits 35, he can own a new home back in his country of origin, a place he may choose to retire too…..but he will more than likley  NEARLY own his home here in Ireland as well by that time. I see this all the time says Abdul./////
Rain, and then some more rain, and the heavy rain is interspersed with light showers. I am cycling as close to nude as is legal, the temp is low seventies, and there are just the right amount of hills to keep the body warm but not abundantly so. The hills around are swathed in a mist of grey cloud, hanging like a canopy on a four poster bed. The winding road undulate and curves under the hiss of my tires on wet asphalt. Hedges seem to grow right in front of you with all the water, the rivers and small streams are just a little darker and angrier this morning with addition of the rain that has fell through the night. My tent hung or sloped like the shoulders of a man at a funeral, the fabric wet and heavy with rain to the point of saturation. My bed however, remained quite dry, thank you God for that small mercy. The sun, at least as a daily visitor to the Emerald Isle, has left some 4 days ago. Since that time it seems the color grey has invaded the palette by which my world is painted, even the rows of small buildings that line the village streets seem to be more grey than when under the watchful eye of the Sun, flowers hang limply waiting the arrival of the next ray of sunshine. Sick and tired of the coastline I am headed for a row of distant hills that remind me of Dragons teeth, a little climbing will be good for my somewhat surely demeanor on this day that the Lord hath made. The ground in front of me is in the state of constant rise as I approach the hills,. It’s easy to see below the cloud line that aged spruce forests are being harvested, other places I can see where hefty deciduous trees are being pruned and thinned to further thicken those Elms, Oaks etc that remain behind standing sentinel over the very productive Irish ground they inhabit. It brings to mind the biblical command from God that states we have been given dominion over his creation and that specifically we are to be STEWARDS of his creation. At least as it pertains to forestry in most of the UK, that seems to be happening.//////
The fast moving River au Suir flows down thru the valley that one could call “castle valley”. At least by my count when walking thru the Clonmel Museum, I think I counted 9 or 10 castles, and 3 abbey’s within a 15 mile radius of tiny Clonmel. I rode as far north or inland as Cashel, then rerouted Shirley back to the east and south. Had I not intervened she would have headed due north again towards the Cavan region and no telling where to from there. Sometimes you just have to seize control of the daily ride to keep it on track, today was one of those days. I sat, eating my lunch in a parking lot of a small village grocery store. Nothing fancy nor exotic, just a tub of yogurt filled with fresh fruit and a quart of whole milk. The afternoon breeze blew softly and it was not raining, so I threw my tent out on the ground to dry while I ate. My phone cord is broken from all the twisting and kinking etc. while we have been traveling, so I use my phone very sparingly since the remedy now is a new cord. And that only happens when you get to a larger town. How many castles can you photograph I ask……my brother may ask……and did ask me…….how many danged Cathedrals do you need photos of Jeremiah? To which I say, everyone that I pass, I may never see them in person again…….but I can always look back at the photos.///////
Waterford is my current location, yes, that Waterford……the home of original Irish Lead crystal tht is or was famous the world over. I remember as a kid my Mom talking about Waterford crystal and how beautiful and collectable it is. Sadly she raised a son whose favorite glasses are plastic and you get one in each bag of ” Hank the Cowdogs” brand of dog food…….which by the way Mr. Erickson, should be on the market and in every country feed store. You can thank me later from the retirement villa you buy in Dalhart with the proceeds of such superlative thinking. Pardon my random thinking, Drover and I got off on a financial tangent, wont happen again….. so the process of making crystal comes obviously from the glass making process, but with a slight twist in the making. The glass makers of where else, but , Venice are credited with its discovery and perfectin standard glass. Glass uses silica potash in the making so it is clear with a slight blue tinted at the edges. So to slow the rate that refracted light passes thru the glass structure they infuse it with lead oxide, ( for those of you who are lactose intolerant, gluten free paleo dieters, soy drinking food worriers……..I am not sure the lead will kill you in one glass or 2 of wine…..I will look into it.) which speeds passage of light rays  and renders a very white or translucent looking glass product. Hence when you see those amazing pieces of real crystal it incorporates many cut or ground in place designs. These grindings are done with wheels that are charged with oxide particles and all grinding is done fully wetted so as not to heat and crack the fine crystal product. All cracking is done later when the wife throws the crystal into the dishwasher as she watches yet another episode of Frustrated Housesives of 93201. Waterford crystal is no more, at least not Waterford Crystal manufactured here in the village of Waterford. The labour costs in combination with no one drinking out of crystal anymore since that damned dog food company began giving away bright colored plastic cups and bowls…..says the docent at Waterford Crystal Museum. The crystal we sell now, is like many thinks, sourced where it can be made and priced the most effectively. So does that mean China now manufactures the majority of what I am looking at I ask her.  Yes, she says, except for the most outstanding pieces which are still being made in Poland and the Chekhov’s Republic.//////
Over hill and dale I roam, constantly in search of home…..and even more so as my time here in the UK draws to an end. I know full well how lucky, no, indeed how blessed I am to have had the chance to ride this piece of Gods Creation. Not only that, but my family was behind me and supported the trip not only thru prayer but financially as well. I do however make every effort to travel cheaply, meaning less than Hilton type rooms and so far only 2 full SUPPERS ( dinners for those raised in USA ) have been bought. Still with that said, I know this journey cost more per day than any of my others simply because there was a village every few miles…….its the convenience factor as I say. So thanks Mom for holding the fort down as we say back in USA. I promise I will make it up to you first morning by making you SOURDOUGH toast the first morning I am home. Can any trip be a true success without the blessing of Christ and the overarching prayers of the steadfast Saints who know me and care about me…..I think not. A HEARTFELT THANKS TO THE MANY WHOM I KNOW PRAY FOR ME DAILY.

Blog 14 – Shamrocks and Kilts Tour

IMG_2297I am currently drying out, sitting in the front door foyer of a small Supervalu grocery store, and out side the foyer is an outdoor laundrette……yup. an outdoor laundrette. Here’s how it was told to me, and I am sure it’s the truth. Sometime back in the early sixties, a fellow returned from vacation in America, he was ecstatic. About the fact that America was building ” drive-in-theaters!!. He was telling everyone in the local Tavern about it, off in a dark corner sat an Irish entrepreneur who was listening intently. The gears were turning, his mind was burning thru ideas until he finally settled on the winning “once in a lifetime” formula that still remains today. An edifice if you will to his keen sense of time and space within a fast developing business climate. No neon is required to announce the location of Arrtys Outdoor Launderette. Arty has even franchised his concept over the years since its inception in 1965………. there are now 2 of these fabulous facilities I was told. Picture a giant stainless cube, into which you slide 2 washers and those 2 machine flank a single dryer in the center, to one end is a coin machine controller for all machines……the motto is simple at Arty’s…wash your clothes here , rain or shine your clothes will get soaked and so will you.//////


Sure feels or at least sounds like I am living on the backlot of the movie set SNITCH. The vehicles, the faces, the roughness…..but the speech is strait out of the movie. There is a playboy bunny who has been imported from Ukrainia, her well toned butt covered in spandex is just 16 inches in front of my face. She is all body and makeup, she can find more ways to bend and contort to choose a movie from the flat list than an actor from Circ de Soliel…….I am not even sure of what I am typing to be honest…..I haven,t looked at the keyboard for 15 minutes. Accompanied by 2 gangster’s who are her escort which is known as “dual -pimping” One, a superlite Irish kid covered in neck and hand tats, bad mustache and unruly red hair like a highland steer that is back combed and blow dried. The other fellow, very heavy set eastern European, my guess Serbian or Croat. He,s like a refrigerator with sideburns. So it looks to me like the money earning princess wants to watch a movie tonight, and I am wondering if Guy Ritchie wrote this script./////

Skibberreen Famine Soup Kitchen, fed 9000 people a day at the peak of the infamous Irish potato blight.

Da, da says the big fella, pointing with a hard thick finger at the movie icon that caught his eye……Fist enFurrias is eggsalent fleek…….vee shudd vawtch dis he says with some authority as he rocks back on his heels to emphasize the point. I am sitting here watching one shiny object and listening to the none shiny object, beginning to think the diameter of his biceps may be a larger number than his “EYE-Q”. Raiyt raiyt says the skinny pimp, at’s a good flick Victor…….butt…..ave ya seen da Pelham one tuu tree yet, it’s a little more of a tinkin movie eff ya know what’ameen. I done vanna sit a tink, I vants ta sit an vawtch doan-eye says the big fella in a sort of irritated tone. Yeah raiyt says the skinny fella, I knows essactly wha,yameen doan eye. Naught tuu much tinkin, den how bout dis,ere one as he points to the icon for Titanic……that,uns all bout Irish histree Vic. The princess in the meantime can barely contain herself in her overly taunt ballet leggings, she leans way over strait from the waist to point at an icon pretty much at the top of the list????? I vanna vawtch dis one as she places a perfectly manicured 2″ long mauve nail on the icon……she is pointing to Moanna….. da Rock he, is so qewte. Okay, okey says the big fella, I’vill get dis vunn……Shawn go and get us some beers. Shawn the thinker says….d’uss she know the whole muvee is a kids cartoon?? Shud’up an getzz da beer Shawn, says the big fella./////
I am riding down the street in a far off town in a foreign country, the streets are narrow, the buildings are gaily painted and the town is extremely busy due to a PGA Golf Tournament. So, obviously I am a bit preoccupied with just surfing the ride thru town…….and out of the corner of my one good eye I see z small red car whiz past…..and with my one good ear I hear…..” HEY JEREMIAH” as clearly as a church bell rings on Sunday morn. POOCHIE MAGGIE I  think……who can I owe money too over here. So, I roll off to the sidewalk and turn to see if I can spot the red car……nope, it’s out of sight to me. There is a fit looking fella approaching on the sidewalk. As he draws closer, a smile appears and he sticks his hand out to greet me, Pavel Danko of PDSaddles on Instagram. I stayed with Pavel and his wife Magdalena, along with Rebecca and Theressa his small daughters. It was a fun evening, they fed me like a king and gave me a great bed and a shower for the evening. Thankyou Pavel and Magdalena for your friendship and hospitality.///////
The Cliffs of Moher, a part of my sights that I should see list. Just 5 miles away, I was a little ticked and told Collen so in an email. It had been raining all morning and I was pretty wet, the closer to the coast I got the colder I got and the air was heavy and hazy. I could hardly see a few hundred feet, there is no way that I can see the cliffs I am thinking…..pretty much a wasted ride. My map-app shows a small trail right on the cliffs edge so I head that way with the intent of riding it. The insight realization is……holy crap, be lucky to just walk this trail. It is designed by Irelands leading knee Doctor, and gets 2 cases a week from this trail design I am sure. ///////
Push my bike for about a mile, actually strain and fart and cuss in Gaelic, which interestingly enough sounds like speaking in tongues at evangelical churches. About a mile into it, it Dawn’s on me that I still have 4 more miles till the cliffs, at this rate it will take a full day Jim-Bob. Strip my bike of the bags, throw it over the fence and rebag the bike so I can walk maybe 1/4 mile over to the main road. Restrip the bags, throw the bike over another gate, rebag the bike and begin peddaling to Moher Observation site. By the time I get there, the clouds are lifting, not bright and blue, but sure enough lifted. Hundreds of people walking the cliffs. A grand sight to see for sure, and glad that my wife convinced me to stay with it, and get out there to see them.///////
WE NEED A COWBOY. You are perfect, you should stay around till the weekend and we can put you to work. This is Tuesday morning, and in my mind I am wondering what do I do for three whole days??? It all began out of curiosity as I pedaled thru a ti y village early in the morning. A man walks across the street in front of me, carrying 2 huge spools of wool. Something loud and mechanical is going g on in the building he enters. I roll off the street and follow him into a building that is a converted rock barn. It’s a wollen mill, the looms I am watching were built sometime around 1865. Still chugging away in all there mechanical glory, the only thing electric now is the motor. He tells me they were converted over from a ceiling mineshaft operation driven by a water wheel. Gorgeous pieces, but noisy as all get out. One loom is producing a very subtle herringbone weave pattern, while the other is doing something in shades of blue, rendering simple stripes.//////
We are scarf weavers she tells me, using the finest wools available such as Italian Merino, and Alpaca from South America to make our product. See here she says, and invites me into a other room where 4 machines, all Japanese knitting machines, these are the best on the market today. We cannot keep up says Anka the owner and designer. We began with just 2 people and the old looms and just one account. Today, we are 20 people working and several hundred accounts. Our visit quickly turned from scarves to cycling since she and her husband are also avid cyclists. We visited about many things, including our President Trump, I am not sure I scored any points during the discussion, but I defended the man over the issues that I feel he has done well on.//////
It was during this whole conversation that I was interrupted by Anka who approached with a smile….you are a cowboy she says…we really need you for the weekend we are having a cowboy festival and you could be our cowboy. Much as I would love to Anka, I gotta be moving on, there are miles to cover and sights to see. I gave her Pavels name too see if they could possibly get something out together. Sorry Pavel, but I actually gave out your name 2 times, I should explain the other. I met the epitome of tough when it comes to cycling that is. Rolled out from a tiny side road I had been riding, out onto a main road that I would be on for about a mile. Right across the road 4 people on bikes looking at maps, so I rolled over to visit as us cyclists do. Unbloody believable. 2 couples, all 4 very fit specimens, plus 2 dogs of which one could have used some walking miles being he was a wee bit chubby. So they are riding main roads, not the older side roads which are for sure hillier and steeper. The lead man, very fit, rides recumbent bike that pulls a long trailer carrying 4 surf boards, it has a totally closed top covered in solar panels at the back and a litle basket on the trailer front and center for a border collie looking dog to sit. After him comes one of the women with all the bags stuffed full on her bike, followed by another women with 2 rear bags stuffed and she pulls a little kiddie trailer behind which has a fat fluffy dog in it. All that is followed by the last man, who Carrie’s the beds matts and tents, the heavier type and bulkier type product. I really wish I had been on the ball enough to take a pic, but I was thinking more about water right then.///////
Priests Leap, began its life as a simple cattle drivers and pilgrims trail in 1612, and I assure you it is just barely more than that today. It winds, twists, crawls and threatens to fall off the hill backwards in places as it weaves it’s way thru the hills and over the mountain to the Ballylickey side. Stephen assured my, I would be happy to say I made it ” cause many sure dont”, I sees dem all the time come a rolling back down this a way. Dis here is Lassie, he says ta me…..I think she likes ya. Ladies is nis sidekick sheepdog that rides with him on back his quad. Stephen even made me take his and Lassies pucture…….then asked me to see the picture………he asked me for my camera I thought so he could see it closer, but no, he leans over to show lassie who proceeds to lick the screen…………dats guud he says with a smile, she likes it.///////
Gunna be professional “Hurlers” when we grow up they said. They being Connor Shawn and Shamus Patrick, both are going into Grade 9 and wanting to get on the schools A Team. I met them as they were about to go for a swim in the lake.  Hurling is an Irish game, not played anywhere other than here in Ireland. Something of a cross of LaCrosse, Hockey and maybe a little ruby. Each player Carrie’s an odd shaped stick on which they can scoop the ball, carry the ball on the paddle and swat the ball in a passing fashion or as a blocking maneuver. A game comprises 2 periods of 35 minutes totalling 70 minutes of hard running play./////
Chug, chug we go, it’s pretty much a uphill grade all the way from Kenmare as we follow the Sheen River up to its source. The road begins at Kenmare as a good 7 foot lane that is marked fairly well. But within just a few miles, it narrows right down to a very modest 6 foot, becomes a neglected 5 footer and finally up over the top it is gravel in many places and two paved strips with grass and weeds down the center over everything else. Dense spruce and larch forest, some of it young, some just harvested, and others will soon feel the bite of the proverbial axe soon lines the hillsides in many places. This hilltops surrounding are totally devoid of trees, its peet bogs in the hollows, and livley streams from every angle you can imagine, running their course to join the Sheen below. Finally you cross a humpback stone bridge, really more a pack bridge as it has very low side walls on it, much lower than a auto type bridge. The road vaults toward the sun like a worshipping sun ray, the hills envelope the senses in verdant green of every shade plus a few extra. The sweat is running, the arms and brow are glistening with sweat………no, I am not eating Mexican food……..I am riding up hill and its steep. But this little road is very different from almost all the others I have ridden, it still feels more like an upgraded foot path than a modernized road. The climbs are short and steep, then you turn and slant across the hill for a stretch only to turn strait up again…….and on  and on it goes. The wind becomes very noticeable, the sun which has been out all day so far, is really baking me and I am conserving water cause I know I am low. You crest at a monument marking Priests Leap, apparently when this Priest heard that It looked like Hillary may win…….he just couldn’t take it any longer. Okay so I added that little bit of history. //////
Walking downhill…..ever heard of such a thing???? Well, that was me coming off the mountain, the hills were so steep that my brakes would not hold me back. So rather than kill myself trying to take the corners, potholes, bumps and grass trip thrj the center, I just walked so that I could still finish up my blog…..always thinking of you guys. It took sometime, but finally made it down to Coolhuma Bridge with a fine river running under the fantastic old stone bridge built 1720. Too much sweat, too much sun baked sweat for me to resist, so I stripped off right there and went for a swim, just me, the fantastic river and 3 ticked off salmon fishermen. They were upset since I ruined their fishing, I told them they got tot watch a cowboy strip naked and learn to dog paddle instead…… hardly placated their anger. I dressed in the same sweaty clothes and headed into Bantry……..not actually expecting to find a cycle shop to have some work done on ol’Shirley. But sure enough, Dennis was very willing and ready to work on my bike for me at 5 o’clock. By 5.30, he had installed a new rear cassette and the chain, plus new brakes all around, plus test rode it for himself to assure it was all good and I was done and gone just 5 minutes before 6. Thanks again Dennis, really appreciate the work and the visit, whi h was mostly about our President Trump.///////
Up hill down hill and then uphill again, it’s the story of most countryside, but here in county Cork it’s a fast and quick rise and fall scenario. Now county Kerry, and Molls Gap coming south out of Killarney Park, now that was a climb and a ride to see. The road up to Mols Gap, is just one of those roads you have to see to really get a feel for how special it is, alot like Priests Leap which I say is its equal but for different reasons. Consider that the road side up out of Killarney Park is boulder strewn, the earth covering is as thin as a sheet of 1960 linoleum flooring, so moss covers everything like paint until there is a base for a blade of grass. Sheep pellets, and red deer dot the hills as you ride……many more sheep than deer, don’t believe everything the tourist guide says. I seen two red deer does, they were as tame as the sheep I seen, not sure why so tame????  May or may not have had anything to do with that blue dart hanging out of their butt???? JK the lines in this area are deformed and twisted, and I don’t really know why, but they are contorted for sure and make for interesting scenery. Almost at the top of the brade, you have a very clever “Adopt a mountain Sheep Program”, administered by a local farmer and stock dog raiser called Kissane.///////
Roared down off the mountains backside from Bantry, heading towards Skibbereen…………scrrrreeech…….dang near ran over an elderly dairy farmer moving his milk cows. Now had I came down this hill yesterday on the old brakes, I would have wiped poor ol’Dennis right out, or cut one of his cows in half with my front wheel. Dennis, is 86, and letting g his cows out to walk the lane for the first time this season. 71 acres, and 70 cows being milked plus he also puts up haylage from that acre count, and we only buy extra feed on the really bad years maybe every 5 years or so. I would call that very productive ground wouldn’t you. Roll into Skibbereen at about 9am, it’s a pretty depressed little town it seems, alot of empty buildings and not a lot of activity on the streets mind you its ear,y for the Irish to be out and about. This town is credited with being the epicenter of the famous Irish Potato Famine. At its peak, 9000 people a day were fed daily at the first ever FREE soup kitchen. The year is 1867 and it’s the destitution within this village that brought the world together to send money and food to the severely starving of Ireland. The potato blight wiped out everything for nearly 4 seasons until new and stronger varieties could be developed. There was even a dying house ,located beside the graveyard where individuals would simply walk to the stone house, crawl in thru a window and lay on the rotting piles of corpses awaiting their own final death. The remains of over 300 were found inside the house itself. Thus far, I have seen 4 famine graveyards while cycling this beautiful country. It’s actually hard to I imagine that it could have happened, given how green and lush the countryside is, the amount of water etc……..everything needed is there to be productive……..but let one little disease get started and go unchecked and it quickly becomes a humanitarian calamity.//////
Once again, my roads have been very safe as well as quite pretty in most places, albeit quite demanding in many places as well. The prayers of many saints have laid a path of safety for me and for that I am so thankful for the Lords hand upon this journey.

Blog 13 – Shamrocks and Kilts Tour

Life begins anew, I crossed over from Scotland to Ballytown, Northern Ireland early this morning on the HMS Seagag. Approx. 30 miles of open ocean to cross, not much for a sea gull over open water. But a heck of a long way fro a guy afraid of the local wading pool. Certified, not a beach guy, not an ocean guy…..and bikinis actually look best against a backdrop of sagebrush. And the only proper beach cover up, should be brown duck canvas and have a Carhartt label on it some place./////
The Cambeltown natives may still be chuckling bout that Yank that they set strait regarding the ferry crossing. Aye lad, it’s a ruf’un, only a boaht’a size of’a bathtub ya know. It’ll be like riding a bronco ya know, and cold lad, ya ride topside in tha back of a wee boat covered in sea spray ya’kno, so dress warm lad. Well heck, it was nothing like that, it was less than 2 hours across, inside, we even slowed so that we could watch some porpoises that were racing our boat. Gorgeous smooth seas. Arrived Campbeltown on glassy water, and bright sunshine. Couldn’t ask for better weather. I shall endeavor not to change the underlying theme from OMG ITS SO DARN WET to that of OMG ITS SO BLINKING HOT.//////
Found a hardware store, my handlebar wrap paid the price on the way over with the tying down process. Rewrapped and retaped my bars and was out of town by about 11.30 am. Headed north up along the shore to the Giants Causeway, an infamous piece of the Irish tourist trap infrastructure and an important piece of outstanding geological earth formation. The rock, is shattered into small mostly square columns some columns have a height of plus 250 feet above ground. It is estimated the rock runs some 200 feet under ground as well. My second time here, so I took the high cliff route this time for better views. The actual rich outcroppings were crawling with people, so the cliffs gave a better alternative. Fantastic bright sun, deep blue Atlantic waters washing on shore./////
Rode out and thru Bushmills, the home of Irelands best known whiskey…..not declaring it to be the best mind you. Camped south of the little whiskey village. I had been told several times now that wild camping in Ireland, although not frowned upon, it is difficult to find a place to set down on. I met Hienrich struggling to the top of one of the big rollers we were going thru. I had just covered 4 of them, and he assured me, that I had many many more yet in front of me. He started by asking me about camping spots, telling me how difficult it has been for him. So, maybe there is some truth to what I have been hearing? Hienrich, just a little older than me, admitted that he is worse out and will end his trip in Belfast. We all get overdone by different things, as for myself very little bothers me except for pedaling, bike seats, sweating, raining, sunshine, big hills, steep climbs, rollers, sore knees, sore sit bones, sharp corners, wet tents, no croissants,  damp sleeping bags, body odor, heavy cloud cover, fast cars, hedges, smelly clothes, instant coffee, no tea shops……..that’s about all really.//////
Winding my way around the larger towns, not even sure why really, it’s not as if its Paris or LA or something. Met up with a trekker while going thru a s all village. Got to visiting over tea and he began telling me about his walking adventures. He was in USA about 15 years ago and walked Route 66. My dear God in heaven what a fantastic walk thru amazing country. I went back to USA just 2 years ago with a mate of mine, we were going to walk San Francisco to Portland. I just couldn’t believe what a trash heap that San Fran is, discusting I tell ya. Bloody bums as thick as thieves, junkies and their crap everywhere. We UBERED north of the bridge and enjoyed the rest, but that SF is a hell hole as far as I am concerned. I basically agreed with him, but did take time to remind him that the fire hydrants are all nicely painted red… that both dogs and people know where the public toilets are. Thanks Gavin Nuisance for helping create Third World Frisco./////
Cycling Ireland has been much easier than Scotlan or England for that matter. The roads are better, and while they have plenty of hills, they are no where close to as many that are as steep. Most are very similar to the hills we would find at home. Road some tiny back roads out to the north of Donegal, my hope was to camp on some high mountain side to the north that offered a fantastic setting sun photo opportunity. No such luck, I rode far enough to make it happen, I was situated high enough…..but the ocean view just never came to be, not even as I now pass thru Donegal and have tea for a break. My setting sun shots were obscured by angry dark clouds that promised and delivered rain for most of the night.///////
As I rode along, I kept seeing large white feed sacks laid out just rando ely on the ground. My first thought was it was tree plantings, since people always talk about the thin poor soil of Ireland. Finally my chance to actually fi d out happened as I rode along. Gavin and James were out working g with the heavy sacks so I stopped to see what this was all about. We are PEET HARVESTORS he tells me. Me ol’Dad has done it’teer on this hillside all me life, an eye duus ta same as ee. Yes, we machine harvest now, in me dads day it was all sawn and trebched out. Much harder work for sure in the old days. So, the machine cuts a swath maybe 4 foot wide by a few inches deep. We let that dry for 3 days or so, then come back and turn it once for another 3 days or so. After that, just bag it and haul it home and it’s ready. No, he says, it’s not quite as hot as good coal, but it will sufe enuff keep the house warm just fine. Oh sure be says, there’s alot of bags out here, but it takes a full bag to heat the house each night. And we have 3 big rock houses to heat. It’s really best you don’t let your rock noise cool off cause they take a long ti e to reheat after that.///////
Donegal wasn’t exactly as I had built it to be in my minds eye. The bay, is actually quite a tiny and narrow bay with heavy trees lining the coast. You actually don’t see the water till your left foot gets wet so to speak. The town has some interesting sites, which I took in, such as Donegal Castle, a Railroad Museum, a ned little town square which is actually triangular shaped…..but let’s no go there since the Irish don’t like it mentioned to them either. I stayed around for about 6 hours, walking, looking, thinking about home, looking at stuff I had no interest in and wasn’t going to buy. There was a town fair going on, which really had the place hoping. Alot of music, doing top 40 covers badly, not as bad as Chinese karaoke but badly. Not one Irish music of the traditional style at least while I was standing around. Rode about 3 miles south of town and threw up my tent for the night. Got good and wet thru the night, but I did not.///////
Decided to head more or les east, take in a few sites like the marble caves, and see some of Irelands version of the Lake District. About a 65 mile day on fair roads. Ended up campi g in the public park at Bellcoo, ate food from a grocery store, pasta tiki tiki and a spicy chicken wrap along witha ,large bottle of liquified vegetable greens. Sat in a lawn chair that was for sale out in front of the little store…..was nice. The Marble caves will knock your socks off in approximately 38,000 years once all the pieces have had time to grow into something discernable. My tour guide Luca made it all fun and worth i. 18, and headed for Uni this fall to study medical biology engineering.  Pretty on the ball kid I thought, had alot of life plans made already.///////
Rained a few times thru the night and woke to very heavy cloud cover. No sun to be found in any direction, sort of depressing really or I find it to be. So on today’s menu is a ride ba k almost in the same direction as yesterday. I am headed almost due west now to see some spectacular water falls, the highest in Ireland to be honest. Interesting ride as it takes me around more lakes or as they say here, Loughs. My ride ends up splitting between two huge glacial moraine with a beautiful lake between sitting in the depression formed by shear glacial weight. Heck, if we hadn’t started driving cars and wearing fake wool made out of heavy crude oil……there’s no telling, this place may still be frozen today. So my advice, but another car and get driving, it’s not exactly warm today. Got rained on several times today, but nothing reL heavy, the water on the road wasn’t even over the hubs on my bicycle…… Mary and Verna you don’t have to be worried bout me just yet. Mary and Verna are the most strident prayer warriors you can have on your team – thanks to you both.///////
Well, the ride was pretty that’s for sure. But the tour guide book failed to mention that the huge water falls only actually run when it is raining HEAVY. the tallest, called the Devils Chimney is 3 feet 7 inches.. okay just kidding, did you swallow your teeth on that one. The actual height is a little over 200 feet, but it is broken up into 2 parts. The Other water fall is a out half that height,  ut will run much longer after a rain spell. As luck would have it, the sign said if you can see them from the road, don’t bother walking up because they are not running.///////////
No loss, we enjoyed the scenery and kept rolling on with the trip. It took me into Drumcliff, which lays along the bay above Donegal. Passing thru I spotted an old Cathedral off to the left and as my brother has told me several times……there some sort of homing beacon on that dang bike of yours, it turns to every church it sees. The oldest cross known in Ireland sits in this little cemetery. The cross and siege tower date 850 for the tower and approx. 900 as the time when the cross was made and erected. There are remnants or evidence of quite a large Abbey that was a part of the church grounds at one time. The records from the church show 5 seriously long sieges by the Viking hoard that frequented the shoreline raiding, taking prisoners that would be sold into slavery and put into slavery within the viking villages. ///////
Pastor Robert, a man of God with a great knowledge of his native towns church history, as well as a quick sense of humor. The church is a rebuild after it was sacked in 1480 sometime by a group of angry Iowa farmers…..upset over the loss of the corn subsidy. So the new church has not only the old original rock within its walls, but as was done on many occasions, they incorporated ornately carved stone that was at one time a part of the Abbey walls. Robert explained that it not time the siege tower was 5 floors in hieght. There is a water cistern within the middle of the tower that supplied the fresh water that would be needed when under siege. Great stop, had tea at the church tea room, thankyou Robert for an enjoyable afternoon.////////
Rolled into Sligo sometime later afternoon, didn’t spend alot of time. My route took me right thru downtown Sligo, so we seen the town pretty well. Out of Sligo on an R marked road, this means that it is a safer farm road, sometimes single lane and sometimes a very tight 2 lane. About 18 more miles and we roll into Ballytubber Abbey, built 1210 if my memory serves me correctly. Not much is left of that building today, it is in the midst of a modernized rebuild right now. Out of there and down thru Castlegar which is a cute little town. Skip thru that town and navigate my way to another very tiny and tight road out thru Srah and Tourmakeady. These little villages lay upon the shores of Lough ( lake ) Mask. I camped on the shoreline, donned my speedo and had a swim to wash a little sweat off….it felt great and the water was not really cold which always helps.////////
Robert Archibald Shaw, an actor of some renoun within the US movie scene, was a native son of Tourmakeady and a well loved citizen who was thought very highly of by the locals. Mr. Shaw had an elegant home along the lake shore, he was very philanthropic with the local community. From as far as 200 miles away, I was told that I needed to hit this area of Connemara and take in Tourmakeady./////////
I was not impressed with the very boggy section from Sligo to Castlegar, stunted spruce and larch trees, tons of rock about and dark water bogs everywhere. So boggy it seemed to me they didn,t even turn sheep out on the bog fields. But south along the lake, it was all grass, stone walls, huge hills and sheep abound. Some of the prettiest riding I have done yet. The hills, or better yet mountains were rough and rugged, reminded me of a small version of Slovenia. All total we crossed 3 passes up thru these intertwined ranges of mountains. Really glad I took this route, it proved to be beautiful riding. This little bit of riding made me wish I had a drone with me. It seems that would give a person the best chance of capturing the real extent of the rock walls that have been constructed./////
I actually heard it before I seen it. “Come by Sally”……” att’a girl Sally…….sharp single note whistle, followed by “down Sally”. I knew someone was working a stock dog, more than likely a Border Collie. Finally, I turned a corner and the rock walls no longer obscured my side view. There was Joe Joyce, giving a tour bus group a demonstration of his very capable dogs. I rolled my bike up his EXTREMELY STEEP drive, and joined in with the 30 or so people who were part of 2 tour bus groups. I really liked the style of his dogs, taller and leggy like a dog I owned at one time. Also his dogs were tight pawed and short haired which appeals to me in the hotter climates we have. Enjoyed watching Joe work 3 dogs, while a dozen puppies of various ages frolicked among the viewers on the observation deck. JOE JOYCE STOCKDOGS  094-954-8853 Lough Na Fooey, Shanafaraghuan, Clonbur County, Galway, Ireland///////
Rolled on past Joe,s and hit a gorgeous golden sand beach which would have been beautiful under some sunshine. But it was a dull grey day for me. The road turns steep and heads up thru a multi-switchback hill climb. Several miles climb, up out of the heavy grass and tree lined shores edge and into a rock strewn tundra type scenario at the very top. Peet bog type country up here.  A steep downhill greeted me on the other side and off in the very distance another lake grew out of the curtain of mist. I didn’t exactly blaze my way down the other side like  Satan follower on his roller coaster to HELL. My brakes are about shot and I am trying to make them last till the end of this little journey. We shall see if that holds up or not. I have a love hate relationship with most things electronic, that includes my new Gopro Hero 7. It is capable of stunning images, can’t believe how nice really given the size of the lenses and sensor. But it’s one of those 1 button does everything type interfaces… know…..when your tired, maybe a little sweaty…….ya press the magic button. The camera says…..are you sure you want to discard that image???? You panic, he k no keep that shot, I have been waiting on the sun to come out for over and hour… press the magic button again to confirm you KEEP THE SHOT. The camera responds almost instantly ” you have selected your third wife’s cell number….is this correct? Anger and sweat cause your thumb to slide just slightly off to the right when you MASH THE DAMN BUTTON. The camera responds…..”congratulations we have erased your second wife…..shall we continue? Not only that frustration, but the little bugger will just randomly wake up, beeped and shoot video till it’s dead. Had that 3 or 4 times now as well. But boy howdy, it takes a sweet image when you ask.///////
Down near the bottom of this very narrow twisting strip of this butt biting asphalt, you will hit a tee intersection or a sign if your brakes fail. And right there just 100 yards to the left of the tee, lays the tiny shop of Dennis Kendrick. The old establishment was formerly the home of Ann Bespoke Sweaters. Sadly, Ann has passed, leaving 87 year old photographer Dennis living alone with his faithful little dog whom I will call Waddles. The little fella came out to meet me on my bike, all wiggles and happy. It would take you a full 2 hours to properly pet the little bugger he is 2 feet tall and 3 feet wide. Went in, and almost immediately began a conversation with Dennis, a lifelong professional photographer. We shared stories, and he eagerly passed on some sound advice regarding photos. Told me a funny story about working with Ansel Adams on a shoot in London. Fantastic fellow with some equally fantastic images hanging in his little gallery. And was not at all hard to see the loss of his Ann written in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. God bless you Dennis and a speedy recovery on that hip issue my friend.///////
Not sure just how far it is on past there and you come to a corner that gives you the option of going down thru “Quiet man Cottage”, this is the shoot location for one of John Wayne’s earlier movies shot 1952, starring yes JW and Mareen Ohara. Check it out, it is still available if you want to watch it. I on the other hand hooked left towards Oughterada. Cute little town even though I arrived rather late. I stopped on the side of the road to visit with Helga from Germany. She only has 3 weeks, and is in Ireland for the 4th time trying to cycle all the way round. She smiles, looks right at me and says ” dis bike looks heavy ja”. Very much so, I need to get stronger legs or bring less junk with me.! Ja, ja she says as she lovingly Pat’s the down tube on her bike???? That’s when I notice its electric assist. I buy dis after I cum heer da phirst tyme,  many hills very tuff…….now, eye juss wroll right up mit no sweatink….nice, she says with a broad smile. I am dying of envy, my quads offered to trade and even throw in the Gopro as a bonus……but no go she said.///////
IMG_2107Arriving late gave me less than the best chance to find a good wild camp spot. Was just rolling along a broad babbling stream with a wild overgrown bank when I came upon a tiny little mowed section with a picnic table. I stopped, made some tea and toast while it got darker. And with a little darkness for cover, I set my tent up on an out-of-the-way spot in the park. Went strait to sleep it was already 10 and bed time. Got out of there as early as I dated so I could ride on into Galway and miss whatever commute and delivery traffic there is first thing. As it was, it was pretty fast moving and a little more difficult visibility than I like to ride in. Raining a real fine mist, heavy heavy low cloud and fog off the very nearby ocean. I thought that I would have to crawl on my hands and knees to find the waters edge, but alas I am now in Galway and the sun poked out brightly at about 4pm today. Arriving here by 8.15am, it gave me time to have a coffee and then do some walking and looking around Galway. Right down on the main walk thru street, I met an evangelist for Christ, his name is Phillip and he passes out Bibles to folks. So once again, may God bless the saints who pray for my safety while I am away riding, may he grant me the strength to finish and the courage to speak to those whom he puts in my path. Good night and may God continue too bless these United States of America on this 4th of July, special thanks to over 200 years of soldiers who have laid down their lives to protect and preserve  this beautiful nation

Blog 12-Shamrocks and Kilts Tour

My intentions were good, my effort was also good considering it was pouring rain all night, I rolled a soaked tent and sleeping bag…….it stopped for just 1/2 hour at about 2pm…….I think that’s when God went and got more water. Cause after that it came down harder. Rolled into Fort William at a little after 5pm, full intentions on getting a room and getting blog 11 posted. Gotta tell ya, I love taking the pictures and would do so even if I didn’t blog. Don’t even mind writing out the sort of daily going on. It is simply that danged WordPress program that I just hate. I worked till just after midnight on the blog, I also had to get my tent and sleeping bag cleaned up and dried out, so that was timing some of my time. Got up early, worked on the images till just after 9 and left the hostel stay. Headed for the Post, and mailed some items to my kids. Then headed to the first open coffee shop with wifi, my intentions were, get the blog up. Sorry, worked right thru till just after 12 noon, finally just folded my crap up and left before I stabbed someone with a coffee stir stick…….WP is pure evil frustration. Nothing would copy and paste, no matter what I done.
The hills to Fort William where indeed demanding, and alot of them. I rode both main road and single track dirt paths, it was wet, lots of puddles and mud. While riding, I could not but be impressed by the hardiness of the Scots and others. While I am cycling, I was able to see dozens out in the same weather as myself. Some carrying huge packs, others obviously on a simpler day hike……but they were out there doing it. The trekkers or walkers as we may call them in USA, can range in age from just late teens all the way into their eighties. Fort Willim couldn’t come son enough, I was pretty cooked by the time I arrived, and yet it really wasn’t that many miles, about 50 from where I started. As many of you know, miles, hills and wet does not a happy man make.
All the time I sat there working on the blog, it was cloudy and rainy, with stiff breeze from the north. 5 minutes after I walked out and left, it was brilliant sunshine. See, even God hates blogging. Sunshine, due north all day except for one 15 minute spell of rain shower. Rode north along a lake, great single lane road, just me and logging trucks. Joined the main road, not really congested, just pay attention. Busy rather than continually worry busy. Road by and looked at the viaduct at Glenfinnan, great looming piece of rock work. But sadly there are scads of tourists now, because they have used this viaduct in 2 James Bond movies and 3 or more of the Harry Potter movies.
Sitting here in my tent, facing due north just to the south of Lochailort, and not 20 feet from the gently waving waters of the North Atlantic. I am but 700 miles from Iceland, and only 20 miles at best from the outer Hebrides, which as you all know is the home of the famous Harris Tweed coats and wollen works. This is a special  tweed fabric made with heavy spun wool, much different type of wool. The wool used is very long, and quite coarse, it makes a long wearing and durable piece of clothing. Unfortunately, the coarser tweeds do not pair well with the factory ripped super skinny Jean’s. Just a wee bit to puffy thru the shoulders I am told. How would I know, I am in spandex.
I woke the sun, or it woke me, but I was up fairly early. The tide was low and the gulls were already sweeping the tidal flats looking for an early sea food breakfast. I had a power bar what they call a flapjack here, and a swig of water and hit the road. Up, around and down I went now mostly heading west and a little south. There are logging sites everywhere, even out on the islands, they are cutting and replanting pine, spruce and larch. The tiny road sucks just a wee bit narrower, something Opra can’t seem to do. The bridges, are all marked as weak bridges, and rated for very low tonnage. Quaint rock cottages make up the bulk of the houses you see from the one. Very little farming, pretty much, tourists stays, logging and raising sheep is the main styles of livelihood that I seen. A drop dead gorgeous ride around this block of land that I rode. I simply rode to fast is all. I stopped in Stantian to clean out my food bag as a cleaning was badly needed. A flat of smoked herring fillets in sunflower oil had broke open and that stinking fish was on and in everything. Got that job done with the help of a lady at a little cafe, she boiled water for me to do the cleaning. Plan was to just get down the road a ways and maybe pitch early.
But oh no, I guess God had a different plan for me. I met another cyclist about my age who was coming up the other side of a long grade. Tall fella, in good shape for his age, and easy to talk to as we stood on opposite sides of the road visiting. He is a roadie, a strip down race bike, and long legs that’s a classic roadie. Where ya staying tonight he asks?? Not sure, I just put my tent up where I think it’s safe, I tell him. Nonsense,  you can stay with me tonight, so whzy don’t you follow me. So off we go, very tough to keep up, ,but we work at it. Just 7 miles down to the ferry crossing. I am just a few miles south on the other side he says, won’t take long at all. Well, it was 18 miles and my legs are burning and I seen 5 million places where my little tent would have fit perfect.
Finally made it to Tony’s cute little place, and elderly crofters rock house that has been totally redone and modernized, very nice indeed. Tony was as I said an amiable fellow, a retired English teacher. We ate well, with 2 rounds of black pudding which I love. Several rashers of bacon, which by the way is far different than our bacon as it is far meatier than ours. And topped it of with juice and beans a great way to end what was a tiring day for me. Oh, pardon me, I almost forgot to mention that Tony drummed up some very fine apple pie and ice cream which settled within that inner tube shaped device I keep around my waist for occasions just like this. We visited till my eyelids got to heavy and Tony must have noticed, being an awesome host we turned in at about 11.15. Breakfast was a huge bowl of oatmeal, toast, fruit juice and of course coffee. Tony, I didn’t thank you near enough for your kindness and hospitality, I hope someday that you show up in California and I can return the favor.
I got left and began riding. The plan was to get to Oban and make some road choices. But those choices got made early at the Ballachulish bridge. I had 3 choices in front of me, and I took a route that would see me in Taynuilt just in time for a church service. I was the hit of the party, once again, I think it was my cologne. Pastor Tim Telfer gave the service, and soon to be Doctor of Choral Singing, Dr. Peter Jennings walked us thru ancient Scottish Hymns and there historical significance as it pertains to the first edition of the Scottish Salter ( very first published Gaelic hymnal dating 1637). The pastor and his wife Jan, are from southern California. The Doctor and his wife are from Walla Walla, Washington. All told, about 40 in the congregation, cool service. Had my obligatory cup of coffee while I mixed with the parishioners of Taynuilt and then took my leave.
Rode out of town, had checked my map, and began climbing hills. Rold down off the opposite side of the ridge I had climbed and met a couple from Belgium who were also cycling. Had a great visit, learned Alito about cycling in Belgium. They were headed for Oban and some whiskey, are you coming Paul asks me. Sorry, but no. I don’t drink fir one but thanks, secondly I am not going to Oban. Well then he says, that is really to bad because the is road only to Oban. Yes I did, I misread my map and had to cycle back to where I had began. Worked out just fine,  my intent was to stop at a flat spot and make myself lunch. Since I went back thru town, I stopped and bought lunch. A fine salmon toast, salad and deep dish apple pie with a grand vanilla sauce. As they would say here…..IT WAS BLOODY BRILLIANT.
Took the correct road south, headed out towards Loch Aue. It’s actually quite a ride, very narrow single track which runs a few hundred feet above the loch,s edge. When they build a road here they just scrape a flat spot 6 feet wide and no deeper than needed to make a road. So it follows the natural contours of the Loch,s edge. That means you have some nasty climbs, they will hit as steep as 34% according to one Belgian fellow that met while riding this road. He had an inclinometer mounted on his handlebars. Stopped in Dalavich for tea, it was a late start due to a heavy rain shower. Plus there is a silversmith in this tiny village. To bad ya arrived today lad, the silversmith is headd fer Edinburgh for supplies says Andy at the Dalavich general store. Sat there visiting with Andy, and having tea when along came a family from Calgary Alberta Canada. There third child is going to University in Glasgow.
Rode on south, heading ultimately for Campbeltown, the draw of Campbeltown is like a magnet on my mind, that’s where I will be taking the Ferry over to Ireland. Before any of that can happen thought, I do need to put a new front tire on my bike since the side wall is bulging badly. Stopped in Lochgilphead cycle shop and had new tire installed. I have a room right across the street, at the Old Stag Inn & Hotel right here in Lochgilphead. I have already posted blog 11 and feel like life will be successful after all. My 50 dollar room which was just fine thank you, included a full English breakfast which I ate rather late in the morning. I needed to call and confirm that the Kintyre Ferry was indeed still running since a heavy drinker told me that canceled that ferry. Gotta tell you a rather funny story that happened with this same fella, it would have been better if it could have been caught on camera. So, I am sitting down in the lobby area as close to the router box as I can get so I can have the best internet possible.
This fellow who has had a few to drink, comes my way since the bathrooms are past me. A conversation ensues once he has finished draining his bladder.  He asking where I am from, what am I doing……your on a bicycle you say? Yes is my reply, I am traveling by bicycle and camping at night. He looks at me with a fishmongers raised eyebrow, looking down on me where I sit. He leans back to correct his balance and places one hand firmly on his hip for emphasis………his arm comes up and his index finger extends……he is going to make a brilliant point but it’s all happening in slow motion for me and at lightning speed for him I am sure. You know that this sort of nonsense comes to an end when you get to be my age, so enjoy it while ya can lad he says with a great flourishing hand gesture. Curious, I ask him, well how old are you? Lad, I am 58 and all of it……..and what about you he asks.? Well, I turned 63 in March. I swear he about fell over looking at me. He put his hand to his forehead and said more to himself than to me……good God what has happened to me!  I could see he was devastated, a broken man. I excused myself and claimed to need to use then men’s room down the hall…….being a loving Christian I limited myself to JUST ONE cartwheel while walking down the hall…..and I never looked back.
The ferry is running, it’s time to roll. Just 51.5 miles is what my map-AP tells me. But I confess, this was a brute of a ride for me. I am camped 4 miles short of making it to Campbeltown. 17 hills of over 12% grade, plenty in the high teens and 20,s. And I am totally done, I will finish the rest tomorrow. By my calculations, there should be 6-8 stiff little climbs left yet. Most of these climbs are several hi dried yards to maybe 1000 with a few switchbacks on the longer climbs. I have a grand camp site, a roadside picnic area, mowed grass, tables and all to myself. I am 100 yards off the shore, my view out the tent is that of the shore of Isle Aaran some 2 miles out in the Atlantic. Can it get any prettier. Praise the Lord for safe roads and good health. We pray for those suffering poor health, and pray thanks to the many Saints who I know are praying for me. Good night and may God bless us all. Campbeltown is a gorgeous little town, and worthy of a visit if you get over this way. The area is pretty enough that Sir Paul McCartney wrote and sang a song about it called Mull’O Kintyre. Take listen to it on you tube.

Blog-11 Shamrocks and Kilts Tour

The irony of it all is a little overwhelming, but let me explain. We are in Scotland, as you may have figured out by now, in the home area of William Wallace and many of the famous battles fought in Scotlands fight for independence. Those battles were fought to acknowledge that the people of Scotland wanted to be a free people. These movie memories give cause to mentioning a conversation I had today before I left the church. Since the churches here always seem to have a wee bit of a socializing after the service. Rather than walk around and say hello before the service as we do at home, which is fine, they serve tea and coffee and biscuits which you and I would call cookies. During this get together I had the chance to talk to the Pastor and his helper about Brexit and the Scottish independance vote ( and yes we talked about Christ, the Church and our youth).
So it goes like this at least according to these two fellows. The Scottish people voted overwhelmingly against autonomy and soveriegn Scottish rule in favor of remaining a part of the UK. They also voted as a majority to stay within the EU, rather than leave the EU but remain within the UK. but the biggest irony at least to me, was that given a choice between  maintaining its membership within the EU, or a UK that leaves the EU, the larger majority would remain within the EU. The Scots see their own way forward as being a part of the European Community first and foremost.
Back to the house I am staying at, the Alba Guest House. Originally setup as a half way type house for addicts which I did not know about, a few years back they dropped that mission due to the legality costs I cured when that is what you do. Now a simple guest house with shared bathrooms, and okay bedrooms. It was a fun stay, and met some nice folks. So here is Jeremiah a recovering alcoholic and one who has found Chrst. Then there is Nils the fellow from Netherlands and a fellow now dry or off heroin for 18 months now and searching for meaning in life, wondering about a God figure. The housekeeper, 6 years now recovered from alcoholism and strong Christian now. And Gerald the house owner, now 20 years recovered alcoholic and strong Christian walk. Only 2 other peop,e at the house that I don’t know much about. But for it being a simple guest house, sure were a lot of addicts rolled thru at one time. I really think we all ended up there for the sake of Nils who is searching. NILS, let me just say, Jesus loves you brother and he is waiting patiently for you to invite him in.
There was supposed to be  big breakfast fryup Scottish style. Everything, sausage, bacon crashers, black pudding, tomatoes, potatoes, beans, mushrooms etc. But I woke at 4.30 and could not get back to sleep. So I monkeyed about for a while  and finally rode out headed mosty north at about 6.45am. It was raining, cold, dang cold, then the sun would poke out, followed by an arctic blast and rain, and then kersplat the sun would find its way thru the clouds and heat it all back up again. I was taking clothes off all day long, I know how a stripper feels now by the end of the day. I even checked to see if there were any dollars Bill’s hanging out of my underwear….no such luck……all though it does feel like there is a coin hiding in there somewhere.
On the one hand, I can say I am loving Scotland. That would be the hand that still has a waterproof glove on. But me left hand, he ain’t so smart ya know……and he done lost his glove…..not he’s not to happy with Scotland. Guess he is a wee bit tired da’rain he is. Rode north out os Stirling winding my way up thru to Braco. There was a large Roman fortification here in the day, The Ardoch Fort as it is known is a part of the Gask Ridge defense system built by the Roamns approximately 20 years Head of the Hadrians Wzll a better known Roman artifact. But the Ardock is the best preserved large Roamn earthenworks fortification in existence.  Date is approx year 132. It was occupied for a very brief time, abandoned, and then reoccupied by the Roman’s around the year 140..The pack horse bridge which predates the fortification, was at one time a gateway to the highlands.  Still standing strong after nearly 2000 years, as does many hundreds of feet of the fortification wall. I can’t help but think how joyous the soldiers were when the Emporer let it be known that they were to a abandon the UK. I am betting that when they had crossed the English channel they all through there rubber gloves and water proof suits at the island. From then on it was going to be beaches and bath towels.
Heading out of Braco, I met 3 cyclists, two were my vintage, and one a very young girl of 17. The girl was doing John O`Groats from northern most point, down to Lands End the furthest southern most point. They were all doing B&B travel, Jay-Dub is far to cheap for that sort of luxury…….I wonder if that’s why my wife refuses to travel with me anymore ???????  Heather on the hillsides, Gorse lines the road with its brilliant yellow plumage on full display like a barnyard peacock. The hills slip in and out of view because of low hanging cloud and rain. The day is briefly laced with sunshine, but only briefly. I round a corner, and the hills all of a sudden step together closing in on me, they have stepped so suddenly that they also captured all the wind for a moment as well as a large portion of a huge rain cloud. The rain is pelting down, sounding like a snare drum on the single lane blacktop road, water is running haplessly down my back, my head is soaked as it everything attached to me that resides under that hat. Decend down thru a small dense Larch forest, it is so. Black inside those forests as if mo light can penetrate within its bounds. I know there is a stream off to my right, I can here it tumbling thru rocks in an effort to escape the cling of the dark dense stand of trees that guard its banks.
Round a corner with a barren hill making up my left flank, the trees suddenly stop and there is a dead flat bank that borders the 30 foot wide river. It’s a fisherman access, so there is a wee bit of a car park and the long grass has been mowed. You can guess where my tent lived that night. Some Aussies drove up and parked, wanting to look at the river. We struck up a conversation, found out they live in Adelaide, and they were both tired of the rain. They had been in Scotland now for 16 days, and had been rained on everyday since they arrived. I assured them that the guy who lived in that tent had told me he was ready for some sunshine as well.
Up early, noonish. All packed up and pedaling. Just a mile past where I had camped, you  cross a stone bridge and begin heading up.  Nothing to crazy, but up, and up for several miles. To my right the hills are totally tree covered, spruce, and Larch, while to the left, the hills are open and bare but for grass and the ever present sheep. The road, the forested hills, went on for miles and miles. I used to think I could recognize the difference between spruce and larch, but I am questioning my ability now.  The tops of the moors are ,essentially empty, oh, you do see farm houses for instance. But even they are to a large extent empty now but for curtains in the windows. The barns I am sure, still get used. But only bay farmers who must live in town somewhere. More rain.
 Dropped down into a deep valley, three rivers converge here and they sound magnificent. Rock, covered as if by a seamstress in bri,liant green moss, these rocks line the river course like tapestry hangings that enhance the color of the swift flowing waters. The townspeople are expecting sunshine any time, I notice because they are all wearing their, lighter rain jackets. I hope a Scot does’ina reed this, caus’in he’da skunt me alive and make a Sporran out’a me hide. Well Scotland did not disappoint, it was raining within 10 minutes of my arrival. The town’s folk all cheered, confirming ing they had not lost their innate abi,it to predict Scottish weather…..and they were right again……..aye, it rain’t ta’day a wee bit lad.
Rolling thru town after the rain. stopped, and I met Eric. He is a French engineer who works for BMW, lives