Arrived in Ireland around 7:00 p.m. and, after passing the dog drug-sniffing test, disembarked. I got an immediate different hit from Ireland than I had from Britain. Gone was the sense of coziness, to be replaced by a vague sense of danger (I'm not sure why). The first evident difference was the eight foot shoulder on the road (I did not see a single shoulder the whole time I was in England and Wales). I rode a tough (because of the strong headwinds) 8 miles to Holiday Park Campground. I was out of food and so asked the "young Irish Lass" who worked there whether there was a store nearby. She told me no, but then went in the back room and returned with several slices of delicious homemade bread. That was my supper for the evening. There were two English cyclists at the campground but I spoke to them only briefly. The wind had picked up considerably and I found it necessary to get into my tent to anchor it.

May 15, 1992

60 miles to a campsite near Tramore on the southern Irish coast. Passed through Wexford, New Ross and Waterford.

Awoke to a clear, cold day with a slight (10-15 mph) headwind. Excellent roads with wide shoulders almost the entire day. This portion of Ireland is completely different than England and Wales. Gone is the comfortable quaintness of the English villages and countryside. Here the terrain is flatter (very long rolling hills) and more wide open, with fewer villages. Gone also are the old brick houses which dot the English landscape. Here the rural architecture is much more "modern", with stucco type houses, all apparently built within the last decade or so. The cities I passed through were dirty and rundown with evidence of a considerable degree of poverty. Saw a lot of teenagers in the towns, something not commonly seen, for some reason, in England. There was a vaguely threatening feel to these towns and so I did not spend a great deal of time there. I was "panhandled" by a young woman in New Ross--It took some time to figure out what was happening, as she asked me in a thick working class accent if I could "spare a few coppers". I noticed some very odd combinations of professions in these towns, i.e. undertaker/taxi driver, undertaker/baker. Lots of undertakers in general--I guess death is a big business here.

At Tramore I went down to the beaches on the Irish Sea and found one that was reserved for "men only swimming"! I am now lying in the sun, protected from the winds, and feeling at peace with myself. I have been reading Suzuki's book on Zen Buddhism, and find it to be the perfect companion for this journey.

105 miles to Pat and Mary's house in Limerick. Through Dungarvin, Lismore, Ballyduff, Kilworth, Mitchelstown, Ballylanders, Knockloch, Herbertstown and Ballyneedy.

A fantastic day of cycling and visiting. The first 25 miles (Tramore to Dungarvin) was a beautiful stretch on bluffs above the Irish Sea and with no traffic. The stretch from Lismore to Kilroy was a wonderful tree canopied portion on an empty road. All day long the scenery was spectacular--green hillsides, ancient castles, clean, fast-flowing streams and wide or empty roads. In addition the day was bright and sunny and pristine clean (cool in a.m., warm in p.m.) with an easterly (tail) wind. In other words, this was a bicyclist's paradise. I rode the 104 miles with joyous ease as I sang for much of the morning and rode at high speeds on the flat stretches during the afternoon.

Once in Limerick I met Ger's sister Mary and her husband Pat Fitzgerald. They have a large (4 BR) brick tract type house in the suburbs just outside Limerick. My room overlooks countryside (in fact, a cow pasture). We spent the evening animatedly discussing religion, politics, Kate and Ger and every other subject imaginable. Mary and Pat are both government employees, Mary with the city of Limerick and Pat with the county. She has Ger's vivacity and friendliness, while Pat is equally as friendly and generous, but in a more subdued sense.

Pat made a delicious stir fry meal that I gobbled down while drinking endless glasses of lemonade. I am again dehydrated and am having trouble quenching my thirst. My body is stiff and aching, but it is the pleasant ache that one feels after doing heavy and worthwhile exercise.

A fine sunny day. In the morning Pat took me for a tour of Limerick, in which we saw St. James Castle, the River Shannon, the School of St. Mary's Immaculate (where Kate worked), Kate's old house, and St. Mary's Cathedral. Limerick is an unusual city in that it is laid out in a grid pattern. There is a great deal of "urban renewal" (also unusual for Europe) and a number of fine old Georgian style houses in the downtown area.

In the afternoon Pat and Mary took me on a drive to the Burren, located about 50 miles northwest of Limerick. The Burren is a spectacularly desolate limestone rock area which has a powerful, stark beauty. Saw several Faerie Rings (trees in a circular pattern which supposedly house fairies, and will not be entered by the locals due to a fear of bad luck), and a number of Poulabrouns (literally, "holes of sadness") which are 4,000 year old burial sites. I was struck by the occasional farm which had been carved out of this desolate rock covered area--the amount of work that was needed to carve out those few acres of green is almost beyond comprehension.

When we arrived at the beach we saw the Aran Islands a couple of miles off shore. These are treeless windswept islands inhabited by a few thousand hearty souls and are notable because what soil exists on them was created by combining sand and seaweed. As we stood on the beach a powerful wind (coming from inland!) blasted sand into our backs--we had to cover our faces when we headed back up to the bluffs. I pondered what life was like on those desolate islands--what could go through the minds of those people as the omnipresent wind whistles through their tiny villages and farms? Would they perceive the world in some fundamentally different way than one who was raised in a more normal environment? What kind of an impact would something like television have on their lives? Are they happy living such a stark and ascetic life? The only thing I had ever heard about these islanders was an anthropology study which concluded that this was the most sexually "puritanical" society in the world. I wonder if the intrusion of the modern world has altered that society in some fundamental way.

On the way back we stopped at the Cliffs of Mohr (sheer 700 foot cliff dropping to the Atlantic) and Leamanah Castle, dating from the 12th Century. We climbed the 80 or so feet to the top of one of the ramparts and were almost blown off by the powerful winds.

Driving in a car gave me an entirely new perspective on Irish drivers. I was shocked by the maniacal way that they (including Pat) drove. Most roads were barely one lane by American standards, but cars, buses, trucks and motorcycles all whizzed by each other at high speeds. But, on the other hand, the drivers were aware of and considerate towards the varied forms of slow moving traffic (pedestrians, bikes, cows, sheep, dogs, goats etc.) which populated the roads. Unlike in the US the roads were shared without blaring horns and obscene gestures.

In my conversations with Pat and Mary I learned a great deal about Irish history, geography, politics and mythology. Both Pat and Mary commented that they were astonished at how much I resembled Ger. They said not only that I was physically similar but that my mannerisms and speech were the same. Pat also paid me a compliment by saying I had an "omnivorous curiosity" for knowledge, like Ger. That is one of the nicest compliments I have received in a long time.

Spent the day shopping in Limerick. Bought gifts for Pat and Mary (a book on the Kennedys and a tape of Albinoni's Adagio) and purchased other supplies (new socks--my others had already disintegrated--sun screen and a new battery for my camera). I had my first roll of film developed and was very pleased as the pictures came out much better than I had expected.

In the evening Mary's parents came over for a visit. Mary's father is a printer whose real interest is literature. He reminded me of an Irish leprechaun. We had a wonderful discussion which lasted until past midnight. And then off to bed and preparation for resuming my cycling tomorrow.

76 miles to a free camping ground near Camp on the Dingle Peninsula. Cycled through Adare, Tralee, Derrymore and Camp.

A gray overcast day, although no real threat of rain and only a light wind. Also, it was warm by Irish standards. The cloud cover matched my mood, which was a bit down. I had had a wonderful time in Limerick with Ger's family and I was a little sad to go. At the last minute I had decided to do the Dingle peninsula rather than go north as I had originally intended. The reason for this is that I had discovered that the Newcastle ferries (to Scandinavia) do not run until June 11, so I need to go back to Harwich (near London) to catch the ferry. Since the Midlands of Britain are highly populated and industrial I wanted to avoid crossing that area. Therefore, I decided to cycle Dingle (which is the furthest point west in Europe), Killarney and then back to Rosslair by a slightly different route.

Some impressions of Ireland: The countryside is almost exclusively devoted to cattle. I saw almost no cultivation of any sort. The rural farm houses all seem to have been built in the past ten years. This is apparently the result of EEC policies that have heavily subsidized Irish cattle industries. By contrast, the cities and towns are half modern, half decayed. There is a very obvious class split here and the towns have a slightly menacing tone to them due to the poverty.

The people seem to be amazingly unattractive physically. I don't think I have seen a good-looking woman (by my standards) since I arrived in Ireland. On the other hand, there are no obese people. This observation was seconded by Pat and Mary who said that they spent days counting fat people while in the US. Pat told me that the unemployment rate is above 20% and there is a serious "brain drain" as young people leave Ireland. This tendency has been facilitated by EEC membership which allows free movement between member states. Discussed the EEC and the Maastricht referendum at length with Pat and Mary. It seems possible that in a few short years there will be a true "United States of Europe".

One of the other impacts of EEC membership has been a vast improvement in the road system. I have encountered wide smooth shoulders in a number of areas and this has been a real delight.

I have stopped at a caravan campsite for the night. I've seen these all over Ireland--they consist of a number of tiny mobile homes which are rented out during the summer months. This site was not yet open, but the owner was there and gave me permission to pitch my tent and spend the night. It is calm and warm now and the sun is starting to break through the clouds. My early morning depression is gone and I am feeling serene and at peace.

64 miles to Killarney, through Ballyduff, Conor Pass, Dingle, and Killarney.

Awoke at dawn and set off up a very cold, foggy and wet climb through Conor Pass. Visibility was less than 50 feet and by the time I got to the summit I was soaking wet due to the mist. But this difficult climb was followed by an exhilarating 5 mile downhill into Dingle, during which the sun spectacularly burst through the clouds about half way down. Dingle was a delightful little village; clean, comfortable and with several street musicians playing traditional Irish music. I stopped to eat in the yard of the local church and Patrick Lynch (the church caretaker) came over to talk to me. He gave me a tour of the entire church, explaining the symbols and the stained glass windows (paying particular attention to the one of Thomas ("Doubting Thomas") who was touching the side of Christ to prove to himself that he had in fact risen from the dead.

I had intended to take the loop ride to Slea Head but was dissuaded by the 30 mph winds and thick fog which enshrouded that area. So, after spending a couple of hours relaxing and reading in Dingle I set out toward Killarney. About 5 miles out of town I met my first touring cyclist, Rod O'Connor from Baltimore. He is doing a one month tour of Ireland. We had a good long talk and exchanged addresses and photos before I again set out east into a strong headwind. In the early afternoon the wind abated somewhat and I enjoyed cycling near the beautiful sandy beaches of Dingle Bay. Later I met a German cyclist going the same direction as me. He seemed interested in cycling with me, but my prejudice against Germans came to the fore, and I was rather cold to him. We rode together for about 5 miles before he took off ahead of me and I let him go.

I really like Killarney although it is clearly a tourist oriented village. I am staying at an independent hostel located in the center of town. It has none of the restrictions of the official hostels, and so I am feeling quite comfortable as I relax in the TV room and watch a soccer game.

Spent the rest of the night watching the game and talking to an international cast of characters. A Canadian from Victoria, an American woman from San Francisco (recently graduated from UCSB and doing a summer tour of Europe), an Australian woman from Melbourne, a Dutchman who had walked from Italy to Spain and was now cycling Ireland and a Spaniard.

100 miles to a campground at Clonea Head, through Rathmore, Ballyhooly, Fermsy, Ballyduff and Dungarven.

A very long day of cycling, from 8:00 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. Beautiful, mostly clear, cool weather with light winds until a strong headwind kicked in about 10 miles from Dungarven. My day was spent mostly on empty backroads. I had some problems getting started in the morning but by early afternoon I was feeling very strong. Generally, my physical condition has been good except for persistent neck pains that make it painful to look back. Experienced many moments of euphoria during the day, but some uncomfortable ones also, particularly in Mallow, an ugly and dingy city, where I had a real problem finding a place to stop and regenerate.

Probably the most irritating problem I have had cycling in Ireland has been the lack of places of "sanctuary" (i.e. a public place where one can relax and eat, read or meditate). The towns, even the larger ones, do not have parks, libraries or public buildings. The rural roadsides are usually edged by impenetrable hedgerows and the houses often go right up to the roadside. So, there are problems in both the rural and urban areas finding places to stop. The one sanctuary which I have used most often has been the churches, either on their steps or in their courtyard.

I've found the Irish, particularly in the rural areas to be exceptionally friendly and willing to help. Almost everyone I pass on the road greets me, which makes me feel good at times, while at other times becomes a bit of a burden. I've noticed that whenever I ask directions I am usually informed that it is down the road "a bit", which has turned out to be anywhere from 50 feet to 2 miles. I can't seem to pin them down to a more precise distance. As in Britain the people are generally polite and civilized, even the dogs. I've been chased only once despite the fact that there are legions of unleashed dogs. I've had a few dogs bark at me but when I greet them they stopped immediately.

68 miles to a campground at Rosslair, through Bunmashone, Waterford, Halfway House (ferry across the River Barrow) Wexford and Rosslair.

Awoke at dawn to a brilliant clear morning. Walked on the beach before setting off. The morning was cool with a light headwind, the afternoon warm with a stiffening headwind.

Today was a very tough psychological day of cycling. Had stomach pains in the morning and so had no appetite. As a result I rode most of the day using candy bars as energy (not a very satisfying way to go as they only give enough energy for about 10 miles at most). The stretch between Ramsgrange and Wexford was flat, not scenic, heavily trafficked and seemed uphill because of the strong headwind. I was really sapped for energy all day and so it was a pretty joyless day of cycling--the kind of day where one perseveres through sheer will power and stubbornness.

I stopped at the libraries in Waterford and Wexford hoping to get copies of the Herald Tribune. Unfortunately, the first was closed and the second hopelessly inadequate (any American town a quarter the size of Wexford would have had a more complete library). This is just one indicator of how poor Ireland actually is, notwithstanding all the modern farmhouses. It is clear from the condition of the cities and towns that there is almost no money spent on public works. There is very little public land, particularly in the cities. The cities are crowded, noisy and dirty--the kind of place you'd just as soon get through as quickly as possible. I did stop at the waterfront to have some chips in Waterford, and three separate people (older men) came up to talk to me. I've found that the people most likely to approach you out of curiosity are the older men.

Had my second Irish dog give chase today--a good swift kick in the snout slowed him down. I kind of like the challenge of an attacking dog. Also, I ran into my first really ticked off Irish driver who honked for about 15 seconds as he approached me from the rear. I held my ground and then gave him the international obscene gesture (stupid of me). He slowed down but did not stop. I also had a few other anxious moments as the traffic was heavy and the road narrow in spots. To top off the day, a noisy jackdaw flew overhead and managed to shit right on my shoulder. All in all, not one of my favorite days of cycling.

CONTINUE ON TO WALES