Cycling with jet lag and airport sleep

Tain Trail cycle route
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After a week visiting the family in England it was time to make my way to Ireland on my second sponsored trip. The idea was to explore the adventure tourism possibilities in the north.

On Sunday 17 September I was to meet up with Nils van der Linden who writes entertainment for iafrica website who had flown with Gulfair via Bahrain. We had a sponsored ticket from Gulfair but unfortunately only the Dublin to Johannesburg stretch, but more of this later. Having seen flights costing 99p I eventually paid about GBP24,42 thank goodness SA has made it a law for travel agents to advertise the full price inclusive of taxes etc, having to fly at off-peak hours.

(Wo)man cannot cycle on an empty tank

The quaint town of Carlingford
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Arriving at 23h30 to utter chaos in the baggage area, “what if there was a fire” echoed around me as we queued to go through customs. I’d tried to book accommodation online but got nowhere but wasn’t worried as there are always cancellations, and anyway, plan b was to sleep in the hire car. Europcar were aware of my arrival but didn’t wait! The helpful guy at Information informed me that there was a big game and every bed in Dublin was booked. It’s called Gaelic and it’s a combination of rugby and soccer. I wasn’t the only person to be stranded, every bench in the airport was occupied and there were even bodies stretched out on the floor. There was nothing for it but to sleep in Europcar’s office. Laying jackets on the floor, earplugs muting half-hourly warnings that unaccompanied baggage would be destroyed, I dozed.

Top of a hill, a good place to start
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After coffee and a “nose bag” prepared by my mum, Nils found me chatting to a fellow South African as we reminisced about home. Our car was some sort of larney Ford that we apparently don’t have in SA. Nils drove and we were soon on the N1, a toll road, heading north to the small uninspiring town of Ardee where we met up with Ronan Carr of Irish Cycle Hire Ltd.

He drove us to the pretty town of Carlingford in Irelands smallest county of Louth, on the lake of the same name and across from the Mourne Mountains. It was a grey day with threatening black clouds but we were keen to cycle, well, I was. Nils doesn’t seem to do any regular exercise but had spent some time at the gym the previous week, “it’s not like cycling at the gym.”

Waterfalls, flowers and sheep with the lake and canal below
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When Ronan offered us an Irish breakfast, we jumped at, after all, man cannot cycle on an empty tank! A wonderful little café tucked away in a narrow side street. Aroma of freshly baked bread and bacon wafting through the door as we entered the popular place filled with locals, shelves overflowing with jars of preserves.

Fully satiated, we headed for the hills, actually around it and by van along narrow roads and past a pretty 1750 church, the location of many-a-wedding. The idea was to gain a taste of part of Ireland’s newest, most historical and at 588km, the longest cycling route in Ireland, the Tain Trail.

Using photograph time as an excuse for a breather, on the uphill
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The trail is based on the ancient Irish epic of the cattle raid of Cooley (of the Cooley Peninsula see separate write up for more info) and follows the path of Queen Meave and her armies in the pursuit of the great brown bull of Cooley. Offloading our lightweight touring bikes at the Longwoman’s Grave, we started with an easy downhill enjoying gushing rivers and the glittering canal running into Lough Carlingford joining the Irish Sea and with the Mourne Mountains and Rostrevor on the opposite side. The countryside dotted with yellow pea flowers, mauve heather and sheep and cows, farm smells and fine drizzle as we cycled around blotchy glacier-formed mountains.

Comfortable lightweight touring bikes
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But as a regular cyclist I realised that a descent like this meant an impending climb and sure enough, a long sustained climb followed accompanied by much puffing and panting. But I was proud that I cycled to the top with only one brief stop to gorge on blackberries while taking a picture.

At the top, ?, in olden days a place for couples to smooch or whatever now blocked to cars. From here a narrow winding road through forest and millionaire houses down to Warren Point and the road running alongside the canal. It was here that I walked a short way, the descent so steep. After cycling alongside the busy canal road with considerate drivers and etched with fishing points and Victoria lock Ronan met us and took us off-route to the Narrows, the place of an IRA shootout. Ronan told us the story of the IRA blowing up sections of road used by gun and booze smugglers. These would then be filled in by Catholics of the south, only to be blown up again the following night.

The plaque at the viewpoint
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At Omeath we enjoyed a break and a drink with me ordering the Guinness that I had promised I would drink for Jon (editor of Argus Travel – the things we freelancers do to get articles published), “it’s good for me”, said I as I downed the black brew while listening to the shortened version of the 783 page epic tale translated by Thomas Kinsella, of Queen Maeve, pig keepers and bulls (I swear I was sober).

A final undulating stretch interspersed with showers and we soon found ourselves back in Carlingford for a quick coffee and check on the Gaelic game before setting off for Belfast along back roads lined with small lakes and villages.