Ireland here I come
The ferry trip from Dunoon to Gouroch was thankfully short & gentle on my stomach – not a good sailor me.
Once back on dry land I took various back roads to keep me off of the main west coast of Scotland drag strip that is the A78 & A77, before finally entering Galloway Forests myriad of small roads and rocky trails.
Austin had mentioned a nice wild camping spot during one of our many conversations over the previous 2 evenings, so I thought it best to check it out whilst the light was with me and before I went shopping for supplies, as eldest son had virtually emptied my food stash over the weekend.
The spot Austin had mentioned did indeed seem idyllic, having its own picnic bench, a flat bit of turf for the tent and a nice stream meandering past it. Having recced the spot, I went off and filled up with food & fuel, but only returning to the spot after wasting even more rubber on the Queens Road that runs from Newton Stewart to New Galloway. That road, even when ridden with a fully loaded up machine, is absolutely AWESOME. Having obtained my bend swinging fix, I meandered into the forest, on the trails open to motorised vehicles, only to find myself straying off said trails, to find the idyllic camping spot. I tell you now, doing 35-40mph on a fully loaded F658GS on the type of freshly laid granite rubble they put on logging tracks makes for a good work out of yer Glutimus Maximus, and it puts a peak onto the seat cover fabric. A DRZ400 rider hooning the other way must have thought I was bonkers . . . .cos even I thought I was bonkers . . . . . but it was all good warm up stuff for the PD.
On reaching said idyllic spot, I reviewed the site and paid a bit more attention to its surroundings. The strand line of detritus that hung from the adjacent fence gave me an indication of how high the “stream” could get when enough water was shed from the sky, so being an inveterate coward, I looked a bit further “up-hill” for a pitch. And found this one . . . . .
The above picture was taken the morning after I pitched the tent, cos no sooner had I got the tent up and thrown all the sleeping stuff into it, than the rain started . . . . . . . and didn’t stop till light O’clock the following morning.
The little “stream” that had been recommended as a nice place to pop up the tent next too had been fed copious amounts of H2O overnight and had risen by approx. 3 feet, right to the top of the bank.
Needless to say that I was glad I’d gone with my gut instinct about the idyllic spot and found somewhere a bit further away & up hill from the stream.
Thankfully the rain held off for the rest of the day, which meant I had a dryish ride west to Cairnryan and the ferry to Larne in Northern Ireland. It also meant that I could dry the tent out whilst waiting to board the ferry, by hanging it on a fence in the carpark.
Being a really poor sailor, as already mentioned, I was really looking forward to the 2+ hour crossing – NOT. Suitable chemical substances where consumed in a bid to avert any “Mal De Mare”, but I needn’t had worried as the sea was being kind and stayed virtually flat the whole time I was on the boat.
Off track, but I must mention it – whilst waiting to be called forward to board the ferry, another bike pulled up behind mine – an old K75 Beemer. I’m thinking to myself as the rider comes to a halt that I’ve seen that bike before. I swear you could hear the lego bricks in my brain falling into place. And my suspicions of having met the rider before were confirmed as he took off his helmet . . . . . . 2 years ago, whilst waiting for another ferry, this time in Rotterdam, he and his brother had pulled up behind me in the queue to board the ferry back to the UK. Talk about it being a small world and coincidences!
Ferry crossing over, I headed north up the coast road, having looked at camp sites along it before I left home. The first one was a tad too close to the port and only took me 10 minutes to find, so I enquired about other sites further north. I elected to head a further 20 odd miles further north up the coast road, cos it was still dry, still daylight and I had plenty of fuel in the tank. Cushendall campsite got my custom that night, and at just a fiver, it was a bargain, even if the tent pitch was right next to the modern toilet block!
The next day, Tuesday, I’d set my sights on various touristy attractions along the north coast road, which, by the way, is absolutely brilliant, hugging the shore line for mile after mile, with some big climbs and inclines thrown in as well.
I never realised Scotland was so close to the Emerald Isle – Tor head, just 16 miles from the Mull of Kintyre
First of those attractions was the Giants Causeway, but what with the coach loads of tourists and the price beng asking for parking, no way was I going to wade through that lot, so I carried on riding west, with my next point of interest being the NW200 “track”. Did a good bit of it, at the posted speed limits, and can only imagine the cahoonas the riders must have to take the bends (read roundabouts) at the speeds that they do during the races.
Carried on rolling, through Derry and into Eire itself, heading for the Glenveagh National Park, cos there are hills there, and I likes hills, especially when they have sinuousy roads running through them.
Found my way onto the Wild Atlantic Way (WAW) more by accident than design, and thoroughly enjoyed the many miles of it that I did.
Next bit of hilly ground I was heading for and through was the Glengesh pass, on the road leading to Donegal. More hilly hills were seen, photographed and ridden around, much to my growing enjoyment and appreciation of what Ireland has to offer the two wheeled traveller.
Spotted this house as I rolled south along the WAW. Turns out it’s the former abode of Lord Mountbatton (information courtesy of Lutin, the font of all knowledge Irish)
This mighty massif drew my attention as I continued my way to my choosen stop off point, Strandhill C&C park near Sligo.
Lutin added to my growing knowledge of Irish lumpy bits by informing me that the hill is called Benbulbin
My pitch for the night hoved into sight, and once the meagre fee was paid, I was pointed at a nice sandy depression in the surrounding sand dunes.
Nice campsite, with the sound of massive surf crashing onto a shingle beach to lull me to sleep, after a wishy-washy sunset
That evening I had arranged via text to meet an XRV forum stalwart, Lutin of Galway, in Westport, so when Wednesday arrive bright and clear skied, I set off along more of the WAW, with Westport as my destination.
Noticed this most Irish of things as I rolled alongside a river – a concrete boat / ship? Go figure, cos I can’t!
Met up with Lutin at the appointed time and place, and once pleasantries had been exchanged, bikes re-fueled and route sort of discussed, we headed off onto Lutins mystery tour which, as it turned out, was virtually all of the route I had marked out on my Euro map of Ireland before leaving home.
I’ll let the pictures take you into & through some of the best scenery Eire has to offer along the WAW:-
Wednesday night was being spent in the lap of luxury – Lutin had offered me a bed for the night before I set off on this little trip and I gratefully accepted his offer, so a
HUGE THANKYOU to Tony and his good lady for feeding me and putting a roof over my head for the night.
Thursday dawned and drizzle was the order of the morning as I got the bike out of Lutins yard, thanked my generous hosts, then waved them farewell as I headed yet again for the WAW and a few more touristy bits.
The Burran was on my list of hills to see and ride round, but I’d no sooner ridden into their mass than the heavens opened, so I cowered in the lee of a large guest house, donned my water proofs, then waited for some sort of “break” in the downpour. But here are a few pictures of the Burrans hills before the Irish weather tried to drown me
No break in the deluge seemed to be on the horizon, so I just mounted up and rode on . . . . . only for the rain to stop. Here are few pictures of some nice scenery that took my fancy
I’d been told that the Cliffs of Moher are a “must do” on any trip around Ireland, so they were in a box that had to be ticked. On the way there, near the village of Doolin, a took this picture of a nice Irish abode
The Cliff of Moher – WOW
I really cannot put into words the scale of these beauties, but you might be able to spot some tourist types along the cliff tops in the far distance, towards the visitors centre for the cliffs.
By this stage of the day I was fast approaching my destination, Doon, so I travelled on some of the more populated roads into and out of Limerick and found my way to Doon community hall, the gathering location for the 2015 Paddy Dakar –
I had arrived
Steve T