In the Spring of 2024 it was fair to say that the cow poo had somewhat hit the wind turbine in my neck of the woods. One of my top people was ill, dangerously so, and little lives hung agonizingly in the balance.
However, in my experience, when that level of shit hits the fan there is only one thing for it. Don your tennis whites (or hazmat, whatever you feel more comfortable in), grab the largest tennis racquet you can find and just start walloping it back.
As luck would have it, not only am I an elite cyclist but I’m also a frequent finalist in the Welsh Open and had recently walked off Centre Court in Haverfordwest having beaten Djokovitch 6:4 7:5, 6:0 (psychologically broke him in the last set and not sure if he’ll ever really recover).
But after a grueling few months my racquet strings finally snapped. So with bones weary I went away with my oldest friend for a little r&r. To what seemed like the very best place on earth – Galway.
Lets do the Timewalk Agaaaaiiiiinnnnnnnnnn
After a somewhat breezy landing in Kock Airport (imagine a Kangaroo doing The Timewalk – and a bounce to the LEFT, and then a hop to the rigggghhhhhtttt) the minute I walked down the steps I thought, I LOVE this place.
Why?
Well firstly, the sniffer dog (labrador) appeared to be scared of aircraft as he was tucked so far up his handler’s armpit you could barely see him. When I couldn’t stop staring as I was thinking a) he’s so cute and b) how on EARTH did he pass the job interview?) the security guard simply beamed at me. No frowns, just friendly smiles.
Secondly, Pat our cabbie barely paused for breath in the entire hour he was taking us to Cong. Ranging from subjects such as his arrival in Ireland (aged six on a midnight flit from Liverpool to escape the clutches of Social Services) to the Coke factory at Ballycoolin where, when they are making Coke for the Jewish community, they fly in a Rabbi from New York to oversee it – how brilliantly nuts is that?! Pat was a mine of information. Frankly, I’m expecting to see him in the chair of mastermind at any moment. Specialist subject: everything.
And finally, Cong. On arrival in this colorful little village we found a good bakery, four Irish pubs (all playing live music) and a river so clear you could see every emerald weed at the bottom. Best of all however, there was, wait for it,
A Duck Crossing.
Because in Galway, ducks ALWAYS have right of way. Fact.
You are never lonely on a lonely Connemarra Road
Of course, weather in Galway is about as changeable as my cycling socks and the next day was not sunshine and blue skies but grey clouds and a ‘fresh breeze’. But not, I’m pleased to say, rain (although that was, also like my cycling socks, soon about to change).
But, never fussed about the weather, we cracked on with cycling and the pedaling in the ensuing two days did not disappoint. Connemarra has tracks through the dense Cong forest, quiet roads across dry stone-walled farmland and into small villages with a couple of rows of houses, a pub and small shop or bakery.
Highlight of all was the pothole free and perfect road that dipped and dived along the undulating shoreline of Lough Nafooey. Dramatic rocky hills rose from the grey glassy water covered only in coarse grass, wet bracken and the odd lonely tree. There was a soft fresh wind at our back and sheep dotted all over the road and verges. But never a car. Not a soul in sight.
And yet, the weird thing is that even on this lonely Connemarra Road it is impossible to be lonely. For, whilst we only saw three vehicles in as many hours (two quad bikes and one farm truck) everybody stopped to chat. ‘Where are you wee girlies off to then?’ the farmer (plus his sheepdog Tethyn) asked? ‘And where are you from now?’. Everyone called out greetings and everyone smiled (except for the sheep, they looked like they were working on quadratic equations). Whilst there was no one there, everyone was there.
Pretty much perfect cycling as far as I was concerned.
Can you cycle in 46mph Winds?
The final day of cycling presented the three million dollar (actually three euro) question, ‘can you cycle from Clifden to Oughterard across the exposed Roundstone Bog in windspeeds of over 40mph? Oh yes, and while you’re at it, over a not very small hill at the end with a wind farm on top?
For yes, whilst these windspeeds would have dried my socks in no time, unless you are turkey they are sub-optimal. (If you are a turkey however, then you’re in for a GREAT day as according to my Mum turkeys LOVE wind. And she should know because she lives three miles away from a turkey farm and vaguely knows the farmer).
Anyway, moving on from turkeys, as we saw it, the wind over the bog was going to go one of three ways:
A) There was zero chance it was going to be a tailwind (although that would have been SO COOL because we could have pretended to be Tom Pidcock & Wout Van Aert and arrived in Oughterard about five minutes after we left).
B) If it was a HEAD wind then frankly we would never have managed to even leave Clifden but be blown backwards into the sea. Annoying as it was 13 degrees and neither of us were cycling in a swimsuit.
C) And finally, if it was a SIDE wind then we were in an even bigger quandary. Because this could have gone one of two directions (quite literally).
Off road gust: We would be blown off our bikes into the bog. As David from West Ireland Cycling said when we seriously discussed this option, ‘this would likely be a good soft landing’
On road gust: We would be blown straight into something like the ‘Animal Removal Truck’ we’d seen earlier in the day. And from the smell of it, the animal were sadly not removed alive (although I guess if this happened they could’ve just chucked us in on top?).
ARGHHH, what to dooooo????
A call from The Bog
Looking at the Clifden bus-stop timetable (whilst having our hair blow dried in a fashion that possibly wouldn’t be suitable for the Oscars) we decided against the animal removal truck, but public transport instead. So, chucking our backpacks in the hold we plumped ourselves down on the front seat. (always the absolute BEST place to sit as there is always something mesmerizing about the drivers unusually bouncy seat and once you’ve finished looking at that you get the best view of everything).
And, whilst half the week I can’t remember what I had for lunch, there are moments in time where memories etch such groove in your mind they are carved there forever. And this was mine. As we were crossing the bleak bog on a black road slick with water, giant wipers bouncing across the huge windscreen, my phone rang.
Pulling it out of my pocket I saw it was my top person. ‘Heth’ a wobbly voice said, ‘my results came back a week early’.
‘And I’m clear’
And for the first time in three months, I couldn’t keep it together in-front of this top banana. I cried.
When the Shit Hitteth the Fan Go to Ireland
Now whilst some may have a quick weep I of course couldn’t stop and so naturally made a complete tit of myself. Pretty much every passenger heard my news, blubbed out to my friend sat beside me in gasping, snotty bursts.
But do you know what? People are kind. A sympathetic look here, a smile there, a light hand on the on the shoulder when we alighted a short while later.
Faces full of sympathy, gentleness and hope.
And that is why, when the shit hitteth the fan – go to Ireland.
The three day cycle started at Cong (Co. Mayo) and ended at Oughterard (Co Galway), via Delphi and Clifden on the Wild Atlantic Way. About 30-45 miles per day. All easily bookable independently or via David at West Ireland Cycling.
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