2/9 After the rain is before the sunset

I need a clear plastic sleeve, some tape, scissors, and an eraser! What sounds like it came straight out of an Olsen Gang movie belongs to the premise of the pioneer‑crafting afternoon “Today we’ll build a rain cover for a GPS.” When I leave Belfast in the morning, it’s already raining cats and dogs. That throws my GPS completely off, even with the screen locked, and after I’ve gotten lost three times without even having left Belfast, I hop on the scooter. I cancel my route through the little side streets after what feels like the 20th navigation failure and head for the nearest larger town with a petrol station, hoping to find some solution. And chance has it that there’s a supermarket attached right under the station’s roof. So there I gather the aforementioned items and make a rain cover. A German, drenched in rain gear and confused, standing in an Irish school‑supply aisle, dripping wet and scowling. The scowl fades as I admire my handiwork. First‑grade craft class really stuck with me. Unfortunately, the problem of wet gloves can’t be solved that quickly. The constant taking on and off drags all the moisture onto me. I’ve had that before a few days ago, you know. After the tinkering there’s a warm lunch from the market stall. Then I head west, hoping the rain will finally stop. In rain and visibility under 500 m with a slightly fogged‑up helmet from Northern Ireland, I haven’t noticed anything. Nothing! Sure, the landscape won’t differ much from the rest of Ireland, but you don’t take a trip like this every day; there has to be more than gray nothingness in the distance and raindrops on the visor. And then, the rain eases, and because I didn’t delete the last waypoint from the GPS, I’m instantly rewarded with the very imposing Dunluce Castle on the north coast. What follows is a seemingly insignificant short ferry crossing. In the middle of the bay I re‑enter the EU and have to keep driving left. What surprised me, however, was that speed limits are once again given in km/h instead of miles. So now Ireland. The fourth country in just two weeks where I finally leave my footprint—or rather the tire mark—of my AWO. And it keeps rolling and buzzing like a little bee. Time to look for a spot to smash my head onto. I fire up the wild‑camping app and, well, fine, I spot a place by the Atlantic. Still about 90 km away, way too much main road. But the last 20 km make up for it with mountain‑feeling all the way to the coast. And what can I say, it’s dreamy and I’m even alone. Pack up, set up my pole‑and‑tarp castle, cooked some pasta, and then watched the sunset. “What do you want, sea …”