7/9 Fire On The Mountain
I stand on the cliff and watch the sea and the surrounding mountains for a few more minutes. It’s hard to let go. Eventually I turn around, hit the starter, and begin my day’s work.
I don’t get very far. In the next little village the ice sign smiles at me and says “Come in, and get a ball, or two.” What am I supposed to do, the sun is laughing from the sky and everything is still somehow romantic …
And on we go with curve slalom, it’s just a joy. At Healy Pass there’s Alpine feeling again. A solid 334 m high. Don’t think I’m trying to fool you. But so close to the sea you don’t need the absolute height to be allowed to celebrate with other bikers at the top of the pass after the updraft through tight hairpins on a mountain wall. And every other who arrives up there has a thumbs‑up and a big grin under the helmet. After 20 minutes of show I attack my next target, the Gleninchaquin Waterfall. People, don’t be as stupid as I am and admire a waterfall in late summer. Not even in rainy Ireland. One, no two streams ran down the rock face. And as if that wasn’t enough, a ticket clerk suddenly stands in front of me and wants admission. I wanted to ask him if he also turns the water on, but I didn’t. With my English he might have understood I wanted to pee on his leg. So on, uphill, downhill, uphill, … It gets increasingly hazy in the afternoon and from the mountain tops you can barely see anything. Rain could also come in the afternoon, says the forecast. Around 4 I thus cross off all the corners of my route and head straight to today’s destination. Just a completely normal campsite in nowhere. With camper‑vans, barking dogs, and a bowl of scones on top. The Irish are no different from the Germans. Well, that’s how stark the difference is in accommodation options when the journey has to go on and the sea isn’t always within reach.
The last two hours of normal wide road were balm for the right hand and my shoulders. As beautiful as mountain roads are to ride, they demand a lot of concentration and a tense sitting position. Especially on the very narrow roads of Ireland. Curves are barely visible and the right hand is under constant stress on the hand brake. So the last kilometres went under the motto “Pain, ease up!”.
