Ireland Day Seven (our luck runs out)

Today, I'm up early enough for a quick ride to the Harbor, this time opting for the High Road. I like this road because you see both the shore and the landscape:

It's good I like it, because I get to ride it twice. Once half-way - until I realize I don't have my route map carrier, and turn around to get it. The second time with a spare route map carrier supplied by our guides (mine never does turn up).

Here's the thing. We packed for the trip. Then we had to pack for Inishmore separately, leaving our suitcases behind and taking a pack for two days. From that, we pack for our daily rides. At this point, I've packed and repacked so often I have no idea where anything is. It's a miracle if I get through this trip without losing my passport (and my mind).

But the ride is so glorious, I kind of don't mind. So different from The Burren. So green. And surrounded by the natural beauty of antiquity:

And those eternally beautiful Irish walls (never any use of mortar)

I even see a scarecrow.

We reconvene at the port, leave our rental bikes and board the Ferry.

(Yes, I am wearing my sweater)

Back on the docks of Rossaveel, we rejoin our bags and reshuffle our gear once again (don't need those hiking shoes). And we're off for a 10 mile ride to a family restaurant. 

Where we have placed our orders the night before (to lower the stress on our hostess). The cuisine is happily up to Irish standards.

As we begin our ride to Connemara,  we enter a highway with sparse but fast-moving traffic. And a steady stream of ascents. 

I am just about to pull over to rest, when the road levels out. 

And everything looks good. Until we turn off the main road - and that's when things start to go south. We find ourselves on an open stretch, buffeted by a relentless headwind (hey, where did that come from?).

I don't mean to complain. They say in Ireland that it only rains twice a week: once for three days, and then again for four. And I'm prepared for that. Having experienced the Urine Sauna that passes for New York weather in August, it seemed to me that a cooler and rainy environment could only be an improvement (and I still think I was right). But as I struggle to move forward with every pedal stroke, the voices of our guides echo through my head: if you don't notice the wind, it's at your back. And I'm realizing we've been as lucky with the wind as we have with the rain. And now our luck has run out: we have both.

The rest of our 20 mile route feels like 40. The miles seem endless - a grinding trade-off between riding on narrow highways.

With trucks.

Or quieter roads with rugged pavement. 

Intermittent rain, and a capricious headwind are constant factors. But there are many compensations. Like these roadside companions:

The color coding turns out to be an efficient way for farmers to keep track of which ewes should be checked for lambing later, or which sheep have been vaccinated or dipped.

​And oh look, the grass really is greener!

We're in peat country. This is what it looks like harvested:

My version (wet)

Google's version (dry)

We've been warned that these bogs are very easy to sink into, and the reason we've been warned is because of the Green Door. At first I thought this had something to do with Ireland, this being the Emerald Isle and all. But no, it's a euphemism for outdoor rest stops (a euphemism in itself), which sometimes become necessary on long rides. I've used the Green Door once but the thing is, if you choose to use it in a peat bog, you could become a statistic.

We slog along, the miles seeming interminable. But then suddenly, a final right turn, and it all seems worthwhile. 

A glorious four mile ride around this lake where both wind and rain abate. What more can they do to us at this point anyway?

We are drowned rats by now, and the sight of our hotel, the Lough Inagh Lodge*, is a welcome one indeed.

Two of our group have come down with a highly contagious cold. One of them rode in the van (a sensible decision; most everyone else was there too); one of them toughed it out and rode this entire course. I don't know how she did it. But for now our lodge welcomes us with generous rooms.

And best of all, we will be staying two days; a break from all that packing, and time for our clothes to dry out.

First stop: the bar where I order a shot of Red Breast (12-year-old whiskey). That's just what's needed to warm these cockles. This is not a habit I will continue in New York, alas. Alcohol and breast cancer don't mix. But I'm in Ireland now.

We head off to a sumptuous dinner after which we get a demonstration on the art of making an authentic Irish Coffee. More whiskey! I demur - not because of the whiskey, but because of the caffeine. Now that I finally have a decent sleep schedule, I'd like to hold onto it. Tomorrow's ride is 31 miles with a longer option. Normally that would be nothing for me. But now I'm a little wiser. Headwinds and rain will determine extra miles.

*http://www.loughinaghlodgehotel.ie/en/