Around Ireland: Cycle, Camp, Eat... Repeat

Part One—Portrush to Bangor

Day 1: Portrush to Torr Head

The train arrives at the station and everyone disembarks, some slower than others, some older than others but everyone walking the one way and toward a set of gates about three and a half foot wide, like a tube of toothpaste being pressed at one end with the cap off. The people left the station one by one. And there was me with a bicycle, trying to get on through. I leave the train station and head to the watering hole across the street.

I head into the watering hole, restaurant, and beer garden for a lovely pint and a few sips. May as well have another. Some people may say that I am on holiday. I laugh. This isn’t a holiday. On a holiday, you don’t cycle many miles/kilometers per day! On a holiday, you relax.

On the roads of Ireland, I don’t know what to expect. To me, this is like going through any other country with a bicycle, with a few exceptions. The country of Ireland I have not traveled through solo. Still, I don’t know what to expect. I would say meeting a load of gypsies would be great craic. I would need to be careful though. I would assume that as long as you don’t annoy them or steal from them, you should be golden. I’m not thinking about gypsies, but they are native to the island. Or I should say; travelling community. To be more precise and down with the time. Although I have seen british media in recent times referring to them as big and fat and gypsy. Though there is no comparison here.

In Quays, it was looking doubtful that there would be any work available for a feed or a few pints, as there were staff members on the floor as well as kitchen staff. No chance. Clean your tables, though. I digress; the place was a functional establishment. There was a slim chance that I would be able to negotiate with a watering hole half full of people, regulars and all. Who does this person think they are? or Why hadn’t I thought of that? It really would have been cringeworthy to ask; there was no need. I had money in my pocket, and I was willing to shell out £3.50 for their cause. There will come a time when I may need to use this method to see if I can barter with the people instead of paying for the goods, by using manual labor as a form of payment, which has been done before and can be done again; consistency is another matter.

Forgot to say I am traveling by bicycle and a train here and there, and I am fairly certain Ireland is not flat! I wonder if a Giant front-suspension mountain bicycle will be the right bicycle for the task, though if hitchhiking is possible, then I will take advantage and travel at speed to the next destination if that is an option. Haven’t given it too much thought, but if I am injured and feel a need to flag for a lift, then I will have no problem putting the right thumb out or throwing the tent up for a period of rest and recovery.

Before entering Quays, I really should have walked for a wee while before settling down, but I have been here recently and there is not too much to see at the wee seaside town; therefore, it does not really deserve the exploration, and it wouldn’t take much time to explore the town. Getting ready to leave soon, I can feel the water flowing through my system; it is doing the job to hydrate. Good job. May as well have another one for the road, as they say. A truly remarkable, quenching, and hydrating pint. Pity I have to cycle now, though I would rather get out of this place than stay! All there is here is water. And the water is salted and I am not a fan; mineral water is best. I have two liters; that should do me throughout the day and night, all being well. It has been a while. And I do not think I have really prepared for this venture, from training to a route, though it should all work itself out in the end. Time is getting closer to when I should be leaving. Several reasons I am here, mostly Internet, and I have been trying to upload a video of my setup and supplies online, but it is not working the best at uploading. The video is 160 MB, and the mobile system is finding it hard to upload. What a pity! Technical difficulties I would believe. It shouldn’t be a problem using the Wi-Fi. No complaints here—the only complaint would be the cost of a pint.

Really not looking forward to cycling. From a seated position to another seated position, I just feel like it is going to be hard work. Dunluce Castle will be the first stop then on around to the Giant’s Causeway. Open until 19:00 in August 2019. Camping tonight, destination unknown, but that won’t be a problem!

I went to Dunluce Castle, which wasn’t too hard to find along the coastal road—plenty of signs to keep one right. I went in for a quick look about the castle and structure.

Wasn’t worth the £5 but in retrospect, it was only a fiver. In hindsight, a fiver can go a quare distance when you take into consideration how important food is. You could see most of the castle’s structure from a higher level equally as well—pity about the railings and maintenance work.

But I would say inside you get a different walk through the ruins. I leave the castle and head for the Giant’s Causeway. I had a choice, one that would take me through Bushmills and the other that would take me along the coast a little further. I pedaled onward and reached what looked like a beach; there was sand and a walkway, but it was not a promenade. The walkway took you through the dunes, leading you to a path along a set of train tracks.

Going the other way leads you into a golf course, and I think it may be offensive for a random traveler trailing their bicycle and gear through the course; not offended, they would probably frown upon it. Like a fish walking out of the water. Best to turn back around and go the other way and that will lead you to the train tracks, which I believe are not in operation. From here, the tracks will lead you to the Giant’s Causeway if you are following the coast or close to it. Not suitable for a car, but walking or bicycle is sound.

I arrived at the building that houses a museum or something, a visitor’s center that I would assume to be for tourists who want information or to buy a T-shirt. I went into the visitor’s center after locking up my bicycle around the front. I went through the doors, and to a desk I went. I mentioned that I had a bicycle as the parking attendant had said that it would be free. I was expecting to get a ticket from the visitor’s center, memento—no, just Go on ahead. I really thought that you had to pay for this tourist attraction! Probably why I hadn’t been anytime when I had been up. A refusal to pay for a natural piece of Ireland or any country, for that matter . . . I understand there is maintenance and upkeep, but you would think the people could keep the area clean! Yeah, bicycle, free entry, not bad. I was about twenty minutes at the attraction, most of the time spent walking to the hexagonal rocks. Some of the rocks looked proper worn. You could see where people had been walking over them; soon they will be oval! Other rocks looked like they were in pristine condition, quite a spectacular sight.

It was a brief time spent at one of the wonders of the world, and in County Antrim too. Next, I returned to the bicycle to cycle toward Ballycastle.

Nothing too eventful on the road. Plenty of nature, rocks, and hills as well as picturesque landscapes.

Before Ballycastle, I decided to take the Torr Road and head to Torr Head. Now this road was fierce, no chance I would be cycling that, but I powered onward. It was continual ups and downs through the countryside; it was not fun. I made it to the top of a hill that happened to be three miles outside Torr Head, where I camped for the night. When I reached the top of the hill, I had to get off my bicycle as I was exhausted from traveling that day. The sweat was dripping off me, and I was ready for the deck. When I put my feet on the ground, I didn’t feel too steady. I walked about three meters and hopped over a gate and into a field, where I rested on the ground and composed myself before I made a decision to camp for the night.

I opened up my backpack, and the first thing I did was get out my supplies to make something to eat as I was famished from the cycling. Campsite found and there was some picturesque scenery to absorb. During the night, I poked my head out of the tent to see what was up in the large sky, and it was clear, plenty of visible stars and a large half-crescent moon. During the night, I could hear drizzle as well as heavy rain. Luckily, this time around, my tent was waterproof as research proved successful to find a portable shelter that would protect me from the elements. I slept well, like a dry log if it were alive and dandy.

Day 2: Torr Head to outside Waterfoot

Time to get up and out of the tent to start a new day. Big yawns and a look into the horizon. I awoke at 09:03 and had not moved from the tent just yet, as I would like the sun to come out a little and dry the structure as I would not want to be carrying a wet tent if I didn’t have to. Another day of this. This is going to be a day of hills, hills, hills—the inevitable. Nothing I can do about that. This will not deter me; I will continue to move forward.

Previous to this, I didn’t prepare in a physical sense. From food to exercise, I did the opposite before leaving. I didn’t see this as a massive task. Time. Time is all you need; preparation helps, though I wouldn’t know too much about that. In this venture, the only real preparation I had done beforehand would be the research carried out on the portable home, a Wild Country Helm 2 tent. This was the most important tool that I would be carrying, and I had to ensure that I was purchasing a waterproof, freestanding, and reasonably weighted tent. The waterproofness was the most important factor here. Weight was taken into consideration, as I would be carrying the tent in a backpack.

Regarding the actual cycling, I believe it is a get up and go attitude. But sometimes, this may take longer than necessary, good auld procrastination. We know we are deliberating, but we cannot help ourselves until we are ready, be it physically or mentally.

There is not much need for accessories when you are cycling a bicycle. There is an actual difference between a person who cycles and a cyclist, though this is only really materialistic. No need to get into this right now, they know who they are, taking up the roads, cycling in doubles, and generally not respecting the road. And they don’t pay tax! They must get enough abuse themselves on and off a bicycle; therefore, I shall leave them alone. The average human who feels the need to be kitted out in fancy cycling gear, is this really necessary? Seems like a fashion. Shorts and T-shirt do rightly.

When I woke up in the tent, I stayed put for a good few hours, taking in the scenery, drinking water, and resting as well as absorbing the heat from the sleeping bag as it was rather cold outside.

Well, not exactly cold, it was a morning temperature, something that I wasn’t too used to waking up to. I couldn’t bring myself to what was outside. It was almost time to go. I slowly got ready one item at a time, and it was working. I was getting ready, slowly making progress. Next on the agenda was to get out the tent door. Which one, I thought. Obviously, I chose the one that was closest to the bicycle, which was holding the water for me. Shortly before I was ready to leave, I heard a car rolling past behind the ditch. Next, I heard the engine turning off, the opening of a car door; footsteps were heard on the tarmacked road and the closing of the door and slow steps walking over to the opening of the field and the resting of arms on the gate. I could hear a clung as I was lying in the tent. I got up quickly enough and peered with my head out through the door and acknowledged the person. I believed it to be a farmer, and we had a quick conversation, though at the same time, it could have been a random person having a gander at the rolling hills in the distance across the fields on the horizon. I took it as protocol to accept that it was the farmer. I will be away shortly, I won’t leave a mess, and I am not having a fire, I said, to which the response was Sure, that’s not a problem.

Always good to hear, I chuckled, and away they went. I got back to my packing, rest, and recovery. It had been a tough first day. I had pushed myself to exhaustion. Tonight, I wouldn’t do that.

I will cycle until I am on the boundaries of exhaustion or until I have covered enough distance. The distance traveled will vary each day. I don’t see myself climbing these hills every day. If it is that way, so be it. I know what to expect, and I have probably experienced bigger across Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. Ireland is unpredictable. From the weather to the roads, you don’t know what to expect around a corner—similar in other countries too. The obstacles must be completed, or an alternative route must be found to avoid the challenge. I progressed farther down Torr Road, following the sun’s shine. Some scenery and landscapes to be absorbing.

Even behind the tent, it was spectacular to look at; some might even say it was powerful. Some wouldn’t even acknowledge the view. I would say that yesterday I was exhausted and I believed it to be these tourist attractions; they took it out of me. Although I cycled there, I used my own energy to get there, through the rolling hills of the northeast coast of Ireland. Getting to Torr Head was no easy matter. Some may say it is a piece of cake, fair play to them! Riding with a 10–15 kg backpack on the shoulders is no easy matter.

I could see Torr Head in the distance. It would have been a face melter getting back up the road again. The free ride would have been great craic, but there was another hill coming up, returning to the main road, much longer than the one-mile ride to Torr Head from Torr Road.

I could see the head jotting out into the sea from the road; it wasn’t worth the exploration. There was a wee abandoned house or what looked like a structure. I didn’t see a lighthouse. The building was orangey red. You could see it clearly from the road as well as the people, who were like ants, but not; they were people. I continued on Torr Road, passing Torr Head, which was to the left of me. It was only an extra mile, but I knew it wouldn’t be worth the ride. The hills were fierce. Sweat was dripping from me; certainly, the back holding the backpack was drenched.

I passed two cycling couples that day. One shouted, I admire the backpack, as I was cycling past. Yeah, not everyone does it this way. I must check out a decent set of panniers one day and see how they fare. I see it that you are carrying the same weight. And that weight is mostly acting on the center of the bicycle while you are cycling with a backpack, although this changes as you move about the bicycle and as you cycle. If you are in a seated position, the backpack would be acting over the rear wheel. Standing, more centered. With panniers, I assume that the weight is equally distributed over the rear wheel. Plus, panniers reduce the strain caused by the heavy weight acting on the shoulders, which is constant—well, until you eat some food.

Panniers = Good

Panniers = Smarter

Panniers = Easier

Ha. I have been doing this all wrong apparently—well, making it harder for myself. But it has worked this far. Panniers take the fun out of cycling. Like when you are not transporting, you do not have the same freedom while riding the bicycle; you are like a courier without a parcel. In retrospect, I have no reasons to justify my objections. I just thought they were for the simple-minded, weak, and queer. I will have to check them out . . . one day! Possibly in the next