Ireland, July 2005 - better late the never!

[Hermanator]

Been a little busy this year and virtually none of the plans I had were realised. The following is the story of the trip to Ireland in July 2005.

 

 

DAY ONE - JULY 23RD 2005

 

Bike loaded, I had jacked up the suspension almost to the max and also adjusted the preload. I climb aboard at 10am on Saturday morning, plug in the GPS, CD player and comms system and then came the big trial, Theresa plugs herself in, I brace for all I'm worth and on she gets.

 

Surprise, the bike doesn't sag at all and is still sitting perfectly level. We take off up the drive and brake to a wobbly stop, me thinking "hell I hope I don't have to do this in a hurry, what do we weigh?" So we take off, headed for the M4 and, after giving Theresa her chosen music for the first leg, I start doing calculations, Tent, bags etc. Bike weighs in at 280kg's, tank of fuel 25kgs, me 71kgs, TJ 55kgs, topbox load 20kgs, panniers 20kgs each - CRUMBS! that's 491kgs, nearly half a ton that has to be supported by my little legs and, how's this thing going to go around corners and stop.

 

Down the road towards the M4 and I take the forest roads thinking that I'll test the bike here before we get too far. I just started grinning. Into the first bend and Herman just laughed at it, into the next, a great right hander and I push a little more - WOW! Eventually make a forced heavy stop under braking, both foot and hand brake and the whole lot just comes to an eye-popping stop whilst remaining perfectly balanced and under control.

 

We get onto the M4 and settle in for the part of the ride I wasn't looking forward to. Bike feels nice and smooth at just over 4k rpm's and about 85, no labouring and the sleeping bags on the sides are staying exactly where they should.

 

I thought we'd make a few stops en route but, passing Leigh Delamare services (98miles), I ask if we should stop, and I get a rollocking because I spoke and cut the music out at her favourite part of the song. She says she likes the next track so just keep going.

 

Eventually, we worked out that if we spoke normally, the VOX wouldn't cut out the music and we just had the longest conversation about everything and nothing - bliss, good conversation, the hum of the engine and the odd giggle from the back.

 

In no time, we arrive at the Severn Bridge into Wales. I move over to the left lane and slow a bit while we admire the view from the bike of the Severn at high tide, just beginning to Ebb - beautiful.

 

Theresa thought it was quite novel that we didn't have to pay at the toll booth and for ages afterwards, she kept asking WHY! - Hell I don't know, bikes just don't have to pay, that's it.

 

As we progress further through Wales, the traffic builds up and we pass a group of 4 bikes, all riding at about 65, seemingly to allow the Hog 883 sportster to keep up. With a cheery wave we pass them (TJ responding well to this biker waving malarki, but you don't have to wave at them till they're so far behind you can't see them ) Soon, we come up on about 7 miles of tail backs leading to Carmarthen and Herman, the snake that he is, just slithers through the traffic at about 65.

 

At Carmarthen services, we pull in for a quick and I notice I've only used about 1/2 a tank of gas While we're there having a coffee, the 4 bikers pull in. They had set off from Portsmouth at 08h00 that morning to take the 14h30 ferry from Fishgaurd to Rosslare. We had a short chat in which they agreed, they needed to get their jacks in gear to make their ferry. So off they go. TJ and I finish our coffees, saddle up and about 5 miles down the road, we pass them again, shortly before coming into another batch of static traffic. Again, TJ starts her "new-found buddy" wave as they quickly dissappear in the trailing traffic.

 

Soon, we're out of the traffic and back up to 85. We take the hill leaving Carmarthen to StClears and Herman just powers past trucks, buses, cars and caravans. A few squeels from behind till TJ gets used to the acceleration and overtaking ability of the bike, followed by a few deep intakes of breath as she gets used to the way a bike corners.

 

I then start to laugh like a schoolkid when we eventually pass the sign for the quad-biking centre where Nick (Staib) famously rolled, but never rolled his quad. TJ and I are in stitches as I recite the story again. (sorry, possibly means nothing, one of those, "you had to be there moments")

 

Shortly thereafter, "JUDY" starts telling us the directions to the Pembroke Dock Ferry terminal. Oh, the GPS got named Judy as she sounds like, and is as efficious as, Judy Jetson from the cartoon, The Jetson's. We arrive at the ferry and again, TJ is most impressed when the security people hold back the cars and allow us to ride straight onto the ferry while the cars all sit in long queues - as if they haven't been in enough of them all that morning.

STATS:

248 miles in 3.5 hours and 3/4's of a tank of gas.

14h30 sailing Pembroke Dock to Rosslare Ireland - arrive Rosslare 18h45.

 

 

The weather was still sunny and bright as it had been all day, despite the forecasts for rain. Judy plots us a course for Carrick on Suir where we planned our first night stop and camp. As we ride the coast road, we see darkening clouds in our direction and then, with a glimmer of hope, the road changes direction and we head away from the storm.

 

Our first taste of Irish countryside and we're thinking, this is no better than Norfolk/Linc's area. Still, the most obvious change was the motorists. As you come up behind them, they move over into the hard shoulder and once you're past, the move back onto the road again. They do this in South Africa as well and I thought how practical this is. Of course, the only cars that don't move over are the UK REGGO's

 

Still, this leg of the journey starts to improve as we get onto some lovely long sweeping bends and I feel like a King. At 293 miles from leaving home, my reserve light comes on. I nearly didn't see it as JUDY sits right in front of the idiot lights At 310 miles we fill up and Herman eagerly guzzles 22.6 liters.

 

This stretch of the journey had taken us along the coast road through Counties, Wexford and Waterford (Crystal!!!) before landing us in Carrick on Suir for our first night (138 miles from Rosslare).

 

We check into a basic Caravan and Camping park which has nice grounds and a pleasant surrounding, flat tent pitches and clean ablution blocks - 16 Euro's for us for the night.

 

I now get to see how my planning works of "pack as you mean to unpack". We find our spot, park Herman up, disconnect the GPS bits, and leave the stereo playing - AND THEN IT STARTS TO RAIN - OH HELL!!!!!!!

 

Tent, when bought said "pitched in 15 minutes". Tent yanked outta bike, wife on the instructions, inner down and pegged (with hammer which I threw in at last moment), poles plug together, make inner dome, throw over outer tent and make fast guy ropes and other pegs - 10 minutes and we're in business. Sleeping bags had (with foresight) been wrapped in bin liners so they came off next and went into the tent. While TJ organised the tent inside, the cooker and pots, I inflated the matress and the last thing to get into the tent was the clothing bags - AND THE DARN GPS WHICH HAD BEEN SITTING IN IT'S CRADLE IN THE RAIN.

 

Still, all's well that ends well, we're dried off and we're camping. Dinner is Fusili Pasta and a delicious Lloyd Grossman Carbonara sauce, heated on our stove and new pots - hee hee!

 

The rain gets heavier and heavier and I thank my lucky stars that the stones and rocks I hit while putting in the tent pegs means that there's a lot of drainage in the soil and we won't be flooded.

 

We zip closed the front flap and sit there staring out of the widows at the rain - ah romance

 

Ten Thirty that night, and we turn out the lights and listen to the rain beating on the tent, just right to go to sleep in......

 

YOU EVER TRIED TO SLEEP WITH THAT RACKET? Still, rain eventually stops, doesn't it? - NO IT DOESN'T!

 

It rained solidly throughout the night. TJ and I were taking turns using the waterproof jacket which had been in the cargo net with the sleeping bag while my riding jacket lay in the veranda area of the tent, sopping wet on the outside.

 

I'd said no shoes in the tent as firstly they were wet and secondly if a heel or zipper punctures the groundsheet we're done for.

 

Still, that was night one, more to come such as more rain, incredible mountains, waterfalls, sights, scenes and smells, all brought to us from the saddle of my best mate, HERMAN.

[Hermanator]

 

DAY 2 - JULY 24TH 2005

 

We awoke to the rain still coming down in buckets. Hungry, we donned the waterproofs and set off in search of food. You'll see on the map posted above the first blue route to the right of the map is our breakfast ride. 98 kilometers later, still in pouring rain and we find the Value Supermarket, less than a kilometer from our campsite serves bacon butties/rolls. Still, it was a good ride. After breakfast (about 11h30) we decide that sitting in a tent in the pouring rain if for the birds. TJ begins to SMILE again at the prospect of dry and warmth.

 

Packing up a sodden campsite in the pouring rain is no fun and was definitely not enjoyed. We packed all the gear that was inside the tent and then, while TJ waited in the ladies loos, about 30 meters away, I ran the stuff across to her. Tent empty, I set about taking it down while at the same time, trying t keep the inner dome as dry as possible. In a scene reminiscent of Monty Python's, The Life of Brian, "did I hear a snigger?" Yes, there to the amusement of all the other campers in their fancy vans was this lunatic running around in the pouring rain, tripping over guy ropes and slipping all over the place while packing up.

 

Suffice to say, the tent was packed and rolled in about 5 minutes and, remarkably, it went into its bag. With the tent in the top box, I rode the bike over and, in the shelter of the 1 foot of awning, we transferred our gear from the ladies loo to the bike.

 

After a cheery wave to all the other campers, now with distinctly dissapointed looks on their faces (either cos we had the gumption to leave or that their entertainment was over), JUDY set us a course for CORK.

 

Given the mist, rain and thoroughly miserable conditions, I was determined to make short work of the ride to Cork. The 118 kilometers to Cork was dispatched in about 1.5 hours, taking the coast road instead of the mountain route. Herman was incredibly sure footed and was still very comfortable and safe at around 140 kph (85mph). Reaching Cork, we pulled in and JUDY told us about the LANCASTER LODGE HOTEL and plotted a route, right to the front door. By removing TJ's foul weather gear, we agreed she looked most presentable of the two of us, so we sent her in to check availability. Big grins, a room available for 110Euro's B&B. Herman was fortunate to get a parking space right outside our WINDOW. The way we had packed, we simply removed our bags from the panniers, shoved the sleeping bags in their place and walked into the hotel with a helmet and bag each. The room was fantastic, enormous, clean, bright and airy. Also, as all Ireland has a total ban on smoking within establishments, there are no smoky rooms anywhere.

 

And then, the shower. I have never enjoyed a shower as much as I did that day. Hot water from a pressure nozzle giving you an aqua massage, I could have stood there all day. Nice to be in the room with the radio on so I could wash my bits while they played the hits!

 

An hour later, it stopped raining for the first time in 24 hours.....

 

Deciding that, as it was only 16h00 and the sun had come out, we decided to take a short ride to Macroom, Kanturk, Charleville, and Kilmarnock and then back to Cork via Mallow.

 

This was our first taste of what was to come, from the moment you head west from Cork and get to the mountains, you are deposited in surroundings which embrace you with the closeness of rocks and trees. The stretch from Macroom to Kanturk was especially memorable. Absolutely rugged, it was like a roller coaster ride, up/down, left/right, making the servo assisted ABS whistle. Still, keeping Herman in 3rd and 4th gear, we had loads of torque to have massive engine braking and acceleration from almost a walking pace. Touched the centre stand on the ground for the first time which made TJ jump a bit. I convinced her, that it was made like that to allow the rider to judge distance from the road.

 

Anyway, back at the hotel and 19h30, another 133 kilometers covered, we parked Herman up and walked into Cork centre. Cork is a lovely place. It is exceptionally clean and tidy (well the tourist parts at least), but the main thing was the selection of bars and restaurants catering to every palate and music taste. We decided on the Zanzibaar Bistro, just off the high street. A great little restaurant which didn't disapoint. TJ ordered soup, fish and salad while I ordered a cheese burger. What they brought was a burger made of enough meat for TJ and I to make a meal out of, let alone one person. The chips, cut from fresh potatoes were enormous and, after nearly 2 hours of eating, our plates were finally empty and we were licking our lips.

 

We then took a walk of about 2 miles around the centre of Cork to get the food settled before we found a great little pub on the north side of the main canal and right opposite our hotel. The pub (photographed, but with TJ's camera), was beautifully clean and had such an ornate entrance. Stepping inside was like stepping into a time warp. The decor (freshly remodelled) is reminiscent of the late 1800's with stained glass, lots of wood panelling, and the sweetest old lady bartender, almost a double of Mrs Doyle from Father Ted, only dressed immaculately in a white suit and very officious. A wonderful experience and such a pleasure to be served in such surroundings.

 

Back to the hotel for 23h00 and to bed - A GREAT DAY.

[Hermanator]

DAY 3 - JULY 25TH 2005

 

Today dawned bright and sunny and about 19 degrees with a forecast for it to rise to 21 degrees. After another of those sensual showers, we enjoyed an enormous breakfast at the Lancaster Lodge, perfectly prepared, very fresh and delicious. Comprised fruit, cereal, juice, coffee, bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, mushrooms (mmm, now where’ve I had that before?)

 

By 10h30, we were saddled up and packed. Judy had a course plotted which would take us to Blarney Castle so TJ could "snog a rock", from there, down to Skibereen, and then north towards Bantry, and the Dingle Peninsula. Blarney, our first stop was despatched in short order as it is only a few miles from Cork and getting there is mainly via the N roads which were quite busy. Blarney is a very quaint little village, well signposted and very, very tidy. Arriving at Blarney Castle, the bike got a good parking position, right outside the store. It became clear as we travelled that bike's, although more un-common than in the UK, are well respected and people make a point of being as accommodating as possible.

For SEVEN EURO's each, we got access to Blarney Castle, this includes everything within the grounds - fabulous value for money.

Strolling around the grounds, the whole ambience just relaxes you immediately. There are crowds but there are very limited queues and things move smoothly. Obviously, visiting without Kissing the Blarney Stone would be a sin in itself so we partook in the "snog-a-rock" session.

OK, now is it only me who thinks like this? Billy Connolly once asked, "How did man know how to get milk from a cow and, what the heck was he doing when he found this out?" Equally, I look at the Blarney Stone where you virtually have to hang, upside down on the highest point of a castle wall to kiss the underside of a stone - who the heck discovered that? Was it some illiterate daft person who used to go around kissing stones and then, one day, before he plummeted to his death, he kissed the Blarney Stone? His wail on the way down convincing everyone within earshot that this idiot had suddenly become eloquent - a life giving property inherited as he kissed his last stone!

 

Still, even stranger things happen at Blarney Castle - you shrink and become little Leprechauns. Personally, I think I've worked out where the Leprchauns originate. Look at TJ here, she's become part of the undergrowth. I keep telling her to grow up.

[Hermanator]

We decide now, given that it has gone 13h00 that we'll skip Skibereen and head for Kenmare direct. OH MY GAWD! I did not stop to take pictures and the two we have are on TJ's camera. Once you enter the mountain regions, you are offered the most exhilirating, exciting and refreshing experience of your life.

 

Within short order of leaving Blarney, you enter the first valleys surrounding you with the most enormous mountains, craggs and hills. The road entering the mountains is fantastic. Long sweeping bends hugging the valley floor before you hit Kenmare which is where the real passes begin.

 

The passes I'm talking about consist of really poor tarred roads snaking their way up the mountains. Almost like alpine passes, the roads meander in a zig-zag which some incredibly tight, first gear switchbacks. Quite by accident, we realised that this is the route of the tour buses and that they follow the same route/direction as us. I'd hate to be coming the other way when a bus is suddenly filling both sides of the road as you come around a bend.

 

The views from the top of the passes were stupendous to say the least. I thought about stopping for some piccies but felt my camera would simply not do justice to the sights, sounds, smells and experience - you'll just have to go and experience it for yourself.

 

Descending the mountains on the north side, you enter the forest region. This whole experience of County Kerry and this area in particular, being the Ring of Kerry, we came to agree is one of the most beautiful and rugged areas we have ever visited.

 

This whole ride, apart from when TJ screamed STOP when she saw the waterfall and ice cream shop in the Forest of Derrycunnihy. A short stop and a walk up the path to the top of the waterfall was incredibly tranquil, despite the 3 bus loads of tourists. I surprised and American tourist in a hire car when I asked him to fire his windscreen wash onto a towel so I could clean the helmet visors - the look on his face was something to be seen.

 

Soon thereafter, we left the forest and road followed the spine of the hills and mountains before descending again. From here, we had instructions to Dingle on the Dingle Peninsula. The road conditions are appalling, strongly complementing the adventure and ruggedness of the surrounding area. What I couldn't believe was that the roads on the peninsula are arrow straight for miles. I even kept checking the GPS for any unexpected sharp bends ready to catch an over confident biker. To your left, you look down onto Dingle Bay with very impressive cliffs and the steep, jagged mountains on the opposite side of the bay. Truly, a sight worthy of a movie scene. I remember as we rode along here that Stevie Nicks started playing "Tonight belongs to Lovers" on the CD. I turned it up and TJ gave me a bit of a squeeze around the waist.

 

We stopped in Dingle to get some piccies of the beach.

 

Theresa and Herman, looking out over Dingle Bay

 

A camera can never capture the image and immensity

 

From here on out, over the pond one would find 'Merkin's

[ClearwaterBMW]

always better late than never. we all know it takes time to post this stuff and enter the code for the pictures. we appreciate your efforts. the story was great/the pictures, too.

IRELAND is such a beautiful place...

thanks for sharing some of it with us

 

greg

[Hermanator]

Leaving Dingle, JUDY led us over the Connor Pass, the pass crossing the ridge of the mountains down the spine of the Dingle Peninsula. TJ was getting a bit anxious about all the bends and road works featuring tight twisty passes covered in freshly sprinkled stones to make the new surface.

 

Quite by surprise, we came upon a little place called CAMP. What a magnificent little place, just out there, stuck in the middle of nowhere. It almost seems as though it was started as a shepherd house many years ago and some never left so built a village.

 

JUDY eventually led us into Tralee where the reserve light came on once again. This time, we had covered 279 miles. In Tralee, we stopped outside a great little pub to get directions to the campsite. The end of August sees the hosting of the International Rose of Tralee Festival - Ireland's largest festival. Anyway, we call the campsite at Woodlands Park, a listing in the Camping and Caravanning Guide sent to us by the Irish Camping and Caravanning Association. The lady couldn't be more helpful, gave me quick directions which I put on the GPS and within 5 minutes, we turned into the Tralee AQUADOME with the Woodlands Park a short way further up the drive.

 

Now this is an excellent park. We arrived to find two Dutch bikers, one on a Honda Shadow and the other on a custom chopper also camping. After a brief chat, they mentioned that where they were camped was a bit noisy as it was right behind the shop and toilets. We then chose a spot about 150 yards further and behind some trees. Lovely and sheltered, we took our time pitching the tent, making sure that we dried all the moisture as we went. Within 1/2 and hour, we were sitting back with hot coffee and Snickers bars.

After a shower and change of clothes, we got back on the bike and rode into Tralee for something to eat. As that first pub we'd seen looked so inviting, we thought we'd stop in for a meal. This was 21h10. We take a seat in a very clean, tidy and enjoyable pub (again, no smoke) and I go to order some food and drinks. As the lovely waitress with the most striking blue eye's pours my pint, she says the kitchen closed ten minutes ago. But the Irish are such wonderful people, and she must've seen the pain and hurt in my eyes as, in the same breath she replies, "But I'm sure they haven't killed the fires yet!" RESULT. I order toasted ham and cheese while TJ order Carrot and Corriander Soup. Ever seen a place make a meal out of these two items. Frankly I think they emptied what hadn't been packed away for the night into our plates. TJ got an enormous bowl of soup which she said was delicious. A couple of freshly baked rolls with melting butter and a side salad, the size of a main course. I of course got to enjoy an enormous bucket of fresh chips.

 

While eating, the band began to play. For the first time in 12 years, I heard my old guitar, a Washburn entertaining the crowd. Traditional Irish ballads complemented by the exquisite tones of the Washburn and rinsed down with a couple of pints of Guiness - what a magical evening in a wonderful place with wonderful people. 23h00 and we saddle up and ride back to the park to tuck in for the night.

 

Today was a great day!

[Hermanator]

DAY 4 - JULY 26TH 2005

After a dry (Monday) night under the canvass, we rise at 7h30 in the morning to the sound of birds and children playing, sounds reminiscent of my childhood spent caravanning on holiday's with my parents.

 

After coffee and a shower, we start getting ourselves sorted out to leave when I start chatting to a cap from a neighbouring tent. Turns out he's also a colonial, now living in Cork with his wife and three kids.

 

His comment is, how do we manage to get away and go touring like this on the bike without the kids? Easy, we don't have any. Anyway, a really nice guy by the name of Erle and his wife Suzanne, next thing the kids are across and lastly their teenage Daughter. They tell us of their continuous lust for adventure as practiced in South Africa yet today, with the kids, find the closest they can come to it is camping with their tent.

 

I then told him about URAL's and all of a sudden, their eye's light up with the prospect that they can get two and be able to ferry the family of five and luggage, emulating the picture TJ and I presented. Erle and I swapped details and each have an open invitation to visit if either of us find ourselves in the vicinity again. A really nice family who I certainly wouldn't mind seeing again.

 

By 10h30, we're packed and with heavy hearts, we realise we have to get ourselves to Dublin in order that TJ can catch a flight back to Heathrow at 08h30 the next morning. Seriously, if I could have got TJ on a coach, I would have continued further up the west coast on my own. Still, after all we'd experienced and enjoyed on the trip, this was OUR trip and, without her, continuing wouldn't have been the same.

 

We leave the park to waves and byes from the many people we got to chat with and JUDY plots us a route to Dublin, avoiding motorways and taking in some of the sights of interest along the way. We gas up and the bike take 21.4 liters.

 

Herman just settles into his rythmic hum and pretty soon, we're skimming across Ireland, the CD playing and us looking at the scenes and laughing at some of the weird statues that line the way - like a buffalo dissapearing into the bush - followed by T and I singing, "I like big butts and I cannot lie...."

 

At one stage, we come around a bend and I see a sign for POETS COTTAGE. Yes, let's stop there, so we follow the sign. The road we turn onto doesn't even register on the GPS yet we follow it and the signs. 32 miles later, we stop and ask a farmer where the POETS COTTAGE is. He say's, "you wouldn't have seen it coming the direction you did, if you turn back about 6 kilometers, you'll see it as you enter the village" - what friggin good is THAT? Being concerned about getting lost, we ask him where the main road is to Dublin, he points in the direction we're travelling and says, "It’s about a kilometer up the road". We think, forget POETS COTTAGE and as he said, one KM further up the road and there we are, back on the road to Dublin - only we're about 10 miles further back down the road than we were when we turned off to see the POETS COTTAGE. Strangely, there is no sign here saying POETS COTTAGE - I'm still confused.

 

We realise that it is now 13h30, we're only an hour away from Tralee and the distance to Dublin is still nearly 200 miles on back lanes where the speeds are down at around 60 at a push. By 15h00, we re-programme the GPS to take us into Dublin on the N7 which allows us to cover ground at about 130kph (80ish) all the way into Dublin. Traffic builds and, as we enter roadworks and the traffic grinds to a halt, I choose to filter until someone tells Johnny Foreigner that he may not. We hit Dublin at 16h30 which appears to be peak hour yet, JUDY calmly directs us the front door of the Tourist information Bureau. I check the GPS which lists the hotels and I see a Holiday Inn. We set the route and 10 minutes later, we're offered a lovely large (family) room for 99euro's for the night, including breakfast for both of us. Another 15 Euro's gets Herman securely locked in the underground garage while TJ goes up to the room to get unpacked.

 

At around 7ish, we have dinner in the Green Room of the hotel. The most delicious steak and onion bagette with these famous French fries while TJ has salad and a bowl of soup again.

 

We took a walk into Temple Bar, the main nightlife area of Dublin where we found a few bars with some live music and a really festive environment. After the past few days of glorious peace and lovely people, these throngs of tourists and joy-makers almost irritated me. I kept thinking, stop the noise, you messing with my peace. After a few beers and a bit of thigh slapping at the Sir John something something or other, we took a slow walk back to the hotel, getting to bed around midnight.

 

A largely pleasant day yet accompanied by feelings of remorse that TJ had to leave in the morning and I was saddled with the long ride home alone.

 

Proof that Theresa did actually sleep in a tent.

[Hermanator]

DAY 5 - JULY 27TH 2005

 

Wednesday morning dawns bright and sunny with an early start as TJ has a cab booked to airport for 06h30. After an emotional goodbye, she's on her way. I take a shower and go and have an enormous breakfast in the hotel. TJ has taken her clothes bag, jacket and rucksack so I stick her helmet in the pannier, fix the sleeping bags to their position and transfer the Airhawk to the front seat.

 

As the ferry is only at 12h15, I take a ride of about 80 miles north of Dublin before ending back at the ferry terminal in Dublin at 10h30. They direct me to the front of the queue of waiting cars and don't even question my return booking only being for Saturday the 30th.

 

Soon, another two bikes arrive, Anthony a guy from Tipperary on an R1 off to Newcastle for a stag doo and Shaun, an ex Rover employee now teaching shop skills at a school in Birmingham who arrives on a Triumph Trident. Within minutes, we're kindered bretheren, chatting away about bikes and adventures.

 

 

Pretty soon, we're told to board and we're directed to an area specially for bikes on the catamaran for the 1 hour 50 minute crossing.

The Irish Ferries people come across and lash the bikes down and we go upstairs, find ourselves a comfy table at the window while Anthony gets the coffees and Danish's in. The chat and friendship that emerges makes the crossing seem very short and, after another round of coffees, we're soon told to prepare to disembark. We quickly exchange details, once again with offers to call in if ever we're within shouting distance of each other again - somehow I think I'll be seeing Anthony again when I go back to complete the trip one day.

 

As we disembark at Holyhead, I set the GPS for the shortest route home. After about 40 minutes, I wave goodbye to Anthony and peel off to get some gas. The GPS says 241 miles to home so I stick in 15 liters, plug in the CD and after a quick pit stop and bottle of water, Herman gets up to cruising speed of 85 again.

 

Soon, JUDY points me onto the A5 towards Betwys Y Coed and I'm greeted by the most magnificent road I have ever ridden. The A5 meanders its way through the mountains, past Bala Lakes, all the while presenting some very challenging roads lined by ancient stone and picturesque little villages. Herman is flying and soon I come upon another biker who happens to be Shaun again. A quick wave and I pass him and about 4 cars. Herman is happy in 4th giving massive engine braking for the bends and potent acceleration at the exits. This is one of the best roller-coaster rides I've ever had. An occassional touchdown of the footpegs but Herman just revels in these surroundings. The CD has been set on shuffle and is playing some brilliant some from Cher, AC/DC, Rod Stewart, Johnny Clegg and Savuka and even a few Frank Sinatra swing hits - boy was I smiling.

 

I'm making good time and, despite the acceleration and deceleration, it's still being very lean on fuel. Soon though, I reach the signs for England and places like Telford in Shropshire. The road opens up to dual carriageway and we accelerate up to 85-90, getting into a nice rythym.

 

I'm watching the GPS as it counts down the miles to home. I have two bars left on the fuel gauge and it still says 130 miles to home. I decide to press on, testing the frugal fuel usage. I join the M6 which is crawling, but I filter through that, then join the M1 south which gets busier with every mile travelled. Still, the fuel gauge shows two bars.

 

At the services near the Silverstone race circuit, I turn off as the rain begins to really start coming down. A quick slip on of the foul weather gear and a smoke and I'm back on the road again in 5 minutes, passing the cars, trucks and lorries I'd been passing up the road.

 

Soon I see the signs for Luton and shortly thereafter, Judy suggests I take the Watford turnoff. I stop at a filling station in Bushey where Herman gobbles up 22.8 liters before getting home at 18h30 - exactly 4 hours after I got off the ferry.

 

I park up in the drive, light a camel and look lovingly at my bike which although filthy, if it could, would be beaming with pride at the way it performed. I left home with 18200 miles on the clock and got home with 19470, a total distance of 1270 miles.

 

All the equipment stood up well to the trip and a special thanks to JimC for the loan of the Airhawk - I was perfectly relaxed when I got home last night and am able to sit today. The Givi E52 was a godsend as it swallowed pretty much all the gear it needed to. The Bungy Buddies I fitted were, for $2.79 each, the best money I have spent. My BMW System 5 Helmet was supremely comfortable and is fitting very well now it has been broken in. Theresa wore the AGV XR2 Race helmet and was very complimentary on how quiet it was. She could hear me perfectly, even when we were speaking softly enough not to activate the VOX. The Starcom piped our comms, the BMW stereo, the CD player and the GPS through our helmet headsets. Theresa enjoyed being able to hear Judy's instructions as she could then brace for braking or prepare for the turns. The Medion MDPNA worked well. It did crash once in Cork but a quick reset and we were back in business. It does have some flaws, but on the whole, is a remarkable touring tool which undoubtedly complimented the trip.

 

The sight, sounds, smells and people of Ireland have left a lasting impression on me and a new found love for Ireland. I sincerely look forward to the next opportunity I get to go back and finish the trip I originally intended.

 

[Francois_Dumas]

Wonderful story !! Thank you for showing us Ireland...... and a nice silver RT to go with it !

 

Francois

[Hermanator]

Cheers Francois, nice to have been able to share the ride with you.

 

Silver RT - beautiful. Add the Givi E52 top box, get functionality but boy, is that thing butt-ugly!

 

Got back home and sold the Givi box. Back to standard again and looking good.

 

Lawrence