Day 24
I am in Armagh. I have to admit, over confidence in the last few days has led to overspending. The gloves I am not really worried about but the pints of Guinness that have been finding their way down my gullet have been increasing. Now, suddenly faced with forking out £20 for two night’s accommodation - without food - I am realising that perhaps that Guinness money would have been better left unspent. Let me explain...
I got up at 7 am and after 15 minutes or so of packing my bag, I went into the house for the promised breakfast. The heater in the demountable was useless - it blew out semi warm air directly upwards for about half an hour, then I started smelling electrical smoke so I turned it off. I can’t believe I wrecked their heater. I had tried to position my socks so as to dry them out through the night, but they were still damp this morning. Since they were my driest pair, however, I forced them on, and the wet cycling shoes after them.
I was wearing my jeans with the ‘waterproof’ tracksuit pants over them. In the pocket of the tracksuit pants, I put my toothpaste and toothbrush, in the hope I would be able to use their bathroom. The demountable didn’t have any sink, and my teeth were feeling a bit furry when I woke up. The father and eldest daughter (Sally) were already in the kitchen - the others were still asleep - and over bacon and eggs we talked for quite a bit.
The kitchen is quite old; the stove being the same type I am getting used to. The fridge looked like it was built in the seventies, and that was probably the most modern convenience there was. The window over the sink overlooked a gentle, grassy slope leading down to the stream that I crossed just before knocking on this door. From the map I bought the other day in Belfast, I think I spent the night near Sandholes, at the point where the second stream after Cookstown crosses the road (about three miles from Cookstown).
Once again, they were very friendly and welcoming, but once again, I noticed a reservedness in their hospitality. Throughout the day’s riding, I worked out why these people seem a little different. The Irish I have encountered seem to be completely unreserved in their friendship and hospitality. The Australian culture is just different. In Australia, if someone turned up on a doorstep asking to be able to pitch a tent in the back yard, most people would say no straight away. Maybe it is different in rural Australia, but most of my life experience in Australia have been in an urban context. Also, there is a greater percentage of the Irish living in rural areas then there are Australians.
We breakfasted and talked until 9:30, during which time, the other occupants of the house joined us.
After breakfast, I was able to use the bathroom, and the first thing I did was to go to the toilet - I had been busting for ages. They gave me their address in Adelaide and I set off. I left without telling them about the heater – which is not very good, but I didn’t know what to say.
It was a nice day. There was plenty of blue sky around and it wasn’t very cold. It didn’t rain until well after I got to Armagh.
I stopped at a service station just a couple of hundred metres down the road so I could try and clean the chain and gear thingys with an air hose. I wandered into the room where the guy was sitting and he told me to go ahead with whatever I wanted to do. He followed me out and while I was unsuccessfully trying to clean everything (they had gotten muddy at some point yesterday), we talked about travelling and the like. The conversation was interesting to a point; he told me his dreams and I told him I am currently fulfilling mine, etc. The most interesting thing was that he already knew who I was! Some how, he had heard through the grapevine that I was Australian, I was travelling around Ireland on a bike and that I stayed with the Warnock’s last night! I asked him how he knew all this stuff and he just shrugged his shoulders!
I was riding for about half an hour, and making pretty good time, when I felt something in my pocket. I stopped and investigated - it was my toothpaste. After brushing my teeth, I had forgotten to put them back in my bag, but now my toothbrush had fallen out. I was tempted to ride back looking for it, but realised it would waste too much time. Perhaps it was only ten metres away, but then again, maybe I would have to ride for five miles before finding it, if at all.
I have finally come to the absolute conclusion that the raincoat is completely waterproof, just not breathable. After riding my three and a half hours today, the Kathmandu was soaked with sweat, which wasn’t all that comfortable.
The new gloves are certainly warm, but I still don’t know if they’re waterproof or not.
The problem today was the wind. My God, that’s an understatement! It was always coming from the southwest and grew stronger and stronger as the day went on. In the morning, the riding was lovely, and I thought I would go a long way today. I think that today is actually the first day that I have ridden any real distance two days in a row (Carn to Culdaff doesn’t really count as a long way). So, I am surprised that I was able to get up and power away so easily, especially since my legs were aching all of last night because of the walking in Belfast the other day. But as the day went on, the wind just got stronger.
I really struggled today, the front cog being in first gear most of the day. The wind was slowing me down between five and ten kilometres per hour. When it stopped for a while (which did happen occasionally) the bike would surge forward as if someone was pushing it from behind. And then it would start again - and so suddenly that the bike’s speed would instantly plummet, up to 10 mph and once or twice I even came to a standstill. At one point I was going downhill but not moving because of the wind. I have come to the conclusion that I would rather ride uphill than against the wind. It is like trying to walk fast whilst in waist deep water.
By the time I crossed the border into Armagh County I was knackered and looking for a pub. The border between Tyrone and Armagh is covered by two towns that have swallowed each other up to become one. Moy and Charlemont are on either side of the River Blackwater. I stopped at the first pub I saw, which was about ten metres after the bridge but it was closed. I was a little surprised - sure it was before lunch, but still, I am in Ireland!
This might sound a little dumb, but crossing into Armagh was a little nerve-racking. South Armagh is the big Republican stronghold of Ulster. I have already mentioned those signs about snipers – and the fact that the last British soldier to be killed in Northern Ireland was leaning into a car talking to the lady inside, in Armagh, when a sniper shot him (apparently he knew the lady).
Now, my route is not going to take me to South Armagh (which is really Southeast Armagh). I had planned originally to go that way, across to Newry and then down to Dundalk. This way is a little shorter but it takes me across more hills and also onto a big road going almost all the way down to Dublin. The way I will go is to the west, across the border into Monaghan, to Monaghan-town and then southeast. The advantage to this, aside from all the other ones listed above, is that it takes me through Slane, of U2’s The Unforgettable Fire fame!
To get back to the point, I still feel a little uncomfortable about being in Armagh at all, and I will be glad to have safely left this part of the world behind.
Since Armagh is a fairly big town, I could feel myself drawing closer to it, even without the road signs creeping by. The traffic seemed to get heavier the closer I got, and the road better, a little wider, if that is possible, as it is a very wide road. What is worse, is that Armagh is obviously built on a plateau, as I was riding gradually uphill for about the last five miles, ever since leaving Charlemont.
I was exhausted upon reaching Armagh, almost exactly twenty miles from where I started, and I needed a drink. I went up this impossibly steep street (pushing the bike) and turned left into a pedestrian only, paved street. Bad, bad, bad Christmas carols were blaring out of speakers strung up in between the Santas. Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and other songs just as classy. They were pretty much the same songs that Pascal and I used to play very loudly at a couple of our barbecues on the kibbutz as we were approaching Christmas last year (we borrowed the tape of Richard - I would never own a tape like that!).
There was a pub on the road, so I tied the bike up the post just outside the pub, taking off the front wheel and attaching it to the back, taking off the speedometer, the front light, the seat, the water bottle and the pump. I always try and squeeze these items into my daypack, but it never seems to work properly and I tend to carry one or two of the extra things in my hands. I walked into the pub like this, plus the bloody backpack, of course. I set every thing down on the table and turned around. What a pub! It was really narrow, with just room for the bar, a couple of stools, a narrow passage and then a small table against the wall. There were two patrons in there (probably a record!) and the bartender. The windows were that cheap beer bottle-coloured brown that old pubs have. Everything else was cheap glass or vinyl. This pub has not been touched since the seventies or something. It’s a relic! I think the bar tender has been in here since opening day as well. She has that look of a bar tender who has seen and heard it all - dyed blonde hair pulled back to expose grey roots, the cigarette in her hands, the lines on her face.
I asked for a Guinness and then settled in for the usual conversation I have in bars over here - which I do enjoy. At some point I expressed my concerns about South Armagh - which is the first time I have brought up the Troubles in a conversation while over here. She told me not to worry, that is all over now. She didn’t ridicule my concerns, though. I thought she might have.
I had been riding about two and a half hours, but I had about an hour’s worth of rest in total during the ride (the wind really took it out of me), so I got to Armagh about three and a half hours after starting this morning, at 1 pm.
I left the pub after half an hour. I had one pint (£1.90) while I was there, though I would dearly have loved to stay all afternoon. There was a TV in the corner and while I was there, the weather news came on - for the afternoon, southerly gale force winds had been forecast, with stronger winds from the same direction tomorrow. I knew then that I could not keep riding. When I stepped outside, the wind was even stronger than when I had entered, and I had trouble with the bike when I was putting it back together again (but nothing like later!).
I had seen a sign for a youth hostel while riding into the town centre, so I followed it and fairly quickly found a modern looking hostel.
I have to finish writing this tomorrow; I am completely exhausted.
I got up at 7 am and after 15 minutes or so of packing my bag, I went into the house for the promised breakfast. The heater in the demountable was useless - it blew out semi warm air directly upwards for about half an hour, then I started smelling electrical smoke so I turned it off. I can’t believe I wrecked their heater. I had tried to position my socks so as to dry them out through the night, but they were still damp this morning. Since they were my driest pair, however, I forced them on, and the wet cycling shoes after them.
I was wearing my jeans with the ‘waterproof’ tracksuit pants over them. In the pocket of the tracksuit pants, I put my toothpaste and toothbrush, in the hope I would be able to use their bathroom. The demountable didn’t have any sink, and my teeth were feeling a bit furry when I woke up. The father and eldest daughter (Sally) were already in the kitchen - the others were still asleep - and over bacon and eggs we talked for quite a bit.
The kitchen is quite old; the stove being the same type I am getting used to. The fridge looked like it was built in the seventies, and that was probably the most modern convenience there was. The window over the sink overlooked a gentle, grassy slope leading down to the stream that I crossed just before knocking on this door. From the map I bought the other day in Belfast, I think I spent the night near Sandholes, at the point where the second stream after Cookstown crosses the road (about three miles from Cookstown).
Once again, they were very friendly and welcoming, but once again, I noticed a reservedness in their hospitality. Throughout the day’s riding, I worked out why these people seem a little different. The Irish I have encountered seem to be completely unreserved in their friendship and hospitality. The Australian culture is just different. In Australia, if someone turned up on a doorstep asking to be able to pitch a tent in the back yard, most people would say no straight away. Maybe it is different in rural Australia, but most of my life experience in Australia have been in an urban context. Also, there is a greater percentage of the Irish living in rural areas then there are Australians.
We breakfasted and talked until 9:30, during which time, the other occupants of the house joined us.
After breakfast, I was able to use the bathroom, and the first thing I did was to go to the toilet - I had been busting for ages. They gave me their address in Adelaide and I set off. I left without telling them about the heater – which is not very good, but I didn’t know what to say.
It was a nice day. There was plenty of blue sky around and it wasn’t very cold. It didn’t rain until well after I got to Armagh.
I stopped at a service station just a couple of hundred metres down the road so I could try and clean the chain and gear thingys with an air hose. I wandered into the room where the guy was sitting and he told me to go ahead with whatever I wanted to do. He followed me out and while I was unsuccessfully trying to clean everything (they had gotten muddy at some point yesterday), we talked about travelling and the like. The conversation was interesting to a point; he told me his dreams and I told him I am currently fulfilling mine, etc. The most interesting thing was that he already knew who I was! Some how, he had heard through the grapevine that I was Australian, I was travelling around Ireland on a bike and that I stayed with the Warnock’s last night! I asked him how he knew all this stuff and he just shrugged his shoulders!
I was riding for about half an hour, and making pretty good time, when I felt something in my pocket. I stopped and investigated - it was my toothpaste. After brushing my teeth, I had forgotten to put them back in my bag, but now my toothbrush had fallen out. I was tempted to ride back looking for it, but realised it would waste too much time. Perhaps it was only ten metres away, but then again, maybe I would have to ride for five miles before finding it, if at all.
I have finally come to the absolute conclusion that the raincoat is completely waterproof, just not breathable. After riding my three and a half hours today, the Kathmandu was soaked with sweat, which wasn’t all that comfortable.
The new gloves are certainly warm, but I still don’t know if they’re waterproof or not.
The problem today was the wind. My God, that’s an understatement! It was always coming from the southwest and grew stronger and stronger as the day went on. In the morning, the riding was lovely, and I thought I would go a long way today. I think that today is actually the first day that I have ridden any real distance two days in a row (Carn to Culdaff doesn’t really count as a long way). So, I am surprised that I was able to get up and power away so easily, especially since my legs were aching all of last night because of the walking in Belfast the other day. But as the day went on, the wind just got stronger.
I really struggled today, the front cog being in first gear most of the day. The wind was slowing me down between five and ten kilometres per hour. When it stopped for a while (which did happen occasionally) the bike would surge forward as if someone was pushing it from behind. And then it would start again - and so suddenly that the bike’s speed would instantly plummet, up to 10 mph and once or twice I even came to a standstill. At one point I was going downhill but not moving because of the wind. I have come to the conclusion that I would rather ride uphill than against the wind. It is like trying to walk fast whilst in waist deep water.
By the time I crossed the border into Armagh County I was knackered and looking for a pub. The border between Tyrone and Armagh is covered by two towns that have swallowed each other up to become one. Moy and Charlemont are on either side of the River Blackwater. I stopped at the first pub I saw, which was about ten metres after the bridge but it was closed. I was a little surprised - sure it was before lunch, but still, I am in Ireland!
This might sound a little dumb, but crossing into Armagh was a little nerve-racking. South Armagh is the big Republican stronghold of Ulster. I have already mentioned those signs about snipers – and the fact that the last British soldier to be killed in Northern Ireland was leaning into a car talking to the lady inside, in Armagh, when a sniper shot him (apparently he knew the lady).
Now, my route is not going to take me to South Armagh (which is really Southeast Armagh). I had planned originally to go that way, across to Newry and then down to Dundalk. This way is a little shorter but it takes me across more hills and also onto a big road going almost all the way down to Dublin. The way I will go is to the west, across the border into Monaghan, to Monaghan-town and then southeast. The advantage to this, aside from all the other ones listed above, is that it takes me through Slane, of U2’s The Unforgettable Fire fame!
To get back to the point, I still feel a little uncomfortable about being in Armagh at all, and I will be glad to have safely left this part of the world behind.
Since Armagh is a fairly big town, I could feel myself drawing closer to it, even without the road signs creeping by. The traffic seemed to get heavier the closer I got, and the road better, a little wider, if that is possible, as it is a very wide road. What is worse, is that Armagh is obviously built on a plateau, as I was riding gradually uphill for about the last five miles, ever since leaving Charlemont.
I was exhausted upon reaching Armagh, almost exactly twenty miles from where I started, and I needed a drink. I went up this impossibly steep street (pushing the bike) and turned left into a pedestrian only, paved street. Bad, bad, bad Christmas carols were blaring out of speakers strung up in between the Santas. Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and other songs just as classy. They were pretty much the same songs that Pascal and I used to play very loudly at a couple of our barbecues on the kibbutz as we were approaching Christmas last year (we borrowed the tape of Richard - I would never own a tape like that!).
There was a pub on the road, so I tied the bike up the post just outside the pub, taking off the front wheel and attaching it to the back, taking off the speedometer, the front light, the seat, the water bottle and the pump. I always try and squeeze these items into my daypack, but it never seems to work properly and I tend to carry one or two of the extra things in my hands. I walked into the pub like this, plus the bloody backpack, of course. I set every thing down on the table and turned around. What a pub! It was really narrow, with just room for the bar, a couple of stools, a narrow passage and then a small table against the wall. There were two patrons in there (probably a record!) and the bartender. The windows were that cheap beer bottle-coloured brown that old pubs have. Everything else was cheap glass or vinyl. This pub has not been touched since the seventies or something. It’s a relic! I think the bar tender has been in here since opening day as well. She has that look of a bar tender who has seen and heard it all - dyed blonde hair pulled back to expose grey roots, the cigarette in her hands, the lines on her face.
I asked for a Guinness and then settled in for the usual conversation I have in bars over here - which I do enjoy. At some point I expressed my concerns about South Armagh - which is the first time I have brought up the Troubles in a conversation while over here. She told me not to worry, that is all over now. She didn’t ridicule my concerns, though. I thought she might have.
I had been riding about two and a half hours, but I had about an hour’s worth of rest in total during the ride (the wind really took it out of me), so I got to Armagh about three and a half hours after starting this morning, at 1 pm.
I left the pub after half an hour. I had one pint (£1.90) while I was there, though I would dearly have loved to stay all afternoon. There was a TV in the corner and while I was there, the weather news came on - for the afternoon, southerly gale force winds had been forecast, with stronger winds from the same direction tomorrow. I knew then that I could not keep riding. When I stepped outside, the wind was even stronger than when I had entered, and I had trouble with the bike when I was putting it back together again (but nothing like later!).
I had seen a sign for a youth hostel while riding into the town centre, so I followed it and fairly quickly found a modern looking hostel.
I have to finish writing this tomorrow; I am completely exhausted.
posted by Bren Carlill @ 6:55 AM
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