Day 27

I am lying, in my sleeping bag, on top of a haystack.

I packed up and left the hostel in the morning, about 10:30, but not before buying some bananas and a loaf of bread (90p). The bread that they sell in Sainsbury’s here is very, very nice. It is not sliced, just white, fluffy bread and very tasty.

The silent Brazilian didn’t say much in the morning; he told me that he was going to see Navan fort today, and then walked out. The students didn’t arrive until after I went to bed. They were walking out when I woke up in the morning. I guess they were keen.

It was a relief to get past the first mile without any problems, and after that I was fairly confidant that the pedals wouldn’t develop any problems - which they didn’t, thank God.

I was wrong about the Catholic cathedral in Derry having the 39 bells – it is the cathedral here in Armagh that has them. As they ring across the city, one feels quite medieval.

I rode on a smaller country road, going almost due south through Keady and on to Castleblayney. My original plan was to go through Monaghan - for two reasons: the first, because on the map I planned my route with, the Keady road didn’t appear. Also, on another touristy map of Armagh County on the hostel kitchen’s wall, the Keady road goes through hilly country while the Monaghan does not. It was only a last minute decision - the fork came up, and there was a sign to Keady. The main reason I took the road to the right was that it remained level, while the Monaghan road continued up the hill I was currently on!

On saying all of that, the Monaghan route is almost 15 miles longer and it was a good decision, in the end. The Keady road had more hills, though. I lot more hills.

They weren’t so bad. I have faced steeper hills, however today - until Keady - there were simply no downhill slopes. A climb was followed by flat road, which was followed by another climb. But I have been more knackered before today. I guess what I wrote the other day holds true; I would rather climb hills than ride against the wind.

I was rewarded with about five miles of mostly downhill slopes after Keady and across the border.

Keady is the last town before the border. I expected it to be staunchly Republican, with flags and slogans and possibly murals everywhere. I was quite wrong. Apart from a single Irish tricolour adorning a monument and an RUC station built like a fortress there was no evidence of Republicanism. I guess the town’s residents are so confidant of their Republicanism that there is no reason to advertise it, like in Belfast, where some idiot might walk the Falls and think that the inhabitants are loyal subjects of the Crown.

At Keady’s post office, I paid a couple of pounds for my postage and changed the rest of my notes into Punts. The office clerk was quite happy to get into a conversation with me about where I am going, where I’ve come from, the bad weather, etc, even though there were two or three people behind me waiting to be served! Man, I love the people in this country.

About a mile passed Keady I had a puncture in my rear tyre, now just a slick and more prone to punctures. I have two spare tubes, but in my three nights at Armagh, I didn’t bother putting a patch on the one that blew in Cookstown. So I put the other one on and was fairly worried for the rest of the day, as I now had no spare tubes.

What a nice little sentence! ‘I put the other one on and...’ My hands were so cold out of the gloves that they didn’t work properly (which I am getting used to). It took me ages to get the tyre off the rim, and then the tube out. I don’t have those tricky tools that cyclists should have to lever things out. When I had a puncture on Benjie’s bike in Israel, I used my knife (one of the blunt blades) as a level and ended up ripping the tube. I was determined not to do this again, and hence, used my hands to force the tyre off. I have seen Benjie do this in Israel (how many tyres must have he changed in his life?), so I knew it was possible. Of course, in Israel’s heat, one’s hands don’t hurt to touch. It took me about twenty very frustrating minutes getting that damn tyre off.

And get this; a car pulled up and asked me about directions! It happens everywhere! Wherever I am, people stop and ask me directions! In Israel it happened constantly. In my first week in England, I was walking down Main Street in Aldershot (with Jane) and someone asked me the way to a shop. I actually knew the way, which was a little strange. I could even tell these Irish drivers where to go, as they were asking about a garage on the other side of the town. It was a garage for heavy farm equipment, and I had passed it about a mile or two before coming to Keady. I told these guys I wasn’t from the area (in case the backpack and my constantly chattering teeth didn’t give it away), but they were happy with my answer. They didn’t offer to help, though.

It was a beautiful little piece of countryside I was riding through as I approached the border. After a nice little stretch of five miles or so of almost constant downhill, the road started curving upwards. It went around hills, and then back the other way, dipping slightly in valleys, but never going down further than I had ridden up. It was fairly hard riding, but the view was breathtaking, and I wasn’t complaining to myself too much.

As I think I have already written, Ulster is naturally protected by from the rest of Ireland by a range of hills. It was these hills that I was crossing today.

Sheep were abundant, and the standard patchwork fields, criss-crossed with leaf bare hedges and the occasional stone fence. In the distance were a set of hills that looked massive. I got closer and closer, and they didn’t get any smaller.

Just before I crossed the border, the strangest thing happened; it was quite exciting. I had been hearing a helicopter buzzing overhead from Keady. Occasionally I would catch sight of it as it flew above and over the road, seemingly in a zigzag pattern across the fields and hills as if it was looking for something. It was an army helicopter. I was hoping it would land in front of me and I would be interrogated, but that never happened. Any way, I hit a stretch of road about a mile long, with no curves and no trees on either side. The fields gently sloped away for a mile or two on each side. About half way along this stretch, I stopped for a breather.

A breather usually consists of me standing across the bike (I rarely get off the bike, but just stand with a leg on each side). I have some water, change sides on the tape and convince myself that I can continue and that I really want to do this. After a couple of days of experiments, I have worked out a fairly decent method of carrying the walkman around. I tried to use the belt clip, but it kept pinching my skin, or rubbing against my hipbone. The weight of the backpack doesn’t help this pursuit. Then I tried carrying it in the front pouch of the Kathmandu, but I noticed it kept getting wet (the water-proof section of the Kathmandu is the inner, black nylon that I now wear on the outside, most of the time). This black lining has a zipped pocket in it, so this is where I keep the Walkman. I have noticed it is a bit damp when I take it out after a day of really heavy rain (i.e. most days), but just as much as the rest of my possessions, so I am not that fussed.

Any way, I was resting, changing my tape’s side and I noticed the helicopter was hovering near the road. I looked back to the point where the road came out of the curve onto the straight bit I was on, and I saw some troops come out of the trees and set up a roadblock! It took them less then five minutes to complete a fully workable roadblock. Amazing. I saw a couple of cars being stopped and got bored. Looking back, I guess I should have stayed; I might have seen a terrorist being arrested! I was mainly disappointed that they set the roadblock up behind me. I guess there is nothing suspicious about an idiot on a bike riding through the winter, fleeing the UK into the safety of the Republic, even if he does have a camouflage cover for his backpack.

After the curving road and a couple of glens, I came to a flat-ish area of rolling hills and a straight road. This is where I crossed into the Republic. Once again, there was no passport office, or even a sign saying I was in the Republic. There was a big ‘Welcome to Monaghan’ sign, such as there is on the state borders in Australia. England doesn’t have these nice, friendly signs. Aldershot is on the Hampshire-Surrey border, and I crossed the border every time I went for a ride, or drove into Guildford to dance. There was a small brown sign reading ‘Hampshire’. At one point, I saw a sign saying ‘(the name of the county) - Jane Austin County’. Should I feel bad that I can’t remember the name of the county? Is that one of the things that I should know?

About a mile before Castleblayney, the land started to look swampy. I saw a little rubbish on the side of the road. It really wasn’t nice, compared to the loveliness I have been travelling through. The main road from Monaghan joined the road I was on, and suddenly I was on a main road. It was nice being on a country road between Armagh and Castleblayney. One is closer to the fields, there seems to be more animals. Before the border, I passed through a nice forest - it was quite spooky, as none of the trees had any leaves, just white trunks and black branches reaching up into the always grey sky. I couldn’t help thinking of The Blair Witch Project.

Castleblayney is on the N2. The ‘N’ roads in the Republic are the main highways (National roads). Ireland doesn’t have many motorways, the only one I can think of is the M50, ringing Dublin much like the M25 rings London.

The N2 is the main road between Dublin and Derry. Before reaching Castleblayney, the N2 passed through Monaghan town, and I would have travelled along this road if I had of stuck to my original travelling plan, so I guess I saved myself an extra days riding.

Castleblayney is the first town in the Republic (coming the way I did). It was built up by the local landowners, the Blayney’s, who were Lords, and they seemed to be fairly generous people. They built both Protestant and Catholic churches and also an almshouse for the poor.

The town is near Lake Muckno, which is a recreational lake, and good for fish, so these days it’s a bit of a regional centre for tourists and the like. The lake wasn’t visible from the road unfortunately, so I can’t comment on its beauty, or lack thereof.

I got to Castleblayney at around 12:15 and decided it was time to eat. I stopped at the first open pub, got a pint (£2.10) and sat down in the lounge, doing the usual with the bread and bananas (tearing off a chunk of bread and placing a piece of banana on top of it, to make a crude sandwich).

When I walked in, I got the usual strange stares and questions, but these guys weren’t being so nice as others I have met - I think they were asking the questions out of forced politeness. When the girl behind the bar told me the price was £2.10 (Irish punts), I asked if I could pay in Sterling. The girl agreed, so I handed over some coins, thinking I would get a cheaper price. But I didn’t! Mongrels! So, I paid £2.10 Sterling for a Guinness that was worth about half a pound less. (At the post office, the friendly man had only changed my notes, not my coins.) I guess I should have found a pub in Keady and not in the Republic.

I relaxed there for over an hour, nibbling away at the bread while sipping the stout and watching a movie on the television.

At 1:45 I decided to leave. I got the bag and the bike sorted out and wandered across the road to where a horse sale was occurring. There was a shed, with lots of individual pens, full of horses. It was a nice sight. A loudspeaker called out, in an auctioneer’s voice, the ongoing sales, but I couldn’t see any auction - I think it was happening inside a large shed that I couldn’t see the entrance for, from my position in the rain. I didn’t stay there very long. Just long enough to see a couple of horses, and watch the locals lounging against the railings, or looking at horses and discussing their merits or bad points.

Auctioneers are hard to understand at the best of times, but when they speak in an Ulster accent it is impossible.

The weather today was pretty good. It never rained heavily, and not often. I didn’t put my raincoat on until after I left Castleblayney. It wasn’t a very cold day (I think 7ºC was predicted) so I managed to work up quite a sweat climbing the hills.

The N2 is a good road to ride on. Apart from the fact it is a main road and gets lots of traffic - including trucks - there is a wide shoulder (almost a lane in width) and it is as smooth as the road and almost stoneless. The trucks are not buffeting me very much as they pass.

Monaghan is a very hilly area. If someone who has never been to Ireland is asked to picture the countryside, they will unwittingly think of Monaghan. From horizon to horizon, the land is bumpy. All the hills are small, nicely rounded and very green. There aren’t many trees (they have all been cleared), just fields and fields of green, divided as always by stone fences or hedges - which must look fantastic in summer. All the hedges I have seen so far have been leafless, for winter.

By the time 3 pm came around, I was more than ready to call it quits, and was glad that the first door I knocked on accepted my plea. The rain had been getting up slightly and the wind (a head wind, again) had been picking up since I left Blayney.

I knocked on a farm door and a farmer answered. He looks like a farmer, with rough, large hands, a craggy face and gumboots. Instead of greeting me with suspicion, or even a ‘hello’, he beamed when he saw me and said ‘how are ye keepin’?’ I introduced myself (after answering his question) and asked for a barn to stretch out in for the evening. Now, in all the horror films, people say ‘be careful what you wish for, you just might get it’. He pointed out a hay shed and said I was welcome to it.

I put my bike and bag in there and was invited in for coffee and something to eat. Since I had eaten almost a whole loaf about an hour before, I wasn’t that hungry, but I finished what they gave me, and was back in the shed by 3:40, wondering how to fill my time in. I put a patch on today’s puncture, listened to music, etc and slept for an hour or two.

Getting up to the top of the haystack took some effort. It is built by stacking bail upon bail in an almost vertical wall. The nearest ‘level’ to the ground was above my head. I picked up the backpack and threw it up to the level. It stayed up there on the third attempt, and I struggled up. After a days riding, even a simple effort like this is a bit of an effort. Once I got up to the level, it was easy to get to where I am now.

It is quite fun being up here; it brings back all sorts of fun memories of Bryce Perron and I playing on top of the haystack in the shed at the Howard Springs house. Of course, it wasn’t quite so damned cold then.

They turned the lights on and Mary brought me some supper and offered my a hot water bottle! She pointed out a ladder resting against the shed’s wall.

Here is the great news: She is driving to Dublin tomorrow and offered to take me. I asked if I could go as far as Slane and she agreed! Yippee! Slane is another day’s ride away.

I can see it tomorrow, ride a bit further and then hopefully be in Dublin on Monday evening. Yippee! I can’t believe my trip is almost over. I have only four days to go. To think, way back on the night of the 15th I was worried and stressed and now 27 days have passed and I have enjoyed (almost) every one of them to the fullest.

This has been an excellent trip. I have seen so much and met so many people. Strangers have blessed me with kindness, hospitality and even money. Although I am ready to leave (and I am looking forward to Sweden) it is a shame to think that the trip is almost over.

The wind has picked up (the walls of the shed have large, square holes cut in them, for some strange reason. I don’t know why, as there is lots of hay in here (which one would assume is best kept dry), as well as an impressive looking harvester type machine and another, ordinary tractor. Every thing is dry, so I guess the holes are there to let the wind pass through, so it doesn’t knock down the whole structure. This might keep the farmer happy, but it is making me shiver in my sleeping bag. I think I will build a shelter out of hay bales while the light is still on.

Later...

The lights have been on for ages. I don’t know why they are keeping them on, but it has let my finish this, and also build that shelter - which actually works! The wind is no longer cutting me to the bone.

The farmer’s wife has promised me a hot water bottle, but she came in while I was building the shelter (which is only a wall, three bails high) and told me that the hot water bottle she had in the house had a leak, and that she was going to town to get a new one! I pleaded with her not to bother, but she was adamant, saying that she needed one anyway, and this evening was just a good a time as any. Besides, she needs other things from town, so she is not going there especially. I don’t know which town she means, but I guess it is Castleblayney, which is only 45 odd minutes on a bike northward.

I am looking forward to that hot water bottle.