(Stats are on their way!)

After spending the night at the Green Acre Motel between Cardiff and Swansea, which gave me the chance to catch up with a couple of this summer’s big sporting events…

…I had the full English Welsh breakfast – to a soundtrack of Soft Cell’s ‘Tainted Love’ and Guns & Roses’ ‘Sweet Child Of Mine’ – then drove to Fishguard to catch the afternoon ferry to Ireland.

I unloaded and set up the bike, then cycled down to the Ferry Terminal. Fishguard lies in a deep valley where the River Gwaun meets the sea, with the main part of the old town up a very steep hill to the southeast. In fact the Welsh name for Fishguard is Abergwaun, or ‘Gwaun Estuary’. I confess that when I saw the name ‘Gwaun’ I immediately thought of Father Ted’s hyperactive housekeeper Mrs Doyle, who wouldn’t take no for an answer when she offered a cup of tea or a sandwich:

“Ah, gwaun,” she’d say. “No, really, I don’t want one Mrs Doyle.” “Ah, gwaun. Gwaun! Gwaun, gwaun, gwaun, gwaun, gwaun!”

Very unusually, I was told to take my bike over to the Foot Passenger Terminal instead of just lining up with the cars as I normally do. In Fishguard, the terminal doubles as the town’s train platform, so first I had to cycle right along the platform, which also felt wrong, before finally being led by a Stena Line chap towards the lowered prow of the ship and left to wheel aboard.

Once the bike was stowed in a dark corner of the car deck – with perhaps the greasiest ferry rope of them all* – I climbed the stairs, washed the black grease off my hands in the Gents, and then grabbed a seat just as crowds of other passengers appeared in the corridors. This boat was busy.

We left at 2pm, sailing out into the sheltered bay before rounding the harbour wall and heading out into St George’s Channel in the Irish Sea.

The weather was great, if windy, and after watching Fishguard disappear behind us I found a seat inside. 3 1/2 hrs of dozing and reading later we were docking in Rosslare, and I ignored all previous instructions about waiting to leave with the foot passengers and rode my bike to the front of the boat, as usual, and got waved off by the crew.

The sun was fully out and within a mile of leaving the harbour I’d removed almost every layer of ‘Irish’ cycle clothing I’d taken such care over. It was a ridiculously gorgeous evening, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that around 75% of the people I passed along the way waved at me and smiled, or shouted out ‘Evening!’. The campground was just a couple of miles away, and by 6.30pm the tent was up and I was planning where to watch the football tonight.

It may be potentially a grim way to start the trip, watching England play football, but I’ve found the best place for it: Cushens Pub down the road. I got to half time (1-1) and called it a night, so I’ll have to wait until morning to find out what happened. So for now it’s ’Sláinte mhaith!’ and see you for Day 2 in the morning!

Signs That Are Funny (both Welsh)

* “One greasy rope to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them“