Clonea to Tagoat

65 miles

I was so sad to leave Casey’s, one of the friendliest campgrounds I think I’ve ever visited (and there have been a few), but a long ride beckoned, beginning with the now-familiar 30 mile spin along the greenway.

I did make a stop at the highest point above the sea to continue my ever-failing search for a sighting of whales/dolphins/any sea creatures at all. Everyone kept asking me at Casey’s if I’d seen the dolphins yet, but they’re avoiding me I think.

I flew along again, very slightly downhill with a gentle tailwind, heading straight through this amazing and honestly very spooky tunnel that featured last year…the loudest sound, apart from my wheels, was the echoing drips of water from the ceiling.

The sight of a range of hills ahead like this would normally fill you with foreboding, but being an old railway line you know you’re okay. This is not the Kicking Horse Pass in the Rocky Mountains, one-time home of the world’s steepest railway grade. The path swerved safely to the right and bypassed anything like that kind of intense climbing.

Every single morning on this trip I have started my day with a nice hot bowl of Flahavan’s Oats, and here is the very place where they’re made, right on the greenway, where they’ve been for hundreds of years.

Searching for a good second breakfast stop in Waterford, I was fortunate enough to roll past the many options in the town centre, and find my way to House of Food, right by the River Suir (pronounced ‘Shaw’).

One look at the menu was all it took – I ordered the Mega All Day Hash and a coffee, and could not believe the size of plate that Richenda my waitress brought over a few minutes later:

I stayed for while chatting with the owner Aisling and Richenda about running this place – Aisling told me that she even opened on Christmas Day last year and served a free meal of Turkey with all the trimmings to the homeless of Waterford. They are very busy for somewhere a little out of the way, but if you’re ever passing this way it’s another strong recommendation. Richenda asked for a photo for their social media and I was glad to have a copy too!

I’m normally a road-sign-obeying type, but when I see this sort of road ahead, and it leads to A FERRY, there’s just NO WAY I’m going to Go Mall! So this almost qualifies for Signs That Are Funny.

After the ferry it was a full-on afternoon of back lanes and plenty of hills, and something quite particular to cycling around here: the 99.9% pot-holed road. They run between the slightly bigger and smoother roads, sort of joining everything together, but they are both barely cyclable and unavoidable unless you fancy adding lots of hilly miles. I’ve sort of got used to them now, and ride standing up for as long as I can manage. For all that, they’re also always the most peaceful and unspoilt routes, with isolated farms, birds in incredible numbers in every field, tumbledown stone walls, butterflies and wild flowers everywhere, railway crossings and lonely houses, where you always get the friendliest of waves and questions about what on earth you’re doing around there. Overall, they’re actually worth the jaw-wobbling, shoulder-jarring, leg aching effort because you could only be in Ireland. 🇮🇪

And you can tell a country with a lot of lanes if the numbering system needs to run into 5 digits.

I finally swung off the highway and into IOAC Camping once again, set up and showered as quickly as I could, then headed straight back out to Cushen’s Bar to celebrate the end of another trip. Long or short, they all end the same way.

Great food at the pub, chicken Caesar and a rhubarb sponge and custard (@Richard George, it was approaching the quality of your allotment rhubarb)

I’m off to the ferry very early in the morning, but for now I’d like to thank everyone who has followed the Incidents of Travel blog this week, whether now and again or for every turn of the pedal, and for all the comments and contributions. It makes it an absolute blast to do. Sláinte!!

Signs That Are Funny

Rich pickings today.

And I think I might have passed it on one of those pot-holed back lanes…

There actually wasn’t a sign at all for this random stall on a quiet side street, just an amazing number of what I thought at first were eggs before realising they were golf balls.

At the very basic campground shop this evening, I was briefly tempted by some Irish Baked Beans of Excellence.

And lastly, today’s challenge is to rearrange the following map name into something that isnt very rude: