July 30, 2009
Ballinspitle, Timoleague and Skibbereen
We have our breakfast in the B&B's cafe. Eggs on toast.
The sun is out.
We head west.
It's a quiet road that follows the coastline in a casual way - the R600.
Getting off this main road is something we do as often as possible as it's a bit narrow and cars really zip by. The small farm roads are perfect, but sometimes hard to keep track of, even with a detailed map and compass. And they do go up and down more steeply.
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However, they cut through small villages where life seems to carry on as it always has. We are hemmed in with hedges and now and then get scenic views of green fields. It just takes a bit longer to get from A to B, which is unimportant.
Ballinspitle and Clonakilty come and go, as does Timoleague and Rosscarbery.
My suntan is developing quite a deep tone. Debbie is more covered up. This is a great day.
Somewhere between the little dots denoting villages on our map are some standing stones. The dolmen is in the middle of nowhere. We saw a sign a while ago, before crossing a few junctions, but where to now? I ask a young boy selling bits and bobs in a makeshift booth by the side of the road. He's wearing an Umbro Manchester United shirt with the old Sharp logo emblazoned across the front and looks like he eats most of the profits - cherub-like, with rosey cheeks that match his shirt. Debbie takes his photo and buys some sweets, which we scoff there and then. He is used to this question.
Off we go, in the right direction, up and down a bit more, along a tiny, curving lane and across some grass to reach the circle of metre-high stones that have stood here at Bohonagh for thousands of years.
It's not so bright when we arrive in Skibbereen. That's Ireland for you. In fact, just as we're asking about a room in Annie May's Bar, it starts chucking it down.
I wheel the bikes through the pub, into the back passage, out to a small yard and cover the leather seats with shower caps. They stay there for two days. It keeps on raining.
We enjoy some beer that night, but our bed is well on its way out... Debbie and I roll into the middle as it sags.
It's raining again in the morning and so I ask if we can swap rooms - get a better bed and a good night's sleep. "If you don't like it, you don't have to stay," she tells me. Nice one.
That's Annie May's for you.
Our second day in Skibbereen - Skibb, as they say here - is spent mooching around trying to keep dry.
I find an Internet cafe.
We go to the post office and send a few cards.
E-mail and snail-mail.
Lunch is fish and chips in a modern-style cafe near the river.
I take some snaps, mainly of traditional store fronts.
We learn Skibb was hit hard in the Great Famine (1845-52) that devastated Ireland. The potato crop failed. Around a million Irish starved and another million or more up and left the country during those tragic years and Ireland was never to be the same again in terms of its politics and demographic and cultural makeup. The whole population fell by a quarter. In little Skibb, its said that over 8,000 people died.
Today's ride: 72 km (45 miles)
Total: 102 km (63 miles)
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