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My continental breakfast is waiting for me although the Great Room is dark and nobody is awake yet at 8:00 a.m., which
has been my standard time for breakfast on this trip. I have no alarm, but by leaving a window uncovered, the light wakes me around 6:45. No hot water again. I wash my hair in the sink's warm water. The manager tells me the hot
water heater timer must not have been adjusted for the time change - so the hot water is an hour late. Well I can't complain too much; the room location right on the river is great. I fell asleep to the rapids and woke to them. The exit out of town is a hill of course. In fact, the first 12 miles of this beautiful route through the Ox Mountains is a gradual ascent with a few very difficult granny gear hills thrown in. This route is from my Irish biking book, and it is beautiful: great vistas, barren mountains skirted with rich green and sheep grazing
alongside the road. I have the roadway almost to myself. One truck and ten cars share the road with me between 9:30 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. There are more sheep on the road than traffic. In fact, I watch a lamb nurse in the middle of the mountain road. I have no lunch with coffee on this isolated route, but I do find a pub, of course, after a delicious descent to Lough Talt. I have a Carlsburg and talk with Paul about his sheep dog at his feet. Men and their dogs can be found all over Ireland. I meet another old codger a few miles later with his black and white collie, and when I attempt to pet the dog, he says, "Best not; he only takes to me,
ya know." The oddest experience comes along a very lonely stretch of back road, perhaps eight miles from the nearest village. I have seen only two cars along the stretch when I notice a white van coming towards me and stopping about 100 yards ahead
of me. A man flags me down along with a couple of urchins. Inside is a tired looking but emotionless woman with a child on her lap. In back of her are at least three other dirty kids. The fellow of about forty is babbling
something about petrol and needing to feed the children. Realizing this is no motorist in distress but a "Traveler," a nomadic person who odd jobs his way by van or motor home around Ireland, and also realizing I am fairly easy "pickings" in the middle of nowhere, I immediately tell him I am without money and just camping my way across
Ireland. At the same time I leap up on my seat and put space between us fast, telling him that I am sorry I couldn't give him a "fiver" or anything for that matter. I expect him to follow me in the van, but the roads are too narrow for a quick turnaround. But my plan is immediately to head for a
farmhouse if I see him coming back. I take a break at the next town, Coolooney, and have a picnic at a bench alongside the local river. The countryside becomes a bit tired and poor in the remaining five miles on this by way. I hit
the dreaded N-4, Dublin to Sligo, and know quiet time is done for. Such busy, narrow highways always get my adrenalin pumped, and I always go as fast as I can. In this case that also includes a couple of long, tough gut-wrenching hills. On the flat and rolling stretches I pump at 17-18 mph and can't wait to get into Sligo. When I arrive at Sligo a number of Traveler's vans are parked alongside the road at the entrance to RTC, and as I wait for traffic to clear on my return to the highway a couple of teenage travelers try to get my attention and "talk" as
they put it, but I'd had it for the day and tell them in a very unfriendly voice and face that "I don't want to talk to you." I add, "Get lost," as the traffic clears. They back away, and I speed off. Sligo is bumper to bumper traffic at 2:00 p.m., and I somehow lose sight of my left turn to Bord Failte. I stop at a promising looking B+B, but the nice lady only has a room for one night, but she recommends a place a half block away. My good luck gets me a room for two nights at £15 per night, down from the £20 per at the first place. Another Maureen makes me feel at home with a pot of tea and fruit
cake. I chat with unemployed but friendly son John, and husband Frank helps me locate the RTC on the map. I bike over immediately and find out Morris Doran is "taking a meeting," just as Tony Quinlan was at Galway. These guys "take" more meetings than
their U.S. counterparts. The secretary is nice, and I'll call him tomorrow. I have a wonderful pizza, Greek salad, and wine at Bistro Bianconi in Sligo. I am in great need of cuisine varietal. Basic Irish cuisine grows old fast. I
am going to mix it up more, no more just pub grub. Sligo has a pleasant little walkway alongside the Gara Vogue River. Swans ply the river, and shops line the walkway. There's a version of the 'Af Penny Bridge along
the way. The partly cloudy sky is tinged in rose at sunset. That would portend a good day tomorrow. My legs are getting stronger; I'm attacking the hills now and winning. Not as I was the first few days when the sight of a tough
hill was heart breaking. All in all, 46 good miles today. |
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