At first glance, this should have been a fairly easy day, given we’re all more than capable of cycling 80 miles. The route had a lot less climbing than yesterday, and the weather was set fair. As it turned out, the session after lunch was a struggle thanks to that cyclist’s curse, a pesky headwind. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
It was tricky getting out of La Flèche, and we had to squeeze past the cars clogging the narrow streets of the town centre. But we were soon crossing the bridge over the Loir, which was lined with handsome buildings. We passed few typical French villages once again, although these seemed less prosperous than those in Normandy. The countryside was also flatter, as the route profile suggested.
We were in for a treat at the first brew stop at Noyant. Guide Fernando had donned a ‘Coffee and Croissant Club’ apron, and was rolling banana slices in coconut. He’d also sliced kiwi fruit and oranges, which went very well with my morning coffee. This stop was next to a church with a war memorial commemorating those from Noyant who died in the world wars and also in Vietnam and Algeria, the two great colonial wars of independence that led to the collapse of the French fourth republic in 1958.
The next section was a delight, and I made good time along wooded roads towards the town of Langeais, with a dramatic chateau at its heart. We stopped to take photos here before winding our way down to the mighty Loire – the real one, and not the Loir from La Flèche. (I got the two confused on the highlights video at the end of this blogpost.)
Today was our first long day in the saddle: nearly 80 miles. Unlike yesterday, most of the climbing was in the morning. Fortunately, I was still fresh, and climbing reasonably well. I still had a slight twinge in my leg from the Bryan Chapman audax last weekend, but that disappeared without me noticing over the next day or so.
Sunday cycling
It was a pleasure weaving through French villages that were as quiet as you’d expect on a Sunday morning. (I’ve always been puzzled by the absence of people in these small communities.) They were characterised by distinctive churches – typically very different from those in Britain – and often handsome stone buildings. Our first brew stop was opposite a large church in the village of Saint-Cyr-sur-Pail.
The landscape was one of soft, rolling hills – we’d see a great change as the tour unfolded, and we reached the volcanic, mountainous land of the Auvergne. The climbing meant a slow average speed, but the compensation was a gorgeous lakeside location for lunch at La Plage (the beach) at Sille-en-Gillaume. I grabbed a coffee from the bar, and took my lunch to eat on a picnic table overlooking families enjoying their Sunday swim in this lovely lake, and chatted with the others.
This post recounts the first day of my English Channel to the Mediterranean cycle tour in France with Peak Tours in June 2025.
Prologue: Sword beach, Ouistreham
Today. Ouistreham is a peaceful place to land in France. But as I walked along the sand with the English Channel by my side, I marvelled at the stark contrast with the experience of the men who fought their way up this beach – immortalised as Sword beach – on 6 June 1944. I reflected on the individual stories told on a series of plaques along the beach walkway, such as fellow Welshman Tony Pengelly, featured in a photo above. These men were just a year or so older than my late father Bob, who joined the British Army himself some six months after D-Day on turning 18. However tough I found cycling from here to the Mediterranean, it would be nothing compared with the hell endured by that extraordinary generation of men and women of many nations as they liberated Europe over 80 years ago.
An easy start
Our long journey to the Mediterranean began at the fish market at Ouistreham, following the west bank of Caen canal to that city. As we set off I realised my Garmin was still set to kilometres following last weekend’s Bryan Chapman Memorial 600km audax ride in Wales. I switched back to miles, just to make it easier to cross reference the Peak Tours route directions in case of Garmin issues. This proved a smart move…
Screenshot
Just three miles into the ride, we came to Pegasus Bridge at Bénouville. British troops captured this critical crossing just 26 minutes into D-Day, a mere 90 minutes after taking off from Dorset in Horsa gliders, and hours before the landings on the Normandy beaches. The bridge that we saw was a 1990s replacement of similar design to the 1934 original, which is now in a nearby museum.
We didn’t have time for a coffee at Café Gondrée, whose wartime owners were active in the French resistance. I was once served by their daughter Arlette, who took over this historic institution after her parents died. She is now in her eighties. One of our party recalled meeting the legendary older Gondrée owners in the 1970s.
Our first navigational doubts came in Caen, but we reached a consensus and continued on the right route. Today’s city lacks the character of many historic cities across Normandy because of its near total destruction in the weeks after D-Day. The Allies hoped to capture Caen on that critical day, but its liberation came six brutal weeks later, at a bitter price: the loss of 30,000 Allied troops, 3,000 civilians as well as the loss of most of the historic city.
First brew stop, near Amayé-sur-Orne
After we left the canal, we followed an old railway line south of Caen. This is now part of the Vélo Francette, a marked cycle route that wends its way to La Rochelle on the Atlantic. It reminded me of the Tâmega trail on my Portugal end to end tour in 2023. Some 18 miles after setting off, we had our first ‘brew stop’ near Amayé-sur-Orne. These morning and afternoon stops are a brilliant idea by Peak Tours, as I found on my first tour with them in 2019, Land’s End to John O’Groats. They guarantee you will be well fuelled for the remaining miles to lunch or your afternoon destination. (The Yorkshire Tea was popular – even in the heat of later days!)
It was fun weaving our way through the families enjoying their Saturday morning activities at Thury-Harcourt. It was here that I nearly came a cropper after misjudging my path between barriers across the trail. But all was well.
We were now following signs for Suisse Normande (Swiss Normandy). While Normandy is hardly mountainous, the name does confirm that it has its fair share of hills, which we’d be climbing after lunch at Clécy. We were briefly delayed by two moments of navigational uncertainty on either side of the bridge over the Orne. Once again, the route notes solved the riddle: ‘cross over the [river] bridge’ and turn left after ‘some recycling bins’ proved conclusive. It is curious how cycling satnav devices occasionally prompt such doubts compared with car navigational systems. You’d think our slower speeds would prove ample time to display the exact turns – or is it the fault of the GPX route files that we use?
Clécy
I’d been looking forward to seeing Clécy after staying here on two cycle tours in 1998. I stayed in the loft of an outhouse in the garden of a hotel on both occasions – which featured in a photo in a Normandy guide! We had a steep climb up to town from there. Only after we passed through this time after an enjoyable lunch at the Aux Rochers restaurant did I realise that my 1998 stop was on the other side of town, away from the river.
Now the climbing began. Unlike later in the tour, these were short if sharp ascents, but they came in quick succession. It was a pleasure to pause to take photos in Pont d’Ouilly, with its eponymous, handsome bridge over the Orne. Soon after, I overtook a few touring cyclists, and smiled when I saw a baguette poking out of one of their panniers. Over the coming weeks, we’d see many laden touring cyclists. I was once one of their number – see my account of a tour of Brittany in 1996 – but am glad to leave others to carry my luggage today.
As the miles passed after lunch, with one climb after another, I was dismayed to see my Garmin telling me that I’d only completed 700 of the 3,000 feet of climbing for the day. But then I looked closer, and realised that it was showing 700 metres of ascent. Changing the device’s measurement from kilometres to miles this morning obviously hadn’t switched ascent to feet. That meant far fewer hills remained to be conquered.
This called for a celebration. We stopped for a pastry at this wonderful pâtisserie in the village of Les Monts d’Andaine. It was an indulgence as we barely had five miles still to ride, but it was worth it. It was wonderful to find such a classy pâtisserie in a small French town.
Our destination, Bagnoles de l’Orne, was just as I remembered it from staying here in 1998: a rather elegant, small spa town with a small lake at its heart. The tranquility was slightly disturbed by some kind of festival taking place on the other side of the lake from our modern hotel.
This evening, we had our welcome dinner. Peak Tours usually holds these on the eve of the first day’s cycling, but as some prefer to join the Channel to the Med trip by overnight ferry the morning of departure they wait until the first evening on the road on this tour. So we’d already started to get to know each other by the time we sat down for drinks and dinner at Bagnoles. There was, however, a shadow over proceedings: we learned that one of our riders had been taken to hospital after an accident just after lunch. As a result, the guides were very busy supporting him. Sadly, he never rejoined the tour, but happily recovered from the crash.
New year is the time I look back on the cycling year just passed, and anticipate adventures to come. This time last year, I shared my plans for 2024 with a hint of hesitation. Telling the world that I planned to cycle from London to Wales and back in a day seemed tempting fate. But that London Wales London challenge proved a happy one as I blogged in May. It remains to be seen how I cope with the far bigger ambition to complete London Edinburgh London this August.
2024: the year I became an endurance cyclist
Crossing the Severn Bridge, London Wales London 2024
At the start of 2024, I’d never cycled more than 103 miles in a day. Could I make the jump to riding over 250 miles in one go? I knew that this would be as much a mental challenge as a physical one. So I tested myself on a 157 mile shortened version of the London Wales London route, which I tackled three weeks before the real thing. My heart sank as I suffered a puncture after 49 miles, but the tubeless sealant plugged the hole, and I made it to the end. I was also tested by a pitiless headwind for much of the first 60 miles, which meant I had to pedal downhill as well as up. These hurdles tested my resilience but I came through with the confidence to tackle London Wales London.
The opening page of my Arrivée article on LWL
I’ve already written a comprehensive account of my debut London Wales London in Audax UK’s Arrivée magazine and on this blog, so I won’t repeat myself here. I’ll just say that I found it an almost spiritual experience, especially seeing a new day dawning as I pedalled across the unspoilt Berkshire countryside. I was also delighted to reach the final feedstop at Lambourn after 196 miles in buoyant shape and spirits. My LWL success isn’t proof that I will be able to complete London Edinburgh London (or indeed the 600km Bryan Chapman Memorial ride in June) but it suggests that I am not crazy to attempt them.
Cycling across Ireland
Climbing the Sheeffry pass, Co Mayo, Ireland
It was a joy to return to Ireland in June, for my third ‘end to end’ ride, from Mizen Head in Co Cork to Malin Head in Co Donegal with the excellent Peak Tours. It was no surprise that the weather wasn’t as benign as in Portugal in 2023, but we did have a surprising number of bright days. I’ve written a detailed day-by-day account starting here.
In my 2024 new year post previewing the trip, I looked forward to returning to the seaside town of Lahinch 50 years after my visit aged 10 with Mum and Dad. We didn’t stay there in 2024 as it turned out, but I stopped briefly and found it rather a sad place and not at all how I remembered it. But in an amazing coincidence we did stay in the same Galway hotel that Mum, Dad and I visited in 1974. The old Ryan Hotel was renamed the Connacht in 2013.
Conquering the Rapha Festive 500
My 2024 cycling year ended on a high as I completed the Rapha Festive 500 for the first – and most likely only – time. As one of my readers, Tempocyclist said, it’s a lot nicer cycling 500 festive kilometres in the southern hemisphere than in a British winter.
You can read my tips on tackling the Festive 500 here. I was delighted and relieved to finish the last ride. I have to be honest that it wasn’t my favourite cycling experience of the year, but it did mean I finished 2024 more healthily than if I’d stayed on the sofa, which gives me a head start in my training for 2025’s cycling challenges.
I had a few butterflies at the start of the final stage of our tour. Yesterday’s weather cast a shadow but happily the rain had moved on by the time we got going. Perhaps our obsessive attention to our weather apps paid off!
I was one of the last to set off, but was cycling at pace as we headed along the coast and the stunning Gweebarra estuary. I couldn’t resist taking photos – I doubt I’ll come this way again – so I was the lanterne rouge again. I didn’t want to hold that lonely place for long, and by setting a cracking pace caught up with a few others – though it took a mile or two.
There’s nothing quite like realising you are experiencing one of your best ever cycling routes. This was the joy that awaited me as we traversed the stunning Glenveagh National Park. The route was lined by the Derryveagh mountains and several waterfalls. The day’s highlights video at the end of this post gives a great impression of the joy of this section, which again reminded me of the Scottish Highlands and Eryri.
As so often in Ireland, the beautiful landscape contained a dark history, revealed by a plague by the side of Lough Barra.
It was sobering to read how landlord George Adair evicted almost 250 tenants from their homes here in 1861, leaving them helplessly roaming the hills in search of shelter. The plaque tells the story of one victim, recently widowed Mrs McAlward. I confess we smiled at the melodramatic account of how she let out an ‘Irish wail … that resounded along the mountains for many miles’.
The scandal was debated in the Westminster parliament (Ireland was then still part of the United Kingdom) but to no avail. The story reminds us of the terrible power of the landlord in Ireland in the 19th century, which has echoes of the Scottish Highland clearances.
Lucy climbs the pass
On a happier note, I loved the climb to the pass. It was at a gradient that suited my 2024 fitness, and I accelerated onwards and upwards as we left Lough Barra behind.
We had been told that the morning brew stop would be at the top of the pass unless the weather made this too exposed. That would have been the case yesterday, but the weather gods were on our side today, and I enjoyed a coffee relishing the decent to follow.
Julia descends from the pass
That descent was as good as I expected, lasting a few miles before we were climbing again towards Gartan Lough – below is a rare shot of me climbing beside the lough.
Lunch was a leisurely affair at the Travellers Rest at Milford. It was a pleasure to find a coffee stand and barista in the courtyard, and I savoured a latte while sitting under a patio heater. (Not great for the environment but welcome while eating outside when it was just 13C.)
Approaching Lough SwillyTo the ferry
We had one short, steep climb after lunch as we made our way to the Rathmullan to Buncrana ferry across Lough Swilly. I was surprised to see someone on an old bike pulling a trolley at speed – no mean feat. It was a pleasure to cycle along the lough to the ferry terminal, where we waited for a short time as it crossed towards us.
After the idyllically quiet roads this morning it was a shock to be cycling in traffic as we threaded through Buncrana’s one way system, wondering why such a small place needed one!
The road from Buncrana climbed steadily for around seven miles, the last long ascent of the tour. After this we had a blissfully long section of fast road towards Carndonagh. I savoured the wide open landscape (seen above) as I raced along at up to 36 mph.
Carndonagh was a busy little place, and I passed a stretch wedding limo as I turned out of town towards Malin.
Malin bridge
We had a very pesky crosswind as we approached Malin, and I was seriously concerned about being blown into overtaking cars on this busier stretch of road. It didn’t stop me admiring Malin’s historic bridge, built in 1758. We had our final brew stop just beyond Malin. Wendy started putting everything away as a heavy hint that we should be on our way!
Trawbreaga Bay
As we headed off on the very last leg of our journey across Ireland, the crosswind had become a headwind. It was nowhere near as tough as yesterday, but it slowed our progress. The compensation was the gorgeous sight of Trawbreaga Bay, seen above and below.
The end in sight…
It was quite a moment when we sighted the tower at Malin Head, showing how close we were to our destination. But we still had some climbing to do, especially the incredibly steep final rise to the head itself. It would have been no shame to walk that bit, but I made it thanks to low gears and having climbed over 150,000 feet already this year!
I realised after I got off the bike that I hadn’t actually crossed the finish line… Others were more diligent, including Lucy and Julia seen below.
Malin Head is a beginning and an end of a journey, which gives it a special significance, like John O’Groats in Scotland. The tower that we saw from afar was built in 1805 as a lookout point during the Napoleonic wars. It was taken over by Lloyd’s of London in 1870 as a signal station, while the Marconi company sent the first commercial wireless message from Malin Head to the SS Lake Ontario in 1902. Despite this fascinating history no one would describe the structure as attractive, which is a shame for such a scenic landmark.
The view from Malin Head
We didn’t have long to savour the views. The Peak Tours guides had to put our bikes into the vans for the journey back across the Irish Sea, so we had a race against the clock to remove bags, computers and any other touring accessories. That done, we had an enjoyable hour’s drive to Derry, where we were staying the night. Just before the Irish border we passed through the village of Muff, and the more juvenile of us on the coach sniggered at the sight of Muff Barbers. Our phones pinged as they reconnected with UK mobile network – a very 20th century sign that you have crossed a border, although a singular one in the case of Ireland.
Unfortunately we didn’t have time to go into Derry City, but as we passed through on the coach I spotted several Sinn Féin election posters just six days before the UK general election. (As a republican party, Sinn Fén contests UK general elections but does not take its seats at Westminster if elected. This tradition is over a century old: the first woman elected to Westminster was Sinn Féin’s Constance Markievicz in 1918 but she never attended.)
Reflections on cycling across Ireland
Cycle touring is a wonderful way to get to know a country. I fell in love with Ireland on my first Irish cycling tour in 1996 as I made my way from Dublin over the Wicklow Mountains to Rosslare. I was so taken with the carnival atmosphere in Wexford as its hurling team won its first all-Ireland hurling championship since 1968 that I carried a Wexford club flag on my bike all the way back to my hometown in Wales, Cardiff!
Ireland: enjoining the craic in GalwayIreland: a scenic delight
This trip has been equally unforgettable. I love mountains – well, I do come from Wales – and I delighted in discovering Ireland’s magnificent high peaks, and the thrill of those mountain passes. Yet it was not difficult climbing as the gradients rarely went into double figures. And on our route we avoided the rollercoaster succession of climbs and descents that sap the energy.
You expect a warm welcome – míle fáilte, or a thousand welcomes – in Ireland, and that’s exactly what we found. Everyone we met was friendly except for a surly hotel receptionist in Glengariff – who came from southern England… Mary from the Beal na Barna B&B in Narin stands out for kindness, inviting us in for tea and scones after we’d survived the biblical storm yesterday. We’d heard her life story by the time we’d finished the last, succulent bite!
A thousand stories
Above: learning about Irish history in Wales, 1980
Ireland is a country of a thousand stories, as well as welcomes. Its turbulent history gives the curious traveller plenty of opportunities to learn what shaped modern Ireland. When I was studying history in school in Wales 45 years ago I learned of the appalling conditions in rural Ireland in the 19th century, and was horrified to find (as I wrote in that fragment of an exam essay above) that ‘Irish families were thrown off their farms without warning’. In the starkly beautiful Derryveagh mountains I came face to face with just one example of such cruelty, the Derryveagh evictions. Similarly, on a peaceful night in Clifden, I was moved by learning of the death and destruction that came to that lovely town during Ireland’s war of independence. If these grim stories tell us anything, it must surely be that we can never rest in the quest for peace and reconciliation.
Weather or not…
Wet wet wet – leaving Glengariff, day 2
Ireland is where North Atlantic storms reach Europe, so you can’t be surprised to get wet when cycling there. On the whole we were fortunate, and I thanked our lucky stars that we had dry days to appreciate the Galway coast, the Sky Road and Killary Fjord, and the Derryveagh mountains. It’s a shame that we didn’t complete the penultimate day in County Donegal, but keeping safe is always the right decision. I was grateful we avoided the washout that my 2019 LEJOG friends Fiona nd Simon suffered a couple of years ago on this tour.
Thank you, Peak Tours
Guides Wendy and Hamish on the Shannon ferry
I’ll end with a thank you. I discovered Peak Tours in 2019 when I cycled Land’s End to John O’Groats. That happy experience made it my favourite cycle tour company. This tour of Ireland proved the point, especially when the guides went out of their way to rescue the situation when the appalling weather forced us to abandon the day’s ride at lunch yesterday. We really appreciated it.
Here’s to the next adventure!
The final day’s stats
74.41 miles, 4.790 feet climbing, 5 hours 15 mins cycling, average speed 14.2 mph.
This post recounts the eighth day of my Mizen Head to Malin Head cycle tour in Ireland with Peak Tours in June 2024. Read Day 7: Westport to Sligo
Rob, battling against the elements
What a day. The forecast for today was always grim, but I clung to the hope that it may not turn out so bad. For a time this morning, that hope seemed justified. But then the expected storm hit…
Misty morning. It got worse…
It was dry, if windy, for the first hour or so out of Sligo – and hilly, with one of the steepest climbs of the whole tour, at 17% early on. The mist was hanging over the hills and people’s rain jackets were flapping in the wind.
We didn’t linger long at the morning brew stop give the conditions. For many miles I was cycling with Julia, Lucy, Tizzie and Ken, and I confess I found this stage strangely satisfying, defying the elements. I’d have preferred sunshine but there are times when you just cope with what nature throws at you. We passed close to Mullaghmore, where Lord Louis Mounbatten was assassinated by the IRA along with three others in August 1979.
We cycled through Bundoran, a sad-looking seaside town, seen above. I shouldn’t be too harsh – I first visited Bondi Beach in Australia on a similar wet day in 2000 and thought it looked like Barry Island in Wales in winter. I stopped briefly to take some video so today’s highlights video would give a fair representation of our experience.
Leaving Ballyshannon
Nearby Ballyshannon was a much nicer place, and as we swept away from the coast, seen above, I was feeling reasonably positive still.
We had a stiff climb after Ballyshannon, and I waited for the others to catch me up. At this point the wind was getting stronger, which was very obvious on that exposed hill climb. Soon after, we had to wheel our bikes past road works on a narrow lane. (We had optimistically ignored the ‘road blocked’ signs just before.) This reminded me of the very wet morning of day three – it seems like Ireland’s county councils save their road repairs for terrible weather!
As Ken and I came to a t-junction, we found Mark in the Peak Tours van. At this point the tour usually has a lovely section along Rossnowlagh beach, but given the conditions we were diverted to an inland route to the Sandhouse Hotel next to the beach. ‘Is it too dangerous to continue?’ Mark asked us. I replied that it was OK for now – but I dramatically changed my mind in the next 15 minutes!
Abandoned… fighting to keep upright at Rossnowlagh beach
As we finally turned towards our lunch stop, the full force of the gale hit us. It was impossible to move forward on the bike as 51mph gusts met us head on. It was clear that we’d be cycling no further today.
It was impossible to imagine cycling along the beach and even the surfers were nowhere to be seen – not even in the Surfers’ Bar at the hotel, where I enjoyed coffee and sandwiches as we sheltered. I had learned my lesson from being so cold at lunch on day three, carrying my down cycling jacket in my saddle bag. I popped it on after removing me soaking wet cycling jersey. Ironically I bought the jacket to keep me warm at 2am on London Wales London, but never needed it then, unlike at 12pm in Ireland in late June!
Mark, the lead guide on the tour, worked a miracle getting a coach within an hour to take us to today’s destination, Portnoo and Narin. It is typical of the dedication and care that Peak Tours has shown during my five tours with the company so far. As we enjoyed the lift to Narin, Mark and Hamish were squeezing all our bikes into the two vans – another triumph!
The coach dropped us off with our luggage in Narin, and I struggled down a very wet lane to our B&B, Beal na Barna. (This is when I cursed my customary decision to bring so much stuff…) When we got to the bungalow, we found that this wasn’t our place, which was actually very near where we were dropped off. I was ready to cry, but the husband of the owner, Mary, kindly gave us a lift. (It turned out that Mary’s family owned both properties.)
Beal na Barna turned out to be a lovely place to stay – it was actually a self catering property, with kitchen and sitting room. Mary invited us to her home, where several of our tour party were staying, for afternoon tea and home made scones. Suddenly life seemed better.
Wendy gave Julia, Lucy and me a lift in the van to dinner at Narin’s smart golf clubhouse, and we had a wonderful meal – with a Guinness as a starter! We walked back to our B&B, and chatted in the kitchen before the end of an extraordinary day.
This post recounts the sixth day of my Mizen Head to Malin Head cycle tour in Ireland with Peak Tours in June 2024. Read Day 5: Galway to Clifden
Climbing the Sheefry Pass
This was one of my best ever cycling days. The scenery was stunning, including the coast, a fjord and stunning mountain pass. Despite having cycling over the Wicklow Mountains in 1996 I had no idea Ireland had so many mountains, let alone fjords. At times I thought I was in the Scottish Highlands or Eryri (Snowdonia) in Wales.
Coastal view from Sky Road
We had a rude awakening – a very steep climb out of Clifden before following the Sky Road in a dramatic loop. This set the scene for today’s visual delights – the Sky Road was far from a direct route to our destination, but no one with soul would have regretted the detour.
This was the view from the morning’s brew stop, next to an old bridge.
The view towards Tonakeera Point
I had one unfortunate moment. As I took the photo above, a sudden gust of wind rocked the gate and tipped the bike over – inevitably on the drive side. As a result, the previously flawless shifting wasn’t the same for the rest of the tour. The view was lovely though!
This was start of a magical part of the route, as we cut inland to pass Lough Fee. I loved the blend of mountains, lough and the small islands.
Julia cycles away from Lough Fee
We were now on the final stretch to lunch at Leenane Hotel on Killary Fjord. Yes, Ireland has fjords – as indeed do Scotland (three: Lochs Long, Fyne and Etive) and Wales (the Afon Mawddach estuary inland towards Dolgellau). The meal was a real treat, and we felt conspicuous in our sweaty cycling lycra amongst the smart tourists.
Our lunch venue from the other side of Killary Fjord – the long white building on the shoreline
As the fjord finally narrowed, we crossed the water and worked our way along the other side, with lovely views of the route we’d taken earlier. We then turned inland towards Lough Doo, before turning again onto the L1824 towards the Sheefry Pass.
This was another stunning road – the photos above show the early part of the route before the serious climbing began.
This photo gives a good feel for the terrain before the landscape opened out with Tawnyard Lough providing a nice view to savour below as we undertook the final push to the summit. The gradient was around 13 percent – we’d face much steeper, if shorter, climbs in the final stages of the tour.
The afternoon brew stop was at the summit, and I enjoyed a mug of tea watching Julia and others reaching the top with Tawnyard Lough in the background. It may not have been Bealach na Bà, the iconic climb in Scotland which we conquered two years ago but it was still an achievement. I certainly benefitted from my 3,000 miles of cycling so far in 2024 including London Wales London – all that riding and climbing helped!
The joy of tacking a mountain pass is the descent that follows. I loved racing down the twisting mountain road from Sheefry Pass as we made our way towards Westport. I was amused to see a sign for Owenwee, and with juvenile glee shared a photo of it with my son Owen…
It was a joy to reach the coast again at Westport, with the view of Croagh Patrick, the pyramid shaped mountain associated with Saint Patrick, seen in the distance above.
Lovely Westport
We approached the town via Westport Quay, and given the name Westport suggests a maritime, coastal settlement I assumed this was where we were staying. But we still had another three miles and a stiff climb to go. I was pleased to reach my guesthouse, Plougastel House after admiring the lovely Carrowbeg river in the middle of town. Plougastel sounded Breton, so I wasn’t surprised to learn that Plougastel was Westport’s twin town in Brittany.
It was a gorgeous, sunny evening and Julia, Lucy and I were determined to eat al fresco. We weren’t the only ones to have this intention, and every bar and restaurant with an outside table was buzzing. So we walked at least twice around the town centre, and back over the river, before grabbing a table at Hoban’s Bar that our fellow Peak Tours cyclists were vacating. We enjoyed a convivial meal in the sunshine – the last warm evening of the tour.
This was another day I’d been looking forward to. I remembered the haunting, sometimes stark, beauty of Connemara from my 2007 and 1974 visits. And I knew that our destination, Clifden, was famous as the landing point of the first transatlantic flight in 1919.
We set off into Galway, following our taxi route last night on a cycle path, past the Spanish Arch and harbour.
There now followed the most unpleasant road of the whole tour. We were on the R336, which was very busy for 20 miles on this Monday morning. (Endurance cyclist Emily Chappell complained about this road in her wonderful book Where There’s A Will.) Although it followed Galway Bay we didn’t get the scenic views of yesterday that might have compensated for the traffic. At times we cycled on the pavement to let the lorries pass us safely. The morning brew was in a clearing by the roadside, and we were relieved that after Connemara airport the traffic disappeared.
As the road turned north, the grey sky turned blue, as it did yesterday, and I felt my spirits rising. The road threaded past countless loughs, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to take photos and videos for the day’s highlights movie. We also saw Connemara ponies and shelters for newly-cut peat. The use of peat is controversial today because of its impact on the environment – Lucy was horrified to see peat being cut – but in the early 1950s the chief engineer of CIE (Irish Rail) Oliver Bulleid built a turf-burning steam locomotive as Ireland’s native fuel was far cheaper than Welsh steam coal. The experiment was abandoned in favour of diesel traction.
In time, we swung west, and the landscape opened up, with mountains providing an impressive backdrop. Today was a modest one for climbing, but we had a few short, gentle ascents to keep things interesting. So far the climbing on this tour has been unchallenging.
Lunch was a delightful interlude at the Zetland Country House Hotel, with its host so keen that everyone was well fed and contented. The hotel was built as a sporting lodge in the early 19th century, and sits just inland from Cashel Bay.
The route after lunch was a visual delight, especially after we crossed the handsome stone bridge seen above on the way to Roundstone, a gorgeous coastal village that could have been the smaller cousin of Tenby (Dinbych y Pysgod) in Wales, with its harbour and colourful houses. Boats were resting on the shore as we approached.
Roundstone
As I cycled into Roundstone, I spotted Julia, Lucy, tour guide Mark and a few others by the roadside. Julia was looking for a postcard for her granddaughter and others were in search of ice cream. It was a nice place to while away time chatting.
We’d been told that a beach on Mannin Bay between Roundstone and Clifden was perfect for swimming. Julia was keen to repeat her dip at the end of last year’s Portugal tour, but by the time we got to Ballyconneely the sun had disappeared and the wind was distinctly chilly. Wendy had set up the afternoon brew stop overlooking the beach for a welcome, warming cuppa. Julia settled for a paddle rather than a swim – but at least one of our party did go for a swim here today.
The last six miles to Clifden were straightforward, and I was amused to be overtaken by a Welsh camper van. The climb up to the destination was easy enough, and I was soon standing by my bike in the town centre studying the route notes to work out where the Station House Hotel was.
Clifden’s old railway station
I soon found the old station, and the Station House Hotel was, unsurprisingly, next to it. This was my favourite hotel of the trip: comfortable and modern, yet reflecting the railway heritage of the site.
I particularly liked the old railway posters along the lift lobbies and corridors, especially the illustration of the Fishguard to Rosslare ferry. That’s how I first arrived in Ireland 50 years ago with Mum and Dad, and on my first (solo) Irish cycle tour in 1996. Railway posters were examples of the railways’ role as pioneers of marketing and tourism, especially the Great Western, which ran the Fishguard route until Britain’s railways were nationalised in 1948.
The station closed in 1935, 14 years after it featured in a significant moment in Ireland’s war of independence. The IRA ambushed a Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) patrol in the centre of town, killing two police officers. The attack was a reprisal for the execution of Clifden man Thomas Whelan for the killing of British Army officer Captain Geoffrey Baggallay. In response, the British authorities sent a trainload of the notorious RIC Black and Tans officers to Clifden railway station. They proceeded to set fire to 16 houses and killed two people in Clifden. And so the cycle of death and destruction continued.
Clifden was famous for its Marconi transatlantic wireless station, which never reopened after being attacked by the IRA in 1921. Marconi transferred the transatlantic wireless service to its station near Waunfawr in north Wales.
Clifden is a peaceful and attractive place today. It makes the most of its place in the legend of Alcock and Brown, the two men who were the first to fly the Atlantic in 1919, the month my grandmother got married. They crash landed their Vimy bomber in a bog just outside the town after a 16 hour flight from Newfoundland. (We passed very close to the landing site after our beach stop.)
My meal at Guy’s Bar
We had an excellent meal at Guy’s Bar and Snug – just metres away from the site of that 1921 IRA ambush, although we didn’t know that! We sat nursing the now traditional Guinness at a pavement table while we waited for our table inside to be free. It was worth the wait – the beef bourguignon was delicious.
To our surprise it was raining heavily when we came out and we got wet on the way back to the hotel, not helped by losing our way, as in Tralee. Why did we find small Irish towns hard to navigate?
Today was a magical day’s cycling. The weather improved, we were following the stunning coastline towards Galway – and I was reliving half-century old family memories.
I was at the back of the pack as we left Spanish Point towards Lahinch. My bike was making troublesome noises, and it took a couple of roadside tweaks to get everything running sweetly. I’d been looking forward to seeing Lahinch since booking the tour, having such a vivid memory of stopping there in 1974 with Mum and Dad as we travelled on to our next stop, Galway. My image of Lahinch was of a seaside promenade, where I bought an Irish bar of chocolate, whose brand I’ve forgotten but had never heard of in 1974. (Hardly surprising as it wasn’t Cadbury, Fry’s or Rowntree.) As I cycled through, I found that that childhood memory was erratic. Lahinch had no promenade: all the shops and other buildings were away from the shore, and under leaden skies the place seemed rather bleak. Disappointed, I took a few photos and moved quickly on. Happily, the rest of the day was a delight.
We had an enjoyable interlude at the stunning Cliffs of Moher, which we reached after a climb from sea level at Lahinch. There was a very smart visitor centre, which certainly wouldn’t have been there in 1974!
There followed one of my favourite sections of the entire tour. We turned off the main road onto a lane that gave breathtaking views along the coast and out to the Aran islands. (You can see Inisheer in the background of the photo above.) It was fast cycling too, except when I felt obliged to stop to take a photo of the latest sights – including 16th century Doonagore castle, below. A Spanish Armada ship was wrecked below the castle in 1588 and the 170 survivors executed here. The building is now a holiday home.
The morning brew stop was in the Burren, an extraordinary limestone landscape dotted with wild flowers against the backdrop of coast and cliffs. The rock was formed as sediments in a tropical sea some 350 million years ago. It was a pleasure to enjoy a mug of tea here especially as the grey skies had finally lifted, giving way to a lovely sunny day.
I loved the ride from here to lunch at Kinvara. I overtook these pannier-laden Dutch cyclists on the fast coast road towards lovely Ballyvaughan, where Julia passed me, commenting ”here comes the slow coach!’ as she went by.
Ballyvaughan
Soon after Ballyvaughan, we turned off the main coast road, which was a mixed blessing. It was quieter, for sure, but not as fast, and hillier. Lunch at Kinvara was good, but the service was very slow. But I didn’t mind – it was a lovely day and we had just 19 miles to go to Galway.
After lunch, we were back on quiet, rural lanes, with wooded sections that contrasted with this morning’s coastal scenery.
As we got closer to Galway, we spotted a group of people at the side of the road with a bonfire. At first we thought it was a demonstration, but after we saw another group with a fire we discovered they were celebrating a local under 15 hurling team’s victory. By the time we passed a third group we’d convinced ourselves they were cheering us on!
After such a scenic day, the final approach to Galway was very nondescript. We were staying in a corporate hotel, the Connacht, tonight, in an industrial area a mile or so out of town. So Julia, Lucy and I got a cab into the city for drinks and dinner. Galway was buzzing for a Sunday night, and we were pleased to get a table at a tapas restaurant after having the statutory Guinness at a bar round the corner first.
Postscript: return to my 1974 hotel!
Back in 1974, Mum, Dad and I stayed at the Ryan Hotel in Galway. (It was the Ryan group that later created Ryanair.) I’d wondered where in Galway the hotel was, and Googled the answer a month after the tour. To my amazement it was the very hotel we stayed in – it was renamed the Connacht in 2013. It looks nothing like a 1960s motel today, so it’s no surprise that I didn’t recognise it, especially as I thought it was on the coast!
Today was a much easier day, though hillier than the route notes suggested. We left Tralee under heavy, dark clouds – yesterday afternoon’s sunshine had gone, but it was at least dry. We missed a turn in town – I ignored my Garmin’s insistent beeps, assuming the others charging on knew better. The Garmin was right…We were soon back on track, with views of the river Lee and the sea to the left.
We had a few climbs today, and the view above was the reward for the first: the stunning vista over Ballyheigue Bay. Once again I was left thinking how glorious this place would be on a sunny day – such a common experience in these islands…
A little later, we saw the road ahead climbing skywards, and braced ourselves for a workout. But we were spared: the Garmin beeped at us to turn right, and a more modest ascent awaited us. In truth the climbing today was easy, but I did feel sorry for Lucy, who was having trouble with the gears on her new bike. My mind went back to our tour of Umbria in 2004 when I was unable to use any of the bottom set of gears on my newish Cannondale hybrid.
On the first two days I’d noticed how prosperous the towns and villages had appeared. Today that changed, and we cycled past a lots of run down houses and ruined farms.
As we cycled towards the Shannon, I passed runner after runner coming the other way, and remembered that it was Saturday. It must have been a major event given the numbers taking part. Some of the runners seemed almost broken, barely walking. I was sure that my friend and colleague Louise from Dublin, a very strong runner, would have been right at the front! I was cycling on my own for much of the stretch to lunch, but enjoyed talking to Ian from Vancouver – one of the joys of these tours is meeting people from all over the world. Later, over lunch, I chatted about cycling Land’s End to John O’Groats (LEJOG) with one of our group. He said that Glastonbury was a low point for him, because of the poor accommodation. By contrast, I loved Street and Glastonbury on my LEJOG, but had a very jaundiced view of Kinross because there was no hot water in my hotel room. These individual experiences make a big difference.
We enjoyed an excellent lunch at the Swanky Bar in Tarbert, before a short ride to the ferry over the mighty Shannon, Ireland’s longest river.
I love taking my bike on a ferry, whether it’s a cross channel one as in my tour of Brittany in 1996 or much smaller cross river ferries such as the King Harry crossing in Cornwall on LEJOG in 2019. The Tarbert to Killimer ferry route across the Shannon was just three miles, but saved a very long ride via Limerick.
The Armagh City cyclists overtake us
We spotted a group of cyclists from Armagh in Northern Ireland on the ferry, along with an Ulster Cycling support van. They overtook us at speed as we passed through Kilrush. Later, I found out that they were riding our Mizen to Malin route in four days, for charity. They were chatting to each other very loudly as they approached and passed us – so much so that until they came past I thought it must be an altercation…
Country roads
In truth, today’s route was rather dull after the drama of the Dunloe Gap yesterday, but we had an enjoyable spell along a lane that had grass growing in the middle, which reminded me of a British bridleway. We also spotted a golf course owned by Donald Trump, just before the afternoon brew stop. But we were soon back on the main road that would take us to our destination, Spanish Point.
Above: making progress across County Clare: Rob, Julia and Lucy, photographed by Anna
Quilty, County Clare
All day, I’d been taking on trust the route notes that said we’d have 2,100 feet of climbing today. We passed that total before Kilrush, so the final climb towards the coast came as a shock. (The day’s final climbing totalled 2,756 feet.) At last we reached the Atlantic, at Quilty. It was rather a bleak scene, with drizzle greeting the final mile or so to Spanish Point. The name of our destination recalls the wreck of Spanish Armada warships on the Clare coast in 1588. The English authorities who occupied Ireland executed the survivors, not knowing that the Armada had already long been defeated.
We were staying in a modern motel tonight, the Bellbridge House Hotel. I popped over the road to take photos, seen above. Dinner was filling, if nothing else, and the place was doing a roaring trade on a Saturday evening. I was intrigued to hear Lucy talking about her unconventional 1970s London secondary school, whose head was Molly Hattersley, wife of the Labour cabinet minister Roy. I was intrigued as Dominic Sandbrook’s wonderful history of Britain in the seventies, Seasons in the Sun, recounted the story of the school, quoting one teacher saying, ‘I don’t think kids should be made to come to school. It turns schools into prisons.’ It was a fascinating end to an uneventful day.
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