Audleystown Cairn (From Valhalla and the Fjörd)

Audleystown Cairn – although it goes by a multitude of names and descriptions; horned cairn, court cairn and court tomb – as well as a track way on the left, follow this sign to the Audleystown Cairn although narrow, there is parking at the bottom of the track at near the site. The first thing I notice when I have parked at the small bay area are the views over the Lough; Chapel Island stands out with its strange looking hump, distant towers dot the landscape and I could sit here and simply take it all in. However, I proceed towards the monument, using the small and narrow muddy track that has been trampled into the long pasture grass. The site is two fields away from the parking area and at the end of the first field outcrops of gnarled trees stand guard like ancient statues. 

Almost tucked away in the corner surrounded by a green fence lies the dual court tomb. The site has two (segmented) galleries and forecourts at each end. As I stand on top of the small grassy mound I have my iPod playing Jamie N Commons (his song ‘Lead Me Home’). I don’t know if it’s the song or the site but there is a feeling of desolation somehow. I sit down and close my eyes for a moment of quiet contemplation, Commons’ husky and melancholy dulcet tones heightening my reflective thoughts.

The site was excavated in 1952 and found that the forecourts contained blocking rubble lying on a roughly paved surface. Excavation also uncovered burial deposits in most, but not all, of the chambers; “…including burned and unburned human bones, animal bones, pottery fragments, flint implements and earth. The human remains represented about 34 individuals, male and female adults and children, one of the largest collections of human remains ever found in a prehistoric burial.” (NIEA, 2009). The cairn material of local stone survives to a height of approximately two to three feet around the chambers and would have covered the entire monument. Excavation also uncovered pottery and flint artifacts including arrowheads and end scrapers that were undoubtedly funerary offerings.

To the east of Audleystown Cairn is a small roughly sub-circular enclosure that isn’t apparent when you initially scan the landscape. This is Templecormick church and enclosure ruins; quite small, they were until recently heavily overgrown almost sucked back in to pasture farmland. A recent survey and subsequent work by Macdonald in 2009 added much more information and detail to previous knowledge of this site as well as clearing much of the undergrowth and erecting a fence. The little church was built using local stone and constructed using dry stone walling with some evidence for ‘wedge’ stones used instead of mortar (Macdonald, 2008, 126). The church site is surrounded by a dry stone enclosure wall (which led to early interpretation by antiquarians that is was a reused cashel). Due to the undergrowth Macdonald’s ground plan is the first detailed one, but I have also created a separate image by overlaying the Archaeological Survey of County Down’s 1966 simple plan over Macdonald’s for reference. There are grave markers (Macdonald recorded thirteen) within the enclosure, but records suggest burial taking place outside the walled confines as human remains were discovered by ploughing outside the enclosure wall (ASCD, 1966, 297). The place name evidence for the site seems to be related to the nearby holy well of Tubberdoney from the Irish Tobar Domhnaigh or ‘Sunday Well’ (NIPNP, 2008, 80). There is a tantalizing potential for the place name to link back to an early Christian lineage; “…all churches that bear the name Domhnach were originally founded by St. Patrick, and he laid their foundations on a Sunday…having remained for seven Sundays in Cianachta, laid the foundations of seven sacred houses of the Lord, each of which he therefore called Dominica which in Irish is Domhnach.” (O’Laverty, 1878, 218). When I first read this I was rather excited, but then reading Macdonald’s survey account he raised a point I had completely forgotten about; the presence of the nearby Chapel Island. Although there are no certainties, it is likely that this account and place name evidence refers to that nearby site. There remains, however, so little known about the history of the idiosyncratic and enigmatic little church and enclosure.

The Winter Nights Draw In

As I continue to write my book (Valhalla and the Fjörd) it has given me time to reflect. I enjoy recanting tales from biking down the peninsula and around Strangford Lough, I am quite far into the writing process but getting it published is the challenge....it has been said that writing a book is the easy part getting it out into the public domain is the mountain you have to climb But researching a lot of the sites (rather extensively) has given me time to ponder my archaeology days. It's made me realise why I studied the subject; it was never to get rich, it was due to a genuine enjoyment of the topic. We have an unbelievable heritage trail - and not just around Strangford, around the whole province and coastline[s]. I have an idea for a second book called 'The Seventh Best' which would be along the same lines but on the north coast run (which is rumoured to be the seventh best motorbiking road in Europe). Whilst I write my manuscript I keep coming back to that shaded glade at Audley's Castle in July of this year. The heat was glorious, the shade even more so and the quiet time it gave me for contemplation was cathartic in the extreme. But I realise what a waste it has been that I am no longer in archaeology. I had lunch the other day with a former colleague and he used those terms (verbatim). It hit me (once again) like a sledgehammer, the acute pain making me wince. I was a fool. However, I also believe that everything happens for a reason....and for me it isn't difficult to find the positives....life is good and happy and that is, after all, what most strive for and never achieve!  

I revisited many sites as follow up fieldwork for the book and for some reason I picked some of the most sombre music for my iPod that day; as I stood at the likes of Audleystown Court Cairn, alone, with the wind rustling the trees, blowing eerily and strongly across the 'plain' I stared out the Lough and began to frown. These moments reminded me of undergraduate and postgraduate thesis' fieldwork trips. Halcyon days now gone, but I had my chance....again, something not everyone gets. 

The more I research the sites, the more intriguing it gets - so many excavations lost in various archives have revealed so much, amazing finds and sites that aren't even visible in the landscape any more. We are too quick, in my opinion, to and all too ready to relinquish our heritage abandoning it to natural forces and the ravages of time. But we lose a link with our past as well as robbing the next generations of knowledge and places to go! I know it sounds slightly melodramatic, but then again maybe the demand isn't there; after all what interests me doesn't necessarily interest someone else.

I am looking forward to Kivi getting a new bike - our biking season always seems to be in cold November, December and January winds as that is when he finishes filming. I remain loyal to the mighty Triumph and even if I had money, wouldn't change her for the foreseeable future.

It is that time of year when the dark nights make you slow down, like some natural hibernation state, the open fire with some logs crackling and glowing is what brings me inner peace. 

Greyabbey And Peninsula Back Roads

I had planned the route down the eastern shore of the Ards Peninsula to the last tee....or so I had thought. I had blogged recently about the plans, and the day came with the threat of afternoon rain turning to yellow weather warnings for the following day. It was today or not at all. I donned the leathers but for the first time in a while had to put a wooly jumper on underneath; a nip in the air that is so indicative of the approach of frosts here has arrived, and the last thing I wanted was to catch a chest infection or cold (amazing how the older you get the more you turn into your father!). I set off and traveled over the Craigantlet Hills, leaving enough time for the 'school mum run' to have returned home. Once at the top of Craigantlet the cross winds started, quite strong in places, but I think I have become a much better rider and there is no substitute for experience. The winds don't affect me as badly as they once did. There are sections of the hills where the roads twist in continuous S bends, but they flow, cambered in your favour in some of the locations so you can really push into the bends hard. I then had to travel through Newtownards to the Portaferry Road and for some reason, it is not a place I am a fan of. I couldn't wait to leave the sprawl and get onto the open road. The Portaferry Road hugs the Strangford shoreline, and the winds were even harsher here; but I was more worried about salt air. I had, though, planned a turnoff just before the woodland that indicates Mount Stewart Estate. It was the first time I have been on this road, and although there was some traffic, it didn't disappoint. The road follows the back of the estate and the tree lined aspect is one I tend to relish. There are good twists that enable you to get plenty of lean angle, but not let up on the throttle. It was at this point that I was starting to get into my groove. 

I had planned to stop at a motte near Dunover; the road was perfect, but finding the site was more difficult than I thought. There were several tree covered candidates, and on my second pass, I think I found it but alas I couldn't stop at it. The site appears to be on private land, and even then the motte seems much truncated and reduced in height, either naturally or by human hand I don't know, but this was one site I had to strike off my list.

I continued towards Greyabbey, the main reason for the ride, turning off onto the Cardy Road. This road was more of a country lane with a veneer of tarmac (perfect!). There wasn't another vehicle on the whole road, and I think it is this terrain and road type that the Tiger is built for. Occasionally, the undulations were such that I caught a little air. I suddenly, and much faster than I would have liked, found myself in Greyabbey, although it comes upon you rather than you gaining a sense that you are about to enter a town. The abbey wasn't hard to find and I parked beside the visitor's centre. The abbey remains poke above the tree line tantalizingly, and it fills you with a want to explore. I walked round to be confronted (and I use that term advisedly) by the main abbey building and the splendid door in the west wall. The arches are decidedly pointed, an element of gothic architecture (and something for which Greyabbey is famed). But to my eye, there are still Romanesque influences in the ornamental design work. The height of the building is tremendous, and once inside you can't help but look up, craning your neck which I am sure the designers and masons would have wanted you to do. The site is surrounded by trees, and their rustling in the wind only adds to the sense of atmosphere. There wasn't another sinner there! I walked down the nave to the crossing and chancel trying to take everything in, stepping out of the ruins towards the chapter house. The sun was trying to split the clouds and the trees and it bounced off the masonry highlighting the chisel marks. I found the site amazingly peaceful and tranquil. So much so that I simply had to sit down, the tranquility of the place is almost overpowering. But a stupid grin came over my face as I sat with the sun on my face.

There must be something about sites like this, I'm not religious, but I believe in the spirituality of a place. Out of no-where a dog came up to me with a ball in his mouth, a lovely shaggy 'real' dog and a woman walking him wasn't long after. We got chatting and it turns out she lives very close to the site. She remarked that she usually has the place to herself, something we discussed as it still baffles me why people don't visit or make use of the places we have. The buses arrive, apparently, when there is a cruise ship docked in Belfast and the tourists can't get enough of the place. I sat and contemplated everything running through my head, and when I next stood up, there was a sense of clarity and calm. Must be why I come to these places, Inch Abbey, Nendrum etc. It helps me think and also de-stresses me. Through the treeline, you can see Mount Stewart, and following on from the fabulous day I had at Castle Ward, this site is definitely on the to-do list (although waiting for the weather means it'll probably be mid 2014!!). I got back onto the bike, and used the back roads to head towards Ballywalter, hitting the coast and the strong winds that were there. Although they weren't presenting any problems, and the scenery was spectacular, I was tired of being buffeted, and turned off onto the Woburn Road. The tree lined route had a Spanish avenue feeling, and was agreeably empty. However, by now the dark clouds were starting to loom overhead and I turned for home, feeling satisfied and fulfilled. I took of my helmet, sat down with a cup of coffee and realised why I ride a bike! 

Quoile Castle and Saul Early Christian Site

Quoile Castle is a 17th Century towerhouse, now ruined, located beside the Quoile River, which winds its way from its source (Strangford Lough) initially quite widely through the townland before it hooks back on itself towards Killyleagh where it becomes the Annacloy River, then meandering to become the Ballynahinch River where it peters out. Certainly at the widest points it is impressive, and on hot days looks exceptionally inviting. Quoile Castle is a monument I was only vaguely aware of, although I have since discovered that the Centre for Archaeological Fieldwork in Queen’s University undertook an excavation there in 2011 that you can read here: Quoile Castle Excavation Report.

Map of the south Co. Down area and sites/monuments

The summer has been good....well....that’s perhaps a slight exaggeration, we have had a fortnight of hot weather and perhaps due to the complete lack of any summer weather for the last few years, when it arrived in July it was hailed and loved like a long forgotten remnant of youth (which I am guilty of joining!). There are numerous monuments from history around the surrounding area....Downpatrick is, of course, famous for them, but also has its impressive motte and bailey as well as the cathedrals. Inch Abbey is also relatively close by, and the area is strewn with raths. There are chambered graves (three of them I think) near Lough Money along with something called “The Long Stone” so the area has seen some action for millennia. Saul is also located to the south east, and is another site that is on my doorstep, yet I had never visited or really read much about. There is a holy well there, yet I only discovered when writing this that there is a further holy well and bath house to the south of the main church site. What I thought was the holy well is, I think, the mortuary house.

With the weekend providing the last good days of weather in the foreseeable forecast, I decided to charge the Tiger’s battery one last time for this current few weeks riding and visit these sites. As ever, I took the roads hugging the coast contours of the western shores of Strangford Lough to Lisbane, Balloo and Killyleagh. I was overtaking slower cars with ease on the sections of long straights, the road undulating to the drumlins of the countryside. I could feel the heat of the engine and exhausts against my legs, as today, for some reason, I was more throttle happy than usual. I looked down and the speedometer was certainly....interesting....at times! On hot days I have, recently, had a tendency to have the helmet as half face and fully open. This is not something I had done until recently, but I think the airflow is a necessity! There were, however, the obligatory bugs that hit off my exposed face some of which left a stinging sensation as their arse went through their head on impact. The air is tangibly warmer and heavier with pollen in the countryside roads before you encounter the fresher and clearer sea air near Killyleagh.

Every River Bends
I powered through the tree tunnelled roads towards the small bridge over the Quoile River that is a near 90° turn with the large hump in the middle providing something else to think about! The road hugged the river, with the reeds providing a curious smell in the summer heat. I pulled off the main road to Quay Road and immediately came across the ruins of Quoile Castle.The tower stump sits beside a visitor and countryside centre and the site has wildlife cameras everywhere, although you can’t see them, there are also plenty of picnic tables and a willow tree that looked particularly inviting to sit under (I wish I had brought a book, or even a notepad and pen to jot down my thoughts that the zen motorcycle experience seems to bring on).

Quoile Castle

I explored what there was to see in the castle, the lower vaulted levels and the first floor looking out the 'arrow' loops to the gardens immediately adjacent to the site. I thought that it must be nice to live there; the castle providing an imposing yet somehow protective large garden ornament. I sat on the grass and took in my surroundings, the occasional high whine of a racing bike on the road nearby...clearly there was some other people out with the same thought as me! And who could have blamed them! Immediately beyond the castle is an agreeable green lane that leads to no-where but a spot on the river bank at one of its widest points where you can park up and take in the view. I, of course, took this lane, and as the tarmac became rougher, and the road narrowed and the trees enclosed it, the more I found I enjoyed it. I decided to double back on myself and head to Saul, a small hamlet that is eerily quiet and seems to be a location that people simply drive through. Saul (so the sign says) is the site of the first Christian church in Ireland, founded by St. Patrick in 432AD.

The ruined mortuary house and stone lined trackway at Saul

Given its apparent significance, I found the place somewhat underwhelming. The yew tree lined avenue towards the round tower of the modern church is agreeable enough, but the church itself left me with the feeling of a Disney version of and Irish early Christian site, which is what it is I suppose and I can’t help the feeling that the site is either a fraud or (if it is the site of the founding of one of the earliest Christian sites in Ireland) has been the victim of hideous under funding and care. One single wall is left upstanding that to my eye appears to be medieval or post medieval remains. There is a curious small building that is situated in grass that has been left to grow wild, juxtapositioned with the neatly cut grass around the ruined wall and modern church. Stumps of very old headstones just peak through the top of the grass that are like fingers guiding you towards this strange structure. Whether it’s the holy well or the mortuary house is, I suppose, moot. The greenery of nature is now attempting, and succeeding, in reclaiming it. My mind was brought to sites such as Nendrum, Inch, Clonmacnois, Mellifont, Cashel, Kilkenny etc and they are far more imposing, physically but also spiritually.Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I visited the place (I do love adding dots to a map!) but I guess I had wished for more of an impact. Although in Ireland, you are spoilt in this regard. In the bacck of my mind, I hanker after a longer and more epic trip; even if it is in my own back yard, I find myself yearning fore real adventure and exploration.

Summer Contemplation

I needed head space, and the road is the best place to get it. Just you and the bike with clear blue skies and everything else just simply melts away and zones out. I had previously found myself on the road for such little trips, to the Giant’s Ring in Belfast and also further afield. But this time I simply had no destination in mind, the roads would take me where they wanted to take me. And that, in itself, is rather freeing. As I left the urban environment, the smell of what I thought was Honeysuckle in the air wafted in my nostrils and mixed with the sea breeze was quite a refreshing tonic for body and soul. I had the visor fully retracted and was riding half-face as the heat was almost stifling. Any stop, at a set of lights or behind slower traffic was frustrating as the air circulating was a requirement, not only for my cooling, but also for the bike as well. I soon found myself on the back roads past Clea Lough that I have blogged about before, but I knew I wouldn’t be doubling back, so I pressed on. I took the turn off for Strangford and the ‘Sunday Driver’ traffic cleared. 

Audley's Castle

The road sweeps left and right with bends that you can really get a lot of lean angle, but also keep the power on, I felt a sense of calm come over me, and I entered that zone where the bike and I become one, the movement is almost sub conscious and everything flows so well and so effortlessly. At time the hedging closes in the road to a tunnel and the greenery flicks past your head, when the hedges thin out, the heat assaults all your senses as you feel the warm air on your face, as well as smell it. It smells of warm tarmac and ‘green’ I know that might sound weird, verging on synaesthesia, but I can remember now looking back on childhood as ‘smelling like the taste of’ and I don’t think I am anyway unique in that. Trees hang over the road casting their shadows like some sort of protective hands arching over your path but the series of shaded parts give light relief from the strong UV beating down from the sun. Not that I’m complaining! All too often the weather is overcast and miserable! Whilst heading towards Strangford, I saw a sign for Audley’s Castle....somewhere I had studied but never actually been. The monument is a towerhouse, perched on a drumlin overlooking Strangford Lough and would have, I think, been one of the earlier structures associated with Castle Ward.....with it constructed in the 15th Century. But the main manor is what everyone thinks about when you mention the place.

The Tiger parked on the quiet wooded trackway

The buildings at the lower end of the Castle Ward Estate being late 16th / 17th Century and then the more famous country residence superseding all of these. I took the ‘green lane’ route towards the shore line and Audley’s, the road having exceptionally pleasing undulations and twists, before hitting a stoney ‘off road’ turnoff to actually get towards the castle. The bike squirmed at times, trying to find grip in the loose surface, the tyre would find it and bite and the throttle control had to be spot on to stop a tank slapper. But it was some of the most enjoyable riding I have yet done. The area around Audley’s is quite heavily wooded, but the light shone through the leaves and the sound of the trees gentle rustling every time there was a slight breeze from the Lough shore was calming and Zen-like. I sat on a fallen tree stump, alone, but not lonely....I sat and contemplated things, my mind clear and free from distraction. I think this is as close to meditation as I’m ever going to get. At times, I’m not necessarily concentrating on something, or mulling over a particular issue, rather I am simply sitting there and ‘being’. Might sound a bit hippy-ish, but it works for me, and that’s all that matters. After chatting to a family who had shown up to have a picnic, I decided it was time to get back on the road. I travelled back the way I had came to go to Strangford town....once there, as ever, it is picturesque. However, the heat was genuinely stifling, and moving at such a slow pace in the leathers was starting to have [sweaty] consequences. I had to get air moving around me. So I decided to travel back up to Saul and Downpatrick, and then the Killyleagh route back to the urban sprawl. The thought of it filled me with dread, and I seem to want to escape it more and more these days. I have never needed company, and I think these little excursions will become frequent.

The next day, after purhasing an 'as new' second hand Givi topbox, we headed down on the bike to Castle Ward for a picnic. The panniers and topbox were loaded with shorts, blankets and everything to make the picnic comfortable. We entered the grounds by, what I think, is the southern entrance, next to the Strangford shoreline. I enjoyed strolling round the grounds, little paths and nooks everywhere you went. The weather helps, of course, but I find myself gravitating towards these sorts of activities nowadays, rather than partying. Getting older.....certainly, but it's not something I feel any need to hide. I had my wild days, believe me, I did, so a bit of peace and quiet now is to be craved, rather than shunned.

The Back Roads to Shrigley

Another fine day, so another chance to don the leathers and head out on the bike. The heat was all consuming, a rare event in Ireland! But one that when it comes you don’t moan about as all too often you are looking forlornly out of a window at ashen skies and mizzle, the type that doesn’t look that bad but soaks you through when you’re in it. My new haunt of the Co. Down roads towards Downpatrick are awesome, but I fancied a change and decided to go wherever the wind took me, a state of mind in itself that is rather freeing. I knew that I would head through Lisbane to Balloo and then turn right along a phenomenal road that I had encountered last time I was out by sheer chance….after that I wasn’t sure.

I could feel the heat coming up through the tarmac, which gives you confidence as the warm road surface helps the tyre adhere really well. The grip was confidence inspiring. The roads seemed to be fairly busy, but in the opposite direction, so I had long straights inviting me with their heat haze shimmering, the small crests and dips were inviting me to come and play. At the end of the road outside Balloo, for no particular reason, I turned left (heading approximately south). I passed a small church, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with headstones from another age…..maybe at one time it served a vibrant community, but any trace of them was gone and these inscribed slabs of granite and sandstone were all that was left of them. The world moves on, and that was a source of pain for me once….that no matter how much you think the world should stop and say ‘isn’t that awful’….it doesn’t, it simply carries on oblivious to the pain you are in. It’s the single point that the Victorians found abhorrent about Darwin’s theory….not that evolution took place, but that it showed that nature was cruel and everything was locked in a vicious struggle for survival, rather than the romanticized frolicking in the countryside antithesis.

Once I was on this road, I was immediately struck by the sheer beauty of the rolling drumlin countryside in which I found myself. Occasionally shocked by a bird that flew out directly in front of me from the hedgerows. The occasional outcrop of trees arched over the road to provide rest bite from the sun and even though my sun visor was down, my eyes were able to see more clearly without the glare. On the Clea Lough Road, I (not surprisingly) passed a series of small loughs. They shimmered through the hedges, and I could see swans swimming on the flat calm surface. I immediately wanted to pull over to stop and take it in, but I couldn’t find a place to pull in and there appeared to be no roads (on this westerly side of them) to lead me to the shore[s]. I still think they would make an excellent location for a picnic, or even a quick pit stop. So more research will have to be done here to see how I can get to them.

I passed through small hamlets, sometimes with a small church associated with them and I can't help but imagine what these places would have been like in their hay-day (probably the 19th Century). My father always said I would like to have lived in another time, but the key point is you need to have lived with money.....being 'poor' in the 19th Century (like any time) would have been grim. I found myself entering a village I had never been to before....Shrigley. I was immediately struck by the rolling countryside in which it sat, but there was a strange dissatisfaction with the place. I pulled in at a lovely monument, a small clock tower it seemed to me, with a large mill chimney as it's backdrop behind the greenery.

However, the village appeared to consist of 1960's housing estate dwellings, and on further research I found that the village once was rather picturesque. The original village and the associated mill workers cottages were swept away and a sense of a modern ugly transposition is right in your face. Indeed, the Ulster Architectural Society have stated: "There is no variety, and there is no attempt to provide any kind of focus or heart to the community. There is not one element in the new estate which preserves or even recalls the identity of the old village; it is entirely inappropriate to its setting in the rolling drumlin country side of County Down." Quite sad then that all that remains is the monument. I also discovered that this was built to commemorate John Martin who built the original cotton mill. The monument was built in 1871 and designed by Timothy Hevey. It is a beautiful piece (to my mind), but beauty is in the eye of the beholder! The Ulster Architectural Society describe it as: "A remarkably imposing monument of brown stone, in three layers; the design has much in common with, but is rather grander than, the Rossmore Memorial of about the same date in the Diamond of Monaghan town. The base, surrounded by iron railings, originally with an elaborate lamp at each corner, is square. Upon this, an octagonal arcade of round-headed arches, carried on columns with Ruskinian foliated capitals, surrounds the central shaft which incorporates the drinking-fountain. Above this rises a square tower, supported by eight flying buttresses springing from pinnacles; in each face is a triple pointed opening divided by small foliate-capitalled columns. Above these openings are large circular oculi in which the clock (now entirely disappeared) displayed its four faces. The tower is surmounted by acute angled gable-pediments, with five-lobed ogee centre pieces; four corner pinnacles, the crockets now missing; and a pyramidal roof terminating in ornate cresting." (ibid). Although the village might leave something to be desired, the road to get there dominates my memory, and the joy I had on that road overcomes any sense of architectural disappointment. I continued south only to discover I was soon at the side entrance to Killyleagh Castle, flanked by beautifully shaped trees.

I had never approached the town from this side, and it came upon me quickly and unexpectedly. But it was a pleasant surprise. I parked up at the front entrance, the bike bouncing on the cobbled roadway. The castle has something of a Disney quality to it....the (later) added turrets and crenelations give it an Errol Flynn Robin Hood appearance. But the original castle was, iteself, a plantation home, rather than a medieval structure. There was a family picnicking on the front lawn, and immediately the small boy had eyes like the moon at the bike. Although in my leathers, I was quickly starting to boil in my own juices, I struck up a conversation with the father: "ahhh he loves the bikes". So I asked if he had ever sat on one....an excited shake of the head told me he hadn't. So I told the father to sit him on the bike. The sheer excitement was shown by the boys limbs visibly shaking! I made sure the bike was in neutral and told him to push the starter button, the bike roared into life. More excitement. However, when I told him to gently squeeze back the throttle, he grabbed it up to 9000 rpm (close to the bike's 10,000 rpm red line). He soon was lifted off!! I made my way out of Killyleagh, keen to get some airflow around my body. I rode with the Shark helmet visor and half face all the way up. The warm smell of grasses and wildflower permeated the air, and I was glad for some refreshing breeze, even if the air itself was slightly hot.

It's amazing how the good weather seems to put everyone in a good mood.....people waved as I drove past them, and all along the route there seemed to be people out cutting grass or hedges, they blurred past me as I twisted the throttle. Hopefully the weather will keep up and Nicola and I can get a picnic out on the bike.....must remind her to ensure the thermal lining is out of her bike gear!!

ABR Rally Weekend

So the big weekend had finally arrived. And it felt special. We had both taken the Friday off work and the sun was attempting to come out. Failing in the most part, but attempting it nevertheless.

I had picked the bike up from BMC Bikes earlier in the day after a raft of work including new Tourance Tyres, a new shock, fluids and filter changes etc. My God he had worked his magic….after I had ‘scrubbed’ off the film on the tyres, they noticeably bit into the tarmac, sending a shudder down the bike as they did  (more so the rear).  We packed the panniers, and donned our gear. I had that butterfly feeling in my stomach, as not only was I excited about the upcoming weekend, it was the first time I had ever ridden the bike fully loaded, with panniers, top box, tank bag and pillion. As I tentatively pulled out on the road to Comber, the cross winds caught the bike a few times, making it feel skittish and top heavy. I didn’t like the feeling and I was only blinking once every few minutes as my concentration was so high. We commenced the trip on the back roads to Downpatrick, a route we had taken to Inch Abbey only a week or two ago. But on the open stretches I was struggling to come to terms with the handling characteristics of the fully laden bike.

The sun was out at this stage though, which helped, I would not have liked to have been doing his in the wet! Just outside Downpatrick, I noticed two adventure style bikes (a 1200GS and a V-Strom) and pulled alongside them – “are you going to Meelmore” was the question I was asked. I certainly was, and I was glad of some companions on the road. We pulled over for a quick smoke, and Ian and Derek were chatting away. We duly pulled off with Ian and Derek in the lead, and I noticed that at breaks in the tree line on the roadside, both their bikes ahead appeared to swerve, then I felt it….I was happier now as I had an indication of cross winds ahead of me, and it also did my confidence no harm to know that it was affecting others too!

We arrived down in the gorgeous setting of Meelmore with the Mournes in the background and Tullymore Forest behind us. The top field was where the bikes were put. A plethora of GS BMW’s with a spattering of KTM’s and Triumphs greeted me….which was nice! Friday was spent getting our room in order (we were staying in the lodge) and wandering about. No-one really knew anyone else, so conversation was a bit light, but then it’s always like that when that is the situation.

Saturday, however, was a different story. We had opted for Loudpedal’s Mournes run….rather than the longer North Coast run. The weather wasn’t great to start off with, but it was clearing. We were the only two-up riders. And as we pulled out of Meelmore, turning left towards the Mournes I had slight apprehension. We travelled up single lane roads with stunning views all around, those shades of dark dark green to browns that are so characteristic of the Celtic mountain regions. The air was crisp and smelt fresh, if that makes sense, as it rushed into the slightly open visor, but it was certainly waking me up and keeping me alert. The roads morphed into more green lane in nature, but I was glad of the new shock and tyres, the big Tiger handled it well. We climbed steeply up a road with a grass middle and loose stones, occasionally the rear end would twitch to register its dissatisfaction with the whole scenario, but she behaved herself magnificently. I was slightly worried that I was maybe holding people up, but I was pleased with my pace. We took a steep descent to Rostrevor and Carlingford Lough, just as the sun decided it had hidden behind the clouds for long enough. We pulled over and the chatter began everyone more comfortable in each other’s company now…..bikes and riding them having smashed, rather than broken the ice. As we took in the view, I mentioned that this was my first time riding on those types of roads, let alone with a pillion, and that it was Nicola’s 4^th time ever on the bike. My confidence (and ego) got a boost from everyone as they said that was impressive.

Our next destination was the coastal route to Greencastle, the winds becoming exceptionally strong by the coast, but I had become accustomed to their effects being able to compensate without doing it overly so, and Nicola was enjoying herself too…iPod playing whatever music she felt appropriate, and that in turn relaxed me too. We continued along the coastal route to Killough and St. John’s Point….the lighthouse looming over you as you pull up of the roads leading up to it (more gravelly lanes), but an impressive sight – the sea here is a turquoise that you would associate with more exotic climbs, but set against the rolling drumlin and grassy backdrop, simply stunning. We sat there and discussed the more 'green lane[y]' roads; I had also taken a wrong turn on one of them, having lost the leading group....but these things happen, and no longer bother me anymore. I am (now) forever saying that every road leads to somewhere, so follow it....what's the worst that could happen?! In Greencastle though, I got the impression that it is a town that was once buzzing with maritime activity, now faded. Across the Lough you can see cranes on a dockside that stood unmoving. We have, as a species, been guilty of placing ugly things on top of stunning locations, and although that might be a bit harsh to describe this pit stop, there was that distinct vibe.

 We were next off along the Co. Down coast to Strangford Lough and Strangford town - surely one of the most picturesque places on Earth (and I'm not exaggerating!). We appeared to fly towards the Lough via Dundrum, with its spectacular medieval castle standing guard over the settlement on the hilltop above the town. It was only when we were driving through it that I realised that we were in Ardglass. I had excavated here when doing my undergrad degree, at Jordan's Castle and the medieval warehouse site now in the golf club. Ardglass was, in its heyday, an exceptionally important port settlement in medieval Ulster and the town is strewn with upstanding stone monuments to its grandeur. Symbols of prosperity now faded. The sun was out, and I had need of the helmet sun visor, but I was in that zone where you almost become one with the machinery, a sensation (when it happens) I very much enjoy. We arrived in Strangford and pulled up beside the ferry loading point. Quaint medieval towerhouse remains, alongside the medieval slipway, marked by vertically aligned stone lining sit easily beside townhouses and cottages that give this place its charm. Apparently Oliver Reid used to drink in the Strangford Arms when he was in Ireland as everyone left him alone. A hellraiser he was, but clearly his privacy he demanded. The water was a blue that matched the sky above it, and I wished we could have called into eat fresh mussels with something refreshing to wash them down with. We were now on the homeward leg, the route back to Meelmore encompassing Clough, and Castlewellan onto Newcastle. The sound of the big KTM in front for some of the journey almost deafened me, but I liked it, as I was able to know when to throttle on before I had turned the corner. 

When we returned to the Meelmore, we got changed and went into Newcastle, to O'Hare's to get something to eat. There is a large open fire, and the floors are, I think, stone flagged, together with the high ceilings it gives the pub a charm of its own, especially as it fronts onto the beach and the views of the mountains stretching down to the coast are spectacular. The Mournes kind of loom over Newcastle, but in a good way, like giant protectors somehow. We arrived back at the site to pitch darkness, and only now was I truely getting my bearings from Bryansford to Meelmore, the stars clearly visible above. Looking at them reminded me of my time camping in Tullymore for my Duke of Edinburgh Award. I distinctly remember that I had never seen so many stars, and it was at that time, all those years ago, I first witnessed a shooting star. So we decided to light a fire - "light it and they will come" Ian said. And he was right! We scavenged what wood we could find, but it was more than enough to have a roaring fire. Before you knew what was happening, potchin, beers, vodka were all broken out and the craic was, as they say, ninety!It's funny how a fire - something so elemental - brings people together. We are drawn to it! The laughter, I'm sure. kept other non biker related campers up, but if you don't like te sound of laughter, then there's something wrong with you in my opinion.

I have to say, that I enjoyed the weekend, and I enjoyed having Nicola as pillion. Her enthusiasm for biking isn't (as I think it initially was) to placate me and take part in my hobby. It is genuine, when I lean down so she can see the road ahead she wants to be on a bike, solo, controlling it, feeling the lean into the corners. I like taking my left hand of the bars on a straight piece of road, reaching back and resting my hand on her knee....she usually gives me a squeeze for good measure. I think we will have many more biking trips.....perhaps further afield and on to a European destination! I have had friends who have gone (two up) to France, Spain and further afield. And I love Spain and Italy, so it would seem to make sense to try and do a road trip to one (or both) of those destinations! Trae en el viaje por carretera!