Tenerife Over The Festive Season

I was lucky enough to spend the Christmas season visiting my Father in Tenerife, indeed I type this overlooking the blue Atlantic Ocean. The hot temperatures and bright sunshine are a complete juxtaposition to the darkness and sleet of home, but a welcome reprieve for body and soul! The food, weather, and life is genuinely, in my opinion, better than back home, and as a result I think people are more sociable and gregarious here; I even look at my father, who is like a social butterfly here - I rarely see him, compared to a forlorn character going through the motions back in Ireland. 

Diving was, of course, part of the plans for this trip and I duly contacted Enrique to arrange trips into the 'big blue'. Enthusiastically he greeted me with a big hug, asking how things were and about life in general. He had been there with sympathy and kind words when, last Christmas, my world fell apart. I think such events have brought me closer to him as a friend. The first dive was off the cliffs, among long 'fingers' of volcanic rock that protrude out into the ocean, hiding Trumpet Fish and even a Seahorse (the latter I had never seen before, so it was a remarkable first for me). The water was initially cool on entry from the dive boat, but my dive computer assured me it was 20 degrees Celsius! The visibility was superb, the blue infinity that stretched as far as my eyes could see, for me, a source of peace and relaxation (although I know for others it can be frightening and claustrophobic). The luminescence of the sea urchins a brilliant day-glow purple in the shafts of sunlight that came down from the surface. Ornate Wrasse[s] darted in front of my eyes, but when I turned to photograph them their initial bravado had morphed into a genuine fear as they swam into rock crevices. Divers are not unusual here but they are, I guess, still not to be trusted! Eating out in the evenings was a sheer joy, the standard of food exceptionally high, even in small little diner-esque eateries, with the produce fresh and tasty. I could move here in a heartbeat, but the reality of life back home (mortgage, job etc etc) is one that is not so easy to overcome. I mean, the utopia is all well and good in my head, but what happens when the money runs out? The paradise suddenly loses its lustre. 

The second dive took place on a Tuesday, accompanied by the third dive on the same day; this time we were out into the choppier swells off Palm Mar. Any worries I had about not being able to equalise my right ear went as they 'popped' on entry to the water. I was assured that there were plenty of sting-rays around this particular reef, and a bag of fish heads bought from the harbour would surely entice them out should they be in shy form. As soon as we reached the bottom (approximately 28 metres) three baby sting-rays immediately swam over to us, gently arching up and onto our legs like puppies. Them, out of the blue, came a large specimen; curious and gentle, it was eager to tuck into the fish heads that had now made an appearance. I ran my hand over its soft underside as it swam past me. Soon, though, it arched up and over me, enabling me to examine its underside in detail, I stroked the soft 'whiteness' but left my hand up in a blazeé fashion, a sharp pain told me that I had been bitten. It was my fault completely, and the ray remains blameless, no real damage was done - just some small puncture wounds from the needle-like teeth, but a lesson learnt! I forever rant about respect in such environments; this is their habitat, not ours, we must learn to treat it as such! Reviewing the video of the incident was a funny moment, hearing Enrique laughing out loud under water once he had checked all my digits were still attached. The journey back on the dive boat highlighted the scale of the Calima, as the mountains were obscured in the haze (and the temperature had also soared).

I came to Tenerife from a year of somewhat sedentary existence, overweight (for me) and in need of renewed motivation and drive. I have always found that this place gives me that, as well as easing me out of my [at times] introverted personality; although now as my time here draws to a close I find myself wistful and contemplative. At the time of writing I have lost 6.5lbs and continuing, this simply due to diet and walking everywhere. I have enjoyed brisk walks along the coast with my better half, as well as using the superbly equipped gym that is nearby. I switch my iPod on and let the aggressive music drive me onwards/forwards, it enables me to work out harder as I question why I left it so long. The rugged and stunning geography of this place cannot help but inspire, if it doesn't then the soul is in serious trouble! I cannot wait to get back, to eat the food, hear the language, dive the clear blue waters; Enrique had it right - this truly is "paradise island".

Review of Valhalla and the Fjord

I have, once again, to remind myself to stop being slefish and to be thankful and grateful for what I have; the Newtownards Chronicle has carried out a rather glowing review of my book (Valhalla and the Fjord: A Spiritual Motorcycle Journey through the History of Strangford Lough). I have to say, when I first heard that the paper was carrying out a review I was aprehensive, I began to think; "what if they hated it" and self-doubt, as ever, crept and slithered into my mind. I was worried that the book had, perhaps, focused too much on archaeological and historical detail, or that I had been too introspective and self-examining whilst describing the sites such as Nendrum, Inch and Greyabbey. But the review seemed to suggest that they 'got it'.

I am now well into my second book, with approximately 30,000 words written thus far; and there is plenty to still write about! This next book is, essentially, a compilation of my blogs and notes from various motorcycle trips around Ireland, but I have stuck with a similar format, examining the history, archaeology of the locations as well as how they made me feel. Having completed another of Ted Simon's books (Rolling Through The Isles) and Sam Manicom's books (Into Africa and Under Asian Skies) I feel reinvigorated and ready to write more and more. I just hope there is an audience out there for them! 

A book launch for 'Valhalla' will probably be taking place in late January in Belfast - again a rather frightening thought as what if no-oneturns up...but things are rarely as bad as they seem in one's head.

Valhalla and the Fjord To Be Published

Initially I had self-published my [first] book: Valhalla and the Fjord, I was pleased with this and felt quite satisfied. However, a local publisher has picked up and run with my initial vision and is publishing the book in the more traditional way, which includes getting an offician ISBN number. This has been somewhat dreamlike, but is exceptionally exciting. My publisher (which sounds so surreal to say), Seán has been unbelievably good and is currently editing the text. It's amazing how a fresh and knowledgeable pair of eyes can transform what was a flood of research and conscious thought into something cohesive and with a discernible narritive.  His take on the text has been facinating, pointing out that some passages weren't aimed at a specific reader and needed refinement. This has, in itself, been a rewarding experience.The book is available via Clachan Publishing here: Valhalla and the Fjord: Clachan Publishing.

We are aiming for a launch in a landmark Belfast venue and I have to say, the support I have received from friends has been touching (if the piss has been taken out of me from time to time!). I think I have been bitten by a bug, or at least unleashed something from within me. I have started work on the second book and I plan for this second book (tentatively titled Hibernia: Journals from a Motorcycle Volume I) to be the first of two volumes. It will follow the same[ish] format of writing about motorbiking as an experience in its own right, as well as about the stops at archaeological, historical and cultural sites. I will blog closer to the launch and after but these are exciting times!

The Road to the National Trust

Friday once again took an age to approach and my level of excitement reached a crescendo on Friday morning as I prepared to get on the bike to head up to Derry. Something of an Indian Summer has been in full swing with September’s weather better than July’s! For this weekend away, the new Slumit tent was strapped securely on the back and I was keen to see how it would perform. The only slight annoyance was that the new carbon fibre Blue Flame Performance exhaust had a hole in it on the inner (bike) side and I knew that I would have to send this off on my return. I toyed with the idea of taking the north coast run up to Ballycastle then onto Coleraine and Derry, but I have to be honest and say I am a little bored with that route, probably because I have done it so many times. Although I am not a fan of using the motorways I knew that if I took the M2 to Derry it meant I could lounge around for that bit longer relaxing. The bike was packed, so all I had to do was drink coffee and sit out in the sun in my back garden – not a bad day off!

The plan was to stay in Derry overnight before heading off on Saturday morning to Florence Court in County Fermanagh. Although we had these best laid plans, we ‘faffed’ about quite a lot on Saturday morning, heading for coffee and something to eat as well as topping up the oil on Kivi’s BMW R80RT. I didn't mind though, the weather was glorious and I was truly relaxed and enjoying myself; amazing how what might get frustrating at other times becomes so small and unimportant when you are in the right frame of mind! By the time we truly hit the road it was around 13:00 and we were slightly concerned that we might have left things a bit late - I hate the feeling of being rushed on the road and would much rather take my time and take in my surroundings especially given that Fermanagh is a place that I have never been to on a bike and this was something I had been looking forward to for quite some time – but the advantage of such a small province is that you can drive to places quite quickly. We took the A5 south towards Sion Mills, Newtownstewart and Omagh. The road is a large single lane carriageway and immediately outside of Derry, somewhat uneventful. Although it is something of a means to an end as it enabled us to eat up the miles quite quickly without feeling that we were missing out by not taking in views or stops etc.

The Road South 
Sion Mills is probably an Anglicisation of the Irish Sidheán (also spelt Síodhán and Sián) meaning ‘fairy mound’. The second part of the name is simply the English ‘mill’. Basically the whole village is a conservation area; the settlement was laid out as a model linen village by the Herdman brothers (James, John and George). In 1835 they converted an old flour mill on the River Mourne into a flax spinning mill and erected a bigger mill behind it in the 1850s.

The Triumph Tiger parked up for a breather

However, nearly everything in Sion Mills today was designed slightly later in the 1880s and 1890s by James Herdman's son-in-law, the English architect William Frederick Unsworth. Although there are some beautiful buildings you are through the village in the blink of an eye and don’t appreciate what there is to see. Once through Omagh – which was quite busy and in the heat and traffic my bike gear stuck to me – we took the A32 towards Irvinestown. The A32 is less busy, narrower and more enjoyable for it the bends are longer and have more of a flow. Out of a small woodland a large bird of prey flew alongside the bikes for about 10 seconds, quite surreal, and something that has happened to me more than once. Each time it is quite magical and I never lose my awe at the sight. The road to Enniskillen has Lower Lough Erne on your right. Enniskillen is, basically, a town built on an island protruding into the lough. Indeed the place name comes from Inis Ceithlinn meaning Ceithleann / Ceithlenn’s island.

This refers to Ceithlenn (who was the wife of Balor of the Fomorians and, by him, the mother of Ethniu in the Irish sagas), she was also a prophetess and warned Balor of his impending defeat by the Tuatha Dé Danann ('People of the goddess Danu - an Irish race of gods, founded by Danu. These gods originally lived on 'the islands in the west' had perfected the use of magic and have also been described as a race of supernaturally gifted people) in the second battle of Magh Tuiredh. It has been said that Ceithlenn got wounded in battle by an arrow and attempted to swim across the river but she never reached the other side. The town's oldest building is the Maguire's stone castle, an earthwork on the lough shore may be the remains of an earlier motte. From Enniskillen we took the Swanlinbar Road (A32) south to the National Trust property at Florence Court.

Florence Court and Gosford
Florence Court is set in beautiful woodlands and the driveway is in that fine 18th century tradition of a long and sweeping journey through the grounds obviously built to impress you. The main structure has a grand and ornate central ‘core’ with stretching pavilions on either side. The first house on the site was built by John Cole (1680-1726) and named after his wife Florence Bourchier Wrey. Of the building you can see and tour today, the central block was built first and various dates from 1730 to 1764 are proffered for its construction; an estate map of 1768 shows the central block, standing alone. The colonnades and pavilion ‘wings’ added to each side were later and built in approximately 1771. We took the house tour after relaxing and wandering around the former stables now housing the shops and visitor centre.

Front facade of Florence Court

After some debate, we decided to camp in Gosford Forest Park. The route towards it was via Armagh so we took the A4 through the small towns (Clogher, Augher et al) towards Armagh. The sun was on our backs now as we travelled east, it illuminated the tree lined roads and the change in foliage colour was noticeable – the leaves have all started to turn deep reds and oranges as autumn approaches. There was a synesthesia-esque distinct golden ‘glow’ on the road. The route got even better when we turned south onto the A28. The road narrowed and became more remote and rural in type, the bends were frequent and sweeping with the bike cranked over, I loved it! There was a stretch of road that had hills in the distance and with the sun, heat and views I could have sworn I was in France somewhere (this sensation would return when we took this road the following morning back to Enniskillen).

It has been a while since I have been in Armagh and I had completely forgotten how beautiful a city it is – they have cleverly up-lit the old buildings and in what felt like a summer night, it had a distinctly European vibe to it. Indeed, the next morning as we sat in a mini square and had breakfast that European feel was strengthened. Camping that night in Gosford Forest Park we were far enough away from the town lights to ensure the night sky was lit up by the stars, it genuinely took my breath away. You become accustomed to the light pollution and forget just how many stars there are in the night sky; here the 'arm' of the Milky Way was also clearly visible, an awe-inspiring sight and it makes you realise how small you and your problems are.

Castle Coole
After a hearty breakfast, we took the same road back to Enniskillen to Castle Coole. The fact that it was relatively early on a Sunday morning just meant that there were even fewer vehicles on it and we, shall we say, stretched the bikes’ legs. The estate itself is again seemingly in the finest 18th century country house tradition. However, the name is derived from Cúil meaning ‘seclusion’ and a rath and crannog on the estate are proof that settlement here predates, by some time, the more modern house.

Front facade of Castle Coole

The Castle Coole estate was purchased in 1656 by the Belfast merchant John Corry, grandfather of the first Earl. The house constructed between 1789 and 1798 and was only ever meant as a summer house! The current Earl still lives in the house and the tour avoids the private wing where he lives. The grounds are woodland, rather than formal gardens, but you can take the walks along the ‘Beech Walk’ in which the ice house is hidden away. It was at Castle Coole that the recent film with Colin Farrell (Miss Julie) was filmed in 2013. After the tour we sat in the quaint café situated off the stables (where American soldiers were stationed during WWII). We talked bikes and potential tours in the future; initial suggestions have been made for heading to Europe for big milestone birthdays that coincide – therefore hopefully not raising too many objections! Even the bikes we would like to take was discussed with Kivi mooting a custom BMW (tentatively named the R100RGST!). A potential route and timetable were aslo discussed with the journey taking in France, Spain, northern Italy, Germany and The Netherlands....exciting stuff although I may start saving now!!

Our route home took in Donegal - which might have been an unwise decision given that they were playing in the All-Ireland final that day. The roads were busier than normal and one guy was inches from my rear tyre through the Barnesmore Gap (in the Bluestack Mountains). But we arrived in Derry safely before I took the main road back to Belfast as night fell. In the darkness I found I flowed with the bike, even the temperature plunge over the Glenshane Pass did not bother me. I hope that these weekends continue into the winter, after all, why shouldn't they?

The Argory to Grianán

I was looking forward to this particular biking and camping weekend with gusto. Following from last month’s weekend away, I had been able to refine my packing and also having had the hard pannier altered to accommodate the new exhaust, I had my hard luggage back which is roomier and more waterproof than the (excellent) Givi soft luggage. But mainly I needed headspace, time to think and also to consciously drift from other issues. The bike is ideal for this; I find that I flit between completely ‘zoning out’ and introspection whilst I ride. I was also looking forward to the National Trust theme that our biking weekends has taken on. This one would be no different although whether to visit The Argory or Castle Coole had yet to be decided. I like that aspect too...the freedom and concept that we would decide on the road.

The initial part of the journey on Friday night would follow the same process as July’s; given that Kivi finishes work around 7pm, we leave Belfast at approximately 8:00 – 8.30pm and with the nights getting shorter it meant that we would be pitching our tents in the dark at Meelmore Lodge. However, we stopped in the Ganges to pick up a curry that we could gobble once the tents were pitched. It got darker sooner than expected and we were driving towards Newcastle and Tullymore Forest Park in the pitch black, but I like driving at night and I felt content as the cool air whooshed through the gap I had opened in my visor. The sweeping bends on the back roads behind Tullymore made all the more challenging as they came up from the gloom suddenly, my instincts were on high alert – amazing how your senses become heightened. On arrival into Meelmore we parked and were the only people camping in the upper site, my new head torch illuminating the pegs and poles. Although my next purchase will be a new tent to make life easier!

Castlewellan to the Argory
We left after packing up on Saturday morning towards Castlewellan for a fry; a full stomach just adds to the contentment of the situation in my experience! The weather was starting to come in, with dark angry looking clouds sweeping in overhead. But the rain (at this point) held off as we took the A50 (Bann Road) towards Ballyward and Banbridge. Immediately outside Castlewellan, this road has a wild feel to it, with the mountains on one side and stone walled pastoral farmland on the other. There was little traffic in our direction and the Go Pro attached to my helmet filmed the trip. Occasionally there were other bikers, but as we got closer to the main roads, the number[s] increased. I then remembered that the Ulster Grand Prix at Dundrod was on and they were surely all travelling up to watch the races. We took a detour to the M1 to save time turning off at junction 13; the Annagarriff Woods clearly visible as we did so. The B131 (Blackisland Road) is thankfully in stark contrast to the motorway, narrow and twisting it is more of a thrill and the hedgerows reduced the cross winds. We cut west via Tullyroan Corner towards the National Trust property at The Argory. The driveway cuts through planted woodland with small beautifully crafted stone built gate lodges and cottages the signal that you have arrived somewhere grand. The main house sits on your left as the trees clear to manicured country house gardens overlooking the Blackwater.

You enter the site via a courtyard to the side of the main house, presumably formerly housing the stables; although even these buildings are exceptionally crafted and impressive. The gardens contain hidden hedge ‘rooms’ complete with seating and there are river walks to the south east of the main property. Built in the 1820s, the Irish gentry house is surrounded by its 130-hectare (320-acre) wooded riverside estate and is the former home of the MacGeough-Bond family. To the immediate rear of the main house is a box hedge maze with a beautiful bronze sundial in the middle. The national Trust had laid on a Victorian themed weekend, with tours by people in character. We entered to be greeted by the House Maid (Mrs Hill). As with all these sorts of things, the rest of our tour weren’t really interacting with the theme, so Kivi and I duly bantered with the guides helping them with their character. The house is eclectic but beautifully presented with period pieces and furniture and the theme really comes alive with letters, photographs and other artifacts from the original family. I think for that reason it is more tangible and you get a better sense of living there rather than a formal tour that tends to separate you from the building.

We finished the tour at approximately 2:30pm, slightly sooner than expected, so after another wander round the grounds we decided to visit another nearby National Trust property; Wellbrook Beetling Mill. This is a little unknown gem situated in rolling countryside near Drum Manor Forest Park. To get there we passed through Dungannon – although we had ridden through the town in July, I had not noticed how glorious the old town’s architecture is. There are streets lined by regal old townhouses and an old parochial hall and attached school underneath the influence of a soaring steeple. The solid stone structures were built to last and give the street a solidity and noble quality. From here we took the A29 towards Cookstown before turning off on the A505 towards Omagh. The road is a gem, again, with traffic very light – although at this stage the rain had started to fall from a light mizzle to fairly large drops. But with my new Cordura bike trousers and jacket (from MAX-MPH) it didn’t faze me at all; in fact I rather enjoyed it with the heated grips on! A right turning just past Drum Manor Forest Park leads you to a white building set beside a splendid waterfall and wooded glen; Wellbrook Beetling Mill.

The Mill is an eighteenth century water powered linen mill and is the last working beetling mill in Northern Ireland. 'Beetling' was the last stage of production whereby linen was given a sheen and smoothness by hammering with heavy wooden 'beetles'. Though it ceased production in 1961, the mill is extremely well preserved, and all the engines work and can be viewed in action. The tour guide was a young guy named Zach and he was extremely knowledgeable. Upstairs as part of the tour you are taken from the harvesting of flax right through to the completed linen products. It’s also amazing how many modern terms are derived from this industry, e.g., “toe-rag” being the most memorable! At the end of the tour the mighty gears are turned to unlock the waterwheel and three of the machines start their hypnotic thumping. Apparently the older people in the area fell asleep to the sound of the mill when they were younger and the machines being reactivated during the tours brings the noise as a comfort rather than something annoying. The site manager (Beth) suggested Drum Manor Forest Park as the closest campsite and Kivi and I duly turned into the forest to get a look at the site. We were the only ones there and the place had an eery feel to it, furthermore, once down onto the campsite the old fires and doughnut tyre marks raised alarm bells and as it was still relatively early, we decided to head towards Castle Archdale to camp for the night. I have to say, I was relieved to leave Drum Manor.

We continued on the A505 past Creggan Wood (on the Barony Road). The road rose in height and the cross winds were exceptionally strong, the landscape became wilder with small loughs and heather punctuated only by the pristine road that followed the contours. I think I saw a sign to indicate that we were in part of the Sperrin Mountains and it certainly felt that we were atop a mountain range. The rain seemed to be coming from above and both sides simultaneously, at time I was laughing out loud in my helmet at the conditions but I was having so much fun! We pulled over in Irvinestown and fortunately a call was made to a friend who knew the owner of Mahon's Hotel. We were greeted warmly and the old fashioned pub / restaurant was a welcome breather from the wind and rain. We filled our stomachs whilst admiring the old lanterns, hunting horns and interesting objects hanging from the ceiling. But with light fading we got back on the bikes and headed to Castle Archdale to camp. The site was bunged and the price of £20.00 per person per tent per night was undoubtedly over the top especially when compared with Meelmore's £6.00 per night; we complained but had no-where else to go. Pitching our tents under the trees was, for me, a struggle as I grew increasingly frustrated with my old tent and the faff that putting it up entails. However, I slept like a log and woke up to have a long hot shower in the morning that brought me from my semi-sleep state.

Petticoe and Donegal
We travelled towards Petticoe on the border, the roads agreeably empty at that time on a Sunday morning, the sun had started to shine although the winds were even stronger. Our destination was Donegal Town for breakfast and we were soon ascending again to a wild, rugged Irish landscape that Donegal seems to epitomize. The heathers were beautiful in blooms of purple and reds but they were straining in the strong gusts and the bike occasionally got caught, blowing over to the other side of the road. In this landscape I felt utterly free and a line describing biking came into my head that I think is apt: "I was alone but with my friends". There were no houses or habitations, just an unspoilt land although this soon ended as we entered Ballybofey and then parked in Donegal Town.

The fry was huge, but I ate it at an alarmingly quick rate my body clearly desperate for fuel (well....that's the excuse I'm justifying it with!). Kivi suggested taking the Bluestack Mountains route home, I have been on this road before and it is, quite simply, an absolute joy to ride; especially An Bearnas Mór (Barnesmore Gap). The road twists and turns and the bike can be thrown into the corners, the grippy surface enables you to take them at speed, even fully loaded with panniers and camping gear. Our destination was towards Letterkenny and north Donegal.The road up towards our next visit were steep and narrow, although the road surface is, in the main, still very good. We encountered heavier traffic on the larger N15, but once off this we had the roads to ourselves. The winds were, again, exceptional and the higher we climbed the stronger they got. Once parked up, the bikes had to be turned to face into the wind as it was so strong there was a genuine danger that they would blow over. We walked up to the site with our bodies leaned at a 45 degree angle!

Grianán of Aileach (or Ailigh) is situated on the summit of Greenan Mountain (itself a derivative of Grianán). The name Grianán of Aileach has been variously translated as "Stone Palace of the Sun", "Fortress of the Sun" and "Stone Temple of the Sun". Although heavily restored and rebuilt between 1874 and 1879 by Dr. Walter Bernard, a Derry antiquarian , there are no doubts as to the antiquity of the site as it is one of only five Irish locations marked on Ptolemy of Alexandria's 2nd century map of the world. The earthworks are the remains of a large hillfort that once enclosed the hill top, this is thought to have been built in the Late Bronze Age or Iron Age. The ramparts of the hillfort have been eroded by time and only hints of their former stature remain, but recent accurate surveys show that there were two sets of ramparts, an inner and outer. Both of the ramparts were comprised of a pair of banks and the total area enclosed by the outer boundary is about 5 acres.

It has been a while since I was up at the site and it brought back good memories. When i first passed my test, this was one of the first places Kivi and I rode to and it remains special to me for that reason as well as being a place of antiquity that I am interested in. There were a few hardy visitors, but the dark clouds that rolled in from no-where depositing a deluge of rain soon scattered everyone - us included! We returned to the N15 back to Derry and we duly parked the bikes up at Kivi's house where his other half had prepared a lovely warming stew for us. He was picking his van up and bringing it back to Belfast so the return journey was, for me, a solo one. I left at approximately 5:30pm knowing all too well that the weather and light were fading. Sure enough it was getting dark and cold by the time I made it to the Glenshane Pass. I was glad to pull up home, I was exhilarated, refreshed and full of adrenaline but at the same time I was tired but a good tired that you get from being active and occupied rather than lethargy. I showed Nicola the photographs I took and I was glad to be on the big, comfy sofa. Already, though, I itch for the next trip! There are a few refinements to be made - mainly to camping equipment - but once those are made I think I will be happy going anywhere. They will have to be made though as the months pass by the weather gets colder and wetter. If we are to continue doing these trips on a monthly basis, then I need to invest!

The Road Beckons

Another biking weekend approaches! I have to say, I genuinely cannot wait. However, this time there is more to it than simply heading away for fun and frolics. With what has happened over the last two weeks I have a heavy heart, a constant exhaustion and worrying apathy towards life. I think that all these are perfectly reasonable emotional responses, but nevertheless they are disconcerting in their intensity. I heard a great line the other day that describes what happens when I am on the bike; "I am alone but with my friends". And that is so true, with the helmet on you are in your own confines and bubble, but you are with your friends, so there is a comfort in that. I had something of a La Noche Oscura del Alma (Dark Night of the Soul) recently which has left many questions unanswered, even still, maybe I'll be able to resolve some of these.  

I need my head cleared, badly. I hope this does the trick.

Ardress House to Torr Head

The plan was for a biking and camping weekend with no particular route....just to go where the road took us. The last time I had used my tent was at the Oxygen festival here in either 2006 or 2007! I had taken the precaution of airing out the smell that was funkier than James Brown’s cloak several days in advance though, although as things would turn out, I could have maybe done with some form of smell as an insect repellent! My mate, Kivi, arrived up after work on Friday night and we set about packing the bikes. I had had to get soft Givi luggage that afternoon as the hard pannier on the right side won’t fit with the new carbon exhaust (something I will have to rectify...and I have been informed that it is the pannier that will have to be adjusted, rather than the exhaust!). But the soft luggage happily took everything I wanted and the tent was strapped to the seat all was well. We set off around 8:00pm to an ABR Ireland favourite....Meelmore Lodge and campsite. The drive down was a joy, that fresh excitement that it seems is so rare these days, the noise of the dual port exhaust as I twisted the throttle only added to the boyish grin already beneath my helmet.  We drove through Bryansford after taking a turning off before Dundrum, travelling on an arrow straight road with undulations past the ‘rear’ of Tullymore Forest Park. Immediately past this you are greeted with the mountains on your left, the brown hues of heater on their slopes still visible with a more rural landscape to your right. We arrived just in time with the light fading and the mist rolling over Slieve Meelmore onto the site. It had been so long since I put the tent up it was a bit of a faff....I could feel the midges crawling all over me as I began to sweat in the humid conditions with my sweating made worse by my frustration with a tent pole. Sure enough, I awoke to find I had, literally, been eaten alive. A shower was no help, but I had one anyway…the bites swelling to those all too familiar little red bumps. No matter though, we were off to Castlewellan (Caisleán Uidhilín or Uidhilín's Castle) for a morning fry at Urban Coffee.

As we sat and watched the world go by we shot the breeze, and several cappuccinos later we realised that similar interests were ideal for a biking weekend. I love National Trust(esque) houses and properties, and the roads to them are usually fun on a bike, so we decided to go to Ardress House – a smaller manorial site, but quainter as a result. The A29 road turned out to be a bit of a peach; even the leaden skies could not constrain the grin within my helmet. The road cuts through rolling drumlin countryside, pierced only by the occasional farms and hamlets, with plenty of banked switch-back corners before you pass through small to medium towns. We passed through my father’s hometown of Dungannon....a place I haven’t been to since I was a boy, mores the pity. We turned off for Ardress House, a rough stone laneway flanked by apple orchards gives way to a more impressive mature tree-lined driveway, past the front facade of the building to the farmyard at the rear. Here you can wander round feeding the inquisitive chickens, avoiding the hissing geese and trying to pet the baby goats, all the while Kivi (complete with his Fred Dibnah t-shirt) marvelled at the plethora of period farm machinery; “by ‘eck it were grand” as Fred would no doubt have said! The farm buildings are, unsurprisingly, functional and ‘chunky’ in design and build. You get the sense of a working environment, rather than there for ornament. Ardress is also a townland, thought to come from the Irish An tArdriasc (the high moor/bog) or Ardriasc (meaning height of the marsh/bog) clearly a reference to the ground and land type. 

Kivi has a ‘touring in the trees’ pass which enables him and his other half to use sites all the year round that are off limits to other people. Springwell is such a site. It sits atop the Coleraine Mountain with the ‘camping’ area huddled in the middle of the trees. I think it is primarily for caravan and campervan owners, rather than those pitching tents, but the whole area was in sharp contrast to Meelmore as it was quiet, secluded and peaceful (which I much preferred). There were also fewer midges! Having had the previous night to practice I was a lot more proficient at erecting my tent and it was up in less than 10 minutes, this time with my head at the top of the gentle slope. It felt more homely, more solidified and all in all a better set up. I was able to relax. That night, in contrast with the previous night, I slept like a log. The next morning I was promised one of the nicest fries I would have (apparently) in Rocca (Coleraine). The town centre was agreeably quiet on the Sunday morning, and sure enough, the fry was rather special.

The Sunday route (the journey home) would take in the north coast road, but this time I was determined to take the Torr Head route, a more challenging twisty, undulating road that I had only been on once before. It didn’t disappoint.

The views were magnificent, the rugged landscape looked quite wild, with the occasional black headed sheep grazing obliviously. The  riding was challenging but more enjoyable as a result. We overtook the Sunday drivers with ease. The road consisted of blind corners and crests with the occasional 70 metre straight thrown in for good measure. The descent into the viewing area was quite steep, with small birds darting out of the hedges and ducking under the front wheel. The road eventually took us to the picturesque town of Cushendun. I have to say though, once onto the main coast route, I was disappointed. We have done this road, I suspect like many other bikers here, many times. But I am almost bored with it now...and there are usually a lot of a**holes on the road and today was no exception....Kivi nearly being wiped out by a Citroën driver who overtook on a blind corner. It seems it is either this or a Sunday driver pootling along at 20mph. I like to have the road to myself, I can take in the views without the crowds, which is something of a theme for me it seems. The next trip is planned for some time in August with Tyrone mooted as the potential destination. I still dream of heading off to the Black Forest or a similar location on the bikes, don't get me wrong.....but I see these mini ‘adventures’ and weekends away as not that dissimilar, and they will have to do in the interim.....I like them....they aren’t so bad!!