A Spring Evening to Ardglass

With the fine Spring weather forecast to break, it seemed like an ideal time to take a short bike run to somewhere picturesque, although with the date set a mid-week night and the mundane reality of work the next day, it couldn't be too long (mores the pity!). Nicola had, also, yet to ride pillion on the new Explorer and I was keen to get a relaxed ride to enable her to get used to the new bike and its mind-boggling power. Ardglass was the destination I had in mind, a quiet port village on the south-east County Down coast and one I knew quite well from my days as an archaeology student. We started to get 'geared up' almost as soon as we got home from work, in the warm evening air, it wasn't long before the thermal bike gear meant we were quickly overheating.

We set off towards Comber, my plan was to take the A22 road south towards Killyleagh and Downpatrick (a road I have travelled many times) and subsequently the B1 south-east from Downpatrick to Ardglass. We just missed the tail end of the rush hour traffic, but any stragglers were quickly dealt with by a twist of the drive-by-wire throttle, the extra weight of a pillion ensuring a slight lift of the front wheel as the bike (and its electronics) worked out the best way to place the 135bhp onto the tarmac. The evening light was still bright, although occasionally dimmed by the passing of puffy clouds overhead. Outside Killyleagh, fields to either side of the road glowed with the sun's light on the oilseed rape crops, the scent too was strong, but fresh and an exceptionally pleasant experience, almost acting as a revival from the long dark winters we have in Ireland, and the seasonal apathy they induce.

Antiquarian depiction of the Ardglass & 2000 excavation

We swept through Killyleagh, onwards towards the altogether more busy Downpatrick, through the town and onto the B1 south-east. I can remember this road from my undergraduate studies, as the teaching excavation in 1999 or 2000 was in Ardglass and we travelled this road daily. It was, though, in a much worse condition that I remember; my Metzeler EXP tyres are squaring badly, having been on the bike from new, so only 5000 miles in they are past their best, to put it mildly, but more alarmingly the bike squirmed on the rough and rutted road, at times 'banana-ing' in the corners. I needed all my concentration and as a result wasn't really able to enjoy the road. The time has come for new tyres and the EXP's will not be going back on the bike - their life is short and the choice seems to be the 100% road-biased Michelin Pilot Road 4 or the road-biased Metzeler Tourance Next. Despite my tyre troubles, I was surprised at the road condition; testament, perhaps, to the lack of money in government or the complete lack of competence (you decide!).

Ardglass was sleepy as we rode through, occasional surprised looks from locals as the space-age looking bike growled through the narrow streets: Ardglass is, now, a quiet fishing port. However, it was an exceptionally important harbour in the Medieval and Post-medieval eras. The name is from the Irish Ard Ghlas meaning 'green height' (Muhr, 2009) and is one of the few natural harbours on the north-east Irish coastline.

I have written about Ardglass from a historical and biking point of view for my next book (Hibernia: Journals From A Motorcycle: Vol. 1) so don't want to repeat myself. However, the port town is interesting once the historical and archaeological surfaces are scratched. So I have included a 'Hibernia' extract here: The monuments in Ardglass are, mostly, of ‘tower house’ type; although their various functions appear to have differed, for example, Jordan’s Castle is probably a residential tower house, whereas Horn and Cowd Castles are smaller buildings, both situated on a ridge with the excavated remains housed within the confines of the golf club, and are likely to be connected. Early views of the remains now part of the golf club – named Ardglass Castle – show: “…a long, ruined battlemented building having three towers, one at each end and a central one, with a number of arches or openings at ground level in the north walls (the front wall) of the wings between the towers.” (McNeill, 2005, 3). What gave rise to the curiosity in these structures was another, earlier, description of the building which categorically interpreted them as a [medieval] line of shops, with some military aspects. Excavation by McNeill did seem to corroborate this interpretation. It is also recorded that King John stayed in Ardglass in 1210 at the castle of Jordan de Saukville, whose principal manor was in Holywood (probably associated with the motte in the town). One should not confuse the 13th century Jordan de Saukville and Simon Jordan, the 16th century merchant who built Jordan's Castle in Ardglass, that castle is purely associated with the latter merchant (Lawlor, 1928, 141). The site of King John's stay would have been a palisaded fort surmounting the hill known as 'The Ward' or 'Guard of Ardglass' where, apparently, earthworks can still be seen (Ibid). Possibly the oldest castles in Ardglass are 'King's Castle' and 'Queen's Castle' - which were amalgamated and reconstructed into a baronial mansion in the 19th century and now known as 'King's Castle'. Riding past all the towers brought back a lot of memories, all happy, although they are tinged with regret that archaeology is a field I no longer am engaged with professionally.

Jordan's Castle

We dismounted and sat in, ordering a chip in the middle of the town, wolfing down the traditional chips with tins of Diet Coke and Fanta. But as I gazed out over the harbour waters, I realised that the sun was starting to descend and with it the temperature, it was time to start the ride home. The route out of Ardglass was roughly north-west and as a result we were facing the setting sun; now hues of pink and purple, stretching as a continuous line of the horizon. Birds seemed stationary as our speeds matched and both Nicola and I had a 'Zen' trance-like state, staring at wonderment at the show nature was unintentionally displaying for us. I was at peace with the world around me, and in a state of complete relaxation. I opened my visor to let the cool Spring air rush into my face and lungs, the sudden burst of freshness as I did so initially took my breath away.

Outside Downpatrick, instead of taking the road already travelled, I turned northwards on the main A7 towards Crossgar, passing the turnoff for Inch Abbey (that I was sorely tempted to take). The long sweeping A road is a joy if there is no other traffic, and we appeared to be the only people heading back to Belfast. The road was, though, longer than I had remembered and it was only outside Saintfield that I realised the journey down had seemed much shorter. Nicola and I both pointed at Rowallane Gardens, a National Trust site to the south of Saintfield that I never knew existed - but one that we were both keen to point out to the other as it will undoubtedly be somewhere we will visit together.

Once home we both had a palpable excitement combined with intense relaxation, which is an odd and at times bizarre emotional combination. It has been a while since Nicola and I had been out on the bike together, but I was pleased that Nicola hasn't lost her passion for visiting places on the bike, and also that she bonded with the new Explorer; even remarking how much better the design was for her comfort. I now hope that Sping lasts long, turning to an even longer lasting summer. I have a thrist to get on the bike and to see new places. It must be quenched!

Kirkistown for Easter

The Irish Short Circuit Championship traditionally has several races over the Easter weekend, and 2015 was no exception. I had read with interest the results from the round held on Easter Saturday at Bishopscourt, with a talented and well known field of riders. However, it was on Easter Monday when Spring finally sprung that my anticipation and excitement bubbled over; it was the first real clear and hot day so far this year, with standing in the direct sunlight with jeans and a t-shirt on noticeably hot. The new Explorer had been trickle charging on the Optimate and was also ready for action. The racing began at 1pm and I left Belfast around midday - I wanted to take my time getting down through Kircubbin and to enjoy the Strangford roads on what was a glorious day. I was riding with my armoured RST jacket, but had decided that standing around the racetrack at Kirkistown would be too hot in leather bike trousers, so I was glad of the cool air over my jeans, it was also liberating, as I wasn't 'restricted' in heavy biking clothing. The ride down was sedate and magnificent; the views were clear and bright, the sun shone off the Lough waters, and there was a perfume and scent from the trees, flowers and Gorse. I passed Mount Stewart which was thronged with people and cars, the National Trust site only opening after closing for refurbishment and the winter. Not just me, but everyone, it seemed, had been bottled up and caged over the dark winter months, eager to break free and take advantage of the sun.  

The circuit is located, basically, in the middle of the countryside, approached by winding 'B' roads which are a joy - if clear - which they weren't! There were bikes everywhere, which only added to my excitement as I neared the track.The circuit was opened in 1953, reusing an old WWII RAF airfield that was built in 1941 (like so many circuits in the British Isles - most notably Silverstone). Kirkistown operated as a satellite airfield to RAF Ballywalter and in 1942 No. 504 Squadron RAF moved to the airfield. The circuit is laid out using part of the east-west runway and northern perimeter roadways. I parked up the Explorer and noted how she looked like a work of purposeful art in the sunshine; meandering down the grass verges I found an area to view that was, literally, right beside the grid, only the crash barrier separating me from the track edge; this meant that I could get close to the action, the sensory overload when a race tuned machine passes at speeds of nearly 180mph is quite something, the smell of race fuel, the noise of the engines isn't just audible, it vibrates the chest and I wanted to be as close to this as possible. But I was hungry, and as the racing hadn't commenced, the track was open to cross to the main pit area where the caravans, trucks and motorhomes were parked. One aspect of racing like this is how tangible it is - I was able to amble round the pits and, should I have wished, chatted to the racers and touched the bikes. They are somehow other-worldly, machines designed with such a focused and specific task; to go as fast as possible. The lines and leads plugged into the bike[s] are like those of a patient in a hospital, monitoring vital signs. The bikes seem alive. I made my way to the main building to get a chip, for the queue to be out the door. But the caterers had a good system and I was soon ticking into my burger and chips at my designated viewing position. There was quite a programme of racing, and in all categories from 125cc and Moto 3 to Sidecars, Supertwins, Supersport and Superbike classes. I think most people want to see the big bikes, the Superbikes and Supersports - these are the fastest machines and I know I would struggle to stay on! 

It wasn't long before the first racers were called to the pit exit, the Supersports. As they lined up on the grid and revved their engines the wail of race tuned 600cc engines is hard to beat. They were off, accelerating at speeds that were hard to visually comprehend. They tipped into the left hand kink (Debtors Dip) at the end of the start/finish straight and disappeared into the green drumlin countryside. Here they would have a series of right bends called Colonial One and Colonial Two before a hard right called Fishermans (apparently names because it is the location where local fishermen used to hang their nets to dry). There is a chicane before the back straight and a further hairpin which leads to the start/finish straight again. As the Supersport bikes raced past, they must have been up near their respective 'redline' limits, the high pitched wail as they blurred past. It was spectacular - there was clearly no holding back, and this was no fun day in the sun, this was serious racing! News came over the tannoy that William Dunlop had fallen near the hairpin on the first lap (thankfully unhurt). The fist shaking and head bobbing of the winner as he crossed the line demonstrated how much the victory meant. This is, after all, not exactly well paid, in fact I think the prize for winning is in the region of £200.00. These racers are here for the love of the sport and the glory of winning; the race weekend[s] actually cost them money. It was almost immediately after the Supersport bikes pulled into the pits, that the bikes for the next race were out on track - it was fast and furious action and having the races so tightly packed builds the tension; one barely has the time to draw breath before the next set of bikes are racing past the start/finish straight. 

I stayed to watch the next Superbike and Supersport races as well as the minor classes. The Superbikes were another step up in terms of speed and noise. They are, truly, something to behold in the flesh; I watch the BSB, World Superbike and Moto GP championships and watching them on television just doesn't compare to seeing them in the flesh. The Supersport bikes 'wailed' across the line, the Superbikes 'thundered' across, and the difference between them was significantly noticeable. The Superbikes sound and look more 'lary' and more wild. I would imagine they are harder to ride and control. Although my current bike is a 1200cc and 135bhp, it is nothing compared to some of these machines. At the international races and BSB, the Superbikes are up at the 200bhp mark. That, though, for me would be slightly terrifying! The day was a success, in every way, and when I got back home I couldn't help but sit and reflect on an epic time at Kirkistown. Although it would be weather dependent, I would definitely like to go back next year and perhaps bring a picnic and make more of an event of it. It has, though, served to whet my appetite for the upcoming road racing season, and biking in general. I cannot wait to get back out on the road for long weekends, camping and seeing sites that this Isle has to offer. With Kivi's bike currently undergoing an engine rebuild, it will be a month or so off yet, I shall be impatient before too long!