Erne, Fermanagh & The Neolithic (Videologue)

The Final Ride Before a Life Changing Event

October in 2016 has been unusually warm, and I am tempted to say we have had something of an ‘Indian Summer’. I would even argue that the Irish summer is now late August to September and the first week of October, it certainly no longer appears to be June or July! We went away on the bikes slightly later than this last year around Samhain, although that was to Meath and it was certainly fresher than this current October. All too often the immediate and overriding aspiration is to go somewhere far away. Can we make it here…or can we make it there? I have always counselled looking closer to home but as with so many things in life have ignored my own advice. Not so this time, although it will probably remain a singular event. The leaves, even as I write this, are increasingly and with ever greater speed turning the gorgeous yellow, orange and red hues; it always makes me wish I was better at photography, but Autumnal colours are so evocative and it is no surprise that it remains a key part of the year, celebrated by many religions including pagan ones. The weekend had been in the diary for a while, but somehow snuck up on us all and it is the last weekend on bikes before I become a father, and therefore my life becomes very different indeed!

Caledon House (Images by BBC & Lord Belmont)

One element I don't tend to like about riding at certain times of year is dirt....I know some will roll their eyes, but I am fastidious when it comes to cleaning equipment, I like things to look nice as well as function well and the same applies to my bike. Thankfully, then, it was dark when I set off on the Friday evening, the nights already drawing in after the Autumn Equinox (or Mabon - the time of equal length between day and night), it wasn't long before I was enveloped in glorious darkness; I have always liked riding at night, especially on a road on my own, for me there is a comfort in it and a peace. My destination was just outside Keady for the night, before we were due to head west to Fermanagh.

Best laid plans always fall flat on their face, and we left later than perhaps expected. However, the trade off was that the day was turning into one reminiscent of high summer, rather than October. My dash temperature reading proudly stated it was 19°C and it felt accurate! After a breakfast feast, from Armagh we travelled almost due west, I was tempted to pull into the ancient Irish royal site of Navan (Emain Macha), but resisted - it is for another time! This road continues as the A28 through the countryside to the sleepy and picturesque village of Caledon, which is always worth a stop. It is predominantly made up of yellow/grey stone buildings that hark back to its association with the Earl of Caledon, Caledon House and the mill[s]. The name was originally from the Irish Cionn Ard / Aird meaning ‘high head / hill’ and was later changed to the house name Caledon from 'Caledonia' (Scotland) by 1700. "Caislen Ceann Ard ‘the castle of Kinard’ was mentioned in 1500, when held by the family of Seaán Buí ÓNéill. The dative form appeared as Cionn Ard. In 1642 Kinard was shown with an island castle on the 1609 map, and was described as a ‘smale markett towne’ with a stone bridge in 1654. The name Caledon came into use in the 1660s, but in another source still referred to as Kinaird in 1666." (Muhr, 2006).

Mill Remnant (Image by Google Earth)

The country seat here hasn't been sullied or polluted, indeed the lake in the grounds still appears to contain and early Medieval crannog (TYR 071:003). A right turn down Mill Street will lead to some quaint stone cottages, across from which in a rather sad state lies the remnant of the beam engine, engine house and chimney base from the old mill. The engine is one of only eight examples surviving in Ireland and is the oldest clearly attested beam engine on the island. The A28 continues as the Derrycourtney Road - one that I advise visiting on a bike; usually agreeably empty, the road quickly cuts through scenic countryside, the views sporadically obscured when the road becomes engulfed in green tree tunnels that give a truer sense of one's speed! The road turns north-west with arrow-straight sections to Aughnacloy after which the road becomes the A5. We, however, split off ever westwards on the A28 which becomes twistier and something of a technical challenge that I think we all enjoyed, crossing over the iconic Blackwater River which here is still broad and a familiar peaty hue that our rivers seem to have. We were soon at Augher then Clougher, at which I let my eyes wonder to the left and the tree-lined earthworks of the Clougher Hillfort, wishing I had remembered and stopped at the imposing monument. We were now on the A4 towards Enniskillen, the fastest route but also the busiest and we had to do our fair share of overtaking on those souls who looked utterly bored as their cars huffed up each hill. My visor was up with the heat of the day, the air rushed in to my lungs in great gulps - it lets me know I'm alive!

Topped Mountain is a large area of significant archaeological interest approximately 4km north to south and just over 2km at its widest point east to west. Within this, at Mountdrum is a scheduled area (FER 212:054) containing a plethora of megalithic tombs including wedge tombs, stone circles, stone alignments, fulacht fiadh (burnt mound - which as any archaeologist knows, can be a pig to excavate!) all located close to six crannogs, raths and other monuments that leaves little doubt of the significance of the wider landscape.

View north from the 'Giant's Grave' at Mountdrum

We were the only traffic as we wound and twisted our way up the somewhat rutted Tattygare and Cloghtogle Roads before parking at the site. The views are magnificent and lush to the north, but what stands before you is boggy ground covered in course tussocks of spiky bog grass and the reddy-brown heathers that always seem to have ankle busting potential. In what was now almost searing sun traipsed across the site, a little bewildered and lost if the truth be known. There is always the possibility at such sites that there will not be much to see, major megalithic sites like Carrowkeel, Carrowmore, the Brú na Bóinne, Beaghmore et al all have large amounts of intact remains, but lesser known sites that don't receive high visitor numbers tend to be left and, especially over recent years presumably with budget cuts, are now becoming badly overgrown. The complex at Mountdrum should be phenomenal, it has been mooted that it could look similar to Beaghmore if excavated, but in truth it is underwhelming. Its situation remains special with awe-inspiring views, but I left feeling sad that such an important site is in this condition. However, those thoughts soon left as I began to struggle up the path in the heat. I had to get out of the Dainese trousers and into jeans as I was quickly overheating. The breeze as we rode the small Tattygare 'B' Road northwards was rejuvenating. We were joining the Tempo Road to and through Enniskillen before it becomes the beautiful Lough Shore Road, twisting and plunging through woods and forests hugging the Lower Lough Erne shoreline to our destination Inish Beg Cottages - if only all roads were like this....what heaven that would be!

The view to Lower Lough Erne from Inish Beg Cottages

The cottages seem to be more remote than they are, but that adds to the ambience and feeling that the world of bills, the mortgage, incessant sales phone calls etc was thankfully jettisoned some miles behind. The views over the Lough complete with crannogs and foreshore reeds and trees is idyllic and on a good day, the picture of an escapism paradise. The owners waved gleefully at us and warmly welcomed us (complete with a bag of Sloe Berries from which they were going to make Sloe Gin). There is a serenity to the place that generates an image in my head of abandoning it all in River Cottage style and buggering off to a small holding where life would be simpler. The truth, of course, would be polarised from the myth I have in my head and we would probably starve! We unpacked and were soon back on the bikes travelling for dinner - although with the panniers off the bike felt freer and unrestricted; sometimes a turn of speed is what the head needs! Why can I not make a living from riding my bike? Ahh, wouldn't that be perfect‽ I always think that Enniskillen is bigger than it really is, it is a small and historic town (I have written about its origins from Inis Ceithleann - Ceithleann being a prophetess and wife Balor of the Fomorians in Irish mythology), but by now I know my way round and we were heading for an eat-house and a new experience for me - Hop House 13. The ride back to the cottage was in the dusky conditions that lends a new perspective to the landscape, dusk seems to bring the natural environment alive somehow, the imposing thin pines at parts of the road edge looked like an alien environment before giving way to softer indigenous woodlands. The evening felt like a summer night, warm and close rather than what my head thought it should be.

The Giant's Ring

The Sunday can be slightly depressing - the return to normality is usually signalled with an appropriately grey day, the weather gods somehow sensing the mood and acting accordingly. The morning started off  grey and even wet at times, but soon cleared. We were on the homeward leg. We were supposed to turn for Lisnaskea (which is an historic settlement) and look at Castle Balfour, but I kept missing the turns and so it was after Augher that Anthony took over, leading us on glorious 'B' roads that I cannot retrace - but nor do I even want to, they are fresh in my memory as flowing ribbons of tarmac. It was at this point that I became a solo rider, and despite my eagerness to get home I had one stop that I felt compelled to make, it was a need and one that has been bubbling in my consciousness for a while now. The giant henge and dolmen of the Giant's Ring. On arrival I had completely forgotten the sheer scale of the place, the height of the bank and width of the monument as a whole; the just off-centre dolmen is completely dwarfed by the earthworks (although there would have been a cairn over it). The inner ditch has silted and given the height of the bank one can only imagine its depth and how it would have looked - the banks would have been covered in white chalk, glistening and blinding in the sunlight, it would have been a phenomenal sight from miles around. But the place represents more to me than that, I excavated at the adjoining Ballynahatty back in the late 90's (now it is a field with a standing stone in it), but that summer remains a halcyon time. As I stood atop the tall bank looking north at where Ballynahtty is and south at the the Giant's Ring I felt a wave of peace come over me. I must return, and soon - on two wheels or not.

Beaulieu and The Granary

We needed a base...it's the way the best exploration takes place: somewhere from which to fan out. For this short run it was to be just south of the rather interesting Nobber, Co. Meath (stop tittering at the back!). We had hired a renovated mill (called The Granary) as accommodation, complete with wood burning stove which, as the nights are starting to draw in, is always a worthwhile fail safe to have. Although as seems to be the case over recent years, September is warmer, dryer and generally more clement than June or July - September is the Irish summer!

The bikes at The Granary converted mill

The journey down was on a warm and somewhat muggy Friday evening, initially cutting some time off the journey by taking the motorway west towards Portadown before I became a complete slave to modern technology and the sat-nav, turning off southwards on the A27 which, unlit and in the dark, had the feel of a much smaller road; even now I am sure the settings took us onto much smaller 'B' roads that flank it. We crossed over the Cusher River before joining the main A1 road for a brief period - with hindsight it would have been better to have turned off for Jonesborough and taken the  L3097 passing Moyry Castle and through the Hill of Faughart (my research suggests this road in part forms a section of the Slige Midluachra [known as High Kings Road], one of the ancient and fabled Five Roads of Tara described in the Dindshenchas).

Hindsight, however, is a wonderful thing! We skirted Dundalk heading southwards towards and through Ardee before turning off the road at Rockfield onto what was little more than a rutted track, overhung by trees that in the night gloom looked like giant's hands moving in the wind, sweeping down to try and grab us. The Granary awaited, set in the middle of idyllic countryside its location in a slight hollow (presumably to take advantage of the River Dee to turn the water wheel) made me feel that the building had come from the earth, rather than being placed on it. After getting our panniers off the bikes and into the house we stood outside in awe, letting our eyes adjust to the night sky, the arm of the Milky Way was clearly visible without nearby light pollution. Our necks seemed permanently craned upwards to try and take in what is, unfortunately, all too rare a sight these days - the stars in all their brilliance. 

The Granary & Irish Myth

The Granary used the River Dee to power its water wheel, that river and the whole area is connected to Irish mythology and cycles in the Táin Bó Cúailnge. The River Dee gets its modern name from nearby Ardee (Átha Fhirdhia) which means [town] of 'Ferdiad's Ford'; Ferdiad was son of Damán, son of Dáire, of the Fir Domnann, he was a warrior from Connacht. Ferdiad found himself on opposite sides to his best friend and foster-brother Cúchulainn, with whom he had trained in arms under the renowned warrior woman Scáthach. He fights Cúchulainn at the behest of Queen Medb, although he loses and is killed in the battle.

Beaulieu House

Once up on Saturday the constant heavy mizzle brought a touch of dismay for me; if it rains heavily, in the full waterproof motorcycle clobber, it is not an issue in fact it can be quite enjoyable. Thick mizzle is a different animal altogether as it 'worms; its way in between zips and seals and fogs up the visor. The disadvantage is that the air temperatures were still 20°C, so it was wet and extremely hot and humid - after a full breakfast and what can only be described as buckets of coffee in Esquires (Drogheda) we needed a stop fairly close by, so the previously never visited Beaulieu House and Gardens was chosen on the hoof. It is only situated 3km east of Drogheda, and is a tad surreal given that the road to the property hugs the Boyne past cement factories before turning a corner that might as well turn onto a different planet. The site that greets you on turning through the white gates is regal, serene and inviting, complete with ducks and ducklings waddling across the gravel driveway. Although from the house the views are unspoiled, for me the house instantly feels like an island, a haven of tranquillity given the proximity of the industrial works and Drogheda centre. The older I get the more I despise hustle and bustle and crave peace and quiet: a complete juxtaposition from my younger self. We pulled up at the front door and a curious set of eyes popped up at the front window from a seat, this is a normal reaction when four bikers arrive at such a place, so it is something we are well accustomed to. As it turned out, he was the exceptionally knowledgeable tour guide and we gleely paid our Euros.

Ornate carvings in the later added great hallway

The current house is a fine example of 17th Century / early 18th Century manor house, but the history prior to that is equally amazing; there has been a noble house/site here since the 12th century, with the lands owned by the de Verdun family. The Plunketts subsequently married into the de Verduns and thus the site became associated with the Plunketts from the 14th Century onwards. The precursor to the present structure was a Jacobean manor house constructed circa 1628. Every painting - and there are many - helps weave an intricate portrayal of the family life and circumstances from the 17th Century onwards. Maybe it is these, or maybe the quite small scale of the house that gives a 'homely' and intimate sense of place. The house is not remote or other-worldly; perhaps because the descendants still live there, it feels like a home and comfortable within itself. After a long history lesson in the great entrance hall, we were soon meandering round the other rooms. The tour guide had relaxed and as ever we were starting to make him laugh....from our breakfast in Esquires in Drogheda, there were still tears rolling down our cheeks, so it seemed only fair to share the laughter!

We were at Beaulieu for several hours, and meandered around the formal gardens tempted, it has to be said, by the plumptious looking apples that were virtually bursting off the trees. We continued our exploration in the woodland walk, the damp smell that is so familiar in Ireland as Autumn approaches complete with the sound of large drips landing on the ground from the tree canopy above.

Aerial images of Nobber Motte and ecclesiastical site

That evening we travelled north from our Granary base towards Nobber and Kingscourt (the latter is actually in Co. Cavan). Nobber was a lot smaller than I had anticipated, I had expected a town of some size - why I don't exactly know. The hamlet is, though, of some significance: Nobber is from the Irish an Obair meaning 'the work' which probably refers to the the moat around the Anglo-Norman motte castle. But the history of the area and its subsequent Norman Lordship goes back far further, although the first known settlement at Nobber is Norman in date.

The Múrna (or Mugdorna after whom the Mournes are named) were pushed out of northern Meath sometime after 800 by the Gailenga Mora. The Gailenga left their name in the barony of Morgallion (from the rish Machaire Gailenga, meaning 'the plain of the Gailenga'). In 1172 King Henry II of England granted the Lordship of Meath to Hugh de Lacy to hold as King Murrough O Melaghlin held it. O Mealaghlin was a King of Meath: "The bridge and citadel at Athlone were destroyed by Murrough O'Melaghlin in 1133, and that which was subsequently thrown across there by Turlough." (D'Alton, 1830, 349-350). The inference perhaps being that de Lacey was to hold the Lordship aggressively and as an absolute ruler. Once established de Lacy proceeded to divide up his newly acquired territory into feudal grants, he granted the territory of the Gaileanga-Mor (the lands of Magherigalon) to Gilbert de Angulo, who had arrived from Wales in 1171. The caput of de Angulo's barony was the motte castle at Nobber which was constructed close to the site of an earlier ecclesiastical site. As we travelled northwards, we were through the village in the blink of an eye, the roads straightening between there and Dún na Rí ('Fort of the King' or Kingscourt); I couldn't help but think, especially after researching the five ancient roads of Ireland, that the straight road here was, possibly, an ancient route way - Kingscourt is somewhat surrounded by quite large rath sites.

The Well at Kingscourt
We feasted like Kings ourselves in The Wishing Well, our faces all slightly crimson given the combination of plentiful food, heat and still sitting in our bike gear on the muggy Saturday evening. I had hoped to see stars again on that evening, but the relentless rain just continued without a break in the sky. It is, though, on such evenings that hiring a cottage/accommodation makes the most sense. As soon as we arrived back at The Granary and had just shut the front door the heavens, literally, opened. We were able to light the stove and with the spacious living room, lounge about. Even with the patter of water against the windows, once standing outside the silence was deafening. I guess it's only when it is removed the amount of noise we live with on a daily basis becomes apparent. There is something joyous for my spirit when I stand in a remote locations like that, the only noise I can hear is the occasional (and natural) rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. It feeds the soul!

The last day was warmer, clearer and more clement - the September summer had returned! But as ever the reality of having to return to jobs, bills and modernity hit. We decided for one last thrill - the 'B' roads outside of Armagh / Markethill. We took the Tandragee Road, Dunesmullen Road and Tannyoky Roads to Poyntzpass, then continued eastwards to Loughbrickland. What I only discovered on our return is that we should have continued east / north-east to Katesbridge, then Dromara, Annahilt and Legacurry before the A24 Comber Road...but we'll do that next time!

Trackside at the Ulster Grand Prix 2016

Ulster Grand Prix 2016 from Peter Moore on Vimeo.

North to South (Beltane) - Videologue

North to South - to The Ring of Kerry and The Atlantic

I have written previously about the spring/summer auspicious times of year with pagan festivals, Beltane (or [Lá] Bealtaine) is one of those as we approach the year’s zenith, the Summer Solstice (or Litha). These festivals seem to coincide with our biking trips, and with one of the hottest weeks of the year so far we seemed to be truly blessed for this week long trip. The plans had been long in the making, something we had fussed and meticulously amended to ensure the best possible trip. Our plan was, though, relatively simple; surely as all best plans are. We were to travel south to just outside Kilkenny and Ballyragget, where we had hired a cottage for three nights, before travelling south-west to Kilarney then onto the Ring of Kerry and northwards on the Wild Atlantic Way to Co. Clare through The Burren, Galway, Mayo and then Sligo before turning eastwards home. It sounds so easy, but the route would encompass some 1,300 miles and some challenging roads that would test us as riders, and also our machines. As ever, though, there is a sense of overwhelming freedom and limitlessness when you are about to set off on a trip and have all that you need strapped to the bike and in the panniers.

The Journey to Kilkenny
Kivi and Dee were waiting for me in Holywood, as I negotiated the daytime traffic to get there a palpable sense of excitement was rising in my stomach, like when I was a child on my way to a party; a giddy happiness that makes most men revert to boyish smiles as such trips are, surely, the stuff of boyhood dreams?! Our first port of call was Armagh to meet up with Anthony and then to travel southwards as a foursome. This leg is a quick blast on the motorway, but even this - in the blazing sunshine - was a joy, as the beginning of any trip usually is. We met at an old haunt, Rumours Cafe, but decided to have lunch in the Australian restaurant on the Square, the sunlight bouncing of the stonework of the buildings was almost blinding.

The churches and round towers at Clonmacnoise

We travelled southwards via Cavan and Clones, encountering traffic in the town centres that, in the heat of the day, was almost hard to bear. At every opportunity I was opening every vent available to me in a failed attempt to generate air circulation. Thankfully once out of the towns, my sat nav was leading us on smaller 'B' roads to our destination, the phenomenal site of Clonmacnoise. We arrived in the early evening and found, to our dismay, that the site was closed. However, a peak over the fence showed something out of a fantasy movie; the whole site was almost illuminated in purple hues by the setting dusk sun. We hopped over the fence and had the entire site to ourselves. There is so much to take in with a cursory glance that one must stop, take stock and then proceed. The site name is from the Irish Cluain Mhic Nóis. The site was founded in the mid 6th century by St. Ciarán, The Annals of the Four Masters record in 548; "St. Ciaran, son of the artificer, Abbot of Cluain Mic Nois, died on the ninth day of September. Thirty three years was the length of his life." (O'Donovan, 2002, M548.2). From the 6th to 9th centuries the monastic settlement is reported to have had close links with the Kings of Connacht before allying with the Kings of Meath in later Medieval times. Clonmacnoise's greatest expansion was in the 8th and 12th centuries when it was one of the most important monastic sites in Ireland. It was attacked frequently during these four centuries by the native Irish, the Vikings and finally the Normans.

What lies before you at Clonmacnoise, draped over the land rising from the River Shannon, is a selection of buildings - churches and towers (as well as crosses - although one is a replica) from the 9th - 17th centuries - that is almost too much to take in, your eyes have to wander over the scene several times to take it all in. Next to the site is, at first glance, a peculiar looking castle; the great keep seemingly subsiding and listing helplessly to one site. It is built on top of a 12th century Anglo-Norman motte. The later stone keep was built on top of the motte in 1214 by the Justiciar of Ireland, Henry of London.

By this stage the midges were out in force, getting in between my helmet and head, I could hear them buzzing and my instinct was to scratch, even though I was wearing my helmet! By now the light was starting to fade and we were keen to make it to Ballyragget and our cottage, which would act as base for the next few days. As soon as we arrived the idyllic setting acted as an instant stress reliever - the cottage is set on a working farm and upon arrival two exceptionally friendly dogs came up to see what the commotion was all about, the lovely Collie was especially prone and desired human contact. But that, in itself, was relaxing and soothing after 233 miles; there is something cathartic about sitting in a comfortable chair in a warm evening with a content dog looking up at you as you stroke its head and drink (slowly) a cold beer. That evening with Dee's telescope we stargazed at the unpolluted night sky, the moon in particular seemed to be of special fascination to us all and the cottage owner was flabbergasted at the clarity and detail with which we were able to observe the moon surface.

St. Canice's Cathedral and Kilkenny Castle

The next day we travelled into Kilkenny - surely one of Ireland's best preserved Medieval towns. Kilkenny has a special place in my heart, as I have fond memories of it from childhood, my Uncle was a CoI Bishop and his home church was St. Canices with its complete round tower (from which the town derives its name). I can remember as a child it seemed huge, I thought it touched the sky. Kilkenny is from the Irish Cill Chainnigh (Church of Cainnech): Cainnech is Saint Cainnech of Aghaboe (c.515–600) known as Saint Canice in Ireland.

Even on the bikes, it is immediately apparent that the town is not designed with modern traffic in mind, the streets are tight and could appear claustrophobic, except they are so picturesque. Old buildings such as Rothe House seem to slip unassumingly between the more modern buildings now housing shops and there is definitely a 'buzz' around the place. We ate in Paris Texas before I simply had to make a pilgrimage.

St. Canice's is imposing as you approach it, mainly because it is atop a hill that was of importance to pre-Christian Pagan religion. However, the first Christianisied site was built in the 6th century by (and named after) Saint Cainnech of Aghaboe [Cainnech moccu Dalánn]. Kilkenny was, reputedly, one of the last parts of Ireland that converted to Christianity, Irish folklore asserts that the last Archdruid of Ireland had retreated to the mound on which St. Canice's is built and it was there that he was defeated by Cainnech in 597, after which the Christian church was founded on the site (he must have been another of the 'warrior monks'!). The Annals of Ulster record that he died two years later in 599; "Repose of Cainnech of Achad Bó, as Cuanu states.". This early 6th century church would have been later replaced (and probably expanded upon), after or maybe at the same time as the 9th century round tower was added, and then the later (and current) 13th century medieval cathedral was erected. It has been argued that the site was, initially, not of great importance as there are few annalistic references to it other than references to raiding of the site in 1085: "Ceall-Cainnigh was for the most part burned." (Priour & Becchinor, 2002, M1085.10), and again in 1114 "Fobhar-Feichin, Cluain-Iraird, Cill-Beneoin, Cunga, Cill-Chuilinn, Cill-Cainnigh, and Ard-Padraig, were all burned this year." (Ibid, M1114.12). It was in the 1120's, after the see of Ossory was moved from Aghaboe to Kilkenny, that the site became more significant.

For me, though, my visit had a distinct purpose; to visit the grave of my Uncle who was Bishop of Cashel and Ossory, and who is buried between the cathedral entrance and the round tower. I have nothing but fond memories of the man who, as a child, seemed to me to be a giant. I am grateful to the lads for taking time and letting me do this....it meant a lot.

Cashel to Kilarney
After a day relaxing and recharging batteries at the hired cottage, we were off in a south-westerly direction, initially on the R693 to Urlingford and then the R639 towards the Rock of Cashel. The roads were remarkably straight which enabled my mind to wander, the hum of the tyres on the road mellifluous and meditative; as Kivi had said the previous evening the advantage of a bike trip is, and always will be, that you are with your friends, yet alone. On this road I truly felt this way, I love looking in the mirrors and seeing my friends with me, but I have my own head-space in my helmet and on my bike. The arrow straight sections towards Littleton enabled me to mull over....well....life, in general. I think this something we should do more often, it lends perspective!

The mighty Cathedral & Round Tower at Cashel

Towards the Rock of Cashel, the road curves, which allows the site to 'reveal' itself and, once rounded, it is something to behold perched on top of the rock, commanding all that surrounds it. It is immediately obvious why the site was chosen. You peer upwards at the site and the myriad of buildings are almost confusing to the eye, but the plethora of pictures of the site that are in books and on the web suddenly don't seem to do it justice. We parked beneath the 'rock' and hiked up the hill in the heat - it was at this stage I realised my baldy head had had too much sun over this and the preceding days and I had to get a bottle of water to rehydrate myself. The Rock of Cashel (Carraig Phádraig) is also known as the Cashel of the Kings and St. Patrick's Rock.

The original site was, though, not a Christian one, it was originally the seat of Irish Kings; it was the ancient capital of the Eóganachta - a native dynasty that dominated southern Ireland from the 7th to the 10th centuries. In 964 the rock was captured by Mathgamain mac Cennétig (older brother of Brian Bóru). Mathgamain died in 976, after which Brian (Brian Bóruma mac Cennétig to give him his proper name) became the celebrated Irish King. It was Brian's great-grandson, Muircheartach Ua Briain, that donated the site of Cashel to the church in 1101, and hence it began its life as a Christian centre.

The oldest building on the site is the round tower which was probably erected almost immediately after the site was gifted to the church. This was followed by Cormac's Chapel (named after King of Munster Cormac Mac Carthaig) which was begun c.1127 and consecrated in 1134 (Edwards, 1996, 124) and remains one of Ireland's finest examples of Romanesque ecclesiastical architecture, even mooted as the initiator of the Romanesque in Ireland (Ibid). We entered the little church as part of the tour and instantly the temperature cooled as we entered the dim interior; work is currently ongoing to dry the sandstone walls and the atmosphere inside was a welcome relief from the heat. The church has a rare stone slab roof which seems to have been the source of its problems in terms of water ingress to the structure, once inside the carvings were spectacular spying on you from the roof are carved heads, the arches are decorated in geometric designs such as chevrons, and some of the original paintwork even survives. At the rear of the church is a large stone box carved with Norse (Viking) decoration. We then entered the large (St. Patrick's) cathedral which was remodelled after its initial construction, but is a 13th century building with a domineering central tower that commands the site; each of the transepts has a pair of chapels that project as separate roofed structures (O'Keefe, 2000, 146). The later residential 'castle' (Hall of the Vicars) was added to the west of the site in the 15th century.

The 'problem' (and I use the term loosely) with such sites is that in order to appreciate them you have to spend a considerable amount of time at them, and so after Cashel we had a bit of driving to do! We travelled south towards Cahir - alas time not on our side, so the planned stop at Cahir Castle had to be abandoned - entering Co. Cork near Kilbeheny approximately 30km south of Cashel on the R639, before turning southwest to Mallow on the N73. In Mallow we stopped for a much needed coffee, the caffeine was welcome to help 'boost' our bodies from wilting. I know that for many this might not be big mileage, but I was becoming tired at this stage of the day - a mild sunstroke still affecting my body. We continued south-west on the N72 to Flesk Campsite just in the suburbs of Kilarney. We turned onto the Mill Road just outside Kilarney that crosses and flanks the beautiful Flesk River; the road is also flanked by woods that mask admirably the fact that you are anywhere near a large town. The Mill Road passes an octagonal folly, a gate lodge before the old mill complex - the road tightening as it continues before joining the Muckross Road on which the campsite is situated. We erected the tents (the first time we had done so on the trip) which immediately added a different dimension, suddenly you are completely self-contained which is a joyous feeling - the trip feels more 'wild' somehow.

Ring of Kerry (Mórchuaird Chiarraí)

In itself the Ring of Kerry is not long at 180km or so, but as a road and along with the Wild Atlantic Way as biking roads, maintains almost mythical status. We awoke on Sunday morning desperately hungry and travelled into the centre of Kilarney for breakfast - the tourist trade has, somewhat, caricatured the area which is something that annoys me but I understand why it happens. But with the sun blazing, this was a day that could not be spoilt; this was a part of the trip we'd all been looking forward to perhaps more than any other. Initially we were caught in the Kilarney tourist traffic, but we navigated out and into what appeared to be more wild surroundings. The road (N71) was still quite wide, but soon cut through slopes that became hills, that increased to mountains; these slopes were greener than I thought they would have been (I was expecting more heath-like vegetation), the trees, though, occasionally providing additional shade. I realised that this was because the initial 'start' of the Ring of Kerry actually passes through Kilarney National Park

Parked on the shore of Kenmare Bay

The sunlight hitting the rocks and 'crags' gave some of the ever enclosing slopes almost an angry appearance, yet riding through them was simply glorious. The road twisted through Derrycunihy Wood before hugging the shoreline of Looscaunagh Lough and weaving through 'Moll's Gap', after which the frustrating car traffic began to thin,  to our next stop: Kenmare Stone Circle. This is one of the largest stone circles in south-west Ireland but is, in truth, quite disappointing. The entire monument has been surrounded by evergreens and looks like a garden folly as a result, the grass is a little too neatly mown and it feels almost contrived. However, I have found images of the monument before it's modern 'tidying' and originally it overlooked the entire Kenmare Bay with the mountains in the distance and certainly in that image, appears much more 'authentic'. Take those new garden[y] elements away, the site is easily accessible and quite interesting. It is roughly egg-shaped, aligned with the setting sun and consists of 15 boulder stones (13 standing and 2 fallen), and central boulder-burial topped with a large capstone (alone estimated to weigh 7 tons!). Kenmare itself is picturesque but as with many of the locations seems almost desperate to maintain its quaintness, but for an area dependent on the tourist trade this isn't something that one can criticise them for!

The bike parked on the southern point of the Ring of Kerry

Once clear of Kenmare the roads started to become what my imagination had pictured; initially the road hugged the western Kenmare Bay shoreline, the road cutting through woods that still over arched it, in some places it felt like the trees were trying to claim back the road and were enveloping it. the road became quite technical at Blackwater Bridge, with twists, negative cambers and elevation changes, indeed from Kenmare to here there was rarely a straight and I think 4th was my top gear! The trees thinned, giving way to patches of exposed bedrock surrounded by long swaying grasses, it was beautiful, but nothing compared to what was to come just a few minutes south-west!

We travelled round a bend and like a great reveal rising from the shoreline were cliffs and mountains, it was here that the road (now the N70) began to climb. The craggy shoreline looked painted onto the water, passing Rossmore and Sherky Islands and it appears truly wild. The road lies in sympathy with the landscape recreating the rises, crests, twists and weaves. It was glorious! As we climbed the road surface deteriorated becoming more broken and rutted, the temperatures noticeably cooled and mists were rolling in from the mountain tops. I am not exaggerating when I say it was like a Lord Of The Rings backdrop.

There seems to be a cross over point where the Ring of Kerry gives way to the Wild Atlantic Way - or maybe we had taken a wrong turn - but although there are villages and outcrops and little clusters of houses, the whole area seems to have retained its own sense of itself.  When we pulled over the road was all we could talk about.

The Great 'Cahers' And Mannix Point
At Cahersiveen we crossed the estuary at the Old Barracks on the Castlequin Road which acts as a bridge to the neighbouring peninsula, passing Ballcarbery Castle we turned off the Castlequin Road up a farm type track to Leacanabuaile (cashel / fort). The whole Kerry area is quite famous for these stone ring forts and the beehive huts, (cashel is from the Irish caiseal, deriving from 'castle' or 'stone fort' and caher is from the Irish cathair meaning 'stone [ring]fort'). Stone seems to have been abundant in this area and therefore it was what was used for building material, but it means many of these monuments survive, albeit some reconstructed, but are more imposing that an earthwork rath.

The cashels of Leacanabuaile and Cahergall

The exterior of Leacanabuaile is not as imposing as its near neighbour (Cahergall), but the interior is phenomenal in its intricacies.  As we dismounted the bikes the heat had become blistering, the tarmac felt as if it was lava underneath my boots so it was with some relief that we walked up a shaded grass slope to the site, our only company for what seemed miles around were a few roaming sheep. The site is from the Irish Leaca na Buaile meaning 'Slope of the Booley' and the first aspect that strikes you is the number of buildings that are seemingly crammed into the interior of the cashel. We initially puzzled over the internal structures, admiring the prestine tight dry stone walling.

The plan is odd, as there is a large rectangular house immediately inside the entrance, behind which is a circular house (possibly a beehive type structure), there are also two other houses built against the cashel walls. The circular house has a soutterain within it and beside 'House C' (against the cashel wall) is another chamber that runs into the main fort wall. The two main structures are probably the most important of highest status ones on the site; the main cashel/fort entrance was lintelled in the east that would have opened into the central space. The main and largest rectangular building had four large post-holes in the floor probably to support a thatched-timber roof, this hut then enters into the circular clochán-type structure behind it (Goldbaum, 2015 after Ó Ríordáin and Foy, 1941). The site would have been occupied in the 9th/10th centuries and a multitude of objects were recovered during the 1939 - 1940 excavation including a scythe, knives, combs, brooches, tools and fragments of iron, bone, bronze and lead  that give a real glimpse into the everyday farming type function of Leacanabuaile's inhabitants (Ó Ríordáin and Foy, 1941).

We made our way to the more imposing Cahergall which reminded me of a larger Grianan of Aileach in Donegal. The walls are reconstructed in parts and massive, not only in height, but in thickness too, with a stepped interior that enabled us to climb to the top. In the centre is a circular structure, probably a form of large beehive hut. Cahergal is from the Irish At Chathair Gheal meaning 'the bright stone fort' and as the sun bounced off the stonework in places the quartz glistened - perhaps where it got its name from? The massive site is thought to be earlier than Leacanabuaile, perhaps being built in the early 7th century, but as with Leacanabuaile, we were the only people at the site, which given how impressive it is surprised me, it was a lovely day....why weren't more people visiting?

The sunset at Mannix Point

We camped at Mannix Point which was something of a relevation; run by a delightful man, Mortimer, who is an archetypal grandfather figure, the site is quite large with an abundance of top notch facilities, yet it retains an intimate feel. The site fronts onto the shoreline with Ballycarbery Castle and the mountains as the backdrop. We quickly put up our tents and then relaxed in the still warm grass, as I sat and made notes, the silence was just what my head needed; immediately behind us a traditional curragh was being rowed, breaking the otherwise flat-calm waters. At this point the sun had begun to set and backlit in splendid purples the monuments, hills and mountains. It was the sort of scene that made me wish I painted or was good at art, even now its perfection is a powerful image in my head. The whole trip and the Ring of Kerry were fantastic, but I think one of the most powerful places was actually Mannix Point - if you are ever travelling around the area, I would highly recommend it.

Limerick to Doolin
This day was a day of best intentions, but failed goals. I had, for the first time, trouble with the Triumph (affectionately nicknamed 'The Wraith' Kivi and Dee). The engine management light had come on the previous evening, I had also noticed coolant leaking from the left hand side in the morning....even a mighty fry couldn't settle me. When something like this happens being mechanically inept can strike fear into an otherwise experienced biker! Phone calls to Phillip McCallen and a few tweaks by Kivi had the bike running again and we were heading northwards on the Wild Atlantic Way, but it was around 1pm before we were hitting the road in anger.

The Aille River at the hostel in Doolin

We were on the main N21 road, too late to stop at an intended site of Abbeyfeale but we did, however, make a pit stop in the beautiful, but busy town of Adare. The name is from the Irish Áth Dara meaning 'ford of [the] oak'. The town is an ancient settlement, but is famed for its Anglo-Norman architecture including the recently rennovated Desmond Castle, Augustinian, Franciscan and Trinitarian Abbeys and traditional thatched houses - as such it is exceptionally busy with traffic and coaches. Sitting in traffic I could feel the bike engine heating and was almost relieved when the fans came on to cool it. But I retained an uneasy feeling that I did not like. We were behind schedule and were now putting miles in to get to our campsite for the night, an old 'haunt' of Aille River Hostel in Doolin. We had tried to stop at the history 'park' at Craggaunowen but it was shut, another real world reality shutting the door literally and metaphorically on my imagined idyll. My sat nav is set on 'twisty' mode which, if possible, will take us on smaller roads. The problem was, though, that north of Ennis even these roads were thronged with traffic - this is, in my opinion, the issue with the Ring of Kerry / Wild Atlantic Way roads....they are phenomenal and allow us to visit some of the most spectacular sites and scenery on earth, but they are not built to handle the sheer volume of modern traffic, but the valour is, surely, in still using them for the journey?

The Burren, Galway, Mayo and Sligo
After breakfast in McCann's Pub, we were again on our northwards trek - the journey had now definitely become one of heading home and the dynamic, for me, always changes when this happens. There is a less care-free vibe and my mind starts to wander to real-life problems, work, jobs to do around the house etc. We threaded our way on the R477 to Lisdoonvarna before it becomes the N67 which snakes its way through the other-worldly landscape of the Burren (Co. Clare). The scenery is augmented by the inclusion of the aptly named Corkscrew Hill before descending down to the coast and the border of Counties Clare and Galway where we stopped at Dunguaire Castle which I wrote about last year on our Trip Round Ireland.

Dunguaire Castle

The site is named after King Guaire who died in AD 617, and the fort associated with him (the site of Dúrlas Guaire or Ráth Dúrlais) has been suggested as either the current castle promontory fort or, more likely, the rath to the north-east of the towerhouse. The current castle is a 16th Century - circa 1520 - O'Hynes towerhouse, and the associated bawn was rebuilt in 1642.We had been so lucky with the weather, and again the sun was burning my head as we sat behind the curtain wall overlooking the rippling water. I couldn't help but notice that in virtually every 'nook and cranny' were beautiful pinkish flowers, using the castle walls like an Alpine plant uses as scree slope. We sat and basked like lizards in the sun for about an hour, although on the homeward leg, time was still a somewhat fluid concept! The N67 becomes the N18 and R446 into the centre of Galway, although from past experience I knew the scenery after Clarinbridge would become less spectacular (I use that term rather than picturesque, as it is still beautiful!). After coffee and the largest slice of cheesecake ever eaten in Galway we were heading northwards again to our accommodation for the night in Carrick-on-Shannon. The road (N17 and N83), though, were not the most pleasant I have been on, single lane and clogged with traffic in what had become the early evening gloom. The humidity was still high and I felt heavy headed - both the road and the weather were not helping my disposition!

But at Dunmore we turned off the main roads and onto the R360 and it was like going into a different country, the road was isolated, cutting through trees and open green fields, there was barely another vehicle on it, suddenly I felt free again as if some shackles had been removed. We crossed into Roscommon and onto the R370 at Bella Bridge Bog the road was straight which, shall we say, enabled us to make up some time! The road crossed over little rivers like the Killukin before finally entering and crossing over the Shannon that marks the boundary between Roscommon and Leitrim. We had booked ahead a room in B-Side hostel which is, literally, right in the middle of the town, although with a gated rear parking yard, we were also able to safely store the bikes for the evening. We drank perhaps the best Guinness I have ever had in Cryans.

After a sound sleep, I was making the journey home alone as I had to get back to Belfast before Kivi and Dee. The journey was cathartic, on small almost abandoned 'R' roads (the R210, R208, R199) that weave through a multitude of loughs and lakes such as Carrickaport, Lough Scur, Corrachoosaun, St. John's Lough and Lough Reane. All too quickly though, I found myself in Armagh, but decided to take the B3 (via Tandragee and Hillsborough) home. And there I was, standing outside my house, the previous week away on the bikes over in the blink of an eye. It has made me want to explore more of my native country, there is more to see, Cork, Waterford, Wexford all lie in wait!