Sligeach: 'Abounding in Shells'

Sligo and Eagles Flying

I must have something or someone watching over me, as the 'great overseer' blessed us with another phenomenal few days for a bike trip, this time to Sligo. It's been a while since we have been in Sligo and having just come back I cannot for the life of me figure out why. It is close enough to be reached after a comfortable and picturesque ride, but far enough to make one feel that there has been some sort of journey there. Our rough compass point was west-south-west towards Monaghan and Cavan before hitting the wetlands near Leitrim. My sat-nav was on 'twisty route' setting, taking us on roads we had never travelled before; the scenery was new to my eyes and vivid in the sunshine.

The sat-nav was taking us along small 'R' roads and away from both motorways and/or 'N' roads - I think we are all similar in this regard - the older we get, the more we dislike motorway travel. Motorways remove one from the travel experience and, indeed, the landscape. Take the smaller roads, they are almost always more interesting! We passed through Ballinamore onto the R208 just north of Fenagh, here the road skirted smaller lakes before turning northwards and flanking Lough Allen. To the west (our left hand side) the topography rises towards Corry Mountain Bog, whilst to the east the waters of the Lough looked inviting as the temperature rose. 

The view east over Lough Allen

In my peripheral vision was an old white sign for Tarmon Abbey ruins; somewhere in my brain was an image of them, now not much more than a dilapidated little church shell, quite the juxtaposition to nearby Boyle (approximately 14km south-west) which we would pass through later. The sat-nav told me to turn west off the R280 onto a small trackway, a sign pointed to a 'scenic waterfall' and I had no idea where it was taking me, but I followed regardless. The road wound up the hillside, climbing steeply and narrowing - this was clearly not the way to go, but the sat-nav must have wanted me to see this waterfall! 

We pulled in beside what appeared to be abandoned farm buildings to regroup; the weather was hot and this, again, raised the debate of leathers vs textiles. I ride in Dainese armoured textiles, but the school of thought is increasingly towards leathers, and I have to agree, the reason textiles are choice is mainly weather related. The views over Lough Allen were spectacular, the abandoned cottage simply adding to the ambiance. We never did see the waterfall though! Only after coming back did I manage to retrace our steps and find the location of this little trackway and alcove (G 93944 18817) and for a while I was unsure if it was Lough Allen or Lough Arrow, but the view is seared into my memory for some reason so it touched some nerve. 

Old Friends & Tubbercurry

By this stage I realised that the 'twisty' option was all well and good but it might drag us through a hedge backwards to get to the accommodation and although it made for great biking roads I plumbed for a more conventional route. We turned onto the R285 southwards to join the N4 and a heavily smoking lorry just south-east of Lough Key and Lough Key Forest Park arriving in Boyle in the blink of an eye. Boyle is a location we have visited several times, once by chance and once by design and it felt familiar; its fantastic abbey and bawn ruins are well worth visiting, but this time we managed to startle some American tourists by overtaking them just before the R294 tightened to a glorious twisty, undulating ribbon of tarmac towards our destination of Gorteen / Gurteen. The accommodation was a bungalow situated in what felt like the middle of no-where but the silence was something to savour, disturbed only by the house martins that were nesting in the eves and the 'splat' of an occasional cow-pat hitting the ground! 

We were soon on our way to Tubbercurry for dinner; Tubbercurry (Tobar an Choire meaning 'well of the corrie') lies 17km west of Gorteen and is the second largest town in terms of population and land area in Sligo. We feasted in Cawleys before riding back with the slowly setting sun on our backs glowing orange and red and the grip the warmed road yielded was simply magnificent. 

The next morning was glorious, warm and clear, and we decided to go to Shells in Strandhill for breakfast. For the uninitiated, Strandhill is something of a surfer town and Shells - located right on the seafront - is legendary for its breakfasts. Most of the route was northwards on the R293 through Ballymote then the N4 briefly before taking the R292 that hugs the coast with the western side of Knocknarea mountain looming over it, a joyous experience that served to increase my appetite. However, the 'surfer dudes' parading around the seafront complete with their wet suits at the hip in catalogue-esque poses served to make me rather conscious of my expanding waistline! Bugger....that battle is lost! 

Nine kilometres south-east from Strandhill, and still somewhat within the reach of Knocknarea is Carrowmore megalithic cemetery. Carrowmore or An Cheathrú Mhór meaning 'great quarter' is one of the four main passage tomb cemeteries in Ireland (alongside Carrowkeel [Breac Sliabh], Loughcrew [Loch Craobh] and Newgrange in the Brú na Bóinne) and the entire landscape is ritualised and significant in a prehistoric context. Carrowmore also boasts one of the oldest used passage tombs. As you stand in the fields that make up the site, the first instinct is to look around at the surrounding area something I savoured as it was 2012 that I was last here. 

The cemetery is surrounded by dynamic peaks that almost seem to enclose it, all of which seem to have some sort of megalithic monument atop them; there is, of course, Knocknarea with Miosgán Médhbh (Queen Medb's grave), Carns Hill and Oz Mountains (Sliabh Gamh) and Ballygawley Mountains the latter has four peaks (Calliach a Vera, Sliabh Deane, Sliabh Dargan and Aghamore Far) which have cairns on their summits. Carrowmore, therefore, cannot be viewed in isolation, it is part of a much wider and much much larger prehistoric landscape. Carrowmore has approximately thirty monuments today in various states of preservation; most are small dolmens, some with their original enclosing boulder circles (Tomb 7 [middle picture] is an example of this). 

The most famed is Site 51 or Listoghil (Lios an tSeagail) which is the largest monument at Carrowmore; crudely 'excavated' over the course of its history it was re-excavated in a scientific manner by Göran Burenhult in the 1990's and it is his work that exposed the intact curb stones. Bone and other material recovered during his excavation was dated to 3500 BC. Other dates suggest that there was something going on prior to the tomb being built, with a radiocarbon date of 6100 BC also obtained. There has also been debate about whether the tomb has an alignment, with Meehan postulating that it was aligned with Imbolc or the beginning of Spring around the 1st February (Meehan, 2012). This was an auspicious time with the end of Winter (or a new beginning) celebrated by pagan cultures and later adopted by Christian festivals; Imbolc is now St. Brigid's Day although St. Brigid is also thought to be based on an earlier Gaelic goddess. 

We bumped into a biker from England travelling on his Triumph 1050 Tiger, we meandered round the northern part of the site together and shot the breeze, envious at his retirement at what we thought was a young age although we never did find out how old he was! All I can hope for is that I am that chilled out and in that position at his age! He got a picture of us, but we didn't get a name of a picture of him so he becomes a 'traveller we met on the road'. I like that description, it sounds good, he becomes something in my own little saga. 

Ballymote Castle

A name I haven't heard for many years! Ballymote Castle was included as part of the fieldwork for my undergraduate thesis, for which I travelled the length and breadth of Ireland alone in my car at the time, a bullet-proof Mitsubishi Colt, sleeping in the back of it as I ran out of money for B&B's after three days! Those were the days before sat-nav's and a lot of main roads, when map-reading was a necessary skill. 

Ballymote Castle

Ballymote Castle is one of the great 'keepless' castles in Ireland; that is there is no great central donjon or keep. It was built at the tail end of the 13th / beginning of the 14th century probably by Richard de Burgo (Richard Óg de Burgh - The Red Earl) who was the most powerful of the de Burgh Earls of Ulster and friend of King Edward ('Longshanks') I of England. The castle is remarkable as the accommodation is housed in the great gatehouse, therefore the design presumably relinquishes a little defence for comfort by doing away with a great tower which would have often served as the final retreat. The south wall (opposite wall to the gatehouse) bears scarring and this is presumably related to a tower that was designed to protect a postern (secondary) gate in this wall that was never completed. A similar design, although on a much much larger and grander scale, is Beaumaris Castle - one of the great Welsh castles of Edward I. The Red Earl did not keep the castle for long, losing it to the O'Connors of Sligo in 1317 (de Burgh died nine years later) who in turn lost it in 1347. It has been suggested that the castle was all but abandoned after its loss to the O'Connors and this could be true; a castle was more than a domestic building and/or stronghold, it could be politically and economically important as well as strategic and it could also act as an important symbol or power.

Eagles Flying

What can I say? This place is something of a revelation and I cannot recommend highly enough. Not usually on our radar, the Irish Raptor Research Centre / Eagles Flying is home to 100 eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, vultures and other animals and is, genuinely, a phenomenal day out. The centre opened in 1999 and it was only in 2003 that is was opened to the public.

The walk up to the house and amphitheatre is flanked with small huts that are the shelter for the most beautiful and majestic birds of prey including a Black-Chested Eagle, a Golden Eagle and an Eagle Owl. Once at the house, a peacock squawked to be answered by parrots behind us. It is, initially, almost too much to take in with birds that stir something primeval in the soul everywhere you turn. They are breath-takingly beautiful...sleek, purposeful and in evolutionary design terms, perfect. Although there are ropes to stop you getting too close they didn't seem skittish or afraid, but this enabled a look closely into their eyes and the difference in size between the various birds is immediately apparent with a small falcon beside a buzzard and then Eagle Owl.

The show takes place at an amphitheatre of sorts, with the biology and behaviour of the birds being described in great detail, all mixed in with some humour; I think the guy running it is German, although his Germanic accent is interspersed with an Irish 'twang'.  The smaller falcon/hawk type birds are first, they fly swoop directly overhead and sometimes their wings brush the top of your head, it is phenomenal to see these birds in flight, and the "oo's" and "ahh's" are testament to what is happening. The birds get bigger and bigger; after the hawks come the owls (one of my favourites), and they are movingly beautiful. It is, though, at this point the educative part of the show can be a little depressing: there are, for example, 40 pairs of potentially breeding Barn Owls in Ireland. Forty. If you think about that for a moment it is a sombre thought and leads to a little melancholy reverie. What have we done to so effectively destroy a native species' habitat and make them endangered? As was said; how can we destroy something so beautiful? 

The birds continue to increase in size, an exceptional Eagle Owl flew in complete silence which is eery in itself, but glorious to see. The climax of the show was the White-Tailed Sea Eagle (see left). The bird swooped overhead and it has a presence, it is a force of nature and you are acutely aware of this. Again, though, there are tales of woe with attempts to reintroduce the bird thwarted to an extent by poisoning of several birds worryingly recently. The question is again, how can we do this? The show explained that very few of the birds are physically capable of killing livestock (e.g., lambs) and that even the ones that are tend not to do it, if they are caught eating a lamb it is usually one that was either injured or already dead. Therefore the assumption that it has killed the animal are usually wrong and has led to unjustified persecution.

The crowd was encouraged to visit the small petting zoo beneath the main site and we duly made our way there to be confronted by a racoon, pigs, mice, an albino hedgehog and a fox amongst other beasts. The interaction is genuinely heartwarming, with one boy standing outside the area looking in with his mouth open and hands shaking by his side in excitement. After this we were brought up to the sanctary to see owl boxes - I had hopes of trying to get one at my own house to help the Barn Owl population, but their scale means I'll have to help in other ways. I hope to return soon with my own family, but at the same time it was a little surreal! I wish I had bought a t-shirt....maybe next time!  

My journey home took me through the 'wetlands' towards Carrick-On-Shannon and northwards to Swanlinbar then the Newbridge Road to Lisnaskea, Maguiresbridge before turning east. All in all approximately 460 miles of unalloyed joy, eye-popping scenery and memory making experiences. Thank you to all involved. 

Family Visits to Untrodden Paths

Rest Easy Chris

Chris Cornell (and Bryan Gibson) on the Higher Truth Tour

It is with great sadness that I read today of the death of a hero of mine; Chris Cornell. When I was in bands (in my youth) Chris and Soundgarden were heavy influences on my own attempts at writing music and lyrics. His voice, too, was somewhat 'unusual' (if that's the right term) for rock singers in that his vocal range was breathtaking, but the tone of his voice was genuinely beautiful. I can remember distinctly being on a music tour of Switzerland with school around 1994 and buying Superunknown (on tape) and it blowing my mind.

As I grew older I appreciated more his craft at writing songs and their meaning, his covers too were exceptional; for anyone unfamiliar listen to his cover of Michael Jackson's 'Billy Jean' from 'Unplugged in Sweden' for what can only be described as a haunting rendition. Nicola and I saw him last year on the 24th April 2016 in the Ulster Hall. He was touring to promote the 'Higher Truth' album. The music was stripped back, accompanied only by Bryan Gibson on cello, mandolin or acoustic guitar, but that nakedness allowed one to really appreciate the songwriting craft and Chris' voice, my God that voice; he had what I believe was a four octave range! He owned the stage and with the small setting of the Ulster Hall the gig was amongst the most intimate I have ever been to. His sense of humor also shone through as he engaged and talked to the audience, a complete air of relaxation and the audience was enthralled. He also paid tribute the then recently deceased Prince.

That gig will always have a significance for Nicola and I, but now even more so. I am glad that I had the chance to see him perform, I view it as a privilege such was his talent, the world has now lost another beautiful soul. I am also aware this is a completely inadequate tribute, but I have only heard the news and felt compelled to pen something. Rest easy Chris, you meant so much to so many...including me.

Ostara Rises Once Again (Videologue)

Ostara Rises Once Again

Once again an auspicious time of year approached and we were ready to head away on the bikes. Ostara is one of the festivals on the pagan 'wheel of the year' alternatively known as the Vernal Equinox. When I look back at videos from the last few years it always seems to be around this time that the first biking weekend of the year occurs. Maybe it's a change in mentality that comes with spring, maybe it's simply some better weather and an additional hour to the day but surely it's no coincidence that it's always towards the end of March. I awoke on Friday with even more glee than usual when I heard the forecast for the entire weekend was for clear skies and almost summer-like temperatures.

The journey was to be southwards (as is nearly always the way!) trying to take in smaller ‘A’ but especially ‘B’ roads where possible. After a few morning glitches I set off after lunch the heat of the high sun warming my back through the armour and riding jacket. Initially it was utopic; I seemed to be the only vehicle on the road as I travelled to join the A23 then the A24 towards Ballynahinch. It was here that things started to go slightly array – I must have caught the start of the schools leaving, the traffic became almost intense and the heat built in my new Evoline 3. I knew that from here on I would have to do a lot of overtaking as the roads to Dundrum (my pit-stop destination) were all single lane and my patience was wearing thin. I had overtaken numerous cars and several caravans before the south-westward sweep of the A2 reveals Dundrum bay. Rising through the trees on a hill overlooking the town is Dundrum Castle, where I had to meet Anthony. The castle is one of the grandest examples of an Anglo-Norman castle in Ulster and the views from it are genuinely phenomenal.

Dundrum Castle Donjon and Upper Ward

It is thought that the earliest Norman defences were enacted by John de Courcy towards the end of the 12th Century, some postulate around 1177, probably consisting of earthworks; excavation in 1950 showed four phases of construction with the perimeter bank the first phase (McNeill, 1997, 24). The site itself is interesting as it is now believed to have been built atop an earlier Celtic monument, the 1950 excavation also found evidence of earlier occupation (Ibid) and more recent work states; “Artefactual and place-name evidence suggests that the Anglo-Norman castle was, almost certainly, built upon the site of an enclosed, high-status, settlement dating to the Early Christian period.” (Macdonald et al, 2013, 4). The recent Time Team series dug at the site trying to find evidence for an earlier pre-Norman cashel. The earliest historic reference to the castle in the 13th Century call it “the castle of Rath” when it outlines de Courcy’s failed attempt to siege the castle that was once his in 1205 with the help of his brother-in-law Rǫgnvaldr Guðrøðarson, King of the Isles. The Annals of the Four Masters refer to a battle in 1147 ”…in which the Ulidian army is described as having been pursued by an army ‘led by Muircheartach Mac Neill Ua Lochlainn and the Cinel-Eoghain, and Donnchadh Ua Cearbhaill and the Airghialla.” (Ibid, 7). The castle was captured by King John in 1210, de Lacy subsequently strengthened the castle with the large round donjon, although from memory this was later than the curtain walls of the upper ward that were erected earlier in 13th century which would make them roughly contemporary with the failed siege. 

Dundrum Keep and Gatehouse Remnants

It was probably after de Lacy's second tenure as Earl of Ulster (1227 – 1243) that the single towered gatehouse was built into the upper ward curtain wall. The curtain wall of the outer bailey is likely to have been built by the Magennis family of Mourne who seized Dundrum in the late 15th century. Blundell’s House is a seventeenth-century domestic building in the southern part of the outer ward. When visiting these monuments they usually uplift me but sometimes they can be quite mournful – here stands this great monument that was an integral part of the history of the area and it was locked hardly any visitors and a tad forlorn on its great hilltop. That rumination, though, was soon shattered with the sound of Anthony’s BMW approaching from Castle Hill! After a bite to eat in Newcastle, we set off for the cottage in fading light and dipping temperatures, but it was worth it to see the orange/purple hues of the setting sun. We flanked Tollymore Forest on the B180 before passing though Hilltown and the joyous multiple ‘S’ curves of the B8 just east of Mayobridge. We still had to collect Kivi but this would be done later and by now the need for thermals was not simply desirable, it was essential with the nighttime temperature on this clear spring evening now rapidly approaching zero and maybe, at this height, even below that. We continued to the accommodation, meeting the owner in fast fading light before lighting the wood burning stove to get some much needed heat into the converted barn.

Don't Forget To Look Up
I had my camera with me and wished, as I looked up at the clear sky, I had brought the longer lens, tripod and other accoutrements and had tried to take some pictures of the night sky; something I keep promising myself I’ll do. It’s like many promises I make to myself, ‘I’ll find time’ or ‘I can do that tomorrow’ are little excuses I always seem to mutter to myself, but tomorrow all too often comes and goes and the promises remain unfulfilled. Whoever said time is fluid was right, and not just about the physics, conceptually too…at times it’s like a waterfall that we try to swim away from, in the end, of course, in vain. The journey to the accommodation with Kivi in tow was now in temperatures that took my breath away, despite this I enjoyed leaving a gap in my visor and the cool air flooding my lungs was invigorating, juxtaposed the warmth of the extra base layers I had put on. That night the wood-burning stove was lit and it was good to see my friends whom I haven’t seen in some time as we talked about bikes - boys and their toys!

Close up of the Explorer

Hiring a cottage or similar accommodation enables you to use it as a base and 'fan' out from it to visit and see what an area has to offer. I was pleasantly surprised by how cheap these places can be, but there is a caveat as always; they are getting harder to book. Maybe it's the state of the world today, but it seems more people are either going away for weekends or holidaying at home. I can remember when we first started staying in such places there seemed to be a plethora. Now, though, in many instances you have to book a month or even two in advance; for locations that are close to world famous sites (e.g., Meath), even for July and August it is hard to find anywhere not already pre-booked. Do not get me wrong, I am not complaining....I am all for people exploring what Ireland has to offer, as it has a lot. Up, as I was, on my own I photographed the blooming Daffodils, listened to a buzzard overhead and simply sat in stillness watching the still water beneath me and listening to the chorus of birdsong; it was glorious. I suddenly realised how long it had been since I had seen the sun - that might sound almost ludicrous, but it was true. For me the winters now have become almost a test of endurance, they seem longer and literally darker than I remember from my youth. The spring and the heat on my face was rejuvenating, added to by the 'ticking' of the metal on the bikes heating up under the clear skies.

The Ridges of Slievenamiskin and Cock Mountain

The Mournes were called na Beanna Bóirche (the mountains of Bóirche) or more literally, the Horns of Bóirche. They were settled as a Kingdom in the 12th Century by a 'tribe' from Monaghan, the name historically spelt Morne which is derived from the name of a Gaelic sept called the Múghdhorna - descendants of Mughdorn, son of Colla Meann, brother of Colla Nais, King of Ireland (AD323 - 327). Colla Nais became King of Ireland after the battle of Dudhcomar, apparently near Teltown at the River Blackwater where he slayed his uncle, Fiacha Sraibhtine. Colla Uais reigned nearly four years when he was deposed by Fiacha's son, Muiredach Tirecah. The three ‘Collas’ and their principal chiefs – almost 300 people – were expelled from Ireland (hence the prefix ‘Colla’ to their names), and forced to take refuge among their relatives in Alba (Scotland). Rather poetically the Mournes were described at the turn of the 20th Century: "The mountains form a mighty crescent, whose steadfast horns rest silently, here, stony and stern in the sombre firs of Newcastle, there, grassy and gracious in the green oaks of Rostrevor." (Moore, 1901). As we approached them, the warmth of the sun at sea level is interrupted by the cooler air coming off the Mournes; the change in temperature is palpable and looking up I realised the peaks still had little outcrops of snow, which simply added to the ambiance of driving through the mountains. It’s at times like these you wish the road would keep going, but part of the charm of the area is its compact size enabling lots to be seen in a day. 

The view to the snow covered Slieve Muck at Spelga Dam

We wandered through Newry on Sunday morning, shocked at the lack of businesses open; a throwback to some of the archaic opening laws here. If we truly wish to attract tourists and enter the 21st Century, then these things need to change. We finally managed to find a cafe that sold good coffee. After this, we were on the road which by now was genuinely warm - I could feel the heat coming off it as I lent into severe corners. Our destination was again through the Mournes, exploring the little 'B' roads that are abundant through the mountains. What I didn't realise is the wealth of archaeological sites littered on the slopes and peaks as well as near the roads. We began to climb outside Rostrevor towards Hilltown which itself has a motte (Ballymaghery Motte - DOW 048:021) and Early Christian ecclesiastical site (Clonduff - DOW 048:019) which has a Medieval church on top of an earlier monastic settlement. We were travelling east on the B27, and just east of Hilltown is a complex of megalithic monuments including a standing stone, stone circle, well preserved cairn and a 3 chambered court tomb (which was also used as a habitation site in the Iron Age). On the road, though, we were blissfully unaware of such things as the unique peak of Hen Mountain loomed into view. We continued on the B27 (Kilkeel Road) between Hen Mountain and Kinnahalla, although the B180 (Bryansford Road) north east is also an option.

Spelga Dam and the Golden Mournes
Our pit-stop destination was Spelga Dam, the name is from the Irish Speilgeach meaning 'place abounding in pointed rocks' (Muhr, 2008). The car park was unsurprisingly busy on such a good day and the cooler breeze coming off the mountains was something of a relief. I was soon dismayed at what the site has become; it is a beauty spot yet litter was everywhere, even in the small stream feeding the reservoir. In the car park the generator from a burger van was exceptioanlly loud completely ruining the stillness of the area and, no doubt, disturbing any wildlife there was. I had always thought the body of water was created with the building of the dam, but what I didn't know was that on its eastern shore is Deer's Meadow (Booley Huts), a settlement site of uncertain date. This coincides with a prehistoric findspot on the western shore and a further site of 18 Booley Hut foundations 1500 metres to the south-west at the southern base of Rocky Mountain. These were sub-rectangular and sub-circular, approx two metres across and most had an east facing entrance. It perhaps shows that you never quite know what you are looking at!

We turned south, the B27 now becoming the Moyad Road that cuts through Pigeon Rock and Slieve Muck mountains and the smaller peaks of Slievemageogh and Slievenagore and Crocknafeola Wood before turning east on the Head Road. I have always loved roads that have mountains on either side, it gives one a sense of scale, I enjoy how the peaks dwarf the road and, indeed, myself. It lends perspective to how small we really are. By now the journey was well and truly homwards; the sense of adventure somehow leaves me when I am on the main[ish] roads home. The Mournes, although easily accessible and not, by any means, a large or high moutain range still have a sense of wildness and that, surely, goes hand in hand with riding bikes....doesn't it?

It Kicked Like A Mule

Funny how when a fundamental change occurs in one’s life, the ripple effect can be profound. For me, that occurred on 15th December. Suddenly, like a kick from a mule, I realised how my life had been devoid of any real responsibility and had been utterly care free. I had been, for years, drifting in a sea of my own musings but, as it turned out, slowly drowning in them. 

I have come to realise the utter meaninglessness of my life to date – that might sound melodramatic and dark, but I mean it in a positive way, I have been given a new ‘centre’. What I thought was important wasn’t, but with that comes a new lack of patience for general bullsh*t and there is a lot of it about as things would turn out. Like a new set of lenses on my eyes, I now see the futility of what many of us do on a day to day basis. I also have a reference point that lets me see just how fast the world turns, and how quickly time really does go by; previously it was a cliché but now it’s a frightening reality. It has brought my own mortality into sharp focus which has been uncomfortable – if things go really well, I’m still half way through the ride!

I have re-evaluated and come to the conclusion that I need to make changes, quickly too! Family is now more than a simple buzz-word that I previously thought I understood but didn’t, it is a reality and an all-encompassing one at that with a love that until experienced, is impossible to describe. Writing, and travel are more than mere hobbies, they are what I want to do, they are part of my soul and the fabric of my being.

It is that time of year again when we emerge from the darkness, and for 2017 I genuinely feel like I am climbing from a dark cave into a new world. There is an underlying excitement that I have, perhaps, not felt for some time. I will hopefully soon be blogging about more sites with bigger and better pictures. It is a world worth exploring! The bike stands ready!