Summer Contemplation

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

Audley's Castle

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

The Tiger parked on the quiet wooded trackway

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

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

The Back Roads to Shrigley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ABR Rally Weekend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday Pillion Pleasures!

There was to be a break in the weather on Sunday, and both of us were keen to try on our new gear. Especially the boots. This represented the first time that we were able to go out on the bike with complete kit. And it feel really good. The route wasn’t going to be too far…down to Inch Abbey outside Downpatrick and then to Sketrick Island (to see Sketrick Castle if we had time). 

 

But there was a palpable sense of anticipation and excitement. I lubed up the bike chain and we were off. This time with pillion gripper handles to make her life easier. Again, this was a shrewd move. The drive down was great….the back roads agreeably quiet, and there is, in itself, some spectacular countryside to behold on these roads so in a sense the destination is but a footnote. The extra loading on the bike was noticeable, but the handling was still great….although more on this in a few paragraphs time! We arrived at Inch Abbey, dismounted and began to explore. I have always loved the site, not so much because it’s a medieval ruin (which interest me anyway), but as I eluded to in earlier blogs, I find that there is something special about that place….I have always loved going there to simply contemplate….or “be” if I’m not being too Woodstock on it!

The site was also quiet…after a family had left taking their confirmation photographs. This always struck me as strange….why people don’t visit the heritage we have here more often. But I guess it’s only when its gone you realize what you had. I tried my best to explain rib-vaulting and gothic pointed archways without sounding too boring…but I think I was fighting a losing battle on that topic. But the biking was the main attraction and we couldn’t wait to hit the road again. We left Inch, travelling back up the B roads we had came on only this time turning towards Strangford and Killinchy to travel across the small causeway to Sketrick Island and Sketrick Castle. By this stage the temperature had noticeably dropped and the clouds had a more angry hue to them. I could smell rain in the air. The castle itself is a towerhouse ruin, and I have to say, rather uninspiring.

But we walked along the Lough shore to be joined by a lovely chocolate springer spaniel cross and a full springer. You would have thought they were our dogs! But it added a really pleasant vibe to the place….but we are both ‘dog people’! We got a bit wet on the way back, but nothing to write home about, our gear is meant for harsher conditions than these. I had to leave the bike in for a service in preparation for the ABR weekend. The bad news was that a rear shock needed replaced. This was a bit of a body blow….but with help from some ABR forum members….I managed to pick a new one up on eBay for less than I thought. Small mercies mean a lot! Combined with that I have decided to get two new Tourance tyres put on the bike, as well as the usual fluids and filters change and a new chain to boot. Hopefully this will serve me well for a while yet!

Glenveagh and Dunfanaghy

It’s been a while since there was a proper run out on the bikes, but on 7th April, plans were made to head to Glenveagh National Park, Co. Donegal. It’s an area I’ve never been to before and apparently one of breathtaking beauty...and it didn’t disappoint! I left Belfast early in the morning to get up to Derry in good time. A warm cup of brown was much needed on arrival as although the sun was out, it was still fresh and we duly shot the breeze as we waited for the other bikers to arrive, including Joe the Mod and Johnny the Funk (good names you’ll agree!).

We went on the bottom tier of the bridge over the Foyle, which always reminds me of American bridges for some reason, and headed towards Letterkenny. The roads open up magnificently once you’re out of Derry, and the long straight roads with plenty of undulations offer a great chance to open the throttle hugging the hill beside the Foyle River. The countryside rolls beside you, with the trees and inhabited environment giving way to those shades of brown and beige – to my mind this part of Ireland isn’t so much green as those mountainous shades of brown that give that impression you are somewhere a bit wild. After travelling quickly on the N (or National) roads, we were quickly into single lane roads that were winding their way through truly indigenous country. The mountains surround you and you can feel the winds pick up – swaying you occasionally and you quickly have to correct the movement. Large boulders outcrop from the long grasses and heathers as you sweep left and right and you get the impression that this is an area untouched by man. The smells are interesting, not so much floral and fragrant, but ‘grassy’ if that makes sense. I got the impression that I was on a ribbon of tarmac in a prehistoric landscape, and this is an area that is used for backdrops when they (the BBC) filmed the dinosaur shows that were on a while ago, so my impression wasn’t all that outlandish.

My new Shark helmet performed superbly, although I have taken to wearing ear plugs just to cut down on some wind noise – I find over long journeys it means I’m not as tired by the end of it. Plus the internal sun visor was particularly useful whenever you came over a crest and there was a lake in front of you, with the sun glinting of the water surface.

We turned a corner and a sign greeted us to let us know we were in the boundary of the National Park – and it felt like it for some reason. There were forests and woods that punctuated the harsh barren landscape which gave an interesting juxtaposition. Even the sky seemed to open up it a freeing limitlessness.

We pulled into the car park in the National Park and the banter quickly began. This is what these little trips are all about for me, yes there is the biking (most importantly), but there is also the craic. Once of the bikes the piercing cry of a bird of prey was overhead, I was reliably told that it was a buzzard – although Glenveagh is the location that the Golden Eagle was and is being reintroduced to Ireland. I tried to get a picture, but it was a speck against the blue sky unfortunately. We walked up a tunnel of trees – Willow I think – to grab a bite to eat and a coffee where the craic continued. We soon hit the road again, I was initially unaware of our destination, but didn’t really care. We were on a road laid neatly onto the undulations of a mountain, and soon came over a crest to see a valley and lake below, with the road steeply diving to meet them, the corners were sharp and in many places off camber which added to the challenge as you tried to take in the sheer beauty of your surroundings. I think the road was the R251 beside Lough Nacung with the road going through the Derryveagh Mountains. We turned northwards towards Ballyness Bay, heading towards Dunfanaghy – another exceptionally picturesque location. Again, there is a wild feel to the place with Muckish Mountain on your right rising out of the landscape with a long flat top (I’m wary of using a Table Mountain analogy!). I think there are bird reserves here, as you pass many pools and lakes (Derryreel Lough, Columbkille Lough, Purt Lough and New Lake) before finally arriving at Dunfanaghy Bay, as the bikes past and the exhaust noise is amplified by the occasional high hedge you see all sorts of things starting to take off from the reeds, and when I downshifted two gears, there is an occasional ‘pop’ on the overrun.

 

This place has a special place in my heart for personal reasons, and it will always be special – I knew we were coming into the town, but I had no idea just how wide my grin would become as I started remembering why the place was so special to me. A text to my better half once off the bikes to let her know where I was and reminisce was the first thing I wanted to do. The headland stretches out like an arm protecting the cove and the waters always seem so calm. The aesthetics are postcard perfect, which is what the town relies on now to attract visitors. We pulled out of the small harbour to head along the road east. The dunes are on your left and sweep down to a huge expanse of sand, and the tidal range for the whole bay must be epic. You can see horse riders galloping across the sands and grand houses on the headland overlook the entire scene, I couldn't help but think on a winter's night, with a wood burning stove or fire lit, and that view, it must be a lovely place to be!

It was starting to get slightly overcast as we headed back to Derry, coming back the route we had came, but with the clocks going forward, there is more daylight in the day, which for me was most welcome. My journey back home was a cold one, with plenty of snow still lying on the Glenshane Pass and the roads leading up to it, the temperature drop was noticeable, and even with the heated grips, I found I was cold. I was glad to get home to lie on the sofa with the heating on and, in truth, a hot water bottle lying on my chest. I guess I overestimated the strength of the sun! The bike was safely put under its cover and I can’t wait to unwrap it for the next trip. With (hopefully) the better weather upon us, they should definitely be more frequent.I took some video footage on my little clip on video camera - something I still find I am getting to grips with, but I think it gives a jist of the journey - as well as showing off some of the spectacular scenery:http://www.youtube.com/user/MoorsoP

First Time Taking A Pillion

We were both nervous – I had never taken a pillion before and she had never been on a bike before. How would the bike behave? How different would it be in the corners? These are the sorts of questions that raced through my mind. A strong cup of coffee later and I had a route in mind. I wanted to stay off the major (dual carriageway) type roads, but at the same time, I wanted my pillion to be able to see something – the weather was fine and the first experience can so often dictate your view of something, for me, it was imperative that this first run was not only a success, it was fun and interesting too.

I chose Nendrum Monastic Site as our destination. Firstly, I knew the roads there were B roads, tight, twisty but also with good straights as well as spectacular views over Strangford Lough. Secondly, Nendrum itself is a fantastic place, and has a cool vibe. The main(ish) road to Comber was a bit nervy at first, she was counter-leaning (instinctively) with the bike then sharply correcting into an upright position, but we soon got over that and the bike handled well. I was surprised how similar the handling was to just me riding it. Although I had to be gentler leaning into the corners, use the back brake a bit more than normal and be more gradual with my throttle application, other than that all was the same. I think in part the nerves came from the more than usual heightened fear of a slide or coming off, as I was so concerned with making sure she was safe.

The church ruins at Nendrum

The crispness of the air as it rushed in the vents in my helmet made me feel invigorated, and with each passing corner, we were both gaining in confidence; although occasionally there was a slight clash of helmets as I braked hard. Just outside Comber, I turned off to head towards Mahee Island and Nendrum. The roads were slightly greasy and this was compounded by tractors having dredged sods of soil and stones onto certain parts of the roads. But again, even in these conditions, we were fine – although there were one or two ‘squirrel[y]’ moments. We passed into the headland that protrudes into Strangford Lough, the sunlight glinting off the water surface. The smell of vegetable crops in the warm air was a pleasant change in what was clearly the first day of Spring (or at least it felt like it). We passed walkers giving a friendly wave and I was glad of the internal sun visor. Once on Mahee Island, we passed Mahee Castle, and I explained that I had excavated there many years ago. Now looking a tad over-restored in my humble opinion, but nevertheless a picturesque location.

Once at Nendrum we climbed to the top and the inner enclosure, the earliest church dating to the 6th Century.We took in the view and opened the coffee flask. Taking in the panaroma, with the Lough stretching to the east and Portaferry and Strangford to the south. I think we were both sitting taking it all in - that quiet contemplation that these sorts of places seem to induce.

We were then off down the road to Killyleagy - the straights and undulations of the roads are something to behold, and on a bike, on a nice day I don't think there is anything nicer. On more than one occasion we were caught behind a Sunday driver, and a racing bike overtook us at full chat, the engine wailing as it did so. I know it made me jump as he seemed to come from out of nowhere. We parked up at the harbour in Killyleagh, sitting down to overlook what were now really quite choppy waters. The boats bobbed relentlessly struggling to keep to their moorings. You could taste the salt on the sea air, surely good for you?! We pootled out of Killyleagh, retracing our steps back home. I can't wait to do it again!

Causeway Coastal Run

Some might say that a coast run along the Causeway coast in January was madness....but why not? The plans had been set I was to meet with my old friend Kivi and Joe The Mod in Carrickfergus....a medieval town on the shores of Belfast Lough. The weather had been overcast, but was clearing as the morning progressed and with the winter riding gear on (and heated grips) how hard could it be?

Joe The Mod (who I am assured genuinely loves his Vespas etc) turned up on a lovely white BMW R1100RT, Kivi on his newly purchased BMW R100PD/GS and of course I was on my Triumph Tiger 885i. The Causeway Coast run genuinely offers the biker everything they could want, there are long straights, sweeping bends and corners, tight twists as well as by-the-sea roads, mountains, steep gradients and downward slopes. The variation in such a relatively short distance is immense, and I was told that the route was recently voted (somewhere) as the 7th best motorbike route in the world, which doesn't seem as far fetched as it sounds.

After leaving Carrickfergus and (I'm sorry) but the inaptly named village of Eden, we were on the coast road proper. You start to climb as you head towards Whitehead, and before you know it, the road is hewn out of the rock face and the sea is (far) beneath you to your right, the bend sweeps as you go through a rock cut tunnel and you can't help the temptation to gun it just to hear the overrun in the exhaust in the tunnel. Childish, but that's what it's all about! The roads were slick in places, but as ever, the bike gripped well, still managing to 'bite' into the tarmac as I twisted the throttle in places. The further up the coast road you head, in my opinion, the nicer it becomes. Towards Glenarm, the road is again cut, it seems, from the solid rock cliffs; the road sweeps left and right, but flows so that you are almost in a trance as you lean into the corners. There are indigenous woods immediately to the left, coming right down to the roadside, but the road resembles a black lace lain over a boulder field. I know that might sound bizarre, but it really does.

We were diverted off the road up a steep climb and through a wooded area....it seemed that it enveloped me, the moss covered trees and hint of mist made you feel like you had stepped back in time somehow, with the bike's headlights occasionally illuminating brilliant greens and browns. I could see the rainbow colours of some oil spots on the tarmac, and I felt a little slide on more than one occasion....but nothing that got me concerned or worried.

Once passed Cushendall, we ascended the mountain pass towards Ballypatrick Forest. I think in technical terms, this is probably the most challenging part of the run, the climb is very steep in places and the corners severs, but I suppose for that reason, it is the most fun. The Glens of Antrim rise majestically behind you, but your mind is concentrating on taking in the waterfalls, moss covered rocks and darting birds that are immediately all around. The road then opens, and you find yourself on an open moor and atop a mountain, the winds rushing all around you. But the road also straightens out and you are able to open the throttle. For a time, the corners are no-where near as severe, and therefore the speed you take them at increases.

There are literally tonnes of archaeological sites all around you if you wanted to stop and look. The colours of the moor seem to me to be every conceivable shade of brown. I think in these sorts of places the colours of Ireland and Scotland are very similar.
We were heading towards Ballycastle, where a coffee stop was the plan....but a toilet stop was also uppermost in my mind! It's funny how one little thing like that can quickly become an obsession on the bike when you know it's getting close.
The road at this stage was cut through a forest, pine I think, but the crests on the straights were agreeable for the suspension and the temptation to truly open the taps is something you have to resist! We passed Bonamargy Friary just outside Ballycastle - well worth a  visit if you are in the area. The picture was clearly on a much nicer day, but the now slightly overcast skies made for a more "moody" experience and vibe.

We arrived in Ballycastle and it was still quite light, but at this time of year, you are acutely aware that that won't last for long! But we had promised ourselves a coffee, and the thoughts of a large cup of steaming black were all I could think about. With Torr Head protruding into the sea behind us, we went for our refreshments in a cafe that is perched over the car park for the Rathlin Island ferry. The craic was, as they say, 'ninety'. It was also agreed that these runs were to become a regular feature.....I can't wait.

Something else I can't wait for is the Adventure Bike Rider Rally in May. I think South Down and the Mournes is the venue for that.