North West 200 Weekend

The day started off with a slight mist, but clear skies – a good sign for the weather ahead. Even in the early morning with the sleep still in my eyes, I could feel the heat on my face as I stood at the back door with a cup of strong cafetiere coffee. Although there were no races due to take place on the Friday, it is often a good day to head up to the North West 200 as the atmosphere can be quite party like. The weather helps though, all too often it has lashed down and as a predominantly fair weather rider that is enough to put me off. I had collected the bike earlier in the week after getting a set of Hepco and Becker engine bars fitted, which also now acts as a convenient Go Pro mounting point, combined with all the other extras I have had fitted this spring and the full service, the bike is in fine shape.

Kivi and I duly set off, alas Dee was unable to come with us and set about parking at the Ulster Museum for another coffee. The café here is delightful, set in the museum overlooking Botanic Gardens. As we left, there was a flurry of Blue Tit song and we realised that a pair have nested in the air vent at ground level in the building – right where we had parked the bikes – the parents waiting impatiently with mealworms to feed the chirping young.

Leaving the Urban Sprawl

Billy McCutcheon was the next port of call, casting his approving eye over Kiv’s BMW R1100GS as well as my Tiger; I like leaving the bike in with Billy for anything and everything, he is someone I trust implicitly as well as having a mechanical skill that is genius, he is fastidious – something I admire and want in anyone looking at my bike, especially the oily bits! I cannot recommend him highly enough. The craic was ninety as we sat in Billy’s with Kivi waxing lyrical about camper vans. But the time to hit the causeway coast was upon us.

We made the mistake of taking the A8 towards Larne – down to single lane traffic from roadworks and the building of the new Larne to Belfast dual carriageway. But once through this, we were on the A2 coast road. There were bikes everywhere, both overtaking us at eye watering speeds, and also coming back down from the NW200. There were a lot of race bikes (Hondas, Kawasakis, Yamahas and the occasional BMW S1000RR) as you’d expect but riding alongside and together with touring bikes (BMW R1200GS, 1100 and 1150GS as well as Triumph Tigers from all eras and Goldwings). The roar and sounds of some of them settled my mind on my next purchase, a Remus exhaust!

We passed majestically under the limestone Carnlough ‘arch’ one of two still standing constructed to allow the tramway network to carry quarried material to the harbour. I include it as a waypoint on the Wikiloc route: http://en.wikiloc.com/wikiloc/view.do?id=6878600. The road immediately after sweeps through boulder fields and sea-hugging sweeping bends to small village after small village, to Waterfoot, Glenariff then Cushendall. Just outside Glenarriff is Red Bay Castle (Caislen Camus Rhuaidh), standing on a high point overlooking the road, its crumbling remains like a tired old man attempting to keep watch over the road and the coastal waters. The stone remains are built atop a motte with two irregular baileys on a promontory, possible the site of a much earlier promontory fort.

The stone castle show two phases, and the existence of a solid stone structure on the site before the construction of the one in 1563 built by Sir James MacDonnel is uncertain. The castle was wrecked by Shane O’Neill in 1565, rebuilt by Sorley Boy in 1568 and dismantled to repair Dunluce in 1604 before finally being wrecked by Cromwellian troops in 1652 (SMR ANT 020:010). Although the date of the stone structure is relatively uncertain, the presence of the motte and bailey[s] put the site in the mid Medieval period (12^th century...with the possibility of an earlier prehistoric promontory fort). Certainly its position is one that would have almost demanded fortification from the earliest times onwards, its strategic position on the coast significant for the then dominant Medieval port of Carrickfergus. 

We spiralled up the Antrim Glens, the road doubling back on itself in a series of tight twists and turns, second and even first gear corners. But the sun was shining and as it pierced through the trees, the shafts of light danced over the road. It’s amazing how the landscape changes here from the lush green glens to the mountain at Ballypatrick. Here it is a cacophony of browns with the heathers wind beaten – today was no different, the breeze off the Irish Sea was strong, compounded by having to overtake a large coach. But here, the road is simply glorious, easily handled bends that can be taken at speed, with long straights that splits through forests. I love this section and clearly there were many other bikers that did too. 

Ballycastle and Sandy Shores

As you approach Ballycastle, the ground seems....sandier somehow, I know that sounds bizarre, but to me it does. As you approach the golf course, keep an eye out on the left for Bonamargy Friary;

It is a late Franciscan foundation established in 1485 by Rory MacQuillan. It is said that the first battle between the warring MacDonnell and MacQuillan clans was fought on nearby land. Traces of an altar can still be found in the adjoining church, and the locked vaults hold the remains of the celebrated chieftain, Sorley Boy MacDonnell, and several of the earls of Antrim. His grandson Randal MacDonnell, 1st Marquess of Antrim, noted for his role in the War of the Three Kingdoms, is also buried there. Perhaps the Friary’s most famous resident was the 17th century prophet and recluse Julie MacQuillen. Known as ‘The Black Nun’, MacQuillen wished to be buried at the entrance of the chapel so that she might be trodden under the feet of those who entered. A worn celtic cross (rounded with a hole in the centre) marks her grave at the west end of the main church.

In Ballycastle, the number of bikes parked on pavements and on every inch of available space was breathtaking it seemed almost as though the town was bursting with bikes! It was here that we stopped for lunch, eating in a cafe overlooking the harbour and ferry port to Rathlin Island. By this stage my right (throttle) hand had started to go a bit numb at the thumb, so I was glad of the break as well as something to rehydrate me. The road from here was busier with normal vehicular traffic, so there was frequent overtaking as well as queues of bikes as we all waited to pass a ‘Sunday driver’. On more than one occasion it was obvious they were slowing, pointing and taking in the views rather than actually concentrating on the road, something as a biker is disconcerting! The road here can be, in small parts, a bit monotonous, with your view obstructed by hedges – when the hedges break though, the coastal vistas are amazing. The road splits into a mini one-way system for 100 metres at Dunluce Castle, and when you come up over the rise of the drumlin, you are greeted with one of the most impressive castle sights in northern Europe as it perches atop the sheer cliff. The ‘Dun’ in the name Dunluce combined with the presence of a souterrain on the site suggests an (initial) Early Christian period occupation on the headland. The earliest parts of the castle are probably 14^th Century; when the castle was badly damaged in 1584 it was subsequently repaired and extended but was decaying by the late 17^th century with parts of it even falling into the sea.

Dunluce Castle (Dún Libhse)

The rectangular mainland court has 17^th century buildings and leads down to a gatehouse of Scottish style which was once reached by a drawbridge. Apart from the north-east and south-east towers and parts of the curtain wall, most buildings visible date to the 16^th and 17^th centuries with a rock cut souterrain sealed by a 14^th century tower (SMR ANT 002:003). Recent excavations have revealed an associated ‘town’ in the fields adjacent to the castle site. On the biking front, by now there was a flurry of activity on the roads, with streams of bike headlights coming and going in both directions. Once clear of the occasional car, the view over the coast line from the sheer cliff road was staggering; in this fine weather the waters were a turquoise shade of blue, the image good enough to grace any postcard. The views to the Skerries from above White Rocks beach were just phenomenal. As we descended into Portrush you realise just how much the North West 200 takes over the place, the sights and the smells – they are all there. We went up to the main coast road section between Portrush and Portstewart where the pits are located. We parked up and when you turn round different engine notes almost confuse your hearing, the whole site has a franticness to it such is the frenetic pace. We bought passes to the classic bike show, which displayed 1924 James’, 1929 Norton’s.....everything you could want. A truly unforgettable experience.   

My journey home was undertaken alone, with Kivi heading back up to Derry. I had, initially, decided to take the main motorway route home and simply blast back to Belfast, but I remembered a site plan I had looked at before the Friday run as a potential route. So I turned off the motorway and headed towards Broughshane and was pleasantly surprised. The village[s] were quiet, and I was virtually the only person on the road! The whole area has something of a rural and agricultural feel to it, through tree-lined roads with twists and sweeping bends led to more a open, rugged and exposed landscape, with jagged bedrock creeping through the tall grassy outcrops. To my right I saw the protruding Antrim mountain that I think is the location of the prehistoric Tievebulliagh axe-factory. As I descended back down to the main A2 coast road I was in my element, the road descended gently to the beach at Carnlough, and I retraced my steps along the coast road home, with the sun starting to set, the views were even more magnificent, and the cooling temperatures soothed me as I had been in my leathers all day. What a way to spend a Friday!         

Easter Causeway Coast

The day started of bright and with promising blue skies, always a good sign with the sun burning off the early morning mist. But as I prepared to set off, easing the bike off the centre stand, I wasn’t looking forward to the motorway part of the journey up to Derry. For me, that motorway is devoid of soul and simply a stretch of tarmac to be endured before reaching your destination. The trucks out of Belfast buffeted me with the massive wash from their aerodynamically inefficient design. I powered up the Glenshane Pass eager to get to Kivi’s house as soon as I could only stopping outside Dungiven for fuel but looking back at the majestic Sperrin Mountains I felt more calm than I had on the motorway. I arrived to find Kivi’s BMW R1100GS sitting outside his house, seemingly the ideal companion bike for my Triumph Tiger. Decisions though had to be made; should we head into Donegal or take the legendary North (Causeway) Coast bike run? We settled on the Causeway Coast run – this road is, anecdotally, one of the best biking roads in Europe and it certainly has a charm of its own. For me, there are two distinct parts or sections to the ride, the Glens of Antrim section which is more mountainous and green and the north causeway section which is, as the name suggests, more cliff hugging overlooking the sea.  

We set off from Derry and I was glad of the breeze the riding offered as the sun’s heat was amplified when you were still in the bike leathers. Heading out of Derry towards Coleraine you can’t wait to pass through the series of endless round-a-bouts, heading towards Greysteel. This is another town that, for me, is gloomy both architecturally but also spiritually. During the troubles there was, of course, the horrific events that took place in the town, perhaps this hangs over it, I am not sure. All I know is that I couldn’t wait to hit the Coleraine Mountain. The road is flanked in parts by the forest and the proximity of the trees enhances your sense of speed. The trees give way to brownish long grass and heathers, more open and wind-swept. The bends were taken with ease, sweeping effortlessly left then right, punctuated with long undulating straights where the throttles were definitely opened.

The Promenade
We arrived at Coleraine, the roads busy with bank holiday traffic and day-trippers, stopping at lights was almost unbearable in the heat so I was glad when we were on the Portstewart Road, taking in part of the North West 200 circuit. We stopped on the promenade, parking the bikes up beside a plethora of other machines particularly sport and racing bikes (Kawasaki Ninjas [ZX10R’s], Honda Fireblades etc), but there were also larger cruisers and a woman who turned up on a stealthy looking Harley Davidson, that distinctive ‘bwap bwap’ of the V-Twin. The town was bunged, people understandably taking advantage of the hot weather that seems to come all too infrequently here but this made walking down the pavement in the awkward and bulky biking gear something of a task. A coffee and food pit stop was required – I hadn’t eaten breakfast and desperately needed something to eat. Bike forums are awash with advice to ensure you stop for something to eat and drink, especially to help keep your concentration levels up. A stuffed croissant and caramel square certainly did the trick for me.

The journey from Portstewart towards Portrush was frustrating, bank holiday drivers were pootling along at 20mph. Past the golf course, I was aware that much of the traffic would be turning off the Causeway route towards the main roads back to Belfast direction. But there remained a slow Jaguar driven by an elderly gentleman who was clearly busy pointing out the views to his wife, the tight blind turns made overtaking him impossible for approximately 2 miles, so rather than getting over excited I decided to take in the spectacular views myself. That section of road is mid way up a cliff, so you have almost vertical views down to the beaches and sea, which in the sunlight was a turquoise shade of blue. The road sweeps from cliff edge to more inland and then back to the sea edge, with thrilling corners almost every other turn. Especially on these bank holiday weekends, you have to pick your way through the traffic, but this is no real chore given the power and torque of the bikes.

Kivi took the lead and took a left turn off that I had never been down before, the speed slowed and we passed a small picturesque white church and associated graveyard. It seemed to be perched in the landscape, alone but somehow proud and noble. The road was like spaghetti corner after corner almost doubling back as the road meandered its way down the dunes. We arrived at a cove, stunningly beautiful – this was Ballintoy Cove. We dismounted to see the same volcanic rock formations as the main Giant’s Causeway, with white chalk outcrops on the beach laden with flint. The whole place was simply stunning – the small harbour looked like a haven with a canoeist sitting on the mirror still water. This was the location (along with Ballintoy Harbour) for several sets on HBO’s Game of Thrones (you can see why they come here to film!). We sat and let the sun hit our faces, the world’s problems drifting away as the noise of the other people there faded into the gentle lapping of the waves on the rocky outcrops.

We duly set off again, hugging the coastline with Torr Head protruding into the Irish Sea in the distance; Scotland’s rugged landscape clearly visible and was almost touchable on this clear day. It looked like it was simply another location along the road we were on, rather than a boat ride away! I was at one with the bike, flowing around the corners the machine and I seemingly one entity. It is at moments like this that I understand why I love being on two wheels so much, the utter freedom – my soul soaring like the birds of prey above my head. Just outside Ballycastle, a large bird of prey flew directly perpendicular to my path, I could swear that time slowed slightly. I don’t know what it was, but it had an exceptionally large hooked yellow beak with a mainly brown body and white[ish] head. Some people think it was a large buzzard (which are plentiful around that area), others that it was a white-tailed sea eagle (given the sheer size of it). Whatever it was, I felt privileged to have seen it at such close quarters, although it was strange – I never felt panicked given how close we were to each other, I always knew the bird was in control had judged my speed so it was a joyful experience.  

We pulled into another bike filled section of pavement in Ballycastle, even more so than Portstewart there appeared to be standing room only. Three bikers pulled up and the craic was, as they say, ‘Ninety’. Everyone, though, was admiring a biker who pulled up on a new Yamaha Tenere 1200, myself included. The thing genuinely looked like it could go all around the world! It was here that Kivi and I parted company leaving me to continue on the Glens of Antrim route on my own. But I wasn't overly sad about it; the journey always gives me head space. Outside Ballycastle lies Bonamargy Friary, a beautiful little friary that you would almost miss if you weren't keeping an eye out. You ascend towards Ballypatrick Mountain – another open windswept landscape - the shades of brown you more often associate with Scotland and the Highlands rather than Ireland. The descent is into a wood shaded glen, a lush green with roads that sweep one way then another. I have no doubt I had a huge grin on my face and here, on this section, I was the only person on the road. Outside Glenariffe perched on top of a hillock beside the road is Red Castle – it’s position like some over-seeing guide before you sweep through the rock cut tunnel. The road here follows the coastline, indeed for most of it (save passing through the small villages) the sea is literally right beside you. It was at this point that the sun was beginning to set, adding a lovely reddish hue to the sky. I was, in that moment, truly happy.

I uploaded the route to Wikiloc: http://en.wikiloc.com/wikiloc/view.do?id=6617804

Causeway Coast (Videologue)

Co. Down and Strangford Coasts (Videologue)

From BMC to The Strangford

The day started off utterly miserable, overcast with periods of heavy rain; not exactly ideal for an enjoyable biking run. But the forecast said it would improve over the course of the day, although in Ireland, the weather is a fickle thing! Around midday, I duly made my way up to the bikes' garage location to collect her, the plan was to head to BMC Bikes to meet Billy and Dee. Driving through the urban sprawl was trying at best and downright infuriating at worst! I arrived first, with Billy there to greet me, his inquisitive eyes pouring over his recent and exceptional handywork, quickly grabbing coolant to top up the header tank. We chatted for a while before the unmistakable sound of Dee's air-cooled R100 engine parked up. The craic was, as they say, 'ninety' with a plethora of bike chat, potential modifications and trip routes into the Kingdom of Mourne. 

As soon as we pulled out, Dee asked me to show him some of the south Down roads, wherever I wanted to go, we'd go. A route immediately formed in my head. We took the main road towards Downpatrick, cutting off at Saintfield towards Killyleagh / Killinchy. The back roads were, in the main, agreeably empty although the occasional lorry foiled the best laid plans. On the stretches that were empty, the sheer torque from the Tiger gave an adrenaline rush, I had forgotten the joys of twisting the throttle, flicking her into sixth gear and watching the speedo climb and the hedgerows blur past your peripheral vision in a continuous line of brown[y] green. Your gaze is transfixed on the road ahead, and nothing else enters your head space, just you and the road. There were, though, several spots where tractors had pulled mud and stones onto the road and more than once, the back end slid out alarmingly, but I managed to regain control and plough on (no pun intended!).

We went off-road at St. Mary's [Styles] near Killyleagh....there are the ruins of an old church which during my research for my book, Valhalla and the Fjord, I discovered probably relates to the early medieval motte built on the site of the current somewhat Disney-fied castle. The bike snaked as the tyres struggled for purchase in the mud. But once there, we started to discuss the Templars and other such things, conversations you just don't seem to have at any other time.....alas. Suddenly, a friendly Jack Russel came up to us, with his owner, a small woman, peering curiously at the site gates; who were these two guys standing chatting against Medieval wall remains? She entered and immediately we said hello, that was that last word we were able to get in edgeways. She did, however, make some good points....there were broken bottles strewn about the place alongside the remnants of fires and attempted fires, something I only noticed once I had bothered to look at the ground around me. She informed us that particularly during the summer the place was a magnet for anti-social behaviour, hidden as it is from the roadside by thick trees. The conversation then turned to how when she was a girl, she got a clip round the ear for much less! As did we all, but something she felt was lacking in today's youth. As we left, I could feel a lack of grip from the rear end, Dee pulling up alongside me to let me know my rear tyre was caked in mud, before he was covered in it as it flicked off the tyre!

B Roads & Castle Ward

We took the back roads towards Quoile Castle and the Audleystown Road....I know this area quite well, there is lots to see and the B Roads are simply glorious. The bike seemed to lean into the corners well, and I know that I could have taken more speed both into and out of the corners, but I am a little rusty! We stopped at Castle Ward for a breather....the views (even though at this stage is was quite dull) were spectacular. We were the only ones there, which for me sums up a flaw in modern society....why don't more people explore these places??

As we took in the view at Strangford, Dee made an interesting observation; the quiet. Sure enough, there was not a sound other than the bird song, which was plentiful. It was quite something and once you stopped and listened, I found that it instantly relaxed me even more. No sounds of traffic, car horns, bustle. I think it was good for my soul. I have cut through the grounds of Castle Ward before, I think it is something you're not supposed to do, but we weren't stopping in the grounds, and certainly weren't taking advantage. So we did....the grounds are spectacular with mature trees as far as the eye can see. You pass the main estate house, its front face in neo-classical splendor. We 'pootled' rather than gunning it to take in our surroundings.

The Cuan
We were soon on the road to Strangford town itself, passing over a causeway over the Lough before the sweeping bends allow you to flow and be at one with the road. Strangford town is quaint and picturesque, although it's safe to say has fallen on tough times with the wider economic downturn. Restaurants such as the Lobster Pot are now closed, their signs disheveled with individual letters hanging down acting as a metaphor for what has happened. The Cuan is the only place I am aware of still open in the town's square where you can go for a drink and bite to eat. Having not stopped since meeting in BMC Bikes, this seemed like the thing to do.

The Cuan has an open log fire burning in a traditional styled saloon/lounge, you step back in time but it provides a nice contrast with either the ultra minimalist or 'contemporary' styled restaurant interiors just about everywhere else. As soon as we entered, an elderly man came up and started chatting. It seems to me that when you are on a bike, people stop and talk to you....something I discussed with Dee as we waited on our grub. The old man ruminated about the state of the world today and our little province, highlighting the almost laughable debacle of 'flags' whilst the health service descends into decay and the potholes in the roads seem to get ever wider and never fixed. He pointed at pictures hanging on the walls and told how the town was once thriving, the sepia pictures were taken of a thriving fishing industry, when I looked out at the harbour there were only small pleasure boats bobbing up and down, a fall from grace indeed. It seems to me that the whole place will have to adjust and concentrate on capturing tourist and day-tripper money, it certainly has the scenery and the history, with a towerhouse castle (probably 15th Century) standing in the heart of the square. As soon as he had come in, he left, going through to the main bar, leaving Dee and I to comment on what he had said. A nice guy was the general consensus. We didn't so much eat our food as hoovered it, the appetites were in full swing from the bike ride. The sun had started to blaze, streaming through the windows and causing severe overheating in my bike gear. But as we had a smoke outside, it felt good on my face. The journey was to resume but this time, alas, back up the road and homeward bound. Although the sun had come out, it was turning a deeper shade of red as it began to sink on the horizon with a slight temperature drop to match.

I flicked down the helmet's internal sun visor and enjoyed the road home, these roads are great and (if) summer comes, they get even better. I think our timing was spot on, as soon as I parked the bike in the garage, it got noticeably colder and that evening damp that comes with a Spring evening. The day was simply awesome, but it was something of a whistle stop tour, if a weekend can be set aside, there is much more to see and do, and also to take the road further south via Ardglass, Kilclief to Newcastle and the Mournes. They await another day!

Strange Reflections and Emphatic Moments

There are days that are reflective, I find that I am susceptible to them…some small thing can set it off. Take today for instance, a guy called into the office for a meeting about the accounts tender; he was slightly diminutive, flushed rosy cheeks but smiling and exceptionally polite. His suit was a tad ill-fitting and a bit too big for him, the older briefcase he carried seemed to add some small level of charming dishevelment. I found some form of empathy for him almost overwhelming….as I stood in the kitchen I told myself it was ridiculous, I have never met this man, nor do I even know anything about him. I am at a loss to explain it….maybe he reminded me somehow of my father. I found myself just hoping he was happy, hoping that his life was okay. A similar incident occurred in Sainsbury’s one night when I had to help an elderly gent in the store pick up his basket, his small collection of purchases, clearly for one, made me emotional as I queued behind him at the checkout. That particular incident as I thought later, probably did relate to my father….frailty is coming and I am powerless to stop it, I have no control and there is something of a role reversal, with my desire to somehow nurse him through it. I think my fear of loss increases with his age. Such thoughts inevitably lead to memories of my mother, and her illness and passing and other recent losses. The emotive response[s] tangibly weigh me down, like a black storm-laden sky overhead. I deal with this on my own with such moments I suspect, but maybe therein lies the problem…..maybe I haven’t dealt with them at all. 

Parts / Service / But a Triumph?

The past few days have been something of a trying time….I had ordered a raft of parts for the Triumph, but only one has fit correctly. The centre stand seems to be the main problem, with a plethora of advice from suppliers, manufacturers; none of which has helped and none of which, it seems, has been entirely accurate. I have had to send back several parts, and am currently awaiting a refund for them. Thank God for Billy in BMC for his expertise and, more importantly, patience with the whole process! The radiator grilles didn't quite fit either and he has had to custom make a bracket to ensure they do – the lower (oil) grille is still uncertain! The parts aren't cheap and for this reason I get frustrated with the process.

I now have a decision to make, do I persevere and order a part from the U.S (still uncertain whether it will fit), or do I leave it and order engine bars (that I am fairly certain will fit‽). Decisions decisions! With the apparent springing of Spring, it seems the sort of weather to be out on a bike. Hopefully soon the new Go Pro will be pressed into action, although even here, the handlebar mount is obstructed by the brake master cylinder, and I cannot find a suitable place to mount the camera! Ahhhhhhhh!! The fine weather has enabled a friend, Dee, to get out and about on his BMW, something he has openly stated he is relishing (the accompanying pictures he sent with his Cheshire-cat grin was proof enough!). I am hankering for a run….when leaving the bike in for her service the other day I had almost underestimated how good it would feel to be back on two wheels!

We are hoping for a run around the west coast of Ireland sometime in May – before another friend returns to filming duties. Before that though, I will (hopefully) revisit the Strangford Lough route[s] before then; although my success in getting Valhalla and the Fjord published has stalled with flattering comments and feedback, but no-one willing to actually publish the book. It might be that I have to examine self-publishing (making it available on Amazon etc), but this is an expensive process. In the interim, wish me luck with the parts debacle.