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Day 16: The Harley Has Landed

The AM call:
I rose at 6am; it was a night of sporadic sleep. It’s amazing, but when there is something desperately important to achieve (like catching the ferry or having to pay for another ticket), your body jumps. I really need to reset my internal clock. Still, I rose. I had to check in at 6.30am and that meant no breakfast. The first morning that I would miss a good solid meal. It’s strange, but in all the years I have not eaten breakfast, I have probably eaten far more throughout the day than I would have done had I just took the time to sort out a good breakfast to start the day.
Looking around the cabin onboard the fast-cat, adults looked stressed, children are running a muck and the occasional idiot (like me) are sat watching those others around them. The crossing is set to be dreadful, at least that’s what the forecast says and I have to say that the captain didn’t sound to convincing as he gave us the information in his welcome aboard spiel. Just looking out of the window you can see the horizon rise and fall as the rain lashes against the glass… and we haven’t even left port yet. Should make it kind of exciting.
The other side of the crossing will bring me into Fishguard. I’ve never been and have no idea what is there, but I do know that I have a hundred stories from history about the Welsh coast and the Welsh people.

Travelling on:
The crossing was as I had imagined it would be... nobody really looked to be enjoying themselves and a good number of them sat patiently by the toilet door – just in case. Children screamed... a very young boisterous boy gave his parents hell and when that wasn’t working he cried at them, hit his mother and then cried some more. Jees... I know the crossing was bad, but that little brat needed a slap on the arse (my apologies to anyone who doesn’t agree with smacking children, but sometimes...). And, there was the first sight of land. The Welsh coast-line just ahead and in all the wonder I thought it would have, I didn't feel a bloody thing, other than sorry I'd left Ireland and the last couple of days of sun, for the wonders of more rain. Ah, the traditional British summer.
I have to remark upon it once before, but in Ireland nobody acknowledges you, I know I keep on, but it’s just weird... and yet, here, on the main-land (with the exception of the twit on the ferry), the first thing I noted as I left the ferry was an acknowledgement. (O.k. some more about the twit.) As we disembarked, one guy rushed to reach solid ground (at least that’s what I hoped was the reason), and as he did so he threw the straps from his bike in quick speed – almost hitting my bike. You’re not supposed to release your own bike because of health and safety and all that, but some people just can’t wait. A couple of crew members pointed to him and shouted and yet still he kept going... I waved at him to stop and he just looked at me angrily. I stood there, it would have been entertaining to let him go, but it would have caused a great deal of damage to a beautiful bike. Twit (I know no other name for him – there are a couple of others that I could give him, but Twit will do) was riding a Honda Varadero 1000. They are big bikes, not the heaviest, but very, very tall. He sat there looking at me and another of the crewmen shouted something at him – something not very nice. I’m sure he couldn’t hear because he had his lid on and engine revving. I get the feeling that he thought they were just delaying him. I walked over and with my hand in front of him to make sure he realised I wanted him to stay where he was, I bent down and released the final cleat. In his hast he’d released everything and just left it lying there so as he rode away the underside was still secure, had the loose end snagged on anything, he would have gone one way and the bike the other... Twit.
I disembarked into a horrible rain storm, freezing, howling wind and queue of traffic, and then I spotted a small cafe next door to the Tesco Express what a wonderful sight. The traffic was going nowhere fast as the weather closed in for the day, so I did the only sensible thing I could do. I stopped for breakfast...

The ride from Fishguard was dreadful, and the photos really dont do it justice. The first is the roadside view going up the hills in the valley... all you get is white-out from the mist, and rain and the traffic is split in two, those doing 20-30mph - as they know it's dangerous to do anything more; and those doing 50-60mph, because the roadsigns say national speed limit. The second photo is the view looking down into the valley I have just ridden up. Beautiful isn’t it. I wanted to spend some time in Wales just looking, if nothing else then looking at the scenery, but it just wasn’t there for me. Disappointing really as it can be just a lovely country. I rode down into the Cardiff area and off at Maestag... Again a wonderfully green place, if it’s not cold, windy and wet; which it was :0)
It isn’t often that I get to see my dad and so I make a point of doing so whenever I can. We sat, we talked, we drank tea, talked some more and waited for Di and Kimberley (dad’s granddaughter) to get home. Kimberley is 12yrs old and, like Corrie, thinks she’s 18yrs already. But it was wonderful to spend time with the pair of them... Dad sat in silence as Kimberley waffled on and on... like girls do. It took some getting used to, but as dad said, everywhere he goes, she goes, whether he’s walking the dogs, going shopping or just running an errand, and her mouth never stops. :0)

She was most impressed with the photo’s Aly took of bands like Pussycat Dolls and N-Dubs, and once she had access to them, she was silent and everyone else was knackered. We did sleep well.

Day 15:‘...Shane. Are you there?’

Today has been an extraordinary day in many ways. I have ridden the last of my Irish tour in brilliant sunshine; I have met some lovely people and finally looked across the Irish Sea toward home. A long day, but such a great day.
Ireland has a wonderful road system (once you’re out of the city, but I’ll come to that). If you want to get somewhere, you look for the biggest town/city in the vicinity and that's where you head for. Once you get there, branch roads then take you to the locality you want. Don’t believe me, try it. I rode away from Meadowview this morning and made straight for the main link road (M50), which is the ring-road around Dublin, and 2 junctions later I as on the N7 (A-road) heading for Waterford. Now I thought that somewhere 100mls (+) away, would be slightly more than a little confusing to reach, but you hit the N7 and there it is directions all the way through... Brilliant. Literally, I drop on to the N7 and the first road-sign said Waterford.
Waterford Harley Davidson, is almost as close to a family business as you will get in Britain, or possibly Europe, in that if you are not family, you are part of the wider family. Everyone knows you and if they don’t, then they want to. I arrived had coffee (which cheered me no end), and met Lenny. Lenny is a large gentleman, in life and personality and smiles the whole time. He is endearing and just puts you at ease as soon as you meet him. He asked about the trip and the charity. He looked at my pins, he looked at the dealership card, stamped it, reached into his pocket and gave me €20, ‘Put that in your kitty.’ He said. I thanked him and with the dealership pin, he reached into the drawer and offered me the Celtic Chapter pin. Now it doesn’t sound much, but no other dealer/chapter has done that... it was a small unspoken symbol of respect, to which he added, ‘it’s a good thing you’re doing. I only wish I had the time to make that kind of road-trip.’ We sat with our bikes; we drank coffee and chatted for a while, other staff and friends joining in as the time past. I have been a little apprehensive about the bike as I’ve met a few people on my travels, but Lenny had nothing but compliments for the bike. It made me feel good and secretly a little proud of the choice I made. It may mean nothing to anyone else, but to have someone like Lenny give his approval means a great deal to me (and it may mean nothing – ask me about it), but around his neck hung a 1% emblem.
I have loved visiting every dealership (some more than others), but Lenny’s is one that I will enjoy returning to with some anticipation. The guys were busily readying themselves for a bash tomorrow evening and then off to the Celtic Thunder rally next week. All were a little disappointed that I couldn’t join them for either or both. Guinness, bikes and lots of loud music, a great combination, but I think it best I politely declined... could you imagine the mess :0)
I gave them my thanks and said my good-byes. I will return.

I have noticed a lot of things in Ireland that I have not seen anywhere else. But a couple of things need repeating. First, it is customary to nod, or wave at other motor-cyclists as you travel as a sign of acknowledgement. We are a strange breed after all. Yet here in Ireland (both north and south) that isn’t the case. Rarely did anyone return the acknowledgement as I rode. The obvious exceptions were other Harley riders and foreigners, who (like me) know no better. However, that leads me quite nicely to the second point, which is, that the one acknowledgement I did get, was the one least expected. As I rode toward Rosslare along the N25, I passed a long caravan of campers, cars and tourers (yes, they were). Not strange you say, but what I was surprised at was the acknowledgement. The older men in the group stood (with fag in mouth) and gave me the thumbs up, the younger men clapped and the women and young children just stood and watched... I don’t know why, maybe it was because I was a solo rider with luggage surrounding my bike (the epitome of the easy rider) but I obviously touched a chord, as it did with me. I nodded and gave a small salute.
My final memory, which will stay ‘til the day I die came as I sat in the lounge area drinking my last Guinness. I was able to realise every stereo-type I’d even noted, as a young Irish fellow stands shouting into his mobile phone.
‘Hello... hello, Shane. Are you there?’ Obviously I thought. You phoned and he answered. ‘Yes, yes, it’s me. Look I’ve been talking to (friends name – didn’t catch it). Yes, yes. He says he can’t email you back because you didn’t put the email address on the one you sent him.’ At that my ears pricked... ‘No, no, no... he says if you can email him again with your email address then he’ll be able to send you his. O.K? Yes, yes he will...’ I almost choked on my ‘Genius’. I said nothing, just smiled and drank. Fabulous stuff this Guinness.
I go back to the mainland tomorrow with such great memories, from such a short visit. I have really enjoyed my ride through Ireland and look forward spending a little more time here in the years to come.

Day 14: Eire

I didn't sleep very well last night, much to my surprise, but then I think it a combination of factors, not least the fact that I am constantly on the go. But the bed was dead comfy and the room spacious, the shower hot and soothing and the views across the tops of the houses and into the valley were spectacular. My only regret is the lack of time that I have to spend in this lovely area.

I had breakfast with an Italian couple, riding a BMW from home (in northern Italy) around Britain! Now that’s a journey. Yet they are doing the whole thing in something like 4 weeks and have really had less time to see things than I have. They have made one stop a day and sometimes the choices weren’t the best (their words not mine). But then what do you do? You are in a completely alien place and really have little idea what places are like apart from the propaganda, sorry leaflets you find. Still i gave them half an hour longer than I wanted to spend at the B&B, not because I felt that I had to, but because I wanted to. It was interesting to talk to people from a totally different perspective, doing – essentially – the same thing as me.
Harley Davidson, Antrim, is a fine place. The staff are friendly, open and cheerful. They know how to make you welcome and they ply you with coffee, and more importantly, they have wifi which they were very happy for me to make use of. So I did (not knowing whether I would have net access at the B&B). They signed off on the card for me, gave me a pin and directions to an O2 store, so I could replace the charger lead, which I left in Fort William... I know, real dumb, but a story for another time. Honest. I took my time in Antrim. It is a lovely little town, and it gave me time to dodge the rain as I got petrol and sent birthday cards. Happy Birthday mum! Happy Birthday Dit! Yet even in the 40mins or so I was there, it still managed to rain, and hard. It only rained once today. All the way from Antrim to Belfast and I didn’t care. I’d done one more dealership and seen a little more of this green and pleasant land, and as I left Belfast on the A1, the sun came out. I had the warmth of a mid-afternoon sun, from Belfast to Dublin and then away into the evening. It was nothing like the past 3 or 4 days. In fact, the opposite. It’s the weather that really does make all the difference. The road is long and open; you get a wonderful sense of seclusion – privacy, if you will – which just leaves you with your thoughts and dreams. But that is it... thoughts and dreams. I had wondered what it would be like to cross the border from north to south and I wasn’t disappointed. The Irish really do things a little more eccentrically than anyone else and that gave me a pause to smile.

O.k. I was a little disappointed. You round a bend in the road and it gives you a road sign telling you A1: The South. That’s it. If you turn the roundabout and head off on the A1, you are entering Eire.
I rode and rode, I wanted to make good time and I was. Not because I wanted to be able to do anything in particular, but for the main so that I could rest, relax and recover. Yet, 30 miles (or so) out of Dublin, I made the decision to keep going. If I could, if I made it to the Dublin dealership today, then I had just Waterford City to do tomorrow and that would be far less hassle. I wanted to be able to ride the last part of my Irish trip in comfort and not have to race anywhere. I will admit, I got lost. In my defence, when I put the dealership into the ‘maps app’, it gave me directions straight there. However, it’s now one way and you can’t get up the street. So you go around, but as you enter it from the other direction the road s blocked and you are diverted back where you started. I am not known for my patience, or ability to see the funny side of stupidity, but when I stopped and asked a Guarda how to get there he said... ‘you need to go back to the main-road and then turn left. Go 7 streets down on the right and then turn there to come back up... oh and see if it’s one way then make it 8.’ Wonderful! Oh and that wasn’t the end. I showed him the ‘maps app’ and he said, ‘Eh, that’s just there.’ ‘I know...’ I said, ‘but how do I get there, because that is also blocked.’ ‘See you do go down 8 on the right and then you take the 2nd left, if you then turn right and right again, then you can follow that one all the way back up and that will bring you to there.’ He pointed. Only in Ireland could something so simple be so complicated. So I did exactly as he said and what do you know. It’s no longer the ‘official’ dealership. No. Now they have gone independent and the ‘official’ dealership is about 17miles outside of Dublin on an industrial park. I could have screamed, shouted and even cried, but instead all I did was smile. I thanked the guys there and said goodbye.

The dealership in Dublin is massive! That is the only way to describe it. There are bikes everywhere. It is so big that they have a used motorcycle section downstairs as well as at ground level and some of the paint jobs are spectacular. I was in my element. I met with the guys there. They had no idea who I was, or what I was doing, but they really didn’t care. They were impressed. As I left Belfast and joined the A1 my clock finally ticked over the 2,000 miles for the journey. I have achieved something in these last few weeks that some people never manage in a lifetime and I have enjoyed it. Shit... I’m even still smiling. As I have found time and again, the staff at the dealership was fantastic. They knew how long a day it had to have been, and once they knew where I was going for the B&B they offered to lead me there as one of them had to pick his wife up from Malahide anyway (O3 miles from where I was staying). So I rode, and he guided. It was simple to follow someone else, but I’m damn sure I’d have been lost had I tried it on my own. Still it brought to an end a perfect day. I showered, I changed and then I rode the coast road. I needed something to eat and this seemed the place. And there it was The Oasis bar and restaurant. So dinner for me tonight was spent looking out across a beautiful blue bay as the sun made its way across the horizon.

Day 13: Genius!

It’s 2.45pm Thursday afternoon and I have finally made it to Cairnryan. The ride just seemed to go on forever, and lucky the roads were quite good. Yet the rain lashed down. I am amazed that it has rained so much… and it only seems to do so when I ride. I wanted to take some photographs (not only for the blog, but for memory as well), but in so much rain, the first was just a misty haze so I thought better of it and rode on. I set off on a 4 and a half hour ride, through some wonderful countryside and over the mountains around the west coast. I rode up and across Ben Nevis (o.k. not all the way, but all that remained above were clouds) and the surrounding mountains, around Loch Lomond and through the villages along the west coast, and still it rained.

Sitting on the ferry I find it quite strange that I am – relatively – dry (except my feet) and early. The map said 4 and a half. It took me 6hours. I have now completed my trip around Scotland. As near as damn it, I went up the east coast, across the north and down the west coast. I love the country, there is something about it that just warms the heart, but the friends I have seen and those that I have made on the way have made it that little bit more special.

I arrived at the port a little early. O.k. very. I was told that I needed to be there between 3-3.30pm, so that’s what I did. However, it turned out I got there at about 2.30pm and they asked me if I wanted to queue jump. Yes please, said I. The next thing… well you get the picture as you’re now up to date. The major difference being that this is the fast-cat. The one that was fully booked and I couldn't get on. It takes just 1hr rather than the 2hrs of the usual crossing. Bonus.
As I look into the distance, I can just about making out the misty, murky shape of Ireland. Time to think, time to prepare and time to get back on solid land.
I rode off the other side excited, nervous with anticipation and brimming with curiosity. What did Ireland have to offer? I found the B&B with little trouble at all. Straight up the A2. So, on I rode. I wanted to do the Giants causeway if I could and really wanted to experience some of the island. Yet, tiredness and hunger has really put paid to the day today. Having ridden some 6hrs already I found that I was beginning to get rather upset with ability of other road users, it might have been the people overtaking me on the bends, on the coast road; it might have been the discourteous way in which people pull out on you on the roundabouts (they just don't look) as you ride in unfamiliar territory, or it might have been the tractor driver that decided he had plenty of time to pull across the road in front of me with his tracker pulling a horrible long trailer, and then just looking at me as if I was mad.

I pulled on the brakes and started to slide, there was nothing that I could do. All that I remembered was that as the back-end steps out and begins to come round, you steer into it, thus counter-acting the movement of the bike. It worked – in sorts. The back-end stepped out and with me almost stood straight and the wheels beginning to slide on the wet road, the bike bounced, not much... but enough. I’ve said it before, it’s not the bikes, it’s the bloody idiots that think they own the road. It was disheartening, but after 5 or 6 seconds and the reactionary nods from drivers coming the other way – I think amazed to see me (and the bike) still standing, I decided that I’d had enough excitement for one day, turned and headed back to the B&B.
I showered and headed down to the waterfront. I wasn’t entirely sure what was around. I had been told that there was a pub, but me, being me, was far more interested in the idea of a castle! BallyGalley has its own castle and it’s right down on the sea-front, looking across to the border-lands in Scotland.
It’s not much of a castle, but it serves Guinness and it also serves food. I drank the first in the bar, then went round for dinner. I walked into the restaurant area and smiled nervously at the matra de (or whatever it is) – the manager to you and I. I only knew they were the same person because of a rather well to do (stuck up) family complained that the lamb was burned. I laughed to myself when the manager came over to apologise and then said that in fact it wasn’t burnt but in fact when cooked in this particular way they use a sauce which caramelises. Why did I laugh, it was a bit of everything. The stuck up family feeling dumb; the manager suggesting that it was caramelised and the fact that ‘caramelised’ is exactly the term used by Mikey when something is burned. Caramelised is chef speak for burnt! Brilliant!
Dinner was a fantastic experience. Everyone else sat in the restaurant were wearing suits. The staff wore shirt and dicky bow and could obviously juggle as a part time entertainment (all the stuff they carried and so elegantly). But my interest peaked when I realised I was the object of interest for so many people. It was as though they expected me to rob them. Gentlemen sat in suits, ladies in dinner dresses and me in jeans and a jumper, sporting a wind-swept beard. You can imagine how I took to it and played along as best I could. Dinner was served with proper – real silver (hallmarked) – cutlery. The manager stayed very close by. Opposite me was a young couple, possibly late 20s and it seemed obviously that nervous as he was this was the night. The intension was there to propose. He kept fiddling and fidgeting, checking that his hands weren’t too sweaty and checking his pockets every few minutes. Now if I hadn’t been there and his young lady not quite so nervy would he have had the problems he had...? Who knows. What a laugh. The poor girl sat in her dress, pearl necklace on, jewels dangling from her arms and she couldn’t stop looking. The manager edged a little closer. ‘Everything to your satisfaction? Your meal is good?’ ‘Excellent’ I replied. From nowhere a young waitress appeared to remove the plate. She smiled. I think she may have been on my side, as to the horror of the manager, she did her job... ‘Would you like dessert sir, coffee?’ I smiled back... ‘I think I will, what’s on tonight?’ She went and retrieved the menu, the smile still stretched across her slim Irish face. ‘Oh, could I have another Guinness whilst I wait.’
The manager turned green. I had reserved my table from the bar. Nobody saw me or how I was dressed and I was sat before the manager had a chance to do or say anything. I just drank my Guinness and had a good look around the place. As people paced out of the door and left me to eat the dessert I was reminded of the Trading Places film... I really didn’t fit in and $1 dollar wouldn’t have changed me. I finished and gave in. There s only so much you can eat, before you realise that the fun really is starting to drop off. So, with the best of intentions I asked for the bill. As expected it took no time at all. I paid and made my way out. A wonderful night, a great start to the next part of the adventure. Cheers! Here's to all of you.

Day 12: You need to leave to be able to return

Today has been an emotional day in many ways. I was first up this morning, I think the need to get under-way once more was knorring at me a little. It has been an amazing stay. Somewhere I have not thought of before, but somewhere that I would dearly love to return to in the not to distant future. I packed up my bags, sorted the kit, showered, shaved and got myself ready beofre anyone else had risen. I was nervous with adrenaline... it really was time to get going. Please don't get me wrong, the hospitality, friendship and kindness that I have been shown whilst on the island has been out of this world. Everyone smiles. You forget yourself, there is no sense of time or being and you just have to go with it. Wonderful.

I had a chance to say goodbye to Quentin before I left, and Nick, Bumble and John all came to see me off. It was like a second family and we all felt a little pull as I rode away from the house. The engine roared in to life, the wheels started turning and I smiled. I couldn't help myself... Ireland, Wales, Cornwall, Somerset and Home. Just 9 days remain. I said my goodbyes at the quayside, and for one final time Nick's family asked me to stay for one more night (with a smile). I turned to the ferry and I was away...

Ullapool is one of those places, its a stop gap. You know it should be more and perhaps with a little more time on my hands I'd find it a wonderful place to visit, but not today. I fuelled the bike and rode away... Fort William was approximately 4 hrs ride and the rain had started once again.

This is a journey I really enjoy. As you make your way through the winding hills, you reach inevitable goals and one of those is Ness. I joined the A82 at Drumnadrochit (to you and I, that is where the Loch Ness visitors centre is) and I smiled. Familiar territory. I followed the same road for 2 or 3 miles and as you see the first signs for Fort William you round a bend. I was feeling a little hungry and I knew what was coming, so I looked for the layby on the right...

The layby has gone now, replaced by a car park, but in the same place as it was 10 or 11 yrs ago is the same chip-shop Aly and I ate at when we were on our 5day holiday (when we renewed our vows), and the chips are still bloody good.

I rode on through the rain and wind, a little happier a little brighter and knowing that a bed was just 60miles further on.

Day 11: Quentin's Birthday

Today was a lazy day. There were plans to do so much, but today was the last chance for me to relax and unwind, before starting again tomorrow. I had washing to finish, kit to prepare and pack, and plans to make for the next stage (Ullapool – Fort William). I had considered going from Harris to Skye and then riding the island bridge back onto the mainland and then down to Fort William, but when I tried to book the ferry the only one available was at 4:30pm so I wouldn’t actually set off (the other side) until 6pm. The only way to do it is from Ullapool.
I sorted the washing and had a lazy morning. Nick and I had talked about doing some surfing whilst I was up here and we hadn’t managed to fit it in, so as I had breakfast, Nick went to see a friend and picked up the board and checked the forecast.
I have never surfed before and what a laugh. I can confirm that I cannot surf, but I really enjoyed trying. We were in a quiet bay on the north east side of the island and it was quite sheltered. The waves were 6-8ft and I was nervous. We donned our wet-suits and made for the sea – Nick at a rate of knots, running down the beach...
I tried. I really did. I managed to master the idea of body boarding and after 2 hours even managed to get onto my knees on a good number of occasions, but only twice did I make it all the way up and that left Nick in fits of laughter as I tumbled down the other side of the board. That said, Nick was very complimentary about my surfing (everyone else on the beach just seemed to think we were completely mad). I struggled on... It was a wonderful afternoon, relaxed and full of laughter; it was as the day should have been. The sun beating down, a gentle breeze across the cliff-tops and plenty of waves to keep us busy.
In the evening we had been invited to the local Thai restaurant to celebrate Quentin’s birthday. Quentin is Nick's family's next door neighbour on the island and a truly wonderful man). I had never met any of these people before, and yet all have made me so welcome. The meal was wonderful and full of laughter, the perfect way to end the stay in Stornoway. I was asked about the trip, the charity I was riding for and the route I was following. We talked of our families, holiday destinations and work, with Nick being the newest member to join academia and Donny (Quentin and Margaret’s friend) about to retire. Then with a whiskey nightcap to finish my stay in the Western Isles, we were done.
From this point on everything leads home. Tomorrow brings a ferry crossing in rough waters, and a long ride south along the Lochs. But ultimately I’m now heading home.