Cycling the Emerald Isle

By Barry Henderson

Last year at Christmas my wife Virginia and I started to plan our summer vacation. We decided upon Ireland where Virginia mentioned that she had always wanted to cycle. Our initial plan involved Virginia cycling for two weeks with my parents and then I would join them for a further two weeks.

As a result of an industrial accident in 1991, I lost my right leg just below the knee and my left also suffered injuries leaving it at about 70 per cent strength. Since my accident I have been relatively active enjoying swimming, hiking and ocean kayaking. I had tried cycling but my right knee does not have full range of motion. As winter progressed, I tried downhill skiing for the first time since my accident and I started to
realize that the limitations I had established for myself were more psychological than physical. The sense of freedom I felt on the ski hill made me rethink what I had believed for over seven years. Perhaps I could cycle after all.

Winter turned into spring and I went into Wenting Cycle Shop in Mission, BC. Bruce Wenting assured me that he would be able to adapt a bicycle to meet my specific needs. To overcome the limited range of motion of my right knee, he simply raised the seat of my bicycle and put a short crankshaft on the right pedal. The first time I rode my bike, I could not believe that I had waited almost eight years to return to my childhood vehicle. My bicycle let me return to the world of speed, power and exhilaration, which re-introduced me to the world of fatigue,
pain and exhilaration. But being tired is a good thing, as I remember the first time I went ten kilometres and made my way up the steep hill that ends our circuit. My heart pounded in a way as if to say "this is good."

As April rolled around, Virginia and I set about to get ourselves in shape for our trip scheduled for July. I started very slowly, as both of my legs needed to be strengthened. By June I had worked up to 30 km from my initial rides of three to four km. I felt fairly strong, but more importantly, my stump was able to handle the stress of cycling without breaking down. Though Virginia and I had improved our conditioning, we were unsure if we were ready for the cycling we had planned. With working full-time we had been unable to stick to a strict training regime
of four to five cycles per week; we were managing to get out only once or twice a week. One evening, as part of my master plan to con myself into thinking I was prepared, I carried a five kg stone in my pannier around our circuit. This test run convinced me that I was ready, and with one week to go before our trip, I called for a change in our training schedule. If we were not in shape by now, one more week of biking was not going to do the trick; instead we needed to rest! We packed our bikes in boxes and vowed not to look at them until the streets of Dublin. One item that I almost left at home, but proved to be essential for the trip was a pair of collapsible, travelling, forearm crutches. They improved my ability to get out and take in the sights and their lightweight compact design was perfect.

Virginia, my parents and I arrived in Dublin on June 17 and spent two days recuperating and becoming accustomed to Ireland. Biking in Dublin is a bit of an adventure and as one local put it "It’s a lot like a bird watching for predators and eating at the same time. You are so busy looking around making sure you are not run over, you don’t enjoy the cycle."

After two days of rest in Dublin, the four of us boarded a train and crossed Ireland to begin our cycling adventure. We began in the city of Sligo on the Northwest coast. As we were staying two nights in Sligo we went for a short daytrip around the spectacular Lough Gill. Our short daytrip turned out to be 45 km. For the entire cycle my stump had been feeling quite uncomfortable. When we returned to the hostel, my worst fears were realized as a pressure sore was developing. I was devastated. I was afraid that the trip we had planned was more than my stump could handle. But I changed the number of socks I was wearing in the socket and put on a bandaid and fortunately did not have any more stump problems for the rest of the trip. That evening we sampled some cider and Guinness and were treated to a wonderful traditional Irish music session at Furey’s Pub.

The next day we began the serious cycling. With our bikes fully loaded we set off for the city of Ballina 65 km to the southwest. It was again a very scenic day as we travelled through farmland and along the coast. The guidebook said the route was flat. I soon discovered that my definition of flat was much different from the author’s. I made a mental note as the next day’s cycle was described as relatively flat, followed by a day with gently rolling topography. We arrived in Ballina exhausted and a little discouraged but our spirits were lifted by the afternoon tea that
our wonderful Bed and Breakfast proprietor, Marjorie, had prepared for us. That evening we took a taxi to the seaside resort of Inniscrone and pampered our aching muscles with a soothing seaweed bath at a 75-year-old health spa.

As we were leaving the following morning, Marjorie expressed how impressed she was with the four of us cycling across Ireland. She then went on to say that she had a weekly cooking show on a local radio station and she was going to tell her listeners to be on the lookout for the family of cyclists on the road to Westport. During the day we had many cars honk at us and as I cycled through Castlebar two men in a truck called me over to tell me that they had heard about us on the radio. I overheard a lady say to her friend as I zoomed by them, "That’s the man from the radio." I smiled to myself thinking that I quite enjoyed the attention. That evening at Matt Molloy’s Pub I was hoping my new folk hero status would result in a free pint of Guinness, but alas I had to pay, just like everyone else.

After covering over 160 km in three days my body was very fatigued and we began to go shorter distances, averaging around 35 km per day for the next four days. After Westport we cycled to Leenane, passing beside the picturesque Connemara National Park and then on to Cleggan where we took a ferry to the beautiful small island of Inishbofin. Inishbofin was one of my favourite places. The relaxed atmosphere and friendly people were a welcome break after the hectic pace we had been setting. Refreshed, we spent two days covering the 70 km to Rossaveal where we caught another ferry to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands. The Aran Islands are culturally significant as they are one of the last places in Ireland where the Irish language continues to flourish.

We left the Aran Islands and Virginia and I said goodbye to my parents and made our way back to Dublin by train. After travelling over 300 km by bike we were ready to spend a week visiting friends and seeing the sights of Dublin. We enjoyed Dublin immensely. Glendalough, south of Dublin and the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl were highlights.

Following our week in Dublin, we made our way to County Cork, in the South of Ireland, where we spent five days cycling the south coast. This was spectacular cycling as we meandered along quiet country roads and enjoyed the stunning ocean views. Kinsale was an especially picturesque town. On an evening walk, I noticed two 10 year olds looking at me, and obviously discussing my leg. I asked them if they wanted to know what happened to me. The one youngster that had been leading the conversation simply stated in an all knowing tone, "a shark bit it off." I replied that it had actually been a crocodile. Later I discovered that JAWS had been on television the night before.

The cycling was more demanding in the south. The last day of cycling proved to be the most difficult. After spending the night on Sherkin Island, we started out cycling at three in the afternoon with 55 km to pedal to the departing ferry running on island time (rather than actual time). The first 18 km went extremely fast thanks to our friend the tailwind. The second 18 km went extremely slow as our friend had turned into the dreaded foe of cyclists: the headwind. We felt as if we were constantly pedalling uphill. At one point I came around the corner and the
wind stopped me in my tracks. Quite the sensation; to be pedalling as hard as you can and not moving. Somehow we made it to Balleyhob where we had supper and I asked if the road was flat to Bantry (a further 18 km). "Oh yes ’tis flat, except of course for the mountain," was the reply. We managed the seven km ascent by digging extremely deep into our last resources and pulled into our hostel at nine thirty just as dusk was turning into night. The next day we caught the bus to Tralee and then over to Shannon for our flight home. With more than a touch of sadness and a tremendous sense of accomplishment we packed our bikes into bags and boarded the plane.

Reflecting on the trip, I remember the beauty of the Irish countryside and the friendliness of the Irish people. Cycling down a narrow country road with a lorry following behind you, patiently waiting five minutes until it is safe to pass and then no curse or fist shaking, just a wave to continue you on your way. And I loved getting directions like "turn right after the two barking dogs." But most of all I think back on days that were physically and emotionally challenging far beyond what I anticipated, and finding the resolve and strength within, not only to survive, but to excel. I look forward to the next challenge and I will set the bar even higher.

(Barry Henderson is a freelance writer living in Mission, BC.)