clairedavieswriter

When we woke, Lough Rynn was gently steaming under a dappled blue sky:

Unfortunately, it didn’t last:

For the first time, the sun deserted us – but not the birdsong. So let’s talk about nature.
Rural Ireland seems to have many more trees, bushes and hedgerows than equivalent parts of the UK:

I’ve also been sifting more bugs through my teeth than I’m used to when cycling at home. And yesterday, Jon had to scrub flies off our windscreen, which neither of us could remember doing in years.
With all this shelter and food, it should be no surprise that Irish skies seem to be alive with birds. So far, I’ve identified (often with the help of my Merlin app) song thrushes, goldfinches, wrens, chaffinches, choughs, jackdaws, buzzards, willow warblers, blackcaps, chiffchaffs, swallows, kites and even a sparrow hawk. Today, I heard my first cuckoo. But if I had to guess Ireland’s commonest bird, I’d pick the rook, because they and their scruffy rookeries are everywhere – this was taken a couple of days ago:

And it’s not just birds that thrive in Ireland’s countryside. Otter, mink and the very rare pine marten have been seen near this nature trail close to the start of my ride today:

And towards the end, I spent a special few minutes in the company of an athletic little red squirrel who leapt from branch to branch in the trees beside me and then crossed the road high wire style over my head. This was the best shot I could capture:

He was definitely my highlight of the day.
Other moments of note include this touching memorial in Mohill this morning. In 3 days it’ll be exactly 113 years since poor Matthew Sadlier went down with the Titanic – too long ago for there to be anyone left who remembers him. But the town keeps his memory alive nonetheless

In the Corner Cafe in Ballinamore I found about 15 members of the Smugglers Cycle Club of Ballyconnell, half of them women. As a lone touring cyclist, it’s always good to ‘find your people’, and these were a friendly bunch. But there can be downsides to arriving second: when I came to order, I discovered they had almost cleaned out the cake selection. On the plus side, my cinnamon Danish (sic) contained so much sugar, I had no trouble with the rest of the hills

(Catholics please forgive me but) I felt there was whiff of the Monty Python about this sign

And (Australians, ditto) a whiff of the outback about this one

Many of the properties in the small town of Swanlinbar were empty, but they weren’t unattractive, thanks to the creativity of an enterprising soul who’d painted pretend curtains in the bricked up windows and a cartoon dog by the fake front door

International borders always fascinate me – the way that an arbitrary line on a piece of paper can determine so many differences between one side and the other. Clearly, the border between the Republic of Ireland and the UK/Northern Ireland has been as consequential as any over the years, and remains so today, with all the post-Brexit complexities. So I’d been eager to see how it would be marked. It turned out that the answer was ‘not at all’. This was the only sign that I had crossed into the UK (because in Ireland they say ‘Yield’):

To my right at this crossroads, I spied an elderly man in blue overalls and a baseball cap, working in his front garden.
Me: Hello there, I was wondering where the border was?
Overalls Man: Back that way. It’s where you crossed the little stream. You’ll know because the surface is good this side, very bad that side (wry smile)
Me (returning the smile, but thinking that hadn’t been my experience): There was no sign at all!
OM: Well, for years there wasn’t even a road – they blew it up.
Me: You must’ve seen a lot of changes
OM: Oh yes. There used to be soldiers stationed across the road there (pointing in front of his house). And they used to call this (Moher Road) ‘bombers alley’ there were so many bombs set off. You had to keep your mouth shut or they’d take you away and you’d never come back.
He didn’t specify who would do this. I didn’t ask.
OM: Where are you riding to then?
Me: Mizen to Malin
OM: Oh you’re not! On your own? I had a group of 4 or 6 come by last year doing that. Gave them a cup of tea. Would you like a cup of tea?
I declined, and pedalled on, but part of me wishes I’d accepted. I’m sure he would’ve had many more fascinating stories to tell.