Cliffs and Tourists

As to be expected, this unpleasant virus has finally fled and left both of us with sufficient energy to contemplate a ride. So three days after arriving here at the seaside, experiencing gales and ferocious sea states, the sun shines and we can get out and about.

 The question then, was where should we ride? The Cliffs of Moher are extolled everywhere, so a visit seemed a reasonable proposition. Bearing in mind that we are at sea level, and by definition a cliff is a vertical rock face rising from the sea, the uphill was quite long and steep. We topped out and met a sight only beaten by a previous view of a long queue of camels below an extinct volvano in Lanzarote. So unexpected was this vast area of parking for cars and coaches and the huge numbers of people who spilled forth, we very nearly rode on by. One has to admire the clever exploitation of cliffs! There was a cost for each visitor of around 6 Euros (not per car but per passenger). Only in Nordkapp (cliffs at the most northerly point in Europe) have we experienced something similar. In fact, much seemed to be based on the visitor centre in Nordkapp. It was disappointing to see so much infrastructure encroaching on a natural phenomenon. The visitor numbers were impossible to calculate but certainly many thousands of folk from all over the world were swarming along the path and taking photos. Being on bikes we were able to avoid the charges and joined the throng to admire the views but we were soon eager to leave this mass of humanity behind.

Not being willing to wait in the long queues for a hot drink, we whizzed down the road to Liscannor and partook of an exceptionally good cup of coffee in a pretty café. Over our shock and vitalled up, we thought to continue and follow a circular route back home. We sailed along a wonderfully quiet road in the sunshine, crossed the flats to Liscannor and Lehinch where, not unusually, the cycle route signs disappeared. I had had the forethought to photo the route on my phone and smugly opened my handle bar bag. Oh, sh..t! No phone. No amount of searching pockets and patting bodies revealed said phone. A review of memory resulted in the conclusion that I had left it behind in the café. We had no second phone, so the only course of action was to return the 10 kilometres to the café, fervently hoping it would be there. It was! The relief was such that the uphill haul back to the cliffs went unremarked, on my part anyway.

The advantage of having to return the same way that we had come, meant a careful downhill of 8kms with still no sign of rain.

NB. I mention that the downhill was ‘careful’. This constant high concentration level was the bane of cycling in Ireland. Many roads are only the width of a single car and are shared by everything from large coaches and vans to walkers and cyclists, all travelling in both directions. The cyclist often has to give way or end up in the ditch. Many drivers are courteous and understanding; an equal number, are not! In typical Irish fashion, the only road dedicated solely to cyclists and walkers that we have used so far, restricted cyclists to travelling one way. (Guess who was going the wrong way and had to walk!)    This is a beautiful country and deserves to be admired, and it is clearly the intention of the wardens of the countryside to provide cycle routes. Not a simple undertaking when road conditions vary so massively and with a 100kms speed limit on most country roads regardless of width. We wish them well!