Buncrana

There is still some land in Ireland that's farther north than we would travel today, but nonetheless we traversed an area that is not frequently visited.

We packed up for a long drive to our starting point, near Sheephaven Bay. Some chaps from a local cycling club (Cill Chluana Wheelers) were refueling at the same place where we stopped to refuel the van.

Amazingly, we happened to be in just the right place at just the right time to catch the start of one of the races in the Emyvale Cycling Club Grand Prix.

Being here, I already had seven-time Irish Champion Ryan Sherlock and his wife Melanie Spath on my mind; as visitors, they have dominated a few of our Low-Key Hillclimbs. Evidently Melanie won the 2012 Emyvale Grand Prix women's race! For us, she set a new women's record on the Mt. Hamilton Low-Key Hillclimb in 2010—which she bested in 2015.

We had a chance to roam through what remains of Doe Castle, dating back to the early 16th century, before enjoying our picnic lunch on the grounds. The rain came down just as we were ready to begin our ride.

We found shelter in the little snack bar onsite and chatted with the family who tended it. We set their little boy off in a fit of giggles with our American and Canadian accents. [It took just one word: “cow.”]

Eventually we started riding up the Fanad Peninsula ... in the rain. The hills were pleasantly rolling (not steep!), and the rain came and went. A distinctive bird call spilled out of the nearby woodlands: Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Our guide schooled us in their parenting approach: Mom deposits her egg in another bird's nest and flies away. Once hatched, the interloper sometimes crowds the foster parents' own chicks out of the nest.

South of Portsalon we joined the signposted scenic drive route, which we shared with very little traffic until ... Ballymastocker Beach.

There we stopped for snacks, with a view toward the lovely bit of pavement snaking along the edge of Knockalla Ridge (also known as the Devil's Backbone).

Unfortunately, some local lads were keen on time-trialing their way around the curves, tempting the devil ... in their hotrods.

I was not keen on sharing the road with them.

The lovely blue bike rack beckoned ... where better to park my shiny blue bicycle?

And then came the rain. When would I be happy to ride in the rain, ever?

Today. The rain got heavier, the road got slicker, and the boys turned tail and drove back to town.

It was a bit windy, and the rain came and went; still, it was worth pausing to take in the view of Ballymastocker Bay and the beach below.

We made our way to Rathmullan, on schedule to load cyclists and bikes onto a fishing boat for a shortcut across Lough Swilly to the Inishowen Peninsula.

Once across, it was a quick ride to our lodging at Buncrana. For the day, a scenic 29 miles with 1,820 feet of climbing.

Dublin

We had the option to cycle today, or to rest. A mischievous rider toyed with one of our guides, eagerly proposing a hilly 100 km jaunt. On his home turf, with fresh legs after doing virtually all of the driving up till now, he was all in. [We, of course, were not.]

Dublin is the capital of Ireland, and not surprisingly it's a bustling place. Even on a Saturday.

Until it started to rain. People scurried off the sidewalks in search of shelter; with my umbrella I had the place to myself. [Really, people? It rains here, you don't carry umbrellas?]

In my wanderings, I happened upon the statue of Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square Park.

I thought I'd take a walking tour of the city, but having slept in and then taken a wrong turn, I missed the start.

I thought I'd see the Book of Kells, but so did hundreds of other people. The line stretched out of sight.

Although I'm on vacation, I simply had to pay a visit to our local office. [Because. It's there.] I thought I'd leave a note on a colleague's desk, but the surprise was on me when another colleague passed on her way out the door. [Yes, on a Saturday afternoon.] I didn't know she'd relocated to Dublin, and of course she had no idea I was in town. What are the odds?!

I strolled along a segment of the Grand Canal, and watched a waterfowl building out a nest.

A pair of riders had asked if there were any plays being staged, and as it turned out, we were in luck: The Chastitute was playing in revival at the Gaiety Theatre. All the women in our group decamped to the theatre after dinner. Dark material wrapped in a comic candy shell; the sad denouement made me feel guilty for my laughter.

To live is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that is all.

—Oscar Wilde

Caernarfon

Day five, and I was ready for a rest day (but that's not today). I was feeling a little bit off, and we were slated to climb about 2,000 feet.

Faced with a steep (though short) climb before we'd even warmed up, several of us were quick to dismount (max grade today, 22%).

I wasn't expecting to be rained on. [You'd think I'd learn?] Luckily, it was only a short burst, not much wetness.

Ping!

Was that a hailstone that just bounced off my mirror? Ping! Another one hitched a ride on the lid of my bag until it melted.

We waved at a stream of cyclists passing in the opposite direction, members and supporters of the Gwernyfed rugby football club, on a two-day fundraising ride from the most northerly club in Wales to the most southerly.

There was talk of a steam train, and whether our timing would align to see it. I caught a glimpse through the trees. Evidently it's coal-powered—and a very sulfurous coal, at that. One of the Welsh Highland Railway's trains, I believe.

We stopped for our morning break at a pub in Beddgelert, which was fortuitous for me as the menu offered a ginger beer that helped settle my system. Shortly after we stepped inside, the rain came pouring down. It stopped by the time we were ready to roll out, and I was the only one who suited up in my rain gear. [Which meant, of course, that we would see no more rain.]

Regrettably, we didn't pay a visit to the local bike shop, but were surprised to find a wicker bicycle mounted above the stairs inside the pub.

We continued on our way through Snowdonia National Park, heading for the coast.

Looking at the map, and the roads not taken ... I just might have to come back here.

We had a schedule to keep today, as we would be crossing the Irish Sea (by ferry) to Dublin. We made good time, affording a chance to admire the nature reserve at Foryd Bay.

Our riding ended at Caernarfon, where we enjoyed lunch and a stroll around the town square near the Castle. Despite the weak start to my day, I felt pretty good at the end: 33 miles, 1,830 feet of climbing.

A local cyclist struck up a conversation, wanting to learn about our trip. “You weren't cycling on Monday?!” she exclaimed.

The scavenging gulls were a menace! You had to keep close watch on your food, and they'd dive at a table as soon as the diners departed, knocking plates and cups to shatter on the stone plaza. Before the trip, while I was languishing sick at home, I had binged on Hitchcock movies. Fittingly, the last one had been “The Birds.” Here, we laughed at a little boy chasing them down—he couldn't have been more than four years old. “Shoo, you bloody bird!” he cried, flailing his arms at one. [He hasn't seen the movie.]

To free us from the time pressure of biking across the Isle of Anglesey to reach the ferry at Holyhead, the group would get a tour up the Menai Strait on a speedy boat (45 knots, at one point).

We cruised under the Menai Suspension Bridge, regarded as the first modern suspension bridge (completed in 1826).

From St. George's Pier, the van carried us onto the ferry and the next phase of our adventure: Ireland, the third country of our Five Countries Tour.

Ffestiniog

To avoid a busy road, we started cycling on the outskirts of Oswestry and soon crossed the border into the second country of our Five Countries Tour: Wales.

Sunshine, albeit patchy, at last!

With luck, we'd leave the ominous clouds behind.

We enjoyed another lovely tea break in the town of Llangynog before our big climb started.

We have magical water bottles on this tour: Whenever I return to my bike after a tea break or lunch, my bottle is full. (If I pinch myself, will I wake up and find that this has all been a happy dream? Our guides are fabulous.) Though there is a slight downside to this, as the electrolyte mix that sustains me on long rides gets diluted.

The climb started right outside of town, as we would pass through the Berwyn Range.

It wasn't bad, gaining about 1,000 feet over three and a half miles. Somewhere, though, I met a 15% grade (must have been short); that's probably where my heart rate peaked at 184 bpm.

It wasn't long before I was way off the back, the rest of the group no longer in sight.

Which suited me just fine, because (at last!) I was eager to capture some photos of these peaks and valleys.

I've been feeling bad that people have to wait for me, though they're politely saying they don't mind. We were excited to snap photos at the summit, especially as we could see blue skies ahead.

A couple of our riders have been breezily passing me on the hills. They'd opted for hybrids instead of road bikes, and those were equipped with lower gearing (and disc brakes). I briefly wondered if I should have done the same, but even if I'd inquired about the groupset I know I still would have chosen the road bike. I wouldn't be comfortable at speed on the downhills, otherwise.

Oh, and about that. We crossed into Snowdonia National Park, with broad vistas and an enticing roadway—dry and smooth. Only because it leveled out a bit, and the park's logo was beautiful, did I stop [on a descent!].

We regrouped at the bottom, having reached an intersection. Our leader is mindful to keep track of us, although they're trying a new routing solution this year: each bike is outfitted with a Garmin. Every night our guides collect the units, load them up with the next day's route, and charge them. [More magic!]

Not being a Garmin aficionado, I'm leery of accidentally resetting the thing. After some teething pains the first couple of days, things began to run more smoothly. It's reassuring to get advance notice of turns and to see that you're on course, but some tricky bits (parallel roads, or cycle paths) can confuse it. And since the route is statically loaded, we need to be alert about being off-course whenever we do make a detour. The Garmins handle the miles vs. kilometers challenge nicely, as they can be set up either way.

We caught sight of Bala Lake on our way to lunch at a fun place, Gorwelion.

There was more climbing after lunch, but with the sunshine and the views, everyone was smiling.

Just look at that ribbon of road! [Okay, maybe I smiled more broadly than my companions.]

We did stop to admire a waterfall. And even though we climbed some 3,740 feet over 47 miles, we arrived at our hotel in Ffestiniog with time to enjoy the environs,

and a colorful post-dinner sunset for a beautiful close to the day.

Waddington

It was cloudy, with a threat of rain later in the day, but we finally got a break: it didn't actually rain today. While we regrouped at a turning point, I watched three bulls locking horns. The black bull and the brown bull, then the two brown bulls. They didn't seem to be at odds with one another, so I'm not sure what was up.

I was starting to feeling stronger, despite back-to-back days of cycling. My cardio is not where it should be; I'm dropped on every steep hill unless I can take advantage of a roller leading up to it. Today, at least, there was no need for me to walk (yay!)—maximum grade was about 12%. (It's pretty clear that I cross the pain threshold above 13% at my current level of unfitness.)

Our group is pretty well-matched: two riders are stronger and always in the lead, I'm generally in the back (sometimes with another rider), and the middle is elastic.

Today we left Yorkshire Dales National Park behind for the Forest of Bowland, an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. [That's a mouthful; more commonly known as an AONB.]

It's spring, so there are lambs in the fields—including a few black ones. (Turns out that's due to a recessive gene, which was my hunch.) From deep in the recesses of my brain, the old nursery rhyme “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” surfaced; my cycling companions enthusiastically filled in the one line I couldn't dredge up.

When we regrouped at a fork along a country road, we happened upon a few locals assembling for a ride. “You weren't cycling on Monday, were you?” they asked. Their eyes stretched wide when they heard our reply.

With the rainy weather, we've been taking our tea breaks in local pubs, so today's stop was a surprise: A picnic! Complete with tablecloth, camp chairs, tea, and snacks—including Aunt Agatha's homemade shortbread cookies, contributed by one of our riders!

We had a little time to peek into St. Peter and St. Paul's Church in Bolton-by-Bowland, with a history dating back to the 12th century.

We crossed and (many miles later) paused to admire the meandering River Ribble. It was time to start feeding my wildflower photo habit.

Today's route was our shortest, and least taxing—a mere 20 miles and 940 feet of climbing. The group made good time, and I was certainly less pathetic. Our riding ended in the town of Waddington, with an opportunity to wander before lunch. The embattled King Henry VI was captured here in the mid-fifteenth century.

How times change: from a defibrillator in a decommissioned phone booth, to a set of medieval stocks outside St. Helen's Church.

We boarded the van for our journey to Oswestry, where we stayed nearby in a lovely old country house. Sheep were scattered around the surrounding fields, but when the farmer drove up they virtually stampeded to reach him and created quite a ruckus.

Not unlike hungry cyclists, perhaps, at the end of the day? Tea and fresh-baked shortbread cookies welcomed me to my room,

and my lamb burger was the envy of all at dinner. [Eat local.]