The weather is good and it should stay that way for at least a day. Finally, it’s time for a mini-tour. The plan is to visit Trim, where there is a spectacular castle. Julie takes the Dart to the Dublin bus station and a bus from there to Trim; I head out on my bike a couple hours before her.
The route, as recorded by my GPS receiver, is shown below. Click on any thumbnail to show a larger version of the picture. Use the back button of your browser to return to this page.
I work my way around the outside of the city to the Grand Canal and follow it a ways. I cross the Liffy and follow it along the north bank, wedged between the river and Phoenix Park. I’m out of the city before I know it; the busy four-lane city road suddenly turns into a two-lane as I glide out into quiet countryside.
At Lucan, the road turns north and I intersect the Royal Canal a few miles later, crossing it on one of the narrow, early 19th-century bridges. A quick left and I parallel the canal, more or less, as I work my way to Leixlip. Leixlip’s old center, like many small towns I encounter, is charming. Leixlip is generally viewed as the starting point for bike rides along the canal towpath, which is in good shape although unpaved, and for boat trips along the canal.
The R148 highway to the next town, Maynooth, is unspectacular and very busy. Maynooth, however, is quite nice, much larger than Leixlip. I stop in Maynooth for a sandwich, toss down a handful of trail mix, and I’m again on my way. I discover the Maynooth Castle on the edge of town. It consists of a couple towers and some structures whose original purpose is unclear. The ruin has been integrated into a park, and the whole effect is decidedly pleasant.
I continue to Kilcock, paralleling the canal. I see a lot of activity along the canal: joggers, people fishing, families just hanging out on a pleasant Saturday. At Kilcock I take the R158, which heads northwest into the countryside. It’s a pleasant, generally easy ride first to Summerhill, then Laracor. Along this part of the route, I pass a number of well-appointed horse farms, with impressive, gold-leafed gates; large, manicured fields; impressive mansions; and lots of no trespassing signs. One even has a cute, thatched-roof gatehouse. Coming out of Summerhill, I am suddenly on an "improved" road. Well, maybe improved by automobile standards, but now I’m on a fast-moving, two-lane highway that has no special attractiveness. It could be anywhere in Europe or the US. Finally, at Laracor, the highway is blocked by construction. The usual story: "local access only," which usually means that bikes can get through, even though cars can't. I give it a try and, although I have to walk a couple stretches of muddy, torn-up roadbed, I come out a mile from Trim.
Julie calls me to tell me that she has arrived in Trim. Good timing; I’m only a few minutes away. We make arrangements to meet at the main entrance to the castle. Unfortunately, I don’t know where the castle is, but it should be easy to find: it’s big, the town's small. I find her, and we walk to the B&B where she has made reservations. It is only about a half-mile walk from the castle. We check in, kick back for half an hour, I take a shower, and we’re off to see the castle.
The Trim castle is the largest remaining Anglo-Norman castle in Ireland. Its construction was started in 1173 and, like virtually all castles, it evolved over a long period of time. Originally, it consisted of just the keep; curtain walls and towers were added later. The keep is mostly intact (except, of course, for wood parts such as floors) and large parts of the towers and walls remain. Across the river is the remaining part of a tower of the Abbey of St. Mary, and about a mile away is the cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul, once the largest cathedral in Ireland. Next to it is the ruin of, believe it or not, a medieval hospital. Scary thought.
The locals are quick to tell you that this castle was used in the movie Braveheart, as a stand-in for the York castle.
We take a tour of the keep, led by a young woman who knows what to say but doesn’t impress me as someone who really knows the subject. A strong contrast between her and the guide at the fort in Kinsale, who clearly was more of an historian.
By time we finish at the castle, it is 5 PM, still too early for dinner. We walk into town and install ourselves at a pub. I order pints of Smithwick’s for us, a welcome post-cycling treat. We sit and talk for an hour or so, I have a second beer, and we then start looking for dinner.
At that point, we realize that Trim doesn’t have many restaurants. Surprising, for a place that has a certain tourist draw. We walk out of town to a good-looking place near to our B&B, but it has no meals, just a bar. Back into town. We eventually find a cafe restaurant which is open and fortunately has decent food. I inhale a plate of curried chicken and mashed potatoes; a lot to eat, but I could have tossed down two of them. Still, it’s a nice way to finish the day.
Next day, we are up at 7:30, but we have reserved 8:30 for breakfast. We eat, then I pack and take off. The cathedral of Sts. P&P is just down the street from our B&B, so I stop briefly to look at it and the hospital. Julie visits them as well, I later learn, and climbs around the cathedral awhile.
The weather is not bad this morning, but the wind is strong. In Ireland, there is always wind. Usually it’s mild, but it is nonetheless there; sometimes it is strong and gusty. This is one of those strong and gusty days. Fortunately it is out the south to southwest today, so it is mostly perpendicular to me, and on rare occasions somewhat to my rear. It is not much of a problem at first, although it takes some effort to control the bike in a few of the gusts. In any case, the hedgerows and trees along the narrow roads are effective windbreaks. It’s really not much of a problem unless I’m out in the open.
Coming home, I start down the R154, which leads directly into Dublin. I intend to cut off on the R125, which circles around to the east and terminates at the coast. The R154 is pretty boring, however, another improved two-lane highway with cars going way too fast. I cut off on a narrow road, figuring that it would be pleasant and my GPS would help me find my way to something recognizable. It turns out to be a good decision. The road is little more than a shared driveway for farm houses and field access, but it’s quiet and scenic. It is used so little that, in many places, grass has grown in the center of the road. All along are wild blackberries, with berries beginning to ripen. At one point I stop and pick a handful. I eventually reach an unnumbered road between Kilmessan and Dunsany, then head toward Dunsany.
Dunsany has a castle! I ride by it, but even though the gate is open, the sign indicates that the castle itself is open only on weekdays. Worse, the entry fee is 15 euros. This, for a castle that doesn’t even make the guide books. Foo! Keep riding.
The place is pretty big. It seems that I’m following the same walls for a mile or more. I encounter a grand gate, which blocks a road leading nowhere. The chain on the gate looks like it hasn’t been touched for a long time. The stonework around the gate is in good repair, though, and looks like it is no older than the late 1800s.
I connect with the R125 just outside of Dunshaughlin. I turn on it toward the town and the only memorable town name of the trip, Ratoath. Even though I’m not hungry, after the huge breakfast at the B&B, I stop in Dunshaughlin and buy a couple of apples as a possible adjunct to lunch. I’m burning a lot of calories.
With some help from a pleasant chap in a grocery store, where I have stopped to ask directions, I find my way to Swords. Swords, a fairly large town, is near the coast. I stop at a "quick lunch" counter at a gas station for a sandwich. These places are usually good for a decent sandwich, even when they are prefabricated. Not exactly local color, though.
Since I got outside the ring motorway around Dublin, I have been outside the detailed area of the GPS maps. At times, I wonder why I keep it on; it really doesn’t tell me much. Most important is the compass, but a two-dollar handlebar compass would do as much. In Swords, however, it again comes to life, and I can navigate accurately. I chart a course to Malahide, only a few miles away, and another nice town. I understand that there is a wonderful garden there, but today is not the day to visit it.
At Malahide, I reach the coast and turn south. Then the full force of the wind hits me head on. At this point, it is steady at about 20 MPH with gusts considerably higher. At points, I’m struggling down the road at five or six miles per hour in a high gear. It’s like a continuous mountain climb. I rely on my bicycling mantra ("Gear down. Spin."), my second, Irish mantra ("At least it's not raining"), and my ability to concentrate on the moment and not think about such things as how long this will last. (After all, I know how long it will last: all the way home.) Still, the coastline is spectacular, with views of Howth to the south across the water. The beach is wide and pristine; it seems like a nice place to go, at least when the sand isn’t blowing in your face.
Finally, I give up and try to find an inland route. Riding along the coast on a windy day is really just asking for trouble. Inland, however, the wind is just as bad. I struggle along at low speed, finally reaching the shore again near the road that splits off to Howth. I cut through the east side of Dublin, across the toll bridge (again cleverly circumventing the toll booths), and finally home along Frascati Road.
A long, tough day. Yesterday was 48 miles, including trundling around town on the bike while Julie walked, and today is 51 miles. 99 total. It teaches me a lesson about cycle touring in Ireland or, probably, any other country: unless conditions are extraordinarily good, something like 50 or 60 miles a day is all one should plan for. I suppose that, on a longer tour, I would get more accustomed to the distance. This is exactly what happened on the Ragbrai some years ago, where I quickly reached the point where 50-mile days were just too short to be satisfying. Might happen here, too. At least, if the wind behaves.