Day 83
Skibbereen
The campsite really did have human owners, and Tom and I chatted route choices with one of them in the morning. Komoot was taking us the direct route straight over the top, will we never learn? She suggested going coastal, it added 12 miles to our 25-mile day and more climbing. We were undecided. We were on the Mizen Head peninsula, having missed out Sheep’s Head and the chance to pop in for a cuppa with Graham Norton. As we rode along, the sun was out, the sea looked stunning, it was an easy decision, we would stay coastal. The riding was wonderful, the views delightful. We didn’t divert to ride to Mizen Head point, the official start of the Wild Atlantic Way, instead we were on the lookout for The Altar. It didn’t disappoint. 12 of these altars were built using local stone, between 3,000 and 2,000BC. The entrance was lined up exactly with the Mizen Head point. It was a place of burial and worship for thousands of years and today retains an element of calm and gives us a window into the past.
I met a wonderful couple, Connie and Brendon. Both from Dublin, but Ohio for Connie and the Republic for Brendon. Brendon was thrilled with Tom’s Mayo flag, I was inspired to ask him to be filmed and he explained with much Irish charm in detail the Mayo GAA curse. They last won the cup in 1951, travelling home by coach, celebrating, they passed through a village where a funeral was taking place. They didn’t slow and show respect, the local priest cursed them. Mayo would never again win the All Ireland GAA trophy whilst any member of the 1951 team lived. Nor have they. One player is still alive, the final is tomorrow, can Mayo break the curse? We, along with most of the Republic will still be watching.
The route continued to charm us, I danced a jig with a tin man, but couldn’t stay as Skibbereen was calling. Skibbereen has a river. A river means rowing. Rowing means the Olympics. Check out the Graham Norton show from New Year’s Eve 2016 on YouTube. I’ve wanted to visit Skibbereen ever since. It didn’t disappoint. The town was full of bunting, banners, photos and even gold medals showcasing the rowers success in Tokyo. Well done to them all!
We decided to stop for a drink, an Irish coffee for me, Guinness for Tom. As is normal in the Republic we got chatting with our fellow drinkers. Marie and Tim chatted away, asked loads of questions. Within minutes we were firm friends. So much so, that rather than let us camp they insisted we stay with them. We had simply one of the best nights of our trip so far. Welcomed into their home, wined and dined, we listened in fascination to the story of their lives. Tim had been a chef, living the life my dad would have loved, but there was more. Tim could trace his family tree back to their arrival in Ireland in the 1,100s. He had copies of letters going back hundreds of years, the originals now safely with the Irish museum. From royalty to men of power and political importance. I learned about William of Orange and the Wild Geese, traced what happened to family members over the years. I was fascinated. Tim’s father had been a photographer, we poured over a wonderful portfolio of Irish actors from the 50s, many of the Cusack family. The quality and detail were outstanding. It was a very late night, thanks Tim and Marie.
