Land of Fog and Gloom

It took quite some determinism and self control to leave my glass of Carlsberg on the table, say goodbye to the lads, and go home yesterday evening. I knew that finishing the beer before going home would lead to someone giving me a new pint (as that’s what had happened with the previous two), oblivious to arguments in the sense of ‘I’m going cycling tomorrow hence I don’t want to feel like a rag’. It was a nice night out, with a bunch of colleagues in a bar just down Camden Street. But enough was enough and I caught my eight hours of sleep before pushing James out of the shed this morning.

Well over an hour later I found myself in the hills building up to the Wicklow Mountains, just south of Dublin. And James, you’re a champ, but as soon as we’re ascending you’re more like a brick I’m dragging up in comparison to my Giant racing bike back home. The roads are pretty good up there and the setting is just perfect for climbing. But without your feet attached to the pedals, with tyres three times the size of a racing bike’s, and without the requisite clothing it’s a different ball game altogether. Yet I did enjoy tremendously, climbing the narrow roads making their way up the hills, with trees and grasslands bordering the hedges and stone walls and a great view of Dublin behind me. And although I had been climbing non-stop since leaving town, I was still shivering.

The wind. Merciless. My three layers of clothing were little protection against the razor sharp streaks of wind cutting through the cloth. I reached onto a plain where snow was still covering bits and pieces of the landscape, while clouds were gathering ominously above my head. Although in terms of altitude the Wicklow Mountains are really just big hills; once you’re up there it does feel like you’re in a ragged moon landscape. I had counted myself lucky with sunny spells up till then, but having the weather forecast in mind (rain – naturally) the throng of dark grey clouds bode ill omens of venturing farther south and farther up. The description of Ireland by Homer in the ninth century BC crossed my mind briefly, as he called it ‘a Land of Fog and Gloom’. Doubt, hesitation; pushing further or cutting short? I decided to be sensible for a change and went back to the fork in the road I had passed a mile or so back, taking the left turn rather than the right one that had led me up there, and cut my route short by a notable degree. Once the weather is more forthcoming towards poorly equipped amateur cyclists, I’ll be back.

And now that I’m cosily in my large armchair, writing my blog, after just having enjoyed a nice warm bath (first time I use it here!), I look outside the window and see the drizzle slowly descending from the grey sky, and decide my decision maybe was for the best. The rough beauty of the Wicklow Mountains is still on the back of my mind though, and having had a tiny taste of it, I can’t wait to go back.