Rothar Routes

Cycle routes & pilgrim journeys in Ireland and Europe …..

Posts by Turlough

Around the Nurney Plateau: Quiet Roads, Hidden Relics, and Big Skies

The first time I heard the name ‘The Nurney Plateau’ was on a CBS Primary School outing with the great Brother Healy. It wouldn’t happen in today’s world to allow your primary students cycle out the Wexford Road, but the entire class cycled out from the CBS to Castletown Castle, a mock Tudor/Gothic 19th century incorporating a truncated tower-house! It is situated on the Wexford road less than 1km past Tinryland GAA Club. I think it was owned by the Monahan family – previously owned by the Kavanaghs and at one stage by the infamous Buck Whaley. My memories of it were that there was a display of swords from all over the world decorating the entrance hall. During the talk Mr. Monahan took us outside and explained about the lands extending up onto the Nurney plateau.

There are spins on the bike that feel like mere training sessions and then there are mornings like today where the road keeps offering up small wonders, one after another, across a landscape that is familiar to me but always surprising. Today’s loop was more or less over and around the Nurney Plateau: 55kms of rolling Carlow countryside with 541 metres of climbing, stitched together by quiet lanes, old stone walls and buildings, and the occasional moment of quiet magic.

And yeah yeah I know, before anyone says it, this was done on my e-bike! Not quite ‘cheating’ as some might imagine. The climbs still have to be ridden, the miles still tick by, and the legs tell me afterwards that there was real effort involved. The beauty is it gives me more freedom – the chance to enjoy the scenery, to take a longer route and to finish feeling happy to plan my next long outing.

It also helped that, finally, a spell of good weather has arrived. Temperatures finally nudging upwards, barely a breath of wind, and more hours of day light if needed and that removes any sense of hurry. No chasing the clock, no cutting corners – just time to ride. And because I travel the local roads, hardly a car along this route after I turned left up Staplestown Hill.

I headed out over Kellistown, heading in the general direction of Rathoe before slipping away onto the even quieter roads around Ballynunnery. Narrow roads, high full green hedgerows and that sense you’ve stepped off the map! Not long after, I passed a vast solar farm located on fine arable land. It’s hard not to feel conflicted – progress, of course, but at a cost that feels particularly visible in a landscape like this.

Crossing the Wexford Road at Ballintrane, I turned left and continued south crossing the River Burren for the third time today as I made my way toward Taylors Cross on the Fenagh – Myshall Road. From there I picked up a stretch of the Turas Columbanus, a route being developed to create a pilgrimage route Myshall, the birthplace of Saint Columbanus across France, Switzerland and Italy to his resting place in Bobbio, Italy. The tiny roads and tight bends tend to slow you down, as if encouraging you to notice more.

And notice more I did.

Soon came Toberbride; according to the Ordnance Survey Map there is a Holy Well located in the field off the road and soon came the wonderfully evocative townland name of Coolnacuppogue ,roughly translating as the Back of the hill of the Dock Leaves! It’s the kind of name that anchors you to a place and I spotted a nice stretch of traditional Carlow fencing here, the craftsmanship still holding strong against time and weather.

A few hundred metres on, two hens scratched industriously along the roadside verge, their small flock of chicks darting in and out under their legs – a simple, perfect rural scene.

Turning right, the road rose gradually before falling towards one of the highlights of the day: Ballyloughan Castle. This place never fails to impress. A seldom visited gem, it boasts the striking remains of a 13th century settlement, its double-towered gatehouse still standing with quiet authority. There’s something very atmospheric about it, I climbed over the gate and strolled inside. No crowds, no fuss, just a piece of Carlow history sitting patiently in a Carlow field posing questions I cannot answer about our past! Not far away lies Ballaghmoon Castle, another reminder of how dense the countryside is with heritage, even if many of these sites are poorly signposted and go unnoticed.

Conscious of the 2pm throw in for the eagerly awaited Cork v Limerick in the Munster SHC, I got back on the bike and pushed on through Swinn Cross Roads from where the road kicked up sharply towards Kildreenagh. This climb has a bit of bite but its reward is access to one of the more hidden treasures of this route.

Down a quiet lane, half hidden in a hedgerow lies a cross head and a bullaun stone, an understated but deeply evocative site. Kildreenagh – The Church of the Blackthorns, feels special. Few know of its existence. The bullaun stone was full of water from recent rains. It’s just one of those spots that rewards curiosity and for which we should be thankful that the local farmer, makes sure that it is not damaged when hedges are being trimmed back. It’s almost impossible to find without local knowledge or an Ordnance survey map in your hand.

From there it was a steady spin home via Newtown, though not without one final test – the climb to the top of Nurney Hill. It’s a proper pull, especially with a good few kilometres in the legs but the top delivers what all good climbs should. County Carlow opens in all four directions, a canopy of green fields, ridgelines along the Blackstairs to the south and Killeshin to the west with the Wicklow mountains in the distant east. Carlow Cathedral spire straight ahead as my North Star.

It’s a quick descent into Nurney village and home via Ballyloo Cross and Tinryland.

This is a loop that doesn’t draw any attention. It doesn’t have any headline climbs or famous passes, but it has other attractions – quiet roads, rich history and the kind of small details that stay with you long after the cycle is done. It’s hard to imagine a better way to spend a morning in the heart of Carlow.

Tipp Top…..

Two cycles through history in counties Tipperary and Waterford.

There are parts of Ireland where the landscape seems to carry its stories lightly. And then there are places like south Tipperary and west Waterford, where every hill and valley feels steeped in memory.

Two recent cycles brought that home to me — one circling the great bulk of Slievenamon, and another climbing a route favoured by local cyclists, The Vee, and eventually detouring to a lonely monument high on the mountainside.

My first cycle was 35kms approx and the second loop was a tasty 58kms with over 900 metres of climbing. But both were dense with history.

First Loop:

Around Slievenamon from Kilcash

My first spin was a modest 35 km loop around Slievenamon, starting in the quiet village of Kilcash.

Kilcash is the sort of place that quietly gathers centuries. Close to the village stand the ruins of Kilcash Castle, once home to a branch of the powerful Butler family, and nearby is the medieval Kilcash Church, whose origins go back to a monastic foundation associated with a 6th-century saint.  

It is also famous throughout Ireland for a poem we all learned in secondary school — “Cill Cháis” (Kilcash) — one of the best-known laments in the Irish language. The poem mourns the decline of the old estate, the loss of the great woods, and the fading of a once-powerful household.  

The opening line is one many Irish schoolchildren once knew by heart:

Cad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan adhmad? – What shall we do now without timber?

The poem remembers the cutting of the woods and the ruin of the castle — a metaphor for a whole fading world.

Leaving Kilcash, the bike ride begins gently enough, but the road soon reminds you that Slievenamon does not give up its views cheaply. (It’s much worse hiking up it). The climb out of Kilcash is steep, a tough start to what overall is a pleasant easy loop. Early questions asked and answered: I’m not fit!

Once the road rises high enough, the reward appears: the wide plains of south Tipperary stretching away below, the dark shoulder of Slievenamon rising above them.

Slievenamon itself — “Sliabh na mBan,” the Mountain of the Women — is woven deeply into Irish folklore and song. The mountain’s name is linked to legends of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, and in the 19th century the Tipperary nationalist and poet Charles Kickham wrote the famous ballad Slievenamon, a song that still echoes around GAA terraces and parish halls wherever Tipperary people gather.  

For Tipp emigrants scattered across the world, the mountain is a symbol of home.

Second loop.

Up the Vee and Across the Knockmealdowns

Two whole days without rain, so I was up for a little longer adventure.

Starting in Clogheen, the road climbs surprisingly easy toward The Vee, one of the most famous cycling routes in the south-east. The ascent winds into the Knockmealdown Mountains, where the landscape suddenly opens into vast views across the counties.

The Vee itself feels special on a bike, with its two great switch backs. The road crests at a natural gap in the mountains, revealing the Bay Lough below to the right and the long sweep of the valley stretching westward to Galteemore.

From there I rolled down, into a cold headwind, toward Mount Melleray Abbey, once home to a community of Cistercian monks who had lived and prayed there since the 1830s. The monastery closed recently (and now acts as a hostel on the St Declan Pilgrim route), marking the end of nearly two centuries of monastic life in that quiet valley.

The mountains above the abbey tell another story — a much darker one.

A Detour to the Liam Lynch Memorial.

High on the slopes of the Knockmealdowns stands an impressive monument, almost hidden away: a tall round tower marking the spot where Liam Lynch, Chief of Staff of the IRA during the Civil War, was mortally wounded in April 1923.  

I turned off the road and climbed along the forest fire break that leads to it, a climb of 4.5kms.

By early 1923 the Civil War had dragged on bitterly for months. Lynch was leading the anti-Treaty IRA and remained determined to continue the fight even as support was fading.  

On 10 April 1923, Free State troops swept through the mountains searching for him. Lynch and a small group tried to escape, but ran into another National Army column approaching from the opposite direction. During the encounter he was struck by rifle fire.  

He was carried down the mountain and brought to hospital in Clonmel, where he died later that evening at just 29 years of age.  Ironically they say papers found upon him indicated he may have been preparing to end the conflict himself.

Historians often say that the shot that killed him effectively ended the Civil War. Within weeks, his successor Frank Aiken ordered IRA forces to cease operations.  

Standing at the isolated memorial It feels impossible that such a decisive moment in Irish history unfolded in such a lonely place.

I retraced the route back down hill to the village of Newcastle and took a left for the final leg back to Clogheen. 

Cycling back down from the monument and across the Vee, the thought lingered that these mountains have seen centuries of drama — from Gaelic lordships to monasteries, rebellions, and civil war.

Yet to the cyclist passing through on a quiet afternoon, they offer something simpler.

Good roads.

Huge skies.

And the sense that every climb in Ireland leads not only upward — but backward in time.

Feeling good about myself after a great day cycling I was joined by another cyclist on the wheel back into Clogheen. This sprightly man was a mere 90 years of age who only started cycling in 1984 by completing the famous and high profile Maracycle – Dublin to Belfast return as part of Co-operartion North, which he completed twice. Nowadays he likes to cycle a few times a week on quiet local roads!

A NFL Road Trip along the Lough Shore

The NFL is finally up and running and it was great to be in Portglenone to witness a really heart warming Carlow victory over Antrim. A complete team performance. Tús maith leath na hoibre.

A long spin up but worth it for the die hard supporters who made the effort.

It’s great to be a spectator and have no real deadlines to follow so I used the opportunity to go on a pilgrimage to the GAA heartlands of the ‘Lough Shore’!

Along the western and northern shores of Lough Neagh lies one of the most remarkable concentrations of Gaelic football strength anywhere in Ireland.

In a relatively short stretch of countryside spanning Tyrone, Derry and Antrim, the lough shore has produced powerhouse clubs, legendary footballers and a culture where the GAA isn’t just a sport — it’s identity and a saving grace for communities that were ravaged by the Troubles.

This is a true football corridor. Drive the shoreline roads and you’re rarely out of sight of a pitch glowing under floodlights.

Not just any clubs but some power houses that have achieved phenomenal success at provincial and All Ireland level, have to mention I mean the Derry Clubs have!

Bellaghy Wolfe Tones stands as one of the great names of Derry football — a club steeped in success and deep cultural roots.

On the field, Bellaghy have been giants:

1972 All-Ireland Club Champions

1995 All-Ireland Runners Up

4 Ulster Club titles

3 Ulster runners-up finishes.

Their greatness was driven by exceptional players such as Damien Cassidy, one of the most elegant forwards Ireland has seen and Fergal Doherty, a prince of midfielders who had a great leap and a great pair of hands.

No story about Bellaghy is complete without recalling the late Seán Brown, a man who literally devoted his life to the club and who tragically lost his life when he was murdered by the Loyalist Volunteer Force as he locked up the grounds one night. His legacy lives on and Seán continues to inspire this great club.

It is also Seamus Heaney’s home town and I still had some time to spare so I paid a short visit to the Seamus Heaney centre. Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, he wrote so beautifully of life in this community, of working in the bog, of the importance of community and culture. 

Just up the road are Ballinderry Shamrocks

Their crowning glory came in 2002, when they captured the All-Ireland Club Championship, cementing their place among Ireland’s elite. Alongside that they won 3 Ulster Club titles and were twice Ulster runners-up.

The diminutive Conleth Gilligan was one of the most intelligent footballers I’ve ever seen and his teammate Enda Muldoon, one of the most elegant ball players; Gareth McKinless has more recently been the lynchpin of the Derry defence and an All Star too!

And the most recent Derry Champions are nearby Newbridge, bordering on Toome in Antrim, home to Cargin, the powerhouse of Saffron Club Football in this millennium.

Ardboe O’Donovan Rossa are Tyrone’s Lough side Legends. Their true legacy lies in the footballers it produced.

Frank McGuigan, Tyrone’s original superstar of the 1970s and ’80s, was a scoring phenomenon — a forward who carried county teams through difficult years with brilliance and bravery. Tyrone’s greatest ever?

Decades later came his son Brian, an intelligent, play maker at no 11 and winner of three All Ireland’s with Tyrone. One of the classiest Red Hands.

What a father and son combination!

I paid a visit to the ancient Ardboe High Cross close by which looks out across the huge expanse of Lough Neagh, the largest lake in Ireland, now sadly suffering from pollution of the waterways.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the lough shore story is how success has flowed differently on each side of the Derry – Tyrone border.

Derry clubs have amassed an astonishing 17 Ulster Club titles, driven largely by Bellaghy and Ballinderry — including two All-Ireland club crowns between them.

By contrast, Tyrone clubs have won just 3 Ulster titles, yet Tyrone became an inter-county superpower — fuelled by shoreline talent like the McGuigans and others forged in these tough parishes.

Same landscape.

Different expressions of greatness.

Spend time along Lough Neagh and you quickly realise the GAA isn’t an activity — it’s the backbone of community life.

Along the shores of Lough Neagh lies one of Gaelic football’s true heartlands. A concentrated corridor of clubs and communities that have shaped Ulster football. Long may it continue.

Galtymore – Frozen Lessons Above the Glen of Aherlow

The 32 County High Point challenge resumed in earnest this week and it did so with a bang – or perhaps more accurately, with a shiver! Galtymore, that shared summit between Tipperary and Limerick, reminded me that mountains don’t care about forecasts or optimistic hikers. They simply stand there, in all their magnificence, waiting to teach you a lesson if you arrive slightly undercooked.

What made it stranger still was how familiar this mountain felt before I even put a boot on it. The last time my wife and I passed beneath the Galtees we were on two wheels rather than two feet, swooping gently along the floor of the Glen of Aherlow as part of our Malin to Mizen cycle in 2021. Then, the mountains were something to admire from a distance – the sheer green north face of the Galtee Range is a majestic sight on a summers day. Back then they were scenery. Now they were my problem.

Expectation vs Reality

I had done the sensible bits: checked forecasts, looked at maps, reassured myself that the day looked promising. Cold, yes. Wintry, yes. But manageable. Unfortunately, my sense of competence didn’t extend to the basics: I left home without gloves and without snacks. Thought I’d pick some up in a shop but I didn’t pass one all the way down from Carlow! Clownish behaviour in winter. On a mountain. It’s the sort of lapse I could excuse if I was a novice, not from someone nearing the end of a 32-county challenge. You live, you learn… preferably not the hard way.

At Clydagh Bridge car park, I made the decision which shaped the day. Instead of heading for the Lough Curra stile – the established, friendly, sensible way up – I followed the sign to Galtymore Stile, confident that a sign surely couldn’t lie. But it did that quietly Irish thing: it pointed you in roughly the right direction and then left you to figure out the rest!

The path wandered out of forest and onto open commonage and then disappeared… no markers. No poles. Just vast, cold mountain ahead and a stream tumbling off the northern slopes. I followed the water, then committed to a small gully. Luckily (and there’s nothing like meeting fellow strays on a mountainside!) I encountered a couple who’d made the same mistake. We formed a little alliance of misplaced optimism and agreed to stick together, promising to turn back if it became foolish rather than adventurous. There is no way I could have completed this climb without their help and support. Hopefully they felt likewise!

Onto the Rough Side of the Mountain

This is not the tourist side of Galtymore. No lovely trodden track easing you gently toward the skyline. Instead, you get steep, frozen ground that demands attention and respect. Lough Diheen lurked off to our left beneath cliffs that we wisely avoided. The terrain pitched up savagely as we climbed – from about 450m to the 918m summit in a brutally direct line, a gradient that feels closer to a wall than a hill, a ladder wouldn’t be out of place.

The surface was iron–hard with frost. Grip was sometimes good, sometimes treacherous, but always tiring. I was also using poles which I found really helpful, once adjusted for the terrain. The kind of climbing where your legs burn, your breathing goes ragged, and you realise just how far removed this is from admiring mountains from a bicycle saddle in the sunshine.

Near the top, winter arrived properly. Cloud swallowed the summit, visibility vanished, snow swept across us, and strong gusts battered the ridge. Around the Lough Curra cliffs on the descent the wind became something wild – the sort that makes you lean your whole body against it and still feel unsure.

My hands had, since the upper parts of the frozen slope, decided to make their presence very much felt. Without gloves, they reached that sharp, screaming pain stage where you’re not entirely convinced you’ll ever feel your fingers again. Salvation came thanks to a borrowed pair of work gloves near the summit – agricultural by design, miraculous by effect.

A Race Against Darkness

Reaching the summit wasn’t the triumph I usually feel; it was relief. We didn’t linger. We took the sensible route down – the one we should have gone up in the first place – but the mountain wasn’t done. The ground was frozen, snow covering underfoot, light began to fade, and my phone battery slid perilously toward empty. Every modern comfort we rely on – navigation, weather info, timekeeping – all were quietly evaporating. A trail runner passed and gave us some directional advice for the best way down.

When I eventually reached the trailhead, tired, cold, hungry, and very aware of my own stupidity, I found myself thinking of the Glen of Aherlow again. Of that peaceful cycle in 2021. Of pedalling past farmers tending their livestock, the slow rhythm of rural life, the mountains watching silently above. The Galtees are stitched into local identity – songs, stories and folklore, Sunday drives, family picnics, history layered onto landscape. Indeed my first memory of the Glen was cycling through here with Tom Cullen all of 45 plus years ago! And then there’s us modern wanderers, arriving with apps, gadgets, performance fabrics, and occasionally… no gloves.

From Ireland to the Desert

All of this felt particularly vivid because only a week earlier I’d been scrambling in Wadi Al Dhahir in the UAE. There the landscape is heat-sculpted, bone–dry, dramatic in an entirely different register. Sun on stone, sand underfoot, heat shimmering off rock faces. You carry water like treasure. The danger is dehydration rather than frostbite. Yet the lesson is surprisingly similar in both places: the landscape demands respect, and complacency is never rewarded.

Standing on the Galtymore ridge in driving snow, I couldn’t help smiling at the contrast. One week baking in desert canyons; the next being sandblasted by frozen Irish weather. Two very different worlds, one humbling truth: nature is always in charge.

Lessons (Firmly) Learned

This was one of the hardest climbs I’ve done, less because of difficulty and more because of my own mistakes.

  • Bring gloves. Always. No excuses. Irish mountains are treacherous and changeable in an instant.
  • Bring food. Hunger is no badge of honour.
  • Don’t blindly trust a sign – know your route. I left my guidebook in the car….
  • Batteries die faster in cold. Plan for it.
  • The hardest-looking way up is rarely the wisest.

But Galtymore also gave back: companionship, resilience, perspective, and renewed respect for Irish mountains. Five county high points remain. I’ll face them with humility, better preparation… and a firm promise to myself never again to stand on a winter summit wondering where I left my gloves.

And somewhere along the way, as I often do, I’ll think of that quiet day cycling through the Glen of Aherlow, knowing that sometimes it’s okay to admire mountains from below – because sooner or later they will insist you meet them properly, and they’ll make sure you respect them and remember the encounter.

From Youghal to Ballycotton via Midleton & Cloyne: A 72 km Spin Through Hurling Heartlands & Atlantic Air

It’s been a while! The promise of a dry Bank Holiday Monday in east Cork was enough to have me face the car for the south coast, sick of rain over the weekend and itching for a good cycle. The showers were falling as I loaded the bike on the bike rack but the promise of a clearance in east Cork motivated me to take a 2 hour car journey into the heart of Cork hurling country!

Starting point today would be historic Youghal, a town we all bypass these days on the ring road but I was glad to revisit a Town, well past its heyday as a holiday destination, yet still packed with mobile home parks along the cliff tops and the sea front.

Youghal, ‘Eoghaill’ as Gaeilge, meaning Yew, has been around for a long time with Viking settlements here in the 11th century. It is of course closely associated with Sir Walter Raleigh (nothing to do with bikes!), and is designated an Irish Heritage Port Town. The Clock Gate Tower stalls tall and proud in the centre of the Town since 1777 and was used as a prison during the 1798 rebellion. 

It was home to the magical Seánie O’Leary – multiple All-Ireland winning hero, played in a great era for Cork hurling in which he was an out and out goal poacher. His son Tomás was equally gifted but he went on to play rugby for Munster and Ireland.

The Greenway Glide

The newly opened Youghal–Midleton Greenway offered smooth, direct westerly travel toward Midleton as it threaded through Killeagh and Mogeely, following the skeleton of the old rail line. The surface is perfect, the gradients gentle, the riding stress-free.

But yet. I always find greenways just a little too neat. Too predictable. Rural Ireland without the rumble. Beautiful but sterile, like cycling through a very well-curated postcard collection. The long gentle straights on perfect tarmac, the whole thing undeniably pleasant. Though, as headwinds begin to needle my shoulders, perhaps pleasant is no bad place to start. The route has lovely signposts highlighting local townland names and local flora and fauns, which really help appreciate the beauty around us.

The hurling pulse never really fades. Killeagh – a stone’s throw from the Greenway – produced another great small man,Joe Deane, one of the craftiest corner-forwards ever to wear Cork red, as well as Mark Landers, another pivotal Cork man of his era. Each village and parish feels wired for hurling.

Midleton: Magpie Country

As the Greenway ushers me into Midleton, I can’t help thinking about the club’s black-and-white stripes and their fierce pride. John Fenton, he of the magical wrists, who can forget his goal in Semple Stadium that might be the most replayed strike in hurling history? Fenton was one of my favourites. Kevin Hennessy and Conor Lehane too gifted stick-men of Midleton and Cork.

This landscape breathes hurling. Every hurling field down here is like a green carpet, beautiful sod, huge pitches!

I leave the constraints of the Greenway now and head for Cloyne, legs grateful for a change in scenery.

Cloyne: Towers, Legends & Granite Shoulders

The round tower in Cloyne rises from the earth like a stone exclamation mark. A reminder that this place was important long before Championships and scoreboards. Today though the Round Tower is encased in scaffolding and it’s bemusing to see it – the Monks who built these fabulous Towers had no such technology!

It’s impossible to roll through here without thinking about the hurlers who carved their names in local and national lore.

Cloyne is Christy Ring country. Enough said really. The man who still stands in the collective imagination as the greatest to ever swing an ash stick. Add the granite presence of Diarmuid “The Rock” O’Sullivan, whose blocks and shoulder charges rattled the very foundations of Croke Park. I recently bumped into him in Enniscorthy, the week of the All Ireland Hurling Final. He looked like he could line out at full back! Then there’s Dónal Óg Cusack, a goalkeeper whose bravery, leadership and voice reshaped the modern game.

It feels right to be travelling by bike here. Time to reminisce and tp explore nooks and crannies. The roads are made for cycling.

Cycle to the Sea

Leaving Cloyne, I spot a small sign that reads “Cycle to the Sea.” Music to my ears. An 8 km detour down winding local roads: twists, glimpses of sea, ditches lush with late-season green, the occasional farmyard aroma reminding me I’m in real countryside now. The Greenway might be polished, but this – this is where cycling feels alive.

The Atlantic unveils itself suddenly and gloriously as Ballycotton comes into view. The village perches above a rugged shoreline, and out on the horizon Ballycotton Island stands with its lighthouse watching over everything. The place feels like a secret that refuses to keep quiet.

It is gorgeous, yes, but there is solemnity in the salt breeze too. I remember the four fisheries officers who drowned off this coast in 1990 while protecting these waters. No easy life living for anyone associated with the sea.

Homeward with the Wind

After soaking in Ballycotton’s drama, I retrace my route for a handful of kilometres and then swing right through Garryvoe. The landscape relaxes again into farmland, the Atlantic still hovering over my shoulder as if checking I’m heading the right way. I pass Kilcredan and roll by Fr O’Neill’s GAA grounds, yet another reminder that in East Cork, sport is more than a pastime.

The wind became my friend once I left Cloyne. The headwind of the morning flips to a tailwind, a quiet hand placed on the small of my back, encouraging me to fly those last few kilometres. It’s one of cycling’s simple joys: same legs, same bike, same rider… suddenly a different world.

Back to Youghal

I rejoin the Greenway close to Youghal, letting it guide me smoothly homeward to where the day began.

Seventy-two kilometres. A battle into the wind, a glide back with it. Greenway convenience paired with the soul of small roads. Coast and countryside. Hurling’s heart and the Atlantic’s edge.

Every ride is a story. This one came with round towers, lighthouse beams, legendary hurlers, and a reminder that the best roads are sometimes the ones that meander and make you earn the view.

I’ll take that over sterile straight-lines any day.