Rothar Routes

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

Posts from the ‘Routes’ category

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!

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.

Moylussa – Clare’s Highest Point & Best Views over Lough Derg!

County Clare is often associated with the limestone pavements of the Burren or the towering Cliffs of Moher, but its highest point lies further inland in East Clare – the hurling heartlands, looking down on the broad waters of Lough Derg. Moylussa (532m) rises out of the Slieve Bearnagh range, overlooking Killaloe and Ballina, the twin towns that straddle the Shannon. Today I ticked off Clare’s summit – my 25th County High Point out of 32 – and it turned into a walk of woods, bog, lakes, history, and a little bit of hurling talk thrown in! The views over Lough Derg, Killaloe and Ballina are just stunning on a fine day like today.

Encounters on the Mountain

I thought I was doing well until I was overtaken on the way down by a Limerick man in his seventies, running the descent with ease! We’d shared a great chat at the summit about Limerick hurling – he turned out to be a fellow clubman of Tom and Dan Morrissey from Ahane. Proof, if ever needed, that hill fitness isn’t always a young person’s game!

On the way up, I also passed a touching shrine adorning some trees, a personal memorial lovingly kept. It felt fitting – these mountains, though not crowded, carry people’s stories as much as their summits carry views.

Mountain Goat!

Moylussa in History and Lore

The mountain is part of the Slieve Bernagh (Sliabh Bearna) range, meaning the “Mountains of the Gap.” These uplands acted as a natural barrier in medieval times, forming a wild border between the kingdoms of Thomond and Ormond.

Killaloe itself, nestled at Moylussa’s foot, is steeped in history. In the 10th century it was home to Brian Boru, High King of Ireland, who ruled from his fort at Kincora overlooking the Shannon. Standing on Moylussa’s summit, you can almost imagine his longboats drawn up on the waters below.

As for myth, the Shannon itself is tied to legend: the river is named after Sionann, granddaughter of the sea-god Lir, who is said to have drowned after tasting the waters of Connla’s Well in search of wisdom. From high on Moylussa, where the Shannon spreads into Lough Derg, the story feels close.

In more recent times Irish rugby stars Keith Wood and the late Anthony ‘Axel’ Foley are among Killaloe’s most favoured sons!

Weather, Luck and County High Point #25

The forecast had threatened showers, but apart from a few early drops the rain held off until I was safely back down. Sometimes the mountain gods grant a little mercy. With Clare’s high point now under the belt, that’s 25 of 32 climbed – the end of the challenge is starting to come into view.

Moylussa might lack the rugged cliffs or dramatic peaks of some counties, but it rewards with atmosphere, wide horizons, and a sense of standing at the heart of Ireland, looking out over river, lake and history.

  • County Clare High Point
  • Height: 532 metres
  • Starting Point: Ballycuggaran Car Park
  • Distance: 10kms out and back
  • Ascent: 450 metres
  • Moving Time: 1 hour 43 minutes
  • Terrain: Forest Trails, some slippy rocky sections, bogland boardwalk (no walking permitted on the bog)
  • Difficulty: Moderate – steep start and rocky sections tricky on the descent
  • Highlights: Has to be the view of Lough Derg and Silvermines Mountains

From Trostan to the Glens: High Points and Hurling Heartlands

Last Saturday I conquered Trostan, the 551 m summit of County Antrim, and hauled myself back home over a 700 km relentless but rewarding round-trip in my 32-County High Point Challenge! From that windswept trig-point, views stretched beyond the haze north to Rathlin Island, west to the Inishowen Peninsula in far off Donegal, east to the Mull of Kintyre and Scotland then just south to Slemish, the first known home of Saint Patrick, where he was enslaved; I climbed it on his feast day two years ago. Beneath my feet lay a mountain carved by basalt lava, long watched over by clans and cairns— this land was fought over by many chieftains and clans, both native Irish and of Scottish descent. Not far from Trostan Sorley Boy MacDonnell had a great victory at the Battle of Aura, following which they withdrew to Trostan, marking the spot with a cairn. Looking out to Rathlin brought fond memories of a trip many years ago with Tommy Wogan with one particular image being of the pair of us sitting on the top of the huge cliff edge watching RAF fighter jets flying low above the North Atlantic Ocean on a training mission. Never saw anything like it before or since! I hope to ride the ferry to Rathlin again sometime soon! Today though was about notching up my 24th County High Point, Trostan’s summit, yearning for the remaining eight high points still calling me onward to complete a few more before the onset of winter.

Looking down from Trostan into the Glens of Antrim, I wasn’t just seeing valleys and sea-cliffs — I was gazing into the cradle of Ulster hurling, where villages like Cushendall keep alive the flame of Ireland’s oldest game. Names like Sambo McNaughton and Neil McManus ring out here as proudly as any chieftain of old. In a county where nationalists often carried the heavy burden of politics and prejudice, the hurley and sliotar became more than sport — they were symbols of resilience, pride, and culture woven deep into the very fabric of the Glens. In villages like Cushendall, Cushendun, Glenariff and Loughgiel, the game is woven into identity and daily life, with the Ruairí Óg club in Cushendall standing as a powerhouse of Ulster hurling.

Hurling here isn’t just sport — it’s a cultural anchor. In an area where Irish music, song, and storytelling have long flourished, the clash of ash sticks on the pitch echoes a community’s resilience, pride, and belonging. Local festivals and the use of the Irish language keep that cultural thread alive in a way that still feels raw and rooted.

For nationalists in Antrim, especially during the difficult years of the Troubles, hurling and the GAA provided more than sport. They were safe havens of identity, places where Irish culture — language, music, games — could flourish against a backdrop of political tension and discrimination. To take the field in the maroon of the Ruairí Óg Club, the green and gold of Dunloy Cúchullains, the red and white of Loughiel Shamrocks or the black and amber of McQuillans Ballycastle was to play for more than points on a scoreboard: it was to declare pride in community and continuity of tradition. Terence ‘Sambo’ McNaughton, Neil McManus, Ally Elliott, the Donnelly’s, Liam Watson and Cloot McFetridge were as good a hurlers as any across the hurling strongholds.

Mention of Loughiel Shamrocks and I have to mention my good friends Bernie and Dermot Connolly of Corkey Road, who I met many years ago and with whom we stayed for a weekend when the lads were very young. True Gaels.

I knew from reading Kieron Gibbons guide book to Ireland’s County High Points that the approach to Trostan tended to be very soft and wet as it crosses a stretch of open bogland. It was no accident I took it on last weekend. The dry spell had made it spongy and nice to walk across. The climb follows markers for the Moyle Way / Ulster Way and involves climbing over a couple of stiles. On a day like last Saturday it was one of the easy High Points so far. The starting point is easily missed as it is on a remote minor road between Newtown-Crommelin and Cushendall / Cushendun and there was no information panel present on the day identifying it as a trailhead; a brick pedestal probably held a sign at some stage. There is only parking for 1 or 2 cars. It can also be claimed from the Glenariff Forest car park on the eastern side.

After finishing the climb I detoured into Cushendall and paid a quick visit into Sambos pub, the walls adorned with photos of hurling legends and signed jerseys. A GAA watering hole off ever there was one. The homeward journey brought me through Glenravel Glen, made famous by Bobby Sands who wrote a ballad about the blind fiddle player and poitín maker, ‘McIllhatton’ and sung by Christy Moore.