Rothar Routes

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

Posts from the ‘South Leinster Cycle Routes’ category

Killanerin, Croghan Hill, Ballyfad & 1798 echoes

My latest looped spin dipped over the borders of County Wexford and Wicklow, beginning at Killanerin GAA Club, a handy spot to leave the car—although it didn’t start smoothly. A flat rear tyre on the car meant my cycle began with a bit of hassle changing the tyre before even hopping on the bike!

Once finally rolling, I left Killanerin and pedalled by the Wexford Lavender Farm, one of Ireland’s few commercial lavender growers. Their rows of purple bloom are a unique sight in this country, against the backdrop of rolling fields.

From there, I coasted through Coolgreaney, a small village with a lot of history. The Askamore to Coolgreaney area was very active in the 1798 Rebellion, when United Irishmen under the leadership of the Catholic Miles Byrne and the Protestant Anthony Perry, played such a pivotal role in the Rebellion of 1798 as Wexford rose against British rule. Local tradition holds that rebel columns marched through here en route to the key battles at Oulart Hill and Vinegar Hill, leaving behind stories of hidden pikes and daring night gatherings. As I came into the village I could hear raised voices coming from Coolgreaney House gardens – an outdoor play was being performed among the gorgeous gardens,

Next up was Ballyfad, also with strong 1798 associations.

It’s a 10 km climb to Croghan Hill. The ascent snaked steadily upwards, passing through Ballyfad with the shoulder of Croghan drawing closer all the while. Croghan Hill’s upper flanks are dotted with giant whooshing wind turbines. I followed the wide gravel fire breaks through these towering blades until I reached the last steep 600 metres of heather and spongey ground – but very dry today, which demanded a short 600 metres hike.

At the summit, I was greeted by one of the best 360-degree panoramas I’ve seen. Under a crystal-clear blue evening sky, the whole sweep of the Blackstairs Mountains and Mount Leinster lay to the west, while Lugnaquilla’s bulk marked the Wicklow mountains. The line of the Great Sugar Loaf stood proud to the northeast, and the east coast ribboned away south past Arklow, all bathed in late sun.

From there, I looped back down toward Ballyfad Wood, taking a peaceful cycle through 200 acres of mature woodland listening to nothing but late evening bird song—quite the contrast to the frantic start to the day. Ballyfad Wood was used as a refuge by The United Irishmen both before and after the rebellion of 1798 and there are records of rebels encountering local loyalist militia in the woods in the autumn and winter of 1798. Ballyfad Wood was said to be a hiding place for rebels on the run after the failed rising. Some old locals still talk of “rebel paths” threading through these woods, though most of the traces are long since swallowed by bracken and pine. I was back in Killanerin, the car (now with a spare wheel) waiting.

Cycle details

  • Total distance: 31 km
  • Climbing: 767 metres
  • Start/finish: Killanerin GAA Club
  • Highlights: Lavender farm, Croghan Hill views, 1798 history, tranquil Ballyfad Wood

Another gem of a loop, mixing rebel folklore, modern turbines, and timeless vistas. Well worth the tyre hassle!

Glen of Imaal Loop

There’s a road out of Rathdangan that pulls you gently upwards, wrapping around the shoulder of Slievemaan. It doesn’t shout for attention. No cafés, no car parks, no welcome signs. But beyond it lies one of the most storied and mysterious landscapes in Ireland – the Glen of Imaal.

On this particular spin, the sun was high and fierce – longest and hottest day of the year so far! As I pedalled into the wide glacial scoop of the Glen, Lugnaquilla loomed on my right like a sleeping giant, the North Prison cast in shadow. To my left, the softer hulk of Kaideen offered contrast – rounded, brooding, ancient.

The first stop was McAllister’s Cottage, beautifully whitewashed, where it clings to the hillside, it was once a safehouse and hiding place during the 1798 Rebellion. It was here that Michael Dwyer, the famed rebel leader from Imaal, spent a winter on the run with comrades including Sam McAllister. When Crown forces finally caught up with them in 1799, McAllister made his final stand – deliberately exposing himself to gunfire to draw attention away from Dwyer, allowing his commander to escape into the misty folds of the Wicklow hills. His sacrifice made him a folk hero, and the cottage remains a potent symbol of defiance, endurance, and tragic loyalty.

Onward, across the Glen. The road turned rough, and I followed it towards the edge of the Glen of Imaal Artillery Range, where live military exercises still take place. Signs warn you not to stray from the public track – this is still a working range. I forded the River Slaney, little more than a silver thread here, but rising proudly from the heights of Lugnaquilla before beginning its long journey down through Carlow and Wexford to the sea.

Past Fentons, the famous pub at the foot of “Lug,” the road curved through this beautiful and remote valley that tourists tend to overlook. I stopped to pay respects at a somber site: a memorial to 16 Irish soldiers, killed in 1941 during a tragic accidental explosion while training in the Glen. A quiet spot, beautifully kept, with names etched in stone. These were young men, preparing to defend their country in neutrality during a dangerous time for Europe. Their deaths were a devastating blow to the community and are still remembered here.

There’s an added dimension to my Saturday and Sunday cycles when GAA games are on the radio; today was an epic battle between Dublin and Clare hurlers while Cavan travelled to take on Kerry. Kudos to the commentators who paint such vivd word pictures that it’s like being there and sometimes I’d end up pulling over to the side when it got particularly exciting – there were a lot of stops today as the Dubs overcame that brilliant Limerick team! I was outside Fentons pub for the closing minutes chatting to a bus driver who was transporting climbers undertaking the 4 Peaks Challenge! I completed a similar challenge many years ago with Donal Nolan and John Wynne!

Curiously, hidden within the artillery range itself, there’s a civilian cemetery, its presence a mystery. Perhaps a relic from before the land was taken over by the Defence Forces. It’s these oddities – the half-remembered things – that give the Glen its haunting pull.

The next waypoint was a true rarity: the Knickeen Ogham Stone, a tall, lichen-covered standing stone etched with ancient script, probably from the 5th or 6th century. Ogham was Ireland’s first written language – a series of slashes and lines denoting sounds. The Ogham inscription on the North East corner reads ‘Maqi Nili’, which broadly means ‘Of the son of Niall’, standing here for over a thousand years in silent testimony. It’s easy misss this important heritage site as it is off the public road and to the side of a walking track and out of sight. Glad to have visited it today.

Then it was time to close the loop. The road climbed again after Knockanarrigan, the crossroads at the centre of the Glen, where Kaideen again loomed in front of me like a guardian angel guiding me home. After a bit of climbing, it was an easy glide down to Rathdangan, my water bottle drained and legs toasted, but mind and body satisfied with stories and scenery.

Distance: 38km

Total Ascent: 603m

Avoca to the Coast: Red Kites, Sea Air and the Castletimon Giant!

There’s a special satisfaction in linking up a series of bike loops. Each one feels like a jigsaw piece – this piece is a cycle from the wooded hills above Avoca to the Wicklow coast and back again, across undulating country, through ancient landmarks, moody skies, and the odd magical tale.

The route starts in the village, just after the Church and loops back around and above the village.

I began with a climb into Kilmagig Forest, drawn by the promise of wings above the treetops. This is the Red Kite Walk– a 2.5km waymarked trail beloved by hikers and bird watches alike. Since their reintroduction in 2009 by the Golden Eagle Trust (other locations were unsuccessful), Red Kites have made a dramatic return here, with over 30 breeding pairs now resident. Circling high over the canopy and the village of Avoca far below, their forked tails and effortless glide gave an otherworldly feeling to the morning. A local man told me the kites are not always so graceful in their habits – apparently they sometimes drop bones from scavenged meals onto cars below, occasionally causing dents and confusion among unsuspecting drivers! A modern twist on the age-old tension between humans and nature.

From here, I veered east through hill country where the place names are poetry themselves: Ballinastraw, Ballinabrannagh, Pollaphuca, Barranisky.

Somewhere on this backroad maze I paused at St Patrick’s Well, a peaceful spring with a long devotional history. The water was cold and clear, the kind of spot that invites silence, maybe a whispered hope or two.

Crossing the motorway was a rude reminder of modern life, but the reward came soon after – the smell of salt on the air, the Irish Sea stretched out before me from the lesser known Mizen Head, with off shore wind turbines barely visible in the misty sky. Headed due north then to Brittas Bay, that summer escape beloved of Dubliners.

A sudden cloudburst turned the world grey and dripping. I was soaked to the skin, but the road beneath me was still a joy – fast and sinuous, the kind that makes you laugh out loud even in the rain. Wicklow seems designed for these kinds of moments.

On the return leg, I almost passed the Castletimon Ogham Stone, carved sometime between 350 and 550 AD. Rediscovered in the 1800s, the stone carries Ogham script – Ireland’s earliest written language. Some say the Castletimon Giant hurled it down the hill, scratching it with his fingernails. Others speak of a man who stole it for his hearthstone, only to have the fairies wreak havoc on his kitchen, sending cutlery into a nightly jig. He returned it promptly.

From there it was a spin past Jack White’s Cross Roads, where the infamous pub still does a brisk trade beside the junction, and a winding loop past Redcross, before I finally swooped back down into Avoca, wet but content, my loop complete.

47km, 717 metres of climbing, and a little bit of everything – birds of prey, coast and legend, forest, folklore, and rolling tarmac. The Garden of Ireland keeps surprising me.

A Wheel Through Time: Cycling the Vale of Clara Loop, County Wicklow

Distance: 35 km

Elevation Gain: 690 m

Route Type: Looped

Terrain: Mix of quiet country roads, forest lanes, riverside valleys, and panoramic hill climbs.

There are days when the road doesn’t just stretch ahead—it opens like a storybook. One recent morning, I found myself parking up at Clara Church, not far from Rathdrum, Co. Wicklow to begin spinning the pedals above the enchanted Vale of Clara, a looped route that doesn’t just traverse landscape but travels deep into Ireland’s wooded memory.

Wicklow has forests aplenty, but the Vale of Clara is something else—an often missed delight among the heavenly delights of Glendalough and Avondale. Here, oak woods have stood since the last Ice Age, rooted in a silence deeper than memory. Hazel and rowan shiver gently in the wind. Jays flash like thoughts through the branches. The long-eared owl, the blackcap, even the shy woodcock—all dwell here under the protection of a Special Area of Conservation. It’s a place to look and to listen.

At the heart of this green cathedral lies the village of Clara, many claim it to be Ireland’s smallest village! Picture this: a narrow, six-arched stone bridge, the oldest in Wicklow, modest yet stoic, dating back to the 17th century. It creaks under single-lane traffic as if resisting the modern world. Beside it, the quiet dignity of St Patrick and St Killian’s church, standing since 1799. Even the old schoolhouse next door has its tale to tell – it arrived 100 years later in 1899. Once there was a post office, an inn, a shop—all now homes, like retired storytellers guarding secrets of a gentler time.

Not far from Clara, is the Millennium Forest at Ballygannon. Over 40,000 oak seedlings were planted here at the turn of the millennium.

I followed the winding roads and soon I found myself on a rough lane descending toward the Mottee Stone—a 150-ton granite boulder plucked by a glacier and misplaced like a forgotten thought. Some say Fionn Mac Cumhaill hurled it from Lugnaquilla as a hurling ball. Others claim it rolls down the hill once a year for a drink at the Meeting of the Waters. Another is the one where dispatch riders from Dublin to Wexford cried “moitié!” upon seeing it—French for “halfway.” A milestone of myth and mileage. Iron rungs embedded by miners let me climb atop the stone, where the panorama spilled out in all directions.

And then downhill—freewheeling joy through over grown hedgerows, wildflowers and sun-dappled lanes—until I came to the place where rivers embrace. The Meeting of the Waters, where the Avonmore and Avonbeg become the Avoca, is more than geography—it’s poetry. Thomas Moore stood here once, moved to verse:

“There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet!"

The loop was now turning back towards my starting point but first came Avondale and Rathdrum, a town with history stitched into every street. A Green and Red painted house in the centre of the village caught my eye; adorned with chants of Mayo, Mayo, Mayo…and hopeful slogans ‘Yes we can’ and ‘Is féidir linn’. Hope springs eternal, yet dashed again last Sunday. Odd I thought to see this is the middle of County Wicklow, until I remembered that Charles Stewart Parnell, Rathdrum’s native son, once led the charge to end landlordism across Ireland. It was he who inspired the movement that gave the English language the word “boycott,” after Irish tenants shunned a British land agent in County Mayo. Perhaps, I mused, that splash of Mayo red and green was more than football pride—maybe it was a silent homage to Parnell, to justice, to the Land League’s legacy.

As the loop closed and I rolled back over Clara’s 17th century bridge, it struck me: this wasn’t just a cycle. It was communion—with history, with forest, with story, and with silence.

The Vale of Clara doesn’t just show you where you are. It reminds you of where you come from.

Above the Valleys: From Derrybawn to Drumgoff on a Trail of Views, Rebels & Red Kites

There are some routes in Wicklow that feel like you’ve pedalled your way into Ireland’s ancient past from monastic masterpieces to our centuries of rebellion against English invaders and planters. My latest two wheeled adventure started in Laragh, always a busy village nestled in the centre of Wicklow, and it took me high above the world-famous Glendalough, across open mountain, down into the historic depths of Glenmalure, and up again to one of Ireland’s most iconic cycling landmarks. This one had everything: forest climbs, ridge views, a sighting of a red kite, and more than a little sweating!

Route Summary:

  • Distance: 23 km
  • Elevation Gain: 710 m
  • Highest Point: 568 m above sea level
  • Start/Finish: Laragh
  • Terrain: Mixed surface – forest trails, mountain boardwalk, paved climbs, fast descent

The Derrybawn Loop – A Trail Above Time

I set off on the Derrybawn Loop, a well-marked hiking and biking trail that leaves from Laragh and climbs steeply through thick woodland above Glendalough’s monastic village. The climb wastes no time—it’s tough going, but the views are worth every crank of the pedals. I may be on an electric assisted bike but I still get the physical benefit of my efforts, with a little assistance when the going gets tough!

Soon breaks in the tree line appear, and you’re treated to breathtaking vistas of the Upper Lake, shimmering below like something out of a dream. The route sweeps around Derrybawn Mountain, with the Spink Ridge rising to the west—a dramatic walk in its own right and well worth the effort if you do visit Glenadalough on foot.

Eventually, the forest road gives way to a wooden boardwalk—floating above the heather and bog on the open mountain. At this point, I left the Derrybawn Loop behind and struck out toward the Miners Trail, which links Glendalough to Glenmalure. This is where the spin turns into something else entirely. First I had to lift the bike over a stile and then carefully walk the bike along the board walk – I’m not brave enough or foolish enough to try cycle on top of it! It’s a really steep descent after the boardwalk on a slippy gravelly mountain path.

Crossing to Glenmalure – Wicklow’s Rebel Heartland

The Miners Trail winds across open mountain and descends into the glacial expanse of Glenmalure, the longest glacial valley in Ireland. At 20km long, it’s a place that breathes history. Once the stronghold of the O’Byrne clan, Glenmalure was the site of fierce resistance to English rule, most famously the 1580 Battle of Glenmalure, where Fiach MacHugh O’Byrne and his followers delivered one of the heaviest defeats suffered by an English army in Ireland. He is immortalised in the ballad ‘Follow me up to Carlow’ The air to the song is reputed to have been played as a marching tune by the pipers of Fiach MacHugh O’Byrne:

Lift MacCahir Óg your face
Brooding over the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place,
Drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure
Soon the firebrand he'd secure;
Until he met at Glenmalure
With Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.

See the swords of Glen Imaal,
They're flashing over the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael,
Beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of a fighting stock,
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners!

Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.

From Tassagart to Clonmore,
There flows a stream of Saxon gore
O, great is Rory Óg O'More,
At sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick, Grey is fled,
Now for black FitzWilliam's head
We'll send it over dripping red,
To Queen Liza and her ladies.

As I descended toward Drumgoff Bridge, the landscape widened into that familiar U-shaped valley—a place both remote and full of presence. And as if scripted by nature itself, a red kite soared overhead, circling effortlessly on the thermals. These majestic birds of prey were reintroduced to Wicklow in recent years, and seeing one in flight is always a thrill—its forked tail and russet colouring unmistakable.

Crossing to Glenmalure – Wicklow’s Rebel Heartland

The Shay Elliott Climb – A Hill for the Heroes

From Drumgoff, the road pointed steeply upwards to the Shay Elliott Monument. This is one of Wicklow’s great cycling climbs—never too steep to break you, but long enough to test your grit. I never felt more like a cheat than I did at this point using an emtb! The monument honours Shay Elliott, the first Irish cyclist to wear the yellow jersey in the Tour de France, and the first to win a stage in all three Grand Tours.

The summit offers more than just lactic acid—it offers panoramic views back across Glenmalure, the mountains, and the winding ribbon of road you’ve just conquered.

Descent to Laragh – Back to Where It Began

From the monument, it’s all downhill—literally and joyfully. A winding, fast descent delivered me back toward Laragh after a really incredible route.

Laragh is a perfect base for outdoor adventures. With Glendalough just up the road—a place of saints, scholars, and silent lakes—it’s a hive of activity every weekend, especially when the sun shines!

Shout out to David Flanagan, who included the Derrybawn Loop in his fantastic guide book ‘Cycling in Ireland’, which is where I picked up this route from.