Rothar Routes

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

Posts from the ‘South Leinster Cycle 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.

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.