Rothar Routes

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.