Rothar Routes

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

Posts tagged ‘Wicklow cycling routes’

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.