10th May: Thomastown to Kilmore

10^th May The fourth stage: Thomastown to Kilmore Quay 72 kms

The day began with a technical problem which we discovered only after having spent an hour visiting the atmospheric  Jerpoint monastery with, amongst other things, its impressively detailed 15^th and early 16^th carvings done by local craftsmen in the local limestone they call black marble. Inexplicably, Stephen’s back tyre was punctured.  Whilst we sampled what is apparently the best cup of coffee in Ireland in the Blackberry café, Simon Treacy, owner of the incredible hardware shop in Thomastown, fixed Stephen’s bike for 6 euros. Never have I seen a shop so crammed with merchandise. From garden frogs to mountain bikes passing by gentlemens’ pipes; Mr Treacy laughed but didn’t disagree when I suggested that one could probably find anything one needed on his premises. I liked Thomastown. Its neat main street with the single petrol pump and two rows of old-fashioned shops was strangely soothing.

There was nothing soothing, though, about the short steep climb out of the town which we took as a (supposedly) short cut at midday when, eventually, we got going. We cut across the wooded valley side to descend to a handsome bridge across the river Nore and turned right on the R700 to reach the curiously old-fashioned and very attractive village of Inishtioge. Then began the longest climb of the ride so far, a 6 kms steady pull to the high point where there was an ominous tribute to a young cyclist, presumably, killed on that very road. Luckily today the traffic was surprisingly light but the memorial stood in stark contrast to the  beauty of the unspoilt countryside and a reminder to be vigilant. Care was certainly needed on the gloomy, short but sharp ascent after the Mount Garrett bridge over the river Barrow where for a kilometre or so we joined the N130 with its trucks heading for the port at Rosslare. One very nearly touched me.

Under overcast skies and threatening rain New Ross seemed to have little to offer. The river was brown and sluggish and our lunch spot between nondescript shops and a cavernous, soulless hotel and bar uninspiring.  It would have been nice to have had time to visit the Ros Tapestry , a modern (I think) work of embroidery describing the founding of the town by the Normans, or indeed the replica of the sailing ship which would have carried emigrants from the famine to America, and which we passed as we rode out of town. I am sure both would have improved my impression of this town.  But we had miles to go before we could sleep and, moreover, we were soon bogged down in a maze of tiny country roads, not one of them signposted,  on our way to the coast. Every five minutes or so, it seemed, as we arrived at yet another fork, we had to stop and pour over the map. “Is it lost, you are?” No driver would pass us without kindly insisting on setting us on the right road. At the tiny, muddy crossroads at Nash, a local farmer with only one working eye left, whatever he was doing, not very much I suspect, to set us right. “When you arrive at the second fork, don’t take it or you’ll end up where you started”.  Eventually though we escaped the labyrinth and found our way along gorse and peat smoke-scented roads, a gusty wind at our backs with our first glimpses of the sea since Nimmo’s Quay in Galway and into Wellingtonbridge, past the sight of the world ploughing championships in the year 2000.

Whilst still enjoying fine views we found the final 20 kms a little tedious. The blustery wind had increased in force , and especially on the more exposed stretches between Duncannon and Kilmore Quay.  However, we felt the tang of the sea in our nostrils and dinner was waiting – the most enormous fish and chips eaten straight from thick wrapping paper, sitting by the sea, watching a late fishing boat setting out against the backdrop of the distant Saltee islands. Dinner was washed down with a glass of Guinness.   We saw more thatched cottages in Kilmore Quay than in all the rest of our journey from Galway, and it was with a tinge of sadness that I realized that the Irish section of my trip was coming to an end.

Today was the most difficult day so far, with many more hills, tricky navigating, a continual blustery wind though, thankfully not always against us, and threatening rain. Interesting riding, though, for the most part, and especially pretty in the Nore valley.  72 kms   Total  268 kms