It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
The Ring of Kerry is the thing to do in Southwest Ireland, a long drive along the peninsula seeing spectacular coast and hints of the people who lived here thousands of years ago. Next door is the Dingle Peninsula. It’s smaller but equivalently as spectacular (I’ve heard). It hosts the western most point in Ireland where they say that the next pier over is the colonies. Plus it can be managed by bike. I really wanted to do it even though it seemed like a bad idea for a couple of reasons.
1) Forecast of Rain. It rains every day in Ireland. Like, all the time. On my spectacular dolphin day it was raining while the sun was shining and it was beautiful. The hourly forecast had a few 100% rain hours. It was definitely over 50% for most of the day. But I was hanging out in a little denial giving credit to the possibility of forecasts being wrong and it just being a light rain. I mean, if water is coming out of the sky all day, but it’s light, that’s not so bad.
2) I haven’t ridden a bike for more than about 3 miles at a time in 20 years. It might not be wise to embark on a 40km ride with no training. But it was exercise. I could justify exercise. And if it got too hard, I could turn back. Or call a cab? There were pubs along the way. I bet I could have them call me a cab. Who was I kidding? I would only do that if I was injured.
But when I went to Mountainfilm last year I was overwhelmed by the stories of people who did things that didn’t make any sense because something inside of them told them to do it. I’ve been listening for that voice ever since. It told me to stew in my apartment for 4 months in Denver and decompress. It told me to come to Europe for 2 whole months. It told me to audition for White Horse. And it was telling me to go on this bike ride.
The bike rental guy barely gave me a second glance when I came to rent the bike. Why wasn’t he telling me that this was a bad idea- that I was entirely unfit for this venture? He should at least have me sign a waiver or provide an emergency contact. I loved that I could leave some ID and take a bike to ride on rocky hilly coastal roads in Ireland, but can’t even take a yoga class in the US without signing a waiver. He handed me the bike, a lock, a helmet and a map showing me where to turn back. He said it was 24km. I wasn’t sure what that meant but I liked that it was less than 40 which is like, 25 miles. I totally rode 25 miles in a day high school. I rode 40 or 50 sometimes. The bike place closes at 6. If I came back after that, I could bring the bike back in the morning.
I adjusted the seat (trying to remember how my dad did it, since he usually did it for me). It sunk down under me. I tried again, wrestling with the stubborn whatever they’re called’s and got it to stick. I started peddling out of town.
I remembered how much I loved riding my bike that one summer I was between cars. It’s so much faster than walking, but without the responsibility of operating a moving vehicle.
It was not yet 10am. That meant I had 8 hours to do a ride that took an experienced biker 4 without breaks. I could probably do that. And I could always turn back. I’d give it a couple hours and see how it goes.
The views were so pretty through the mist.
Again, I was disappointed to see that the camera only captured about 25% of what I saw in real life. I guess this one would be for me. 
I passed the turn off where you can hike somewhere, you know, to conserve my energy. My seat was already getting sore.
My buddy Rick Steves pointed out cool things along the way like the Dingle distillery, stone pillars, a statue dedicated to a famous Irish football star. I would stop, look at the kindle app on my phone, memorize then next few things to look for, and then ride past them. I decided to stop at a place that showed a 10 minute movie about some abandoned stuff that people lived in a long time ago, but I got confused and ended up stopping at a ring fort. I handed over 2 euros to visit and the lady handed me a cup of sheep food.
The big sheep acted like she had never been fed before!
And there were babies!
I had them all to myself!
I fed the baby from my hand since the big one kept shoving the baby aside and sticking her face in the cup. 
The ring fort was cool. It was so pretty and green. Since I’ve been reading Outlander, I was half expecting to disappear and go back in time. The view was, of course, spectacular.
There were little rings inside the big ring
And the view from the top.
Around in the outer ring the flowers were really pretty.
This is what it looked like in the ring
And you could also see the mountains.
I was having such a great time.
As I was walking back, a new couple was feeding the sheep like they hadn’t just eaten 5 minutes before.
A little further down the road, I found the stone house- the place I was looking for. It was starting to rain, I’d been riding for about 2 hours, so I decided to take a little break with veggie cream soup and a half pint of Guiness.
The lady at the cafe saw my map and my helmet and asked me if I was going to do the whole loop. I told her we’ll see! I was still feeling good, it was just heavily misting, who knows? I might make it. Was I on the electric bike? (I had looked it up the night before. It was 40 euros a day instead of 15 and a more complicated to reserve. Intriguing though). No. The regular one. She made a face of doubt and showed me all of the places on the map where I could turn back. I asked her where the prettiest parts were and she told me they were the parts coming up before the first road to turn back. Plus, there’s another pub there. After that, it’s just ocean. In my head I responded that just ocean was what I was after– those craggy cliffs facing the Atlantic. I think she was trying to make me feel like I wouldn’t be missing out if I needed to turn back. Finally! Someone who recognized that I was in way over my head! Well, we’ll see how I feel as I go. I asked to confirm, so I could just turn on this road and it would take me back over here? She said yes. There is a wee climb up the mountain, but if you can make it up that, it’s quite pleasant going down the other side. Jeeze. A mountain. I wasn’t fooled by “wee”s anymore. Would that be worth a short cut? Maybe I’d take another quick little break with a pint on the coast before I headed back over the mountain rather than the long way round.
I came outside to find that it was really raining now. Not cold, but wet. I swung myself up over the bike and all the way over landing in the rocky parking lot. My knee and left palm were bleeding but I was unhurt. The toe of my shoe was wet. I would power through. I climbed up hill feeling the sting of newly opened skin and decided that I would take that first turn back. But first I would stop to check out these beehive huts.
In the parking lot a guy commented on it not being a great day for a bike ride. I smiled. I was having a great time. I handed 3 euros to the guy in the shack outside, he handed me a paper explaining the history of the huts (which ultimately did not survive the weather) and said the weather wasn’t good for a bike ride. I agreed with him with a big smile. He said, well, if you’re having a good time, that’s all that matters. I totally was. I huffed and puffed up the hill, my legs grateful for the variety even if it was hard work.
The huts had tiny little tunnels linking them together.
And very low doorways
There were about 5 of them grouped together.
Stones everywhere
I’m inside one with a roof!
I smiled down the hill and climbed back on the bike. The rain pricked my face as I rode. The views were incredible. The cars passing me gave me plenty of room. I started chanting “TOTALLY WORTH IT” to myself. I was going slightly downhill. At this point I decided that I would do the whole thing. It was so wet. At one point I stopped and wrapped my brand new phone in an extra long sleeve t-shirt in my backpack (under the rain cover) because I didn’t trust my battered life proof case to keep it dry. Like, I couldn’t read my phone because I couldn’t keep the water off of it.
Going downhill in the rain was so much fun. There were cliffs down to little beaches on my left and stones up the hill to my right. It was crazy pretty. I was hugging the breaks, not wanting to go so fast that I lost control, a little worried that the rain might make the breaks not work at a bad time. I didn’t want to die, but if I was going to, this was a pretty great way to go.
It was the best of times. I sailed down the hill. The rocks on the cliffs to my right might have crossed over the road like an arch, or maybe it just felt that way. It was so amazing. I was absolutely not turning back. The road curved as the cliffs rippled revealing themselves like layers.
Then the wind started to blow. And the road creeped uphill. I could handle the rain, but keeping my balance with the wind was a different story. And my thighs were not a fan of going uphill.
I decided I was satisfied. What I’d seen was so gorgeous it would be worth whatever it took to get me out in the rain and to get me home. Was that the road? No. A driveway.
I curved around some more ridiculously beautiful coast. There it was. That mountain really went straight up. I was soaked through. I skipped the pint, climbed off the bike and pushed it up the mountain. As mountains do, this one too had many false tops. You know, when you look up and say there! I can see it! That’s the top! just a little way up. But it’s not. My shoes were now squishy bags of water. I felt as each layer of clothing absorbed more and more water, getting wetter and wetter on my skin as the rain poured down. I pushed that bike up the steep hill stopping every few yards to catch my breath. My face tried for a smile and I waved as the cars drove by. This was the worst of times. I cursed. A lot. Shouted it out to the beautiful green mountainside.
A few days before the song “And I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more” came on while I was riding the bus and I thought, I would walk 500 miles. I’ve been doing a lot of walking lately. I could totally walk 500 miles. I sang that song in my head for a little bit, but pushing that bike up the mountain, 500 miles didn’t seem like so much fun anymore.
Finally I reached the top. It was clear that my seat was not the correct height. My back and my hips were nagging me about this. Going down hill I squeezed the breaks with my half-functioning stiff hands praying that the breaks would continue to slow me down through the rain. If the road pointed down, I would coast. If it pointed up, I would walk as my thighs refused any further uphill pedaling. If it was in-between, I would pedal singing between curses “It’s faster than walking it’s faster than walking it’s faster than walking.” Everything hurt.
A million miles later I saw that football guy statue! I’d never been so happy to see a football player. I knew where I was! I was about 6 times further from home base than I thought I was. I pedaled and glided and walked along the coast until I saw that hill where I first used the breaks. Someone did stop and ask if I was okay. They thought the tire had punctured. No! I said. I’m just tired. My thighs won’t let me climb another hill! They wished me well.
I saw a sign saying Dingle was 6 km away. As I rode I did the math in my head 30 different ways trying to associate that with numbers and distances I could relate to.
Finally I saw the distillery! And the cute little bridge! I crawled into town (which had somehow become much wider). I returned the bike and was in the shower by 3pm.
It was the best shower. I mean, the actual shower was the size of a popsicle stick, but it had the warmest water that stayed on as long as I wanted it to. I soaped off the bicycle grease and the dirt that had splashed up my legs and the feeling returned to my hands.
I apologized to my bunkmate for hanging my wet clothes all over the bathroom, tucked my dry self under my umbrella and went to find the Vegetarian place my buddy Rick said was good. It didn’t exist. Now my black shoes were starting to get wet so I found the only open restaurant at 5pm. I ordered the super food salad- greens, kale, rocket, seeds, feta, sun-dried tomatoes and avocado in a sweet mustard dressing. I was so noble. It was fantastic. I kept myself awake late enough to finally check out the Dingle music scene (which it is known for). The singers were wonderful. I couldn’t find any fiddlers. Eventually my body’s need for rest was making the fun harder to experience. I hobbled home looking forward to spending the next day on the bus. Physical pain is a lot easier to get over than emotional pain. And totally worth it.