Pork Factor: 5
Johnny Cash Count: 4
Limericks: 2 (one spoken, one urban)
Route: R563 / R561 / N86 / R878 / N69 / N18 / R458 / small roads
After another hearty cooked breakfast, we headed out from the hotel towards the Wild Atlantic Way.
Once we were rolling, Anneley presumably thought we weren't fully in the local spirit yet, and decided to treat us to playback of Ring of Fire over the radios, from which there is no escape. So, I responded in the form of a limerick:
Four bikers rode on towards Dingle
Amongst them a Megane did mingle
And on every road,
No matter which way they goed,
They were hounded by a Johnny Cash single
Anyway, we didn't get all the way to Dingle as we stopped at Inch Strand for a leg-stretch. I seem to be pretty happy about it...
... David decides to have a quick paddle...
... and Diarmuid tries faking his own disappearance, Reggie Perrin style:
Having cooled our feet, we set off back east on the N86, along the Wild Atlantic Way. Yet another bit of beautiful coast road took us to Tralee, where we headed inland to cut across to Tarbert - the idea being that we might get the ferry and ride along the northern shore of the Shannon Estuary. Alas when we arrived, the next sailing wasn't for another 2 hours, which put a bit of a damper on that idea.
So after regrouping over an excellent lunch (and lashings of tea) at The Ferry House, we set off along the N69 and turned north just on the edge of Limerick. None of us felt too bad about the diversion as it was all great roads anyway!
Anneley has been doing a champion job of sorting all our hotels out and finding places big enough to hold us all, but as it happens this evening's one didn't quite have the right selection so four of us are heading to The Inn at Dromoland, and David has a nice B&B booked at a farm couple of miles down the road.
We all decide to accompany David to his destination, and pull into the farm's courtyard presidential-motorcade-style. However, there's immediately someone on the scene with higher VIP status than any of us: we all want to steal this little guy! I wonder if he'd like to ride in my top box?
The rest of us carry on to Dromoland, which to be honest didn't have a lot of charm about it - even the crazy golf course showed the work of a very limited imagination, or at least a very limited selection of standard building materials used in its construction. I mean seriously, where's the windmill?
The owners of David's B&B had recommended us a nice local pub for the evening, so we headed to The Abbey Tavern in Quin, which overlooks the old ruined Friary.
We enjoyed some excellent food and beer, and were all amused at meeting a chap who appears to be the local tour guide / charmer / confidence trickster - he introduced himself as Belvedere (though later let on that his real name is Joe), tried to plug his upcoming travel book, and generally spun us a few yarns while we were at the bar. He also insisted on drawing us a detailed plan of how to avoid parking charges while visiting the cliffs of Moher, despite us having not asked about it at all. Seems harmless enough though eh?
Whilst in the pub, the weather forecast came on the telly. Hahahaha, looks like those suckers who stayed at home are going to get wet tomorrow!