13th. August 2007. Day seventeen.

"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. "
--- Alfred Tennyson, "Ulysses".

I didn't set my alarm but prepared to let myself sleep in, here in The Westlodge Hotel. And then I didn't sleep in too late. When I woke up I was very quickly wide awake. The excitement developed quickly within me. This should be the last day of my expedition. I should easily make it to Mizen Head today. Only about 40km to go. It wasn't that I was excited to get to Mizen, but excited to accomplish my target. Something to look back on and be proud of. A definite sense of achievement was within my grasp.

I got up and had a big breakfast - my usual feast of a big fry! Back in the room I packed all my equipment and managed to carry it all together down to check out. A quick walk past the kitchen and I was out the back door to my bike. Some of the kitchen staff were outside smoking or taking a break and were watching with interest as I loaded up the bike. Heavy packed panniers over the back carrier, tent across the back under the saddle, rolled up air-mattress next to the tent, sleeping back sitting on the top of them, all held tight to the bike with elasticated bungees. A handlebar bag was fixed to the front and a pump attached under the cross-bar. I was good to go. With the few people watching I was careful with the first few tentative peddles to avoid falling off!

I headed out onto the main road and went left along the N71. It was warm, sunny, with just a few clouds in the sky. My first checkpoint was the R591 and the turn to Durrus. This came quickly enough and I enjoyed the pleasant cycle along this smaller road compared to the busier N71. I stopped in Durrus to buy water, a postcard and stamp. There were lots of signs for The Sheep's Head Way. That's the way-marked route around the peninsular between Bantry Bay and Dunmanus Bay. Judging by the map it looks full of potential for scenery and a dramatic coastline. I told myself I'd come back and do that some day.

I peddled on down the coast road, with Dunmanus bay on my right, and eventually cycled on down into the town of Toormore, with a huge view of the Atlantic Ocean in front of me. I could see from the map that the section I was looking at is called the Celtic Sea. I hadn't known that. I passed a house with numerous boating buoys hanging in their garden, like decorations on a Christmas Tree. Very big decorations!


I peddled on out of Toormore and cycled on to Goleen. I was definitely getting close. When planning the trip, Goleen was one of the towns that became a significant landmark. I knew that if I ever made it to Goleen, I'd be on the verge of completion. I always knew that cycling into Goleen would be very satisfying indeed. And here it was - Goleen! It felt like I was finishing the trip. I looked around, looking for something in particular. I knew I'd find it. I knew there had to be one there. I planned for months to find this. And there it was - the first signpost for MIZEN HEAD ! I was very very close.


I took the small road to Mizen and cycled on excitedly. I was in terrific form. It didn't matter that I had spent the previous sixteen days pushing my body each and every day, putting in some strenuous effort - right now I was fit for anything. I wasn't tired at all. I peddled hard.

Although there weren't many big hills on the route, and my pace was fast, it was still taking forever. The day was dragging. I just longed to get to Mizen. I had expected this, which was why I had pushed to get as far as Bantry the previous day, but the time was really dragging. The excitement was intense. I was sorry there wasn't anybody there with me to share this joy, but being so close to my ultimate destination I was too happy to get sad!

The road went on and on.

I was looking for a left-hand turn.

More hills.

More bends.

Another sign up ahead. A left-hand turn. "Mizen Head 3km".


It was within my grasp. I could smell the sea. The road turned gradually around to the right, and then opened up a fantastic view over the sandy strand in Barley Cove.


The road was tiny, and there was plenty of traffic on it, particularly for the size of it. There were lots of people heading to Mizen Head. I had to be careful to avoid getting hit by a car, especially being so close to my final destination. Thankfully the drivers were extremely respectful and in sections where the road was too narrow for them to pass me, they held back and didn't put any pressure on me. I suspect they saw the large load I was carrying and figured out I had travelled quite some distance.

The road goes up around Mizen Peak, so it was quite steep in places. It was slow going. Eventually it leveled out in a long gradual turn to the right. The road got wide. I saw some cars parked. This was it. Mizen Head just yards in front of me. I was here! I had man-hauled myself the whole length of the country and here was the end right in front of me! I got off the bike and took a picture.



I cycled on and was surprised at the size of the set-up. I had been expecting a place like Malin Head. Uninhabited, isolated and quite bare. But there's a modern Visitor Centre in Mizen. I cycled up to the entrance and locked my bike to the fence. I went into the building and paid the entrance fee to look around.


I walked on out towards the tip of the land's end. There was a walk of a few hundred meters, with steps down a hill and a dramatic bridge out across an inlet in the sea.




Out at the end, there were more buildings, set up like a museum, with old lighthouse and radio equipment in the rooms. I walked on, close to the very end, where there was a big warning light for ships in a red steel housing. This was clearly the last accessible point. There was only room for about four people to stand near this light so I waited patiently for some family to finish admiring the scenery. When they left I walked on out to the bell and stood there triumphantly. I had made it. Mizen Head. The very end. The end of the country and the end of my journey. Despite all the odds, I was here. Journey done. And I was now the most southerly person in Ireland.


I was absolutely delighted. Not delighted to be finished, but delighted at what I had achieved. It was all just for personal satisfaction, and I stood there looking out to sea, reveling in the satisfaction. Sometimes you just need to enjoy your own moment. I was chuffed.

Time to share. I got out my phone and started ringing family. I have no doubt my jubilance conveyed. I also sent the following text out to those who wanted to be informed:

"I made it to Mizen Head from Malin Head at 2:50pm today. 355k cycling, 57k walking and 250k kayaking! Thanks for being part of my trip. "



I went back up the path to the Visitor Centre and got talking to a man in an office. From the look of me he could see I had been cycling and asked if I had come far. As soon as he heard Malin Head he took out their Malin to Mizen / Mizen to Malin book. Hundreds of people have done this trip in various ways - walking, cycling, by motorbike, car, even by tractor! I was delighted to be asked to record my journey in the book, which I dutifully did:


Although my journey to Mizen Head was over, my expedition wasn't. I still had to make it back to Goleen, get the bus to Cork and then the train to Dublin. At the planning stages, I allowed for the possibility that I might be late getting to Mizen. I reckoned that I would stay in my tent near the bus-stop in Goleen and get the 7:45am bus back to Cork. But looking at the time, I knew I'd easily make it back to Goleen for the 5:30pm bus to Cork. There'd be a good chance for a comfortable hotel there!

I went back to my bike and started the cycle back to Goleen. After the high of getting to Mizen Head, I was expecting this 8km journey to be painfully slow and difficult. The first few kilometers were downhill and fast - so fast that I passed out a car, much to the driver's surprise! Back on the slightly bigger road, with hills up and down, I was very aware of the potential for low blood-sugar levels so I ate a cereal bar after 20 minutes of cycling. I put my head down and peddled on determinedly. I was pleasantly surprised when I came to Goleen, after an easy cycle back.

I went into a pub and ordered the most substantial food they had on offer - a toasted cheese and ham sandwich. I wanted to get the eating out of the way so I'd be ready for the bus. I checked out the toilets but they were a bit rough-looking for changing so I stayed in my cycling clothes. After the sandwich I went out and glanced around. There was nowhere suitable to change and as the bus was due imminently I took the panniers off the bike and sat and waited on a bench.

Right on time, the bus came and I brought my bike over to the luggage compartments. Others opened one of the doors and placed their bags in the hold. I opened another door and lifted the bike into the empty luggage area. I had never transported a bike on a bus like this before and was pleased at how easily everything worked out. I got on the bus and paid my fare. No extra charge for the bike. This is a great service. The bus was reasonably empty - just a few people dotted about. I choose my seat carefully - I had a plan. The bus journey was due to be two hours and forty minutes. I didn't want to stay in sweaty cycling clothes, so as soon as we got going I put my plan into action. I changed into a complete new set of clothes. Completely. Thankfully my seat wasn't overlooked but those behind must have been wondering why my head was bopping around like I was sitting on a load of thumb-tacks. I discovered it's not easy to change your clothes in tight seats of a Bus Eireann coach, but with a bit of perseverance I was done. And not too soon either, for before long the bus filled up with people going to Cork. I sat back, relaxed, and enjoyed most of the remainder of the journey.

As we got closer to Cork I was watching the clock. I knew there was a train to Dublin at 8:30pm. This bus was due to Cork at 8:10pm. Initially I ruled out the possibility of getting the 8:30pm Dublin train. I suspected the bus would be late, but as we got nearer to Cork City, I knew my chances were getting better and better. I was beginning to recognise streets and knew we were getting closer and closer. The minutes were ticking by - 8pm, 8:03pm, 8:05pm, 8:10pm … People started shifting on the bus and putting stuff away in their hand-luggage. Almost there.

The bus stopped. Everyone got up. I asked a man where the train station was. He gave me directions and said it was only a few minutes away. I got off the bus and hauled my bike out of the luggage compartment. I quickly lashed my bags onto the bike. My haste must have been obvious because the man who gave me directions came back over to me and clarified exactly where to go. He was even talking quickly like he knew I was under time pressure. I thanked him and jumped up on the bike. I peddled hard along Parnell Place and turned right onto Merchant's Quay. There was a left turn across the bridge over The River Lee, but it was one-way with the traffic coming against me. I was in a hurry. This was a special situation. I turned the bike against the flow of traffic and crossed about three lanes with cars coming towards me! It was evening so there wasn't too many cars on the road. I kept on going up Summerhill and turned right onto Lower Glanmire Road. I blindly followed the directions and hoped for the best. I was standing on the peddles, pushing as hard as I could. I raced down the street, almost keeping up with cars going my direction.

A building came into view that just had a train station look about it. There was a couple of people smoking outside the front door. I cycled towards them and asked for the entrance to the train station. They directed me to the open door beside them. There were no steps so I cycled straight through the doorway, and across the main concourse. I saw a man in blue uniform and asked him for the Dublin train. He pointed to the train behind him. I asked where I could get tickets and he quickly pointed to the ticket machine beside him. As I was getting off the bike he was pressing the buttons on the machine. I got my ticket and he said there was no charge for the bike. What a great service! He told me to bring the bike up to the Guard's carriage, up front, but to be quick about it. This train was just about to go! I got the bike into the train and took all my bags off it. As I was getting into a carriage I could hear whistles blowing.

I went down the carriage and got a seat. I sorted out my bags and collapsed into the comfortable seat. More whistles, the doors closed, the engine revved, and we moved, slowly out of Cork. I was going home.

I could hardly believe my luck. The timing was perfect. I rang my brother John to tell him where I was. The train was to arrive in Dublin at 11:15pm. I didn't expect John to pick me up at that time, and I was thinking if I'd have any problem cycling home through Dublin City with no lights on my bike. John was amazed to hear where I was and without hesitation told me he'd be there to collect me! I settled back to enjoy the journey home.


After a while I went up to the dining car to get a Heineken. I got a can and went further on to check out the First Class carriage. It was empty and while I was standing in it looking around, the ticket inspector came in and, knowing there shouldn't be anyone there, instructed me to leave the carriage, telling me I shouldn't be there, and this was for First Class only, and she knew I didn't have a First Class ticket, and I couldn't stay .... I smiled and told her I was just taking a look. I turned to go, but she said "OK, sure stay there and have your beer. " ! Unfortunately I was conscious of my bags all alone, and opted to go back to my seat.

The train pulled into Heuston Station. Walking down the platform, carrying my panniers and other bags, I quickly saw John coming towards me, smiling and taking pictures.



I got the bike out of the train and we loaded it into his car. On the short drive home I was trying to fill him in on my adventures since I had seen him, but there was a lot to remember, a lot to recount. We got to my house and unloaded bike and bags.

When John was gone I went upstairs and walked into my bedroom. Earlier that day I had journeyed to Mizen Head. I had been contemplating staying in my tent, or getting a B&B, or a hotel if I was lucky. Instead I was back in my own house, my own bedroom. I had spent the previous sixteen nights in different locations, regularly unpredictable, with different levels of comfort, but all alien and strange. Now I was home. I don't think I'll ever forget the feeling of home comfort that enveloped me. I felt absolutely wonderful. I didn't collapse asleep, I didn't even lie down for hours. The adrenalin kept me awake for quite some time. The expedition wasn't letting go easily.


EPILOGUE:

For me in it was a great journey in many ways. I achieved what I had set out to do and planned for eleven years. I wanted to complete an expedition that would be tough and tasking. I had wanted to challenge myself. I can honestly say that the expedition didn't let me down - it was definitely a challenge. It was tough in lots of places - I got tired and sore at lots of times, but I got full of energy and rushes of adrenalin in others. It was dangerous in places, and stunningly serene in others. A difficulty I encountered which I hadn't expected was boredom - particularly and severely so when kayaking on the Shannon. But I added that to the challenges and dealt with it. I overcame it and kept on going. Then looked back with satisfaction.

"I'd rather be the ship that sails
And rides the billows wild and free;
Than to be the ship that always fails
To leave its port and go to sea.

I had spent years planning the trip. Initially marking up an old map, and then working through the various stages, studying detailed maps checking little roads, big rivers, hills and forests. I took detours when driving through the country to check out the suitability of terrain, or for possible places to stay overnight. By the time it came to embarking on the trip I had a lot of the logistics sorted out, but there was still an awful lot of uncertainty - which added to the attraction of an expedition fraught with danger.

I'd rather feel the sting of strife,
Where gales are born and tempests roar;
Than settle down to useless life
And rot in dry dock on the shore.

I had told my family that on top of being careful, if all came to all - if things got bad, I would abandon the trip and come home. I reassured them of this as I was leaving on the first day. But secretly I was wondering just how bad would things have to get for me to abandon the trip. Wild horses would have had a tough time trying to drag me from my route. I was determined. When things did get bad, when I was up the hills in a forest, having run out of water, I didn't give up. The pain in my back, legs and feet was intense but I forced myself to think clearly, to keep on going, and ultimately overcome. And keep on going. With blisters. Now I know what determination can achieve.

I was disappointed by the state of the land. I had anticipated being able to pitch my tent practically anywhere, with the wind in my hair and soft grass under my toes. The reality is remarkably different with fields of rushes pot-marked by cattle hooves in soft wet soil. But some good planning can overcome that. I would definitely camp out again, but pre-arrange the locations carefully. I was definitely impressed by the friendliness of people I encountered. Everybody who got just the smallest detail of my trip wanted to help out as best they could.

Before the trip I thought I would loose a lot of weight. Not that I carry much extra weight, but with close to three weeks of daily exercise I thought I would definitely shed up to a stone. I started the trip weighing 11St 7lbs, and finished it weighing 11St. 4lbs. Only three pounds lost! I wasn't trying to loose weight but was interested in the experiment! I had exercised lots before the trip, so was obviously in very good shape. Pity I haven't kept up the exercise since then. To date I have rested on my laurels and put the pounds back on. But I have plans to deal with that ...

I have been asked if I would do the trip, or one like it, again. And of course I have asked myself that question. The answer is a definite NO! Well not in the manner I did it anyway! If I were to do the same route again, I would want to do it with plenty of company - as many people as possible, and I would have the equipment magically transported from place to place. But then I didn't set out from the inception of this trip to have a handy expedition - it was conceived to challenge me, and that it did.

It was great to do it, great to achieve all I did, great to experience the countryside in such close quarters, great excitement and adventure. But it was tough going. At times very tough. I'm glad it was tough. I'm glad I really earned that satisfaction. I would have been truly disappointed if it was easy, if it hadn't been a challenge. But it was a challenge. And now it's done. With no need to do again. I will definitely do more adventurous stuff, which hopefully will be challenging, rewarding and satisfying, but not a long slog on my own like this one was. I have learned loads from this trip. Next time I will drive to the bottom of the mountain and climb it from there. With company.

I'd rather fight some mighty wave
With honour in supreme command;
And fill at last a well-earned grave,
Than die in ease upon the sand.

The journey wasn't just an expedition from Malin Head to Mizen Head. It was much greater than that. It involved me and a huge amount of people. My family supported me and ultimately trusted me to take care of myself, showing their caring concern at all stages of the trip. For my safety they didn't always want me to go, but for my determination to succeed they put on a brave face. You know how grateful I am. The numerous well wishes from many friends helped me in difficult times to push pedals, drag a paddle, lift bags and urged me forward. You were part of my expedition. Thanks for being part of my journey.

I'd rather drive where sea storms blow,
And be the ship that always failed
To make the ports where it would go,
Than be the ship that never sailed. "
--- Author Unknown

A couple of weeks after I got back, I had some family in my house. We popped open and enjoyed a certain big magnum of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin Champagne.



The End.
Séamus, 23rd June 2008.

12th. August 2007. Day sixteen.

I got up in Agherton Lodge B&B and had a nice big breakfast. Another new day, in a comfortable B&B, therefore it just had to be a big fry. Tasty. It also set me up for the task ahead. The plan was to get to Ballingeary by the end of the day. At least to there anyway. But I also had more ambitions travel plans stirring within me. Could I go further?

I had planned to stay in Ballingeary because at some stage, when planning the trip, I had driven through Ballingeary and was very impressed with the town. It just looked appealing. Bright, inviting and scenic. It had the potential for a very pleasant evening stop-over, but considering the distance I was travelling, I suspected I could get further. If I got further, it would reduce the final day - and that was a big attraction. I knew that the final day's travel would drag and drag. Shortening it would be a big help.

I packed my equipment on the bike and headed off, leaving the charming, hospitable and comfortable Agherton Lodge B&B, with it's winding driveway and elegant horses. I told myself I'd come back someday.

The house in the backround has no connection to this trip!


I peddled on, alongside the main railway track, and got to Millstreet - host town for the 1993 Eurovision Song Contest, and a fading mural on a wall to commemorate the achievement. As I cycled through the town I kept an eye out for the equestrian centre that in which the event was held but there was nothing obvious. Was it really that small?! The population of the town at the time was only 1,500 people, but with support from the wider European Community we went on to win with the song "In Your Eyes". That's it - recollect the music, start humming, and just at the right moment belt it out, loud and clear!

I turned left in Millstreet and headed south between the Derrynasaggart and Boggeragh mountain ranges. There were some difficult uphill sections but I could see from my Ordnance maps that the downhills weren't too far behind, which kept me going!


I kept Mullaghanish mountain on my right hand side and passed through Ballymakeery. Up and down more hills before a very steep uphill section, but manageable in the knowledge that Ballingeary was on the other side.


I pressed on and got to Ballingeary at 3pm - way ahead of target. This was fantastic for me. The weather was fine, and although Ballingeary looked as impressive as I remembered, I knew there was a lot more energy in me and Bantry now became my target for the day. I passed a chip-shop-come-diner and explored the town for better eating facilities. However nowhere is perfect and I found this town's weakness. No fancy eatery, so I went back to the chipper. I parked the bike in view outside the window and went in and ordered lunch. I got a table with a view of my bike and spread my maps out on the table. Bantry was still some distance to go but I was feeling more than confident. I was bursting with energy and knew the cycle would be manageable and enjoyable.

I phoned the Westlodge Hotel in Bantry and booked in. I've stayed there many times through work so knew the place well. I was now heading for familiar territory.

The food was cheap but wonderful. I forget now the exact meal, but whatever it was it came with chips and tasted fantastic! My mood was upbeat - everything was terrific!

After lunch I slowly cycled through and out of Ballingeary, giving myself plenty of time to warm up. A nice comfortable hotel, with swimming pool, was waiting for me. Although Bantry was still about 18km away, it didn't matter how long it took me to do it. It was hours before sun-down and I was going to enjoy a leisurely cycle.


I cycled west along the R584. This was a bigger road than the smaller roads I had become accustomed to, but there was very little traffic on it. I enjoyed the views of the mountains and the smell of the country in bright warm sunshine.

I came to "The Pass of Keimaneigh". This is a steep uphill valley section in the Shehy Mountains between Doughill and Foilastookeen mountains. I tried my best but had to walk the bike up some of the hill.


It was a hard, difficult climb, but in fabulous scenery. It struck me that I had probably driven this way a few times previously, but the I had never registered how scenic it was. The sweat dripped off my face, but with each lungful of air I took in I also took in the smell of grass, trees, plants, scrubs, hedge growth, weeds, moss and ferns that grew plentifully on the side of the road. The pain from effort didn't bother me. I knew I was earning rich reward.

A plaque was erected on the side of the road. I was at the top of the Pass. It was mainly downhill from now on, not that uphills were of any concern to me anymore. They were part of my journey.


I cycled on and headed for Kealkill. Kealkill was a place I had driven through many times when driving to work in Bantry. It's a small village but of particular note because there's a turn there to take the road towards Cork. I knew that when I reached Kealkill I'd be on very familiar road. It was almost like I was going to meet family again. Solitude can be a strange thing. Although alone, I wasn't lonely, but with heading towards a familiar location I was in terrific form. I shifted up gears.

I stopped in Kealkill and bought a Strawberry Yop. I didn't drink it there but saved it for later. I had something on my mind.



I peddled on, out of Kealkill and on towards the west coast, and the N71 main road to Bantry. The N71 was about 4km away, so it didn't take me long to get there. The N71 is the main road which travels up the west coast of Ireland and this particular section is between the main towns of Bantry and Glengarriff. I got to the road and turned left, heading for Bantry. I peddled along for a short while, before stopping at a suitable location for a rest and time to ponder.

Apart from the dramatically fantastic scenery, looking out at the Atlantic ocean over Bantry Bay, this section of road held special significance for me. It wasn't just the N71, it wasn't just a section of the main thoroughfare North-South, it wasn't just a fantastic view. This was a section of the road that my father had travelled in a trip many many years before, and my brother had followed many years later.

I opened my Yop, took off my hat, and drank to salute their commitment to follow a dream, their achievement, and their inspiration.

This section of road was part of the reason I was now here. I felt I was with family again.

My Dad and his brother Gerry cycled around Ireland on a tandem in about 1945. My Dad was twenty seven and Gerry about five years younger.


They got the train from Dundalk to Dublin (because they had already cycled that section a few times). They then cycled from Dublin to Arklow, Enniscorthy, New Ross, Waterford, Dungarvan, Cork, Bandon, Bantry, Glengarriff, Adrigole, Lauragh, Kenmare, Killarney, Killorglin, Tralee, Ballybunion, Limerick, Ennis, Galway, Costelloe, Maam Cross, Clifden, Leenane, Louisburgh, Westport, Castlebar, Knock, Charlestown, Sligo, Dowra, Belturbet, Cavan, Coothill, Carrickmacross and back to Dundalk. In ten days. A truly tremendous journey. My brother John then emulated their achievement by doing the exact same cycle, in the same time period, on his own in 1977. Another tremendous journey.

But John didn't stop there. In 1995, when he was forty, he cycled 1,662km from Paris to Rome in three weeks! I won't name the towns he went through, but you can find them here - blogconnection I joined him for a week, by driving a car, through the east of France, through Switzerland, across the Alps via the Great St. Bernard Pass in snow, and down into the Northern section of Italy.


I managed to experience just a taste of John's incredible journey and while he continued on for Rome, I left him, with me in awe, and drove to an airport for my flight back to Dublin.

At some stage between hearing of my father's wonderful epic tour of Ireland, John's journey in his peddle-tracks and John's later trans-continental expedition, I was truly inspired. I think it was on a plane from Milan to Dublin in 1995 that I decided that when I was forty I would do a trip. A journey. An expedition. An idea which was conceived, presumably by my father, before 1945, was now being developed further.

Years later, I was now at the side of the road near Bantry. A little tired, and very very proud. Proud of those who had cycled this road before me. Something, or someone, pushed me back on my bike the day before when I was at a very low point. Thanks Dad. Thanks John.

I hopped back on the bike and peddled gently on into Bantry. I took the time to think. I now knew exactly why I had taken on this expedition. The idea had been sown within me by others before me. I had a deep-rooted desire to journey somewhere - to travel on an expedition. Not necessarily to get from A to B, but to journey. To travel outside of my comfort zone and to experience all that would be thrown at me - the pleasure, the perils, the joy and the danger. To live it and to deal with it. Today I had reached a stage where I experienced the joy in smelling the surroundings even when sucking air on the uphill sections. Uphill, downhill, small waves, big waves - they all contribute to making a terrific journey.

The familiar town of Bantry was welcoming and further joy on a good day. I cycled through it and on out towards the Westlodge Hotel, getting there at about 6pm and 85km cycled that day. The hotel is about one kilometer outside the town but in the right direction for tomorrow's cycle. The receptionist suggested I put the bike out the back, so I checked in and got my room key. I brought the bike around the back and locked it to a gate. I loaded all my equipment across my shoulders, including full panniers, handlebar bag and refuse sacks with tent and sleeping bag. I then walked through a back door and got some funny looks as I passed the kitchen. I found a way through to the main hotel and went up to my room.

After unpacking, I went for a swim, sauna and jacuzzi. I was the only person in the facilities for a long time and eventually heard quite a laugh when others came in to the pool area to find me lying back in the water with my head resting on a flotation aid and my feet up on the side of the pool. I think they were relived to see I wasn't actually dead.

That evening I got something small to eat and celebrated my achievements with a couple of pints. I had just one day to go - about 40km. It wasn't much compared to some of the distance I had put in each day. This was going to be easy. My journey was almost complete.

The day was a good one, tomorrow could be even better. Adrenalin, excitement or enthusiasm couldn't hold it back. The bed was big and comfortable. The sleep came quickly.

11th. August 2007. Day fifteen.

If there was one thing I was sure about on this trip, one thing I could count on, one thing I was definite about - it was that I was going to have a good breakfast in Marie's. That was a given. No two ways about it. A good breakfast in Limerick is a sure thing. Not just a safe bet. A certainty. You could starve yourself for days beforehand, because you're going to eat well in Marie's. And so it was. I settled down in front of a huge well-cooked, satisfying fry. Juicy where it needed to be juicy, tender where tender should be, and whole and hearty throughout.

It was with a heavy heart I finally left the breakfast table.

And I only stepped up away from the table to see a tree being chopped down in next door's garden. It was a dangerous looking task, but after some nervous minutes, with the prospect of John's fence being crushed with no heed to the painstaking effort that went into painting it, the tree came thundering down landing safely in the owner's garden. The gap left a new view down the road, but an equally new and clear view into Marie's kitchen. We waved in case anybody was looking our way.

I reluctantly packed up my bike. It was sad to be leaving this hospitality. It wasn't long before I was ready to go. The bike seemed to weigh a ton. From the walking, I knew there was about three stone on the bike. I hoped it was strong enough. I carefully wheeled it out to the front garden. Everything was done. I was ready to get going.

Marie and just about all her family were there to wave me off. Suzanne was working away. I said my goodbyes and gingerly started cycling. I was concerned that, with the weight, the tires might puncture with a dramatic couple of "pops" within the first few meters. Or maybe the weight would make the bike wobble uncontrollably as I moved down the road and I'd end up crashing headlong into a neighbour's garden. The scene was definitely set for an embarrassing disaster whilst being encouragingly waved off.

I moved a little faster. I peddled. The bike was rock-solid. The air stayed in the tires and I cycled down the road, confidently and in control. As I neared the T-junction I looked behind one last time. Marie, John, Stephen and Evin were waving valiantly. I waved triumphantly. I was on my way. It was sad to be leaving them but the encouragement I soaked up in that few minutes lifted my spirits and drove me on. I peddled on, in great form.

From the very beginning I planned to do this final leg - the cycle journey from Limerick to Mizen Head, in three days. Sometimes in the couple of years before the trip I wondered if I could make it in two days. But I had decided by now that I was going to do it in three. I wasn't on this trip to race. I wanted to travel, to experience, to journey, to enjoy. My target today was Kanturk. That should be achievable, without too much pain.

I cycled the back roads out of Raheen, and down south on the small "third class" roads - the yellow roads on the map. I passed the N20, through Derrybeg and on down to Monaster, Athlacca and Bruree. The weather was fine, the terrain was flat and the going was good. I got to Charleville and stopped for lunch. I was able to lock my bike to a pole outside the window and get a table by the window,


After lunch I cycled out of the town, taking various small roads which zigzagged the way down south-west towards Kanturk. I had to concentrate hard to avoid going astray but my map-reading worked well and I eventually got on the main road to Kanturk when there were no other small roads to take.

I cycled into the town and looked for a hotel or B&B. I got the number for a hotel near the town but there was no answer from that. It turned out it was closed. I found a B&B but they had no room available. They suggested the only other B&B in the town. I tried them but they were full. I was passing by a butcher's shop so I stopped and asked if they had any ideas for a B&B. The people in the shop were extremely helpful and got out their "Golden Pages". There was only one B&B in the direction I was going. We tried the number but it just rang out.

I cycled up the road, going out of the town, and found the only clear space I could find. I knew I had my tent and could camp in that, but I didn't want to camp. I got off the bike, left it against the wall and looked at the clear area. It wasn't really suitable at all. It was like a factory site that had been left to run down. There was rubble and rubbish everywhere. I suddenly started getting very cold. I sat against the wall and started getting very down. I thought about cycling off and looking for a better place to camp, but remembering my experiences while walking I reckoned I could be cycling for miles without finding somewhere suitable. And I simply didn't want to camp. It might have been the relentless exercise and physical strain of fifteen days of continuous effort, but for some reason I wanted better than a tent. I started feeling worse. My spirits were dropping alarmingly fast. All enthusiasm was gone. I felt miserable.

Experience has taught me that your state of mind during a hard physical task such as this is very much linked to your physical well being. The physical exercise can reduce blood sugar levels. That can lead to getting cold. It all results in low spirits, and a lack of enthusiasm. I rationally concluded why I was feeling like this and knew I had to do something about it. I forced myself to feel better. I told myself to get going, to get enthusiastic. I forced myself back on the bike and tensed my muscles. Another big effort was called for. I grabbed the handlebars and peddled hard, back towards town.

I got to the centre of Kanturk once more and asked for the local Garda station. I was directed about a half-mile up a steep hill. It was definitely going to be uphill. I smiled to myself and pressed on. I walked into the police station and explained my predicament. My first choice was a B&B, but my next question was if there was any flat grass out the back for a tent - if it came to that.

The police were very helpful. Various Gardai, both uniformed and plainclothes, came out from the back office to offer suggestions. We ruled out the B&B's I had already tried. The only one left was the one where there was no answer. In desperation I tried it again. A lady's voice answered. Yes, there was room. I was thrilled. The Gardai gave me directions and I thanked them in earnest.

Back on the bike, I was facing a nine kilometer cycle to the B&B. Twenty minutes earlier, just getting on the bike was a struggle. I wouldn't have been able to cycle one kilometer, but now I was in tremendous form and as strong as ever. The thoughts of a luxurious bed at the end of the effort is incredible medicine. I found strength from deep within, and cycled on purposefully. The first six kilometers didn't bother me because they were in the right direction, so I was taking distance off tomorrow's journey. I got to Banteer and turned left, which was now going out of my way. But what of it?! A bed, with a real pillow, was beckoning. I enjoyed the journey and enjoyed the nice quiet evening on a country road. Eventually I saw a sign for the Agherton Lodge B&B and cycled up the path. It was a fabulous looking house in a terrific setting. The horses in the grounds made me think of Josh. He'd love this place.


I was directed to the shed, to leave my bike, and was watched by a very inquisitive big friendly dog. The lady showed me to my room, in the big modern, luxurious house. It was just perfect. I sat on the bed and while looking around in the fabulous room, and looking out the window at the horses in their paddock, in a tree-lined setting, surrounded by fields, I was very conscious of how my predicament had changed. Less than an hour earlier I was tired, hungry, cold, miserable and physically and mentally going downhill fast. I changed that situation by forcing myself back on my bike. Or maybe I was pushed. The reward was huge.

I showered, changed, and went downstairs to the television room. The B&B owner asked me if I needed anything. I politely asked for a bowl of Rice Krispies. I thoroughly enjoyed them and relaxed for the rest of the evening, before eventually going to bed. I cycled 84km that day. Another day done, another new place reached. Despite the fact that I had just two days to go, it didn't feel like the journey was ending. The journey was going on. I climbed into a very nice bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

10th. August 2007. Day fourteen.

In the morning, I went down to the Derg Coffee Shop underneath the B&B for breakfast. I enjoyed a mighty big fry, as usual. Back in the room I packed all my equipment into my plastic refuse sacks and made a few trips over to the kayak, before returning to the B&B to pay my bill and sign the visitors book. I would highly recommend the Deg B&B if staying in Killaloe/Ballina.

I dragged the kayak up onto the grassy bank, about two foot off the water, and packed it with all my equipment. I didn't want to chance launching off the edge. Even at this late stage in the kayaking it would be disastrous to loose some equipment if I capsized. I lowered the kayak into the water and climbed aboard. There's a handy concrete shelf just below water level which allowed easy access.

As I paddled down the canal, a large group of ducks moved in front of me - paddling and half-flying, splashing and bobbing about. Eventually I think they reckoned I was after them so they took off in a noisy splashing panicked flight.


I carried on out of Killaloe, around a big sweeping bend and entered the "lower lake". I was amazed at how expansive this stretch of water was. It didn't look anything like this big from the maps. I paddled on crossing the lake, in wet but calm conditions. The lake is about four kilometers long and eventually I started getting near to the Guillotine gate near the Parteen Weir.


With the gate in sight I started getting cramp in my leg. I had never got cramp in a kayak before, but I suddenly realised it is incredibly awkward. I tried to stretch my leg out in the kayak. No good. Sticking out of the kayak was equally no good and put me in danger of toppling. I was trying all sorts of moves but nothing was helping.

I could see that the Guillotine gate was open. Earlier that morning I had rung ahead to the lock-keeper at Ardnacrusha Dam to advise him of my plans, as advised by the maps for this stretch of water. I wanted to head for the edge of the lake to get out of the kayak and stretch out my leg. The pain was very uncomfortable. But I had visions of the Guillotine gate closing as I was doing some stretching. I paddled hard and went for the gate. The pain got worse. I paddled harder.


With my leg in agony I made it through the gate, made a bee-line for the canal edge and leapt out of the kayak as quickly as possible. The relief in the stretching was pure pleasure. I walked up the steep sloping thirty foot high man-made banks of the canal and looked around. Fields and water.

Taking the canal and the Ardnacrusha route was a choice I had over taking the Shannon river route. I choose this route because I wanted to see the famous Ardnacrusha Power Station Dam, and experience going down the two huge locks. One is a seventy foot drop and the other thirty foot. And also, I reckoned I had seen enough of the river to last me quite some time.

Ardnacrusha power station (Irish: Árd na Croise, meaning Height, or Hill, of the Cross), originally referred to as The Shannon Scheme, is Ireland's largest river hydroelectric scheme and is operated on a purpose built canal connected to the River Shannon. The plant includes fish ladders so that returning salmon etc. can climb the river safely past the power station. The electricity generating plant is composed of three vertical-shaft Francis turbo-generators (installed in 1929) and one vertical -shaft Kaplan turbo-generator (installed in 1934) operating under an average head of 28.5 metres. The scheme originally was designed for six turbines, with four turbines fitted. The 85 MW of generating plant in Ardnacrusha was adequate to meet the electricity demand of the entire country in the early years. The full output equates to about 332 thousand MW generated on an annual basis. Ardnacrusha generates at 10.5 kilovolts (kV) but this is transformed to 40 kV for local distribution and to 110 kV for long distance transmission

The section of canal before the dam is called "Headrace". It comprises of perfectly formed high sloping banks, thirty foot high, on each side of the 100 foot wide water. If I had thought the earlier river was boring, well this was a whole new world of boring. Practically nothing changed for the 11.6km section. And at my average of 5 or 6 km/hour, that's a long, long time of pure boredom.

The only thing of slight interest was O'Brien's Bridge. A few years ago, with friends I had jumped a few times from that bridge the forty-five feet to the river below. We measured the distance , so I'm sure about the forty-five feet. And the drop feels all of fooooooooorrrrrrrrtttttttttttyyyyyyyyy fiiiiiiiivvvvvveeeeeeeeee feet. You smile when you leave the bridge, you get the immediate enjoyable falling sensation, then you get light-headed as everything inside you seems to be moving up, and you're still falling, and then you involuntarily stop smiling as you loose control of your muscles, and you wonder how long more, and then there's an almighty crash as you hit the water. You look up and the surface is a big distance up there. You need air after such a rush. You swim upwards, which takes forever. Your lungs hurt from holding out. Eventually, when you're close to giving up, you surface and take in a wonderful huge breath. You float and think about what a fantastic feeling that was - worth doing again.


I paddled, looking at the underside of the bridge with fond memories.

At Cloonlara Bridge, I stopped for lunch. It was lashing rain with absolutely no shelter around. I was already wet, so for twenty minutes I sat on the grass eating a sandwich, sardines, a cereal bar and a yogurt, with rain falling onto my food and dripping off my peaked cap, while I was getting cold.

Back in the kayak it wasn't too long before I saw Ardnacrusha coming into view. It was a wonderful sight. Not only did I badly need a break from the monotonous canal, but it was also because of all I've heard about Ardnacrusha.


Ardnacrusha was built under the leadership of the German firm Siemens-Schuckertwerke during the mid-1920s and was a major project undertaken by the then new Irish Free State. In 1925 the works commenced after the passing of the Shannon Electricity Act, 1925 and by 1927 the project was at an advanced state. A completion time limit of three and a half years, with penalty clauses for failure of adherence to this limit, was written into the contract. The contract price was £5.2 million, and the final cost overrun was £150,000. By this time the Electricity Supply Board (ESB) was established and took control of the scheme and electricity supply and generation generally. At the time, it was the largest hydroelectric station in the world, though this was soon superseded by a much larger station in Russia. Most of the skilled workers and engineers on the power station were Germans. The camp set up for the workers included living quarters for 750 men and a dining room that seated 600. Initially, employment for 700 was provided, whilst at its peak there were 5,200 employed during the construction phase, with this dropping back to 2,500 near completion. The construction project was not without controversy, with national and governmental debate over wages, conditions, strikes, and spending over-runs.

Ever since I was a boy at school, we've been told how this facility revolutionised Ireland. It brought electricity to every man, woman and shed in the country. It transformed us from a dark oil-burning lamp land to a modern cosmopolitan Nation, competing with all the Great Nations. This was definitely the stuff of legend. This might have had something to do with an inspirational teacher of mine being from County Clare. Thank you Mr. Barry McGann, Sir.


And here it was in front of me. Ardnacrusha. Looming larger and larger with every excited stroke of the paddle. The gigantic concrete structure grew wider and wider, higher and higher. I was gracefully and humbly paddling up to history itself, in all its concrete glory. The gate of the lock was open and inviting. The Pearly Gates of Engineering Heaven beckoned. Was that St. Peter waving me on?

No. But there was a man in an orange hat directing me where to go by waving me in. He may have mistaken my sense of awe for trepidation. In my appreciation of the structure, I'm sure I slowed my rate of paddling. I paddled on, into the lock.

Despite the fact that there were no other boats for miles around, in such a huge structure, I somehow expected other boats to arrive and for me to be just part of a group. The man with the orange hat shouted something like "Are y'alright down there? ". I shouted yes and the gate started closing behind me. I was on my own.


A group of people - about eight adults and children, were looking over the lock wall and marveling at the whole arrangement. A man in the group said "You must be mad going down this - you're a brave man! ". It all added to my sense of wonder and deep excitement.


With the gate behind me closed, the water level started dropping slowly. At first it was no different to the other locks that I had been down during the trip. But then, as the level dropped further and further, the water falling from minor breaches in the door behind me was splashing down onto the water behind me. All the sounds reverberated around the enclosed chamber, getting increasingly hollow as I descended slowly. Every so often, one of the children would look over the wall and say "Wow! ", making the adventure better each time.


One of the adults was so impressed that he took a picture of me with his mobile phone, shouting down that he'd send it to my phone. From about sixty foot down, I shouted my mobile phone number up to him. The sound bellowed like from a big deep drum.



As I got deeper in the lock, I was all too aware of the water pressure that must have been on the gate up above. I thought about what might happen if the gate gave way and suddenly released the water in on me. Would I shoot out of the lock like a cork from a Champagne bottle? It was intimidating and I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Nerves jittered in my stomach. I was thoroughly enjoying the whole terrific experience.



My descent slowed and stopped. Slowly, the gate opened in front of me and revealed another lock. I went into that and waited.


I seemed to be there a long time, wondering if I had gone into the right place. I also wondered if I was supposed to get out. I would have liked to get out to look around the dam but there was no way out from my position. The lock-keeper appeared and apologised for the delay. I got chatting to him, and he clearly remembered my brother-in-law John Cowhey's father Ger who worked for the ESB at Ardnacrusha for many years. We chatted for the time it took the water level to drop another thirty feet.



The next gate opened and just before I left I asked in a shout what his name was. "Ger Reid " came the shouted reply.



Travelling the massive Ardnacrusha lock on my own made me feel very special. I know they are obliged to facilitate boaters - something to do with a right-of-way, but nonetheless I felt special. Thanks Ger. A terrific engineering experience, coupled with fear, anxiety, trepidation, nerves and excitement.

I went out the lock gate into "Tailrace" - the section of canal below the dam. With water being let off the dam, the current here was much stronger than any part of the whole river from the very start. The scenery here, with trees on each side of the bank, was also much more interesting. I was carried along at a fast pace, only needing to paddle to steer.

Within minutes I was down under Parteen Bridge and then where the canal rejoins the river, I was out into the slower River Shannon again. I quickly went under Shannon Railway Bridge and saw a turn left for the Abbey River. From my map I could see I had a choice here, to go straight, along the course of the River Shannon, or to take this left for the Abbey River. They both ended up in the same place about 2km later. But my map showed that there was a weir on the Shannon at Thomond. I didn't fancy capsizing at this late stage.

I went down the Abbey River and was surprised at how quickly everything became industrialised. Up to now, the long Shannon River had been surrounded by fields and reeds. The river was now channelled by a high wall on each side, with office blocks towering overhead.


I enjoyed the change, and took my time travelling the short section of river.

I went under O'Dwyer's Bridge and turned right under Abbey Bridge. Next was Baal's Bridge and then the Mathew Bridge. I knew my target - Curraghgour Boat Club, was just around the corner.


At least a year before the trip I had checked out Limerick and found Curraghgour Boat Club would be an ideal place to stop. I wrote to the Committee and received the reply that the Committee "unanimously voted to give the assistance requested ". They gave the telephone numbers of no less than four members who were willing to give assistance. This was extremely helpful of them and particularly paved the way for the trip to be arranged in earnest. I am still exceptionally grateful.

Another weir, joining the Abbey River back onto the Shannon River, was just in front of me. I had to pass that and turn immediately right. I had studied the tides in the weeks before the trip so I knew the tide was almost in. The tide brought the Shannon River level up to the top of the weir, so there was no drop off. I went over the flat weir and turned right, going upstream. The Shannon River was driving me back. I paddled hard and saw the Boat Club to my right. I couldn't believe what I saw - there was a large boat on the slipway which could prevent my landing.


I paddled over to the slipway and tried to figure out my options. There was about two foot of space between the boat and the edge of the slipway, but the hull of the boat curved out preventing walking up the slipway. There was no room on the other side as the boat was tight against the wall. I tied my kayak to small rungs in the slipway and got out onto the slimy slippery concrete surface. I scrambled up the slipway on my hands and knees under the protruding hull of the boat.

A member of the Club was in the boathouse. I think his name was Pat. He offered to help me but I didn't know yet how I was going to manage getting the kayak out. The slipway was treacherously slippery so I got a length of rope from Pat. I tied that to the top of the slipway and lowered myself, on hands and knees, back down to my kayak. I was going to take my equipment out, one piece at a time, and bring it up. But just looking at my predicament, I knew that would be far too dangerous. I needed both hands to stop me falling from the thin bit of slipway available to me.

I had an idea. I took the piece of rope that was holding my kayak. It was tied onto the very back of the kayak. Still holding the long rope, I pushed my kayak out into the water. I then gingerly climbed back up the slipway on hands and knees. At the top, while safely standing, I pulled the rope holding the kayak in such a way that the (back) nose of the kayak came up the slipway. The space was just wider than the width of the kayak. The kayak slipped easily up the slimy surface.

My kayak was landed. The Shannon River was done.

I went into the Clubhouse and rang my sister Marie. She was amazed I was in Limerick already. She would have been out to meet and greet me if she'd known when I was arriving. I had deliberately given the impression that I'd be arriving later. Not knowing the logistics of getting through Ardnacrusha, with no idea how long it would take, I didn't want anybody waiting anxiously in Limerick for me - particularly in this rain. Then when I did get through the dam there was nowhere to stop and make a phone call.

Marie and her son, Evin, came in immediately. I was changed by the time they arrived, with the kayak stored safely in the Clubhouse. It was fantastic to see them. I needed to be with family again. The journey was often tough, but sometimes tough and lonely.

We packed my equipment into the car and just when Marie was expecting me to jump in for the 5km drive to her house I told her I'd see her there - I was walking! She gave me that look of bewilderment. Like I'd gone mad.

This journey was to travel from Malin to Mizen by human effort alone. I was walking. I was positively a steadfast and dedicated Great Adventurer.

Marie completely understood, or gave a good impression she did. Both she and Evin smiled brightly. We said our goodbyes and off I went. I was in fantastic humour. Feeling as fit as I've ever been. I strode off purposefully and confidently. Carrying nothing, this walk would be a piece of cake, a walk in the park, a stroll in the woods. I headed off down Merchant's Quay, and across Bridge Street onto Georges Quay, going east down the quays. After a few minutes of thinking about where Marie actually lived, it suddenly dawned on me that I was going in the wrong direction. Oh how embarrassing. I had successfully navigated the longest river in Ireland, crossing hills and valleys before that, all the way from Malin Head, and here I was going in the wrong direction. So much for the great adventurer.

Thinking that the world was watching me I pretended I was looking for a shop down that road and then sheepishly turned around, going back to Bridge Street. As I neared the bridge, Marie and Evin, who had been negotiating the one-way system, drove past me. I was so, so lucky they didn't see me coming from the wrong direction. How embarrassing that would have been. I turned left across the bridge and went down Rutland St., Patrick St., O'Connell St., O'Connell Ave., Ballinacurra Road, St. Nessans, past the hospital and into Marie's at Dromore. Another stage completed!

I spent a very enjoyable evening recounting as much of the trip as possible. We chatted for hours until finally the effort of the preceding days got all too much for me and I had to go to bed. Marie bravely and kindly took all my kayaking gear and earmarked it for the wash - removing nine days of toil on the water. My bike and cycling gear, which John had brought from Fermanagh to Dublin and then dispatched to Limerick on the train, was ready for me. Evin had dutifully cycled the bike from the train station to the house. He wasn't all too impressed with the hard leather saddle, so deserves considerable recognition for the valiant job he did. Thanks Evin!

I sorted out my equipment for the following day. I was heading into the final stage of the journey - the cycle from Limerick to Mizen. It was due to take a few days, but I was confident and looking forward to the change from kayaking. The only concern I had was that I had never ridden a fully-laden bike. John had carried my equipment in his car on the cycling stage at the start of the expedition. Recalling the heavy three stone of equipment I carried when walking I wondered if the bike was strong enough. Or would I be able to control it? No point worrying now. It would either work out or it wouldn't. After 23.5km on water and 5.1km walking that day, now was the time to sleep. I got into bed, enjoyed the luxury, closed my eyes ….. and slept soundly.