At the start of any new journey, we’re always a little off - out of balance. It takes time for us to slip back into our travel groove. As much as anything, our opening days bikepacking in Europe have been about hitting our stride. More than usual, perhaps, as we’re kicking off something completely new and we’re in no shape to be grinding fully loaded bikes up Ireland's relentless hills. Since departing Dublin, life on the road has been an exercise in physical struggle, cutting-of-teeth, and whipping our inner selves into something that vaguely resembles the brawny, go-anywhere outer façade our Surly ECR’s convey.
Overstuffed
Our baptism came before we hit the road. It started with packing in a cramped little hotel in Dublin. Our tiny room was less than ideal for organizing gear. With a double bed that consumed much of the room, there was hardly space for bikes, bags, and all our kit.
Packing in such a cramped space was tedious as we climbed over one another, attempting to lay everything out on our primary workspace - the bed. Once organized, we packed and repacked, and repacked again until we got the weight distribution right. Weight distribution is important. Load too much into one bag, or place heavier items too far back, or forward, or high, and the bike gets all wonky. It’s sort of like pedaling a bike with a rubber frame. Eventually, we got it right. Right enough to balance our bikes – if at the expense of being able to easily access gear. That’s a project for another day.
All packed and ready to go, we took a moment to marvel at having fit it all with room to spare. It was a momentary triumph that quickly turned to despair as Sheri noticed a hidden bag of gear that wasn’t meant for our trip. It was a pile of last-minute 'throw-it-in-and-deal-with-it-later' stuff that now needed dealing with. Stuff like our old GoPro, which got replaced on the way to the airport, 9TB’s of backup hard drives we meant to leave at my parents, and an overstuffed sack of miscellaneous tools, parts, cables, and straps that came with all our new bikepacking gear. Stuff that appears to have essential value, but for what we have no idea. The type of packing detritus that always seems to show up last minute. Detritus we decided to kick further down the road - crammed cursing into every last spare inch of our bags, while muttering under breath that we’d deal with it in Galway, if not through an open window on our Galway bound train.
It’s a vow which Ireland's hilly roads make easy to keep. Each climb serving as a reminder of our excess baggage and need to purge. And purge we have. Like a boxer shaving weight for a prize fight, we’ve taken to dumping gear at every stop. And not just the detritus mentioned above. Anything and everything’s fair game. I’ve sat in camp staring at our bikes wondering what else can go. I’ve assigned estimated weights to everything from stickers to those little rubber hairs on our shiny new tires. If it’s not essential, it’s got to go. I even made an impassioned, if utterly unsuccessful, argument that Sheri might consider shaving her head.
Unfit for Travel
Since arriving in Ireland, all conversations seem to include a warning about Ireland's hilly roads. Sitting outside a pub drinking a pint of Guinness, we had more than a few passersby stop to have a look at our bikes. Most give the bikes a curious look before moving on. Others approach us to ask:
“Are these your bike? Are they fat bikes? They’re a serious piece of kit. Where you headed?”
“Oh, we’re headed for Connemara.” We’ll reply.
“Connemara? You know there’s a lot of hills between here and Connemara. You must be strong to be taking those bikes up so many hills.”
“Oh, no. We’re hardly in any condition to be cycling. So far, we’ve only ridden from our hotel in Dublin 6 minutes to the train station and just now from the Galway Station to here…”
“From Galway Station to here? But that’s just two blocks up…”
“Yes, well, it’s hard to ride far with so many pubs serving up pints of cold Guinness.”
(with a laugh) “Yes. Right then. Guinness is good for the bones. So you’re just starting out?”
“Yes, we’re just starting out. We’re looking forward to exploring Ireland.”
“Well, I’m not sure you picked the right country to start cycling. Here in Ireland, all roads are one way. And that’s up! Good luck to you. You’ll need it to get up all those hills…”
No doubt, we picked a challenging place to whip ourselves into shape. Thus far, we mainly just feel whipped. And our whipping began just out the gates of Galway Station. To be honest, I’m not sure what happened. Perhaps we were jacked up with nervous energy. Or perhaps we’d placed too much stock in the mythical powers of Guinness – part of our pre-ride carbo loading routine. Whatever the cause, we shot out the station and down the street at an ill-planned pace, which fizzled out in all of five blocks. Huffing and puffing, legs screaming for mercy, we found ourselves humbled by Irelands only flat road. A beachside bike path, no less, which was abuzz with stroller pushing, kite flying, dog walking holiday goers. Carefree folks, enjoying a stress-free stroll down the beach – oblivious to our smoldering wreckage just beside them. We’d only just got going and we were already broken. Our eyes conveying to each other a ‘what the hell have we gotten ourselves into’ look of desperation. It was our first time pedaling fully loaded bikes, and we’d come out the gate like we were racing a time trial stage at the Tour de France. It was a colossal mistake that had us singing hallelujah when we finally made camp well past the 15 minutes Google budgeted for our trip.
Our first day on the bikes was humbling. We were in no shape to be pedaling loaded bikes anywhere and certainly not up Ireland's endless hills. If we wanted to make Connemara and beyond, we needed a new strategy. Going forward, it would be more tortoise and less hare. From our roadside burnout till now, we’ve put on a master’s class in slow speed travel. Rather than charging up hills, we attack at a sloth-like pace. To overcome a shortness of strength, we employ an arsenal of gears so low it’s hard to achieve walking pace. To overcome a lack of stamina we make use of frequent breaks. And when I say frequent, I mean frequent enough to visit every site, photograph every vista, and drink a coffee, tea, or pint at every café or pub.
During our first three days, we topped out at 18 mph. A high-water mark logged on a descent, which in no way reflects our overall pace. To be sure, our progress has been slow. Still, we’re going. During our first three days on the road, we logged 4, 16, and 43 miles respectively. A rate of improvement that should have us doing 1,000-mile days by the end of the month.
Each and every mile thus far has been a hard-fought battle with wind and rain, ceaseless climbs, and missed turns that took us six miles out of our way. Do you have any idea how far six miles is when pedaling two loaded bikes uphill both ways through wind and rain in our sort of shape? Challenging miles only made easier by Ireland's' ceaseless beauty and the lovely folks we’ve met along the way. We shared coffee, pints, and tea with travelers and locals, tourists and tour guides, shopkeepers, students, cyclists, bikers (moto that is), and footballers, from all over Europe and beyond. A most positive byproduct of our exceedingly slow pace. A pace that offers up plenty of time to count Ireland's many sheep, watch the World Cup with rowdy locals more interested in watching Galic Football on another TV, and camp in a pubs garden – Irish wild camping at its best.
All-in-all, a memorable, if humbling, start to life on two wheels. We’ve now been riding for three weeks. Since those first few miles, we’ve logged quite a few more. Miles that eventually led us to a ferry crossing bound for tiny Inishbofin. An unexpectedly good bikepacking destination and the highlight of our trip thus far. From Inishbofin we’re headed for Connemara National Park. More to come…
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