Motorcycle Ireland

I always wondered why the hell people go to the west of Ireland......it's cold.....it's far away....it's sparsely populated ....the list goes on. However this last weekend I'll admit - my eyes were opened.

A few weeks ago I covered the south of the country on the roadbike and I was getting the urge to go for another long spin ever since. Infact, I don't think I even rode the bike since. Short runs seem somewhat of a waste of time now that I've put some miles up this summer. The quick squirts into town for a coffee and a pose seem pointless....my mindest has changed, a spin REALLY isn't a spin without a ferry crossing. Where I has headed this weekend didn't have a ferry so we were going to have to be imaginative.

When you follow the road this beach "they're reallr R no more roads". But if you're a decent swimmer you might reach the next bit of land - Manhattan Island, NY.

If you missed the first roadtrip blogpost check it here. The crew on this one were mainly the same: Mike Robinson, Gerardo Kelly Beetlejuice, Eric Dunne and myself. On this occasion we were without Sam but gained Ronan Kelly, an experienced Cannonballer, R1 faller off'r over'r, track day enthusiast and all-round suspicious looking character.

Interesting sidenote: to celebrate Ronans birthday we went out for FOUR pints, no more, no less, and, in true 30 year old fashion, Ronans body reminded him later that night that he's too old for that carry-on!

Being a two day trip we pointed the Garmin for the West and hit the road around midday on Saturday. Like the last trip, we planned on doing a few stages of the Motorcycle Photo Rally. The first destination was a monument erected in honour of a plane that crashed a long time ago, the Halifax Monument. I'd have to be honest, it wasn't much to see but the roads to it were quality. We crossed parts of the Walderstown roadrace [insert other towms along this part].

Next stop was Klapper Bridge, an old stone bridge about 1km from the coastline in Mayo. On approaching the bridge I knew this location was something special, inside I was grinning.

The Achill Fiasco!

At this point it might be worth giving some background on the competitors other riders on this trip, there's two clear distinct clans: Mike/Ronan/Eric, self confessed road bike posers, regularly spotted with the RayBans on outside Metro cafe ('yu know ROIGHT?), possibly better than the next clan at carving the lines on-road. And then there's myself and Gerardo, two die hard dirt bike lovers who regularly stick the foot out mid corner (infact the sportier the bike the more I find myself tempted to do this:). 

I'm not one to admit to much but I will say that I'm a tad (hmmm..possible understatement) competitive. The moment I saw the river my inner dirtbiker said "ah YES, the chance to do something that the posers can't do better - brilliant!".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7fMSDEGV4Y

To my disappointment, as I crossed the water for the second time, Mike lined up his Ducati and crossed it with ease. He crushed my hopes. He stole my moment. What an asshole!

However the dirtbikers weren't to be outdone. I had one wild card left and a few slags later I had easily peer-pressured Gerardo into tackling the river. Not one to let the side down, he hooks second, pins it to the limiter and ploughs into it like a fat kid into the deep end. Triumph was ours once more: Poser shiny bikers - 1 : Dirt bikers -2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEWDpHwUTR4

To rub salt in their wounds he even soaks Mike on the way out of the river - result:)

So once the socks were changed, luggage tightened up and the giggles had worn off we decided it was time for Achill (and most likely a cold beverage or two-ish). I turned my bike around but noticed Eric standing, thinking, staring at the water. He reminded me of Gollum, he wanted it, his prec-c-cious wat-ter!

Gerardo must have sensed it too as we simultaneously joined in calling him names: "chicken", "only real bikers can do that" and other such phrases might have been said.

Enough was enough, Eric felt the need to defend is clan, or otherwise face a night of jeering at the bar. He starts up the Fireblade, gingerly selects a gear and....well the rest is history I suppose!

This is the "oh no" moment!

Unfortunately for him though it turns out that Fireblades don't like water. It did an impressive 'Titanic Fireblade" and refused to start. We spent the next few hours tearing the bike apart, whilst phoning every mechanic in the country, to attempt to put some life back into it. Nothing worked. She was dead.

We limped her to a local farmer and made the best decision of the day. We went to the pub.

We stayed in Mikes' house in Achill which is next door to a trendy kite surfer bar called Pure Magic. Fair play to the owner, Francois, we arrived late and he still organised home cooked pizzas, beer and brownies. From here we drove (Mike doesn't drink!), five men wedged into a borrowed CRX, to the most random bar ever - the Valley. This place was a big old house, once built by a rich English lady whom apparently got herself in a lot of trouble with the local housewifes for sleeping with all the men around the island - I liked this place already!

Interesting sidenote: if you ask for a Vodka and RedBull in the Valley, Achill, you can expect the following answer: "ooohhh no, jeepers, we don't sell those - they attract the wrong kind"- lol. 

We stayed the night at Mikes' where his brother (John) and girlfriend(Becky) live. This couple capture what the West means to me; relaxed, honest, chilled and well...down to earth I suppose. We'd a quality breakfast and spent the morning chilling out, chatting and, well mostly, giving Eric plenty of abuse.

They have a separate apartment for people looking for an escape from the usual. John practices Reiki and their book and crystal shop (attached to the house) is directly beside a megalithic tomb. Check the out here.

Sunday was a bit of a non event: the morning was spent getting the Blade onto a tow truck, followed by lunch in Westport, and the afternoon enjoying the best biking roads we could find across the midlands. Still, all in all, a great weekend.

I can't get over how much I liked the west. I'll definitely be heading back, this year hopefully. Even with just the day spent there you can already feel yourself starting to slow down (metaphorically speaking obviously!).

Derek Traynor.

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Motorcycle Ireland