Leaving Killarney, I backtracked briefly back to Moll's Gap, from there carrying on westward onto the Ring of Kerry, a 180 km circular drive around the scenic coastline of Iveragh Peninsula. One decision was already eliminated by the (fantastic) rule that all the tour buses must circulate the ring in the counterclockwise direction, so off I went clockwise, so as not to be stuck staring at their rear ends instead of the magnificent scenery. |
Satisfied that the Ring of Kerry was now in direct continuous contact with my skin, I kept left after the loop, heading north. After a gas and cookie stop in Tralee, I stumbled my way into a mandatory ferry crossing! I won't soon forget passing about 40 motorbikes headed in the opposite direction as me, between Tarbert town and the ferry terminal (I think they had all just disembarked together). Unlike in North America, where the standard greeting between passing riders is a casual wave with a dropped left hand, Ireland has a different system. Of course, riding on the left, the left hand isn't much good for waving to someone on your right. And the right hand is, of course, occupied with the throttle. So instead, they use their heads. Instead of "the wave," it's "the nod." A quick, single twitch of the head to the side (presumably to the side for reasons of noticeability, although if you try it right now you too might find yourself wondering if the side nod is in fact less disruptive to your vision than a downward nod). Now -- how to acknowledge a group of 40? At home, I'd just leave the hand hanging -- maybe twitch it a bit if I saw another Katoom in the line -- but this here is the moment when you truly appreciate the difference between a continuous and a discrete variable, because that limp arm can be thought of as a continuous 2- or 45-second showing of camraderie, but a head bob is definitely a discrete data point. Ergo, there is no choice, 40 head bobs are called for, and one Canadian rider will be dizzied.
As I progressed north after the ferry, the rain started to let up into a drizzle. I stayed wet, but didn't get more wet. Lahinch seemed like a hopping little spot, with surfers on the water. I postponed a visit to the Cliffs of Moher, which looked like a world-class hiking spot on the internet, but in reality looked like nothing more than a white room of fog today. I called it a night in Doolin, where I couldn't resist the opportunity to patronize a 5-star-reviewed campground with yurts. (Note: Spreading my belongings out to dry all across a yurt in Ireland on the Atlantic coast by castles isn't how I've ever started a business trip before, but this is kinda fun.)
Day total: 301 km, 8h15m Trip total: 795 km | Start: Killarney, Co. Kerry, Ireland. End: Doolin, Co. Clare, Ireland. Soundtrack: Talkin' Block Island with a couple from Rhode Island/Sacramento on the ferry (?!). |