With a stroke of luck that even an Irish miner would admire, I found myself touching down in Dublin on a Thursday with five free days to fill before the start of the work engagement that sponsored my airfare. And, let's call it lucky leaf #1 on the clover, the weekend just happens to be the exact same weekend of a big birthday bash for my beloved ma-in-law, who has travelled from Canada to her hometown in Ireland to celebrate -- and be celebrated -- with her multiple handfuls of Irish sisters. This is the circumstance which led to my shopping for Irish rental cars last weekend. |
Enter: Celtic Rider. Lucky leaf #2: It just so happens that the top moto rental outfit in Ireland is indeed based just outside of Dublin, they are set up precisely to cater to international visitors -- with full riding gear available as an optional add-on -- and had availability thanks to their impressive fleet of recent model BMW GS and other touring bikes. So, I booked it.
After overnighting in the neighbouring town of Naas, I took a taxi ("Hi, I'm going to Kill, Ireland, please?" "No, no, not like that. Eek. Um, you know the town, Kill?") to arrive at Celtic Rider HQ as they opened their doors at 9:00am. The onboarding experience was first-class: A warm welcome from the team of boss Paul, Louise, and Liam, then smooth completion of the mandatory administrative tasks, an introduction to my (brand new) R1200GS kitted out with a (brand new) OEM tank bag (i.e. Liam: "Oh sure, I can mount one, just give me 10 minutes because I have to open the box, 'kay?") and (brand new) Givi plastic panniers and top case, and then a "just grab what ya like" philosophy for picking out boots, pants, and jacket, off of their racks. Even with my arms-n-legs proportions, I had no trouble finding stuff that fit. I went for a high-viz yellow Tourmaster jacket (XXL for length, as it had plentiful cinching straps for the body/biceps), and an XL Shoei modular helmet (in white). I'd packed my own gloves from home, because... ew. Next step, I unzip my big suitcase on the shop floor, pull out what I think I need, and stuff it in the moto luggage, all the while pretending to myself that I'm doing it in some systematic way. Paul then gave me his standard 'orientation to Ireland' primer (omitting one critical point which would soon be discovered), and I was set!
Before I was totally free, they sent me off with Liam riding ahead, to do their so-called "six-mile loop," again under the guise of chaperoning the foreigner through his first few minutes of riding on the left side of the road and tasting local traffic-circle protocols, but surely as well for the unstated additional purpose of checking out that the customer did indeed display a rider competence level requisite with that indicated on his rental inquiry form ("Uh, which model of Segway did you say you rode in San Francisco?") prior to sending off the foreign stranger with the company's latest (brand new) asset.
Around mile four, I guess I honked my horn, just to test it, which promptly caused Liam to pull over at the next opportunity, ask me what that was on about, and then very politely but clearly explain that <you must read this in an Irish accent> "You see, we really don't use the horns here on the island, because ... well, it disturbs the harmony." Ah. Noted.
Having successfully graduated the loop, Liam wished me well, and I was now off on my own. Immediately, I was struck by the skinny roads, the overwhelming colour green -- so vibrant, so everywhere -- and began to realize (leaf #3) that the country roads of Ireland are a motorcyclist's dream. I certainly hadn't been banking on really having a great time riding; rather, I was just looking to have a bit of a change from a rented Nissan or Hyundai. But wow, any expectations were quickly being blown out of the water. Plus, it was sunny!
I basically rode non-stop across to Cork, with photo stops. On three different occasions, I attempted to pitstop for lunch after looking up a cafe on my phone, but was foiled each time: Twice they proved to be located in the middle of busy town squares (where I didn't want to battle with traffic and fret over out-of-sight parking), and the third spot didn't open until 16:30.
Navigation-wise, the bike came with a Garmin Zumo GPS (the motorcycle-specific model). I had meticulously scoped out a good-looking route before arriving, but when I attempted to load up city names as waypoints, I quickly discovered that many city names occur numerous times in the country, in different counties, and, not really knowing where I was, and only having a 5" wide screen worth of truncated text at which to squint with furrowed brow, there was fat chance of my route going in correctly, the more likely outcome being an unintended and truly cross-country adventure. So, I just entered my final destination, and 'more or less' followed the purple line.
In short order, that purple line took me to a ferry -- so I could see that we were going to get along.
Day total: 333 km, 6h20m Trip total: 333 km | Start: Kill, Co. Kildare, Ireland. End: Cork, Co. Cork, Ireland. Soundtrack: Well, no horns, I guess. |