It's not only gold that glitters

We were in Waterford to visit the Waterford Crystal factory.

The crystal glass in this place is stunning. Watching the craftsmen blowing, shaping and cutting is just amazing. It takes 8 years for them to learn the skills properly. Imagine then, having a go yourself. Grizzly had asked one guy how many times me made a booboo and nearly got a thump for his troubles but as we walked on the guy came up to Grizzly and asked if he wanted to try it himself. Quite amazingly the guy let Grizzly use the diamond cutter to cut a pattern into the bottom of a glass tumbler. The concentration on his face was something to behold. When done the guy praised how accurate he had been and sent him on his way with the tumbler as a souvenir. Awesome!

In the shop, Dudley and I made some purchases for our loved ones, a small carved Seahorse in a lovely presentation case. I'd hardly spoken to Cath on this trip, hopefully that would make up for the lack of contact.

Glass Globe, stunning!

We left Waterford on the last leg of the Reservoir Hogs Tour, an hour or so ride into Wexford. The skies looked very threatening and a rainbow in front of us gave me a clue of what lie ahead. I pulled over and both Dudley and I put our waterproofs on again.  Sure enough, the heavens opened up once more. Like London buses, nothing for days, then two torrential downpours come at once. On entering Wexford, I had my only moment of the entire tour. Typical, on the last leg! If truth be told it was only a nearly moment but could have been a lot worse. As I was negotiating a roundabout, in the rain, roads soaking wet, I suddenly spot a fat juicy manhole cover, right on the apex!! What the FECK? Now my tyres had been brilliant thus far in all conditions but I wasn't about to test them with this, so I had no option but to stand the bike upright to run across it, sending me heading towards the kerb. With no additional obstacles though, I was able to then lean the bike over to make it round safely. Quickly, I glanced in my mirrors to check Dudley and the others got round safely, which they all did. What an unbelievably stupid place to site a manhole!

A few minutes later we were parking up in the gravel (careful Dudley!) car park of the Faythe Guest House. Unloaded, checked in and showered we prepared to hit the town for our last evening together and our farewell dinner.

Youghal, pronounced Y'all

Saturday morning dawned. This was to be our last riding day together. Once more the weather was dry and sunny, as we rolled out onto the street. Grizzly was leading once more, this time to Cork Lough, a childhood venue for walks with his aunt. This lough is more like a park lake, than any of the previous loughs we have visited but by necessity it has been hemmed in with concrete. Not very big, Grizzly assures us there was once a thousand swans on the lough. There's not that number now, if anything they are outnumbered by Canada geese. The lough is also home to some damned big carp, that broke the water's surface as we walked round.

Irish swans. To be sure, to be sure, to be sure!

Our next stop was only about 30 minutes away, in Cobh (pronounced Cove) formerly known as Queenstown. This place is famous for being the last berthing place of RMS Titanic, before that giant ice cube halted her progress across the Atlantic. We were in Cobh to visit the Titanic Experience. A small exhibition, it is housed in the original ticket office and as you pass through the exhibition, you can view a piece of the original jetty, from which the passengers would have boarded the tender boats to take them out to Titanic in the bay. Your entrance ticket has a passenger name on it and you can check this at the end of the visit to see if you survived the sinking. Only Biggsey survived, so beers on him!

We had ourselves a coffee, then I checked our euro lottery ticket in a newsagents. We won!!, €4. Grizzly persuaded us to cough up some more cash to enter the Irish lottery that evening. If we won, we'd need to rely on him claiming the winnings and not disappearing to Chicago, without telling us!

Original White Star Line Ticket Office, Cobh

 With another fuel stop under our belts, next stop was Youghal. First though, we stopped to take photos of the last lough on our tour, Lough Aderra. I had got just a bit of stick off of our Irish friend, when I had pronounced Youghal to sound like the dog from the Magic Roundabout. Say what you see! It's actually pronounced Y'all. This was our lunch stop, The Moby Dick, to be exact. The Moby Dick's claim to fame is that the cast of that famous film of 1954 (Gregory Peck, Richard Baseheart, et al) stayed there during filming. There are lots of black and white photos on the walls of the stars and John Houston, the director. All I can say is, I hope they didn't have to wait as long for lunch as we did. From being ahead of time, we lost time waiting for four ham and cheese special toasted sandwiches to arrive, some onion and tomato being the 'special' ingredients!

It started to rain as we were about to leave, so I decided to put on my waterproofs. Immediately I did, the sun came out again. Not far down the road though the heavens opened. The first real rain we had seen since we left Loch Lomond, was pelting down, hammering against my visor and clothing, making visibility quite poor. By the time we reached our next stop at Waterford though, the sun was out again. Biggsey had opted not to bother with waterproofs, so sported a nice line in wet denim!

Next please. Lie down, grab the handles, lean back. Next please.

The short walk from the hotel saw us inside Blarney Castle grounds and we were soon climbing the narrow spiral staircase to the top of the castle and the famous Blarney stone. There were two guys working the stone. One takes the photo (you can purchase on exit) and gives you a numbered slip, the other, the main man, stops you slipping to your death whilst kissing the stone. "Lie down, grab the handles, lean back. Next please", over and over again. Grizzly went first, so I could get some photos of him, then it was my turn. I did as instructed and all within 30 seconds the deed was done. Next up was Dudley, Grizzly obliging with the photos of both of us. Biggsey was nowhere to be seen. We waited, a good 5 minutes or more but no sign. Perhaps he has bottled it we think. He wouldn't have been the only one. It was surprising how many people wouldn't kiss the stone. My question, why go to Blarney Castle, which is famous for the Blarney Stone and NOT kiss the fecker?

We started our descent, when I met Biggsey on his way up. His story is, that he got chatting to 4 girls from the US. Blimey, you can't let that bloke out of your sight for 5 minutes!! I followed him back to the top and took a couple of snaps on the phone, before we made our way down to meet the others.

The Blarney Stone

The deed done, a pint beckoned. Grizzley was keen that after having tried the Guinness, I now try Murphy's. Before that though we made a quick stop in the souvenir shop at the exit to the castle grounds. Dudley was busy buying stuff for his grandchildren and Grizzly bought another sticker (I think). I was just perusing but became aware that whatever Biggsey had decided to buy, he'd managed to find a very attractive member of staff to serve him. This is one guy with no need to kiss any bleeding stone!! "Hi, my name's Biggsey". As he left the store the young woman and her colleague began talking about him. They even called a male member of staff over to share the story, though I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, I gathered the young woman was quite taken with the encounter.

A freshen up and Dud and I headed for the bar. Biggsey and Grizzly were already there, talking to a couple of women. I'm presented with a pint of Murphy's. To Grizzly's dismay, I didn't really like it. Guinness wins!

The guy at the stone had recommended a place on the square to eat and drink. One look at the menu though, left us uninspired, so we decided to do Chinese instead. It was Friday evening but we managed to get a table no problem. The food was excellent. Grizzley suggested the chow mein dish he had was the best he'd ever tasted, so he'd be making a trip back in the not too distant future.

From the Chinese, we hit the recommended bar. I didn't fancy Murphy's again and was weighing up the options when I noticed they had Blue Moon on draft. Heaven! This is my favourite beer from the Route 66 trip. 2 pints were sunk whilst we sat half chatting and watching the Olympic opening ceremony on the TV.  We were all lined up against the bar and unfortunately for Biggsey he ended up on the end with Mr Shouty. Boy this guy was loud, he made Grizzly sound like whispering Ted Lowe!

Back at the Blarney Castle, we had more drink (I had a coke this time) before retiring for the evening. Not though, before I had attracted the attention of the barmaid and her colleague with an impromptu Riverdance. They were keen for me to carry on, more for amusement value than for my technical ability I suspect but........ I normally charge for that! And with that it was off to bed!

You give me €4, then I give each of you €1 back to put in the bin!

The church was locked up. Google had indicated that a pyramid shaped tomb was that of the General but we had our doubts. There were no markings on it whatsoever, save for a coat of arms. Biggsey went off in search of a rectory, there was an adjacent house. Shortly, he called us over and a young lad had let him into the church. On the wall were plaques commemorating the old boy but sadly, they indicated this was not his last resting place. That was in a place called Corofin, some 10-15 miles north west and in the opposite direction to that we were headed. That's an excuse for Biggsey to return one day in the future.

We left Ennis and made our way south to Bunratty Castle and Durty Nelly's pub. The former we would photograph from the roadside, the latter would be our lunch stop. Dating from the 17th Century, it was all low beams, uneven floors and crooked walls. We settled on four seafood chowdas, with home made bread. It was deeelish! I just about had room to squeeze it in on top of the brekkie!




They do a mean seafood chowda

The sun was still shining when we left Bunratty. Boy, had we been lucky with the weather, pretty much since leaving Inverness. Next on the agenda, another fuel stop and then the trek down to Blarney, including a trip through the Limerick Tunnel (under the River Shannon).

Well, guess what. Pass stop, move directly to toll, do not collect any fuel! The fuel stop had closed down (it's on street view, honest). Grizzly took the lead. Being a Cork man, he was keen to lead us into his own county, similar to the French letting riders lead into their home towns during the Tour de France. We duly arrive at the tunnel toll booths (can you believe they make bikers pay?). A long discussion ensues, before we each are given a €1 to put into the bin, to raise the barrier, despite Grizzly having just handed the €4 over to the guy in the kiosk. Logic, (in Ireland, feck off!) would say you pay the man for four bikes and he presses the button to raise the barrier four times. Simples!  Too simple, it seems for the paddy at the toll. "You have to put de muney in de bin". Sad but no word of a lie.

Through the tunnel, we did eventually make the fuel stop, then it was just a short ride down to the village of Blarney. Our hotel for the night, situated on the village green, was the appropriately named Blarney Castle Hotel. The entrance to the castle grounds is just 2 minutes walk away.

With the bikes securely parked up at the back of the hotel, we freshened up, before heading out to the Castle. I'd come 1500 miles to kiss the Blarney Stone and by gum that's exactly what I intended to do.

Blarney Castle Hotel

Blood relatives

Another bright sunny day greets us in Athlone, along with a sumptuous 4* breakfast buffet. Not wishing to appear greedy, I only have the four rashers of bacon....along with the two sausages, scrambled & fried egg, mushrooms, beans, hash browns, black and white pudding, toast and a couple of tiny danish pastries! Shucks, I forgot the juice and coffee!

Suitably fuelled up our first stop is just round the corner, to fuel up the bikes once again. I had based our fuel stops on Dudley's baby bottle sized tank. He reckoned he could get about 150 miles out of it, so playing safe I built the fuel stops in for around 120. We weren't using fuel at the rate we thought though, so some of these stops were more like a Formula One, splash and dash, that a full fill up.

Second stop, was Lough Rea (pronounced Ray). Another one to add to our list, we stopped to take some photos and have a coffee. Least Biggsey and Dudley had a coffee. With half of the Radisson Blu's breakfast buffet inside me, there wasn't room for anything else, so Grizzly and I took the photos.

Lough Rea

Over breakfast we had been discussing Biggsey's ancestry. Apparently, he is related (great, great, grandson or something) to an old war hero, General Sir Bindon Blood and it turned out that he was buried (or so we thought) in a little town called Ennis. Fascinated by this, we decided, in the sake of research, to abandon the planned visit to Galway Bay and instead stop in Ennis to find the good General. We were passing through it anyway. A bit of Googleing and we had his location mapped into Tomtom. So, our stop after Lough Rea, was St Columba's Church, Ennis.

We parked up in Bindon Street, right outside the church and set off in search of the General's last resting place.

I normally charge for these!

I had a taste for pizza but the town didn't appear to have any of the regular pizza houses....bloomin' foreigners! Eventually we spied an Indian restaurant across the river. We'll give that a go. On our way round though, we clapped eyes on Pavarotti's Pizza, so in we went. A small place, there was just the chef and one waitress. 3 pizzas and one pasta, washed down with Peroni later and we were ready to check out Sean's bar, allegedly the oldest pub in Ireland. Small, dark and with sawdust on the floors, the place was heaving. We managed to squeeze down near the back, fortunately (?) where 3 attractive young ladies were loitering by the bar. Grizzly, Dudley and myself sat down, Biggsey, unusually when tottie is in sight, hung back and stood against the wall. 

It soon became apparent there was a chap with these girls. He seemed quite full of himself, a celeb I thought, gay Dudley thought, just a fat walleted gobshite, Grizzly thought. Biggsey had disappeared without a word. We thought he mustn't be liking the atmosphere and had decided to go back to the hotel. Never mind.

Anyway, Grizzly, as is his wont, starts taking photos of the girls. Then says he wants to take one of the guy. "Sure but I normally charge for these", he says. Quick as a flash (this bloke is annoying me) I say, "so does he, he's Biggsey's official photographer". Even quicker than a flash, the guy turns away, his nose well and truly put out of joint. Meanwhile I explain to one of the girls, looking quizzically at me, that Biggsey is an author. She claims to have heard of him. Yeah, right! And with that the four of them leave.

Not sure what he plans to do with that tongue!

Their place is taken by three, shall we say, more mature ladies, with whom we instantly strike up a conversation. All three are keen to hear the tale of our tour and even seem somewhat disappointed we don't have room (I do) on the back of our bikes! We run through the now slick routine of me being Biggsey's agent, etc. It turns out that one of the women owns a book shop! Just our luck, when Biggsey has done a runner, we could have offloaded another one of his cards. Oh well. Pat takes his usual plethora of photos and even finds a minute to get in front of the camera, then it's time for us to leave.

As we walk out of the pub, blow me if Biggsey isn't sitting at a table chatting to some bloke. Seems they had both been entertained by a punch up in the bar over the road, chairs and all sorts flying in the road and stopping the traffic. I explain to Biggsey about the book shop lady (not sure he believed me at first) and take one of his cards back in to her. Kerching!, that'll be another sale. As Grizzly pointed out, on this trip we must've sold more books than Amazon! 

With that, it was back to the hotel. Another day done and now just two more left together. Where has the time gone?

Biggsey's Official Photographer and friend

My first Guinness in 35 years!

Our overnighter in Athlone, was a touch of luxury, The Radisson Blu. We rode around the end of the barrier to the car park and found ourselves some spaces! Anyone wanna argue with The Hogs?

As one would expect, the hotel was very posh. The young lady checking us in was very pleasant and more than happy to let me babble on about being Biggsey's agent and him being an author. Not sure she believed us, she probably meets all sorts in her job. As the others joined us at the desk we gave them their key cards and then all made our way to the third floor. I was sleeping with Biggsey tonight.

If truth be told, the room, though very nice, was a little on the snug side. The view though, could not be faulted, overlooking the River Shannon. There were cruisers moored up. Now that's a way to arrive!

  
For days and days talk had been about the Guinness in Ireland. People always say how much better it is over there. As the last time I had Guinness was in 1977, a pint I absolutely hated, I recall, I wasn't keen to check the theory out. Grizzly, however, insisted that when we got to Athlone, I HAD to try a pint. Oh, what the hell, he was buying. And so I took my first sip of Guinness since the 27th February 1977. And, it was a very decent pint.

Mmm, not bad.

That little test over with we ventured out to find something to eat.