United Kingdom 2006
  
 

Day 13

August 31

 
 

Today is somewhat of a sad day, as it will be the last time we all ride together as a group. We are headed down to visit the Blarney Castle, then ride along the southern coast of Ireland to Rosslare where we will catch the early morning ferry tomorrow back to UK mainland. Keith and I have the bikes ready to go meet up with the others in the main village of Adare.

 
 
 
 

This morning I get a chance to talk a little bit with the lady that owns the Carrabawn Guesthouse as breakfast is being prepared. I ask her -

"I notice that there is a 'For Sale' sign on the property."

She tells me -

"My husband and I had a small farm and we retired from that. But we got bored, so we thought we would open a bed and breakfast with just a few rooms to let. Now it has grown and grown until it is more than we want to do. So we have decide to sell it and slow down a bit."

I also get to meet Jack O Terrier, who knows a practiced petter when he sees one. After allowing me to pet him, he continues his morning romp in the lovely gardens.

The facilities here are very tastefully appointed, including a nice sitting room completed with fireplace and lots of books and magazines to peruse.

  
 
 
  The fully cooked Irish breakfast - which is pretty much the same as the fully cooked Scottish breakfast and the fully cooked English breakfast - is soon ready and served in a lovely dining room overlooking the gardens. It is excellent with lots of wonderful jams to be properly spread on the tasty scones. But we've got to meet the rest of the folks in the main village soon, so we can't tarry long. Soon we are on our way and line up our STs with the rest of the folks on the main street of Adare. Bob carefully surveys the scene to make sure the alignment is proper.  
 
 
 

The ride from Adare to Blarney Castle is almost a straight shot down N20 toward Cork - just 55 miles and barely over an hour. It is raining where we start out but by the time we get to the castle, it has wonderfully cleared up. There's a pretty good walk to get to the tourist's entrance near the top of the bluff that the castle occupies. As I enter I notice that there is a sign that simply states you are entering at your own risk. No forty page legal disclaimers or any of that stuff, which is a bit refreshing. I guess the main tourist attraction for most folks is the Blarney Stone, or the 'Stone of Eloquence' as it is properly known. But I find the castle, built around 1446, to be very intriguing with it's many passages and corridors.

 
 
 
 

One of the first places that you come to is the dungeon, and I manage to photograph it with an appropriate occupant.

  
   
  One of the most amazing things to me is the sheer thickness of the walls. When they built a fortress in the 1400s to withstand a siege, they were dead serious about it!  
 
 
  Very narrow, winding stairs take you to the top of the castle ramparts. This affords you a beautiful view of the surrounding countryside and the Blarney House, built in 1874. It is just 200 yards south of the castle and overlooks the Blarney Lake.  
 
 
 

And up here is where the famous Blarney Stone is located - high in the castle walls. It is not the place for those feared of heights because it is a long way down through that hole to the ground. And the only thing keeping me from the long flight downward is my grip on those handrails and the feeble man holding on to my suspenders. But I do make sure I kiss the bottom of the stone where nobody else has put their puckers. It makes the little feller holding me a bit nervous, but we get through it. But perhaps the saying will be true -

'There is a Stone that whoever kisses never misses to grow eloquent, he may clamber to a lady's chamber or become a member of parliament'.

 
 

 
 
I somehow do not feel any more eloquent, but Keith does not think that I need to kiss it anyway since I already have the gift of blarney. But I stand in great company, following the tradition of such men as Milton Hershey (found of Hersey Chocolate - it there any wonder he called his candy kisses?), Winston Churchill, Sir Walter Scott, and Laurel & Hardy, to mention a few. It is an interesting thing to stand back and watch as folks line up for the privilege anyway.
  

 
The way down is through some very narrow, precipitous steps. Can you imagine trying to fight your way to the top of the castle to carry the day?
  
 
 
 

And if that was not enough, one feature of most Irish fortifications is called a 'murder hole' or machicolation. If you managed to batter down the gates and get into the lower levels, then occupants had this special opening above your head that was convenient for throwing rocks, arrows, hot boiling oil or other unpleasant substances down on your head - assured to give you a bad hair day and hopefully a splitting headache.

  
 
 
 

After the tour, we come down, rest a bit, then visit the various gift shops around. Just before we get ready to mount up, Peter makes a presentation to me -

"We don't feel that you really need it, but here is an official piece of the Blarney Stone to take back with you."

Then Bob gives me a T-shirt that pictures all of the weather conditions of Ireland in four quadrants -

Spring - and rain

Summer - and rain

Fall - and rain

Winter - and rain.

"This is so you will not forget the seasons over here" he says with a grin.

 
 
 
  Soon we're on the road again, leaving the Blarney Castle and Cork and head east on N25 along the coast toward Waterford.  
 
 
 

As we go, we leave the sunshine behind us and the rain returns. It's another short ride from the Blarney Castle to Rosslare Harbor of about 120 miles, but we take our time because of the rain. When we arrive in Waterford, Peter decides he needs to visit the 'hole in the wall'. Not quite what you think - in the States we would call it an ATM.

  
 
 
 

At Waterford, we head south through Passage East to board the Ballyhack Ferry. Fortunately over here, motorcycles get a good spot on most ferries so we get to move a little bit toward the head of the line.

 
 
 
 
The Ballyhack ferry crosses the Suir Estuary, a narrow finger of water that flows through the Waterford Harbor then out to the ocean. With the rain coming down, we know we have to be careful riding on because the steel decks of the ferries can really be slick when they are wet.
 
 
 
 
It does seem sort of strange to me, but the ferry fee is not collected until the ferry is already underway. Peter and Fi sort out their fare and the rest of us follow heir example before the collector shows up. I don't know what the penalty would be if you could not pay, but I just don't think I want to find out today.
  
 
 
 

Once again, Keith has taken really good care of me and has made overnight accommodations in the Clifford House B&B, overlooking Rosslare Harbor. And it's less than a quarter of mile from the ferry port. Since we have to be there early in the morning, that will make life a lot easier. The B&B has really nice facilities including a sitting room with an old upright piano. After I get my stuff pitched, I sit down and play a few tunes from memory. Making music for me has a lot of the same effect as riding a motorcycle - I tend to just get caught up in it and wander away. I would never make it as a performer, because once I'm playing there is no audience and the rest of the world does not seem to exist.

 
   
 

As Miss Fi watches me, she is notices how I seem to be somewhere else. She tells me -

"You just seem to go off in your own world while you are playing."

"Yes Ma'am, that's just the way I get. I just really enjoy playing and it's very relaxing for me."

The owner of the place has been standing nearby, and he asks me

"Are you a professional? I can tell you know a lot of songs."

"I've been semiprofessional but never made a living at it" I tell him.

I remember the times I got really close to recording contracts with the groups that I played with, but that was in a place a long time ago and far away.

"You know, this piano is actually in pretty good tune."

He adds "Sometimes the young people come over and play it, but besides that it doesn't get much attention."

The rest of the folks have sort of wandered off to go to the supper, so I figure I'd better follow suit. Nothing like fine playing to clear out a room in a hurry! The Hotel Rosslare is where the rest of the folks have headed, so I figure that will work for me. The weather is sort of nasty - rainy and windy, so I put on my rain jacket and make my way down a narrow footpath that follows the cliff face.

 
 
 
 

This place is like most pubs in the UK and Ireland - you just step up to the bar to get what you want - even if you are not drinking. After studying the menu, I choose the seafood chowder which just seems like a good fit on this rainy, blustering evening. I am not disappointed, because it is absolutely fresh and wonderful. Since the hotel has a really nice sitting area overlooking the harbor, we have great choice of where to sit and enjoy our food. It's nice to be in from the the weather that really seems to be roaring and blowing. We talk about many things this last evening together - from riding to religion - which makes for some lively, friendly discussions. This is our last evening together and far too soon, we have to make our way back to the B&B. After my walk back through the wind and the rain, the bed seems especially warm and inviting. And I succumb to it's charms quickly as I sleep my last sleep in the 'Land of Ire'.