At least I could now relax and eat my breakfast in peace, with no need to worry about the forthcoming days riding, - but then, I had no idea where they were taking me!!!

What can you say, AWESOME just doesn't cut it. These mountains were steeeeep! And VERY tall to boot.

It was almost impossible to ride these trails, not just because they were so steep it was difficult leaning over the bars enough to keep the front wheel down, not just because they were boggy - like hundred foot wide and mile long bogs, which also seemed bottomless, not just because zillions of rocks were strewn around like huge marbles everywhere - skitting your wheels always, not just because one slip meant you and your bike would plunge to your doom - literally, thousand of feet straight down. But also because at these heights the lack of air made the engines asthmatic and the carburation was going all to pot!

However - up this nearby 'hill' we were going to ride, apparently, right over the top, around the escarpment ridge and then back via a valley with the remains of a deserted famine village!

So off we set, up through a beautiful lakeside valley flanked with mountains on both sides. It was eerily quiet. With a place this beautiful I had expected crowds, - but then I did not know what was to come!

As the trail climbed steadily upwards and we shut many gates behind, the incline increased rapidly when the trail turned to boulders. Which just happened to coincide with one side of the track disappearing - in a sort of 'vertical' way! So we didn't want to wobble off anywhere for the next 2 miles.

Eventually the track levelled for a few hundred yards as we approached a small bridge which crossed the ravine onto what looked like easier going, - wrong! At this stage I hadn't learned enough about the ground to spot marshy bogs. The trail looked better because of the huge scale and it also appeared wide. But I soon learned there was only one way up if you didn't want to sink out of site and that was rock strewn bog with right angled climbing turns all the way.

10 minutes after the others - well they made less mistakes than I did, I finally reached the first rest point. Apparently this was a proper 'T' junction. To me it just seemed like where the boggy rock hill climb I had been on, met at right angles with two other even steeper ones.

After a brief rest we went left. The next task was to try and get across an endless peat bog to where the 'road' reappeared again. We soon lost site of each other, which caused a bit of a panic for me when I came a cropper getting the bike stuck big time. As I got off, my left leg disappeared through the surface of a bog right up to my groin.

Panic or what. I wanted to hang on to the bike (for dear life), but didn't want to pull it on top of me and bury myself. I couldn't see anyone, they had long gone, but I could hear other engines screaming and obviously also struggling. As they kept stalling there were periods of deadly quiet. That’s when I remembered I had an electric horn fitted - and pressed it - lots.

Eventually Ricky got to me first. They slowly rolled the bike backwards and dragged me out. Lesson number four - always take a whistle. Ollie and Rick had one each, but had forgotten to tell me!!!

Much later we had found a way around the 'rough patch'. And as we got to a line of large stones Rick shouted 'STOP'. A careful look over the other side why, yup vertical - about 1200 feet straight down. An injury would not have been an option here. Believe me we're talking instant death!

Oh what a bag of surprises this trail was turning out to be. Well it was for me, the other guys had seen it all before.

By mid-day we were climbing the trail past the deserted famine village ruins. An awesome place, but I really would never have wanted to have lived there. It was still summer and yet the mountains on both sides were so tall that no sun fell on the village at all during that long day.

This was still the main cattle trail to market that we were on. We had to remind ourselves of that as we tried climbing away from the village on the homeward run. It was so steep and zig-zaggy that none of us could make it without helping each other and yes we were on new knobblies!

After negotiating a tricky 'V' shaped stream crossing, I spied a nasty little overhanging ledge. Little did I know that the trail would stick to the edge and we would be on this (I don't like heights!).

We progressed slowly, Rick was in front and I saw him struggle. Then Ollie had obviously reached the same spot and also had difficulty. I noted that this appeared to be near that overhang I spotted earlier. As I drew nearer I realised they rode right on the edge of the overhang (no choice) and there was a huge rock which was trying to jam your front wheel and deflect the rear - the wrong way!!!

Adrian I thought to myself just ride smooth, you'll have no problem and soon be past the ledge. Did I mention the 1,500 foot vertical drop at this point? Guess what, just as I was on the worst part - bang. No drive. That bloody rock had knocked my chain off and jammed it around the front sprocket.

Panic, Panic, Panic. 'Get a grip I thought, - Quietly get off and wheel it forward or backward, - anyway or anyhow I can, but get off the ledge before I faint'. No chance, the bike was wedged between two boulders and wouldn't budge. Yes I felt VERY ill.

HELP! HELP! HELP! Ollie got back to me quickly, Ricky strolled taking great advantage of this photo opportunity! They only wanted me to lean the bloody bike over the edge a little to get at the chain. I just wanted to physically lift it away up the hill. They won, - but it worked, thanks.

Would lesson five be - always carry a land anchor and a big rope?

Ollie got back to me first, - note the drop. I couldn't even look.

What I really couldn't come to terms with, was the fact we were just riding a regular weekly cattle trail, on which all the farmers used to take their livestock and goods to the local market. Wow these guys and gals must be tough in Eire, don't mess me thinks?

For a much-needed rest we dropped back onto a newly built tarmac covered mountain pass and headed towards a remote coastal village for lunch. We felt a bit nervous going in, as one - we weren't exactly locals, and two - we were dripping with black stuff, from the 'deep' going.

We cautiously sneaked into the only space we could find. It was Sunday and this place was obviously popular with serious drinkers. As we tried to squeeze in, some guy sat in a large group glared at us and started to move unervingly. At this point I thought, oh-oh, this looks like trouble!

He stood up and came towards us - Sh*t, I swear he was easily well over seven foot tall and built like a brick sh*t-house. We all quietly just looked at him as he charged right over (well what would you do - he was between us and the door!), he got to us and with an evil grin looked down and said, - "Hey weren't you the guys who ……. were getting a good going over buy the customs guys in England", as he laughed out loud! - Yeah we laughed too and all enjoyed a good few ales before bidding farewell. Crikes, what a relief, how much excitement can a person have in one day?

As the days of pleasure went on we were joined by Mike, a local on a rare XR200R radial 4-valve Honda, who came to enjoy a few days with us on the mountains and things got even better!

I learned so much about riding that week that I had never experienced before. Our riding speed was rarely over 20mph. You just couldn't risk it, otherwise you could end up burying yourself in a peat bog, or more seriously disappearing over a vertical drop to terminal velocity. Then again, go to slow and you could sink into a bog, or worse still drop into one of a million narrow ravines, just itching to swallow you and the bike. But that’s another story!

The panoramic mountain top views had to be experienced to be believed. I thought a weeks riding would be just too much, but I was wrong. This became a way of life that everyone just wanted to go on for ever.

Did we enjoy it; are we going to do it again?

Well what do you think ;o)

Article - Adrian Harris (Biker)

Photos - Adrian Harris & Richard Lennard.

Articles Copyright ©  Adrian Harris 2003. Not to be reproduced without prior permission.