Day 13: Letterkenny to Malin Head (Finish Line)

The final day. Our destination was Malin Head, a bleak outcrop of rock jutting out to claim the title of Ireland's most northerly point. A tense atmosphere developing, as it seems to at the extremities of a trip, we loaded up the bikes for the final time and left the comfort and warmth of the cabin.

We kiss goodbye to our dream of an onboard restaurant

The first target was to catch an early morning ferry across a vast inlet of sea. According to local intelligence the ferries were infrequent, and Dad set off at Wiggins time trial speed to make sure we didn't miss it. Tom and Greg eventually reeled him in, and we tracked down the ferry despite the complete lack of signs. It was cold and it started to rain. While we waited for the ferry to arrive, we were entertained by the locals training race horses on the beach, and one guy out for an early morning blast down the beach on his horse drawn racing buggy. With the weather setting in, we joked about facing the 40 minute crossing in an exposed ferry, open to the elements. When it arrived, we regretted tempting fate. We managed to find the passenger lounge - a small cupboard with a radiator and a window - and squeezed in with a local old boy who drew upon 40 years of making the same crossing to keep us entertained with stories.

Greg offended by his soggy pants

With less than twenty miles between us and our goal, it was as if the elements were hell bent on giving us one final test. On exposed moorland, all the uncertain stop-start showers of the past weeks unleashed themselves in a violent and sustained blast. We were soaked through in minutes. It was difficult to even keep our eyes open to see the road as our faces were peppered with needle sharp rain drops. After more than an hour, the rain abated and we found ourselves rolling into the charming town of Malin. With the support team an hour behind us having chosen the long way round, we took advantage of the time to dry off in Lilly's tea room. Once the restorative powers of cherry scones and hot tea started to wear off however, we started to get cold. The support team arrived just in time to wrap us up in wooly stuff. Sarah and Tomos had flown in specially for the final leg and now we waited for them to join up with the challenge team. Once the final two members were with us, we saddled up and headed off into bright sunshine for the final 8 miles of the challenge.

Even tea couldn't warm us up

Dad oblivious to the massive banner

The scenery was breathtaking, and it grew wilder and more beautiful as we got closer to the end of the land. We rounded a craggy point, Atlantic rollers crashing against the rocks down below, and in the distance at the top of a ridge we saw a lonely square tower - Banba's Crown. The end of the road. We thought we could make out the stick-silhouettes of people along the crest of the hill and as we drew nearer and started hauling ourselves up the steep ascent, we could make out the giant banner that Sarah and Tomos had brilliantly created: FINISH!

We started desperately trying to take in the final moments with a sense of impending sadness at the end of another adventure, images flashing up in our minds: setting off at Mizen head all those days ago, a tiny coastal road, a misty mountain pass, drenched sheep, scenic wees, a stormy night in the tent, a cheeky lunch-time Guinness, two old boys in the pub, a religious icon, a steaming plate of pasta in the van, Nick and Ellen, gatecrashing a golf club party, craic in the corner of an old bar, trotting along a sunny beach, Holly being sick, a cosy night playing board games, a welcome hot chocolate after a cold ride, the smell of the sea air, a vivid sunset, a log cabin, all the jokes, all the laughter, all the love.

We crunched up the final hill and collapsed into a huddle of excited family and friends. We had done it!

Day 12: Bluestack to Letterkenny

Slipstreamin'

A wild and stormy night resolved itself into bright morning sunshine as we went through the normal morning routine and eventually left the hostel. Not quite sure how waterproof to make ourselves, we set off into patchy sun / rain in a strange assortment of lycra accessories. The first section of the ride took us back onto the roller coaster of undulating hills we'd tackled the previous evening. The support van passed us, struggling to get up to speed on the steep narrow lanes and we tucked into its vast slip-stream to cruise effortlessly up the hills. Eventually the bikes and van parted routes and as we settled into the day's rhythm, we wondered out loud whether we'd be able to pick up t.v reception in the van to watch the Olympic opening ceremony that night.

At our 'just-after-half-way' point and looking for a feeding stop, we hit a strange village. As we stopped to check the map, a keen and very chatty local cyclist pulled over to donate us all his knowledge of the local area. We ended up ignoring it all. Meanwhile, two girls strolled past dressed in pyjamas and dressing gowns. We found a suitably greasy caff and tucked into a cyclist's dream of tea, sarnies and chips. As we basked in the glory of the well earned carbs, we got text from mum reporting she'd arrived at the site, but to 'Prepare for a shock' and instructing us to text Emily when we arrive so she could come and meet us at the reception. This fuelled our imaginations and we spent the rest of the day speculating as to the terrible scene awaiting us. A Butlins style activity camp? A barracks? A remote field with no toilet?

Puzzling over what horror we'd find at our destination, we left town a completely different route than advised, along tiny pot-holed roads and through a fair few farms. It was a very pleasant ride over undulating hills and breathtaking countryside. We scaled one final range and dropped down into the town of Letterkenny. Minds still racing, we cautiously approached the campsite and immediately confirmed which one of our suggestions was the shock.

A constant feature of Irish roads

Packs of feral children prowled the site to the soundtrack of tinny piped music. We gingerly hid round the corner of the roller disco and called in back up. Moments later, Emily and Holly came to the rescue. We'd be fine, we could lock ourselves in the van all night, escape in the morning and chalk it off to experience. As we were led through the campsite, the hyper screaming of the children faded away and we found ourselves strolling through a strangely idyllic suburban street of luxury wooden cabins. Suddenly we spotted the van, wedged between two of the cabins - awkward, but at least we were out of Butlins. But as Emily approached the van, she carried on up the steps of the cabin and through the door! This was the shock - the support team had really outdone themselves and somehow blagged us a luxury cabin for our last night!


It transpired that a slightly embarrassed and clearly legendary site manager had let us stay in the cabin for next to nothing. We spent a deliciously surreal evening staring out over a vast vista of lake and mountains, while watching the Olympic opening ceremony, bathed in warm rays from what felt like our own private sunset right opposite the window.

The sick view from our new crib

Day 11: Rosses Point to Bluestack

What an emotion packed day - it looked like Tom's ride was over (cue dramatic background music)

The wheels on Toms bike go round and round. They also have a special anti-theft system that can only be removed with the appropriate key. His meticulous pre-tour planning included taking the extra security measure of keeping the bike and key in separate locations - the key was back in Southampton. This would be fine as long the wheels didn't need to be removed for anything - like replacing an inner-tube.

The first thing Dad noticed when removing Tom's bike from the van's garage was that the front tyre looked remarkable flat; it had a puncture. Not a problem if it was small and could be repaired but unfortunately this one was a separation of the valve from the inner tube - it was bad, very bad - and beyond repair, which meant a new tube. Mmm - the team went through the options. Sarah even phoned in with a helpful suggestion of Tom finishing the ride on Greg's handlebars - that one wasn't considered for too long. Eventually Greg came up with the outside-the-box suggestion of removing the old tube, then cutting a new tube in half - putting it in place and then gluing it back together to complete the loop. Well, it was worth a try (other reasonably sensible options being security nut removal in Sligo, a cheap new bike or a rented bike).

The operation began, fortunately on a lovely Summer's day, and soon the snipped and re-joined tube repair was ready for testing. It almost worked - just one more repair patch might do it. To cut a long story short the repair took up most of the contents of two repair kits, the disfigured tube eventually taking on a profile amusingly similar to the nearby Copes Mountain. Initial testing looked promising but after going to full pressure the tube gave a huge sigh and breathed its last.

The boys retreated to the van to eat breakfast and consider the options - Dad had one final desperate fling by tying a knot in the tube, but surprisingly, this also failed. Rescue came from Noline, the campsite manager. She phoned the local bike shop and the owner invited the boys to come on down to see what could be done. The challenge team packed, left the site and headed for Sligo. On finding the shop the two guys running the place did an admiral job of stifling their laughter at the patched up and knotted old tube and skillfully hacked of the old security nuts. New quick release nuts were in place in a flash and the 2012 challenge was back on again for a much relieved Tom. The support crew drove on and the boys - now fully biked up, set of for Donegal at a rather late 2:00pm departure time.



The ride was really very nice again, soon leaving the main N15 road and taking to the smaller by-roads of the North West Bike Trail, which was to take the riders all the way to Donegal town. The roads became smaller and smaller, often having grass growing down the centre, and the views across the blue seas of Donegal Bay and the Atlantic were spectacular.

A late lunch was taken at Bundoran. This seaside town has got a great surfing tradition but the tacky amusements-packed centre left a lot to be desired. Ballyshannon, with its statue to Rory Gallagher, and Donegal went by in a blink and soon the boys were on the final long haul up to the Bluestack Hostel - for a rare night involving beds. Emily and Greg cooked up a tasty pasta & mushroom dinner and the challenge 5 reflected on another eventful day.

Life Support

In almost all ways the boys have got the fun and easy part of the 2012 Probert Challenge  - its really not that much of a hardship to get on a bike and cycle 50 miles per day for two weeks.

By FAR the hardest and most stressful job is the 24hrs support function performed by Jan and Emily.

The wine was probably for the pasta sauce.

Driver "Van Jan" has had to manoeuvre the motorhome through some pretty sticky situations on her end to end drive up the west coast of Ireland, including 1 in 1 hills and a wide variety of road surfaces with poor being at the good end of the spectrum.

In her spare time she has cooked amazing cordon blue meals, dealt with campsite owners, kept the cupboards stocked, kept the Guinness flowing, searched for keys and provided words of encouragement for occasionally flagging and damp riders...a super human effort in the circumstances.

Supermarket Sweep.

Providing much needed assistance and moral support for Jan has been Emily "The Map" Zambra, who has developed an uncanny ability to sniff out a false Tom Tom trail and redirect the challenge van to the right destination. Emily has been a stalwart with the fairy liquid i/c washing up duties and played a big part in the shopping / logistics support. Not only a proven winner at cards and accomplished dog handler, she has now developed an impressive mind reading ability and knowledge of Irish pilgrimage sites.

Together, their efforts are what have really kept the show on the road and the boys are hugely thankful for all the hard work, thanks which words can never really adequately express....loads of love and hugs and thanks a million x x x x x x

Navigating skills from Mum and a road-side pit stop as Greg experiences a T-shirt malfunction.

The boys are incapable even of applying their own sun cream.

Day 10: Rest Day (Horsing Around)

Ever since we knew we were coming to Ireland, we had been contriving to gallop stallions along a beach. Today we were going to make that dream a reality. Having gone through the pre-flight preparations, we fired up our temporary home and drove it through Sligo and Grange to the Island View Stables.

Mum, Emily and Dad all boasted various amounts of equestrian experience - Dad from his bearded-hippy gypsy caravanning days, Mum and Emily from more conventional riding lessons. Of the two complete beginners, Greg was bullishly confident up until the point that he saw the horses and remembered how big they are. Tom was nervous about the whole thing, not helped by tales we heard from riders returning from their treks. Like veterans coming back from the front lines, a small girl with a shellshocked expression emptied her wellies of cold salt water, re-living the moment her horse decided to lay down in the sea. Her dad had to eject from his horse when it decided to have a roll around in the sand. We started to wonder what we'd let ourselves in for.

Thinly veiled apprehension as we wait to meet our horses

Getting the hang of it

Undeterred, we were kitted out in boots and helmets and assigned our steeds for the next hour. We set out in a line, led by a girl from the stables. Signs were bad for Greg from the start as Gyppy failed to keep up the pace and no amount of kicking could get her out of first gear. With the girls disappearing over the horizon, we reached the end of a track and emerged onto a vast white beach. By now in complete harmony with our horses, we negotiated boulder fields and forded a raging stream before unleashing the full unbridled force of our beasts in a thundering gallop (slow trot) along the beach. Even Greg's liability of a horse managed to step up to a gentle trot for a couple of seconds. Mum and Emily looked like naturals as their riding experience kicked in and they gracefully handled the bouncing trot. Greg looked like a helpless rag doll as his handle broke and he held on for dear life with his legs.

All too soon, we were back at the stables and relieved to be in one piece. That night as we wearily tucked into our bar meal, overlooking Oyster Island, we reminisced about a memorable day in the saddle.

Probert HQ and our second dramatic sunset in as many nights

Day 9: Knock to Rosses Point

After an easy day yesterday it was back to the more usual 50 miler today. It was to become the only day of the challenge in which it rained from start to finish. The route was fairly unspectacular - in fact today was in some ways written off as a repositioning ride to get the boys back into their familiar west coast surroundings. The route took the lads over undulating green fields all day; classic Irish dairy country.

Should be more effective than the GPS

As if by intuition Tom's choice of Italian riding jersey appeared perfect for the lunchtime stopover at Albertos in Collooney. The Irish breakfast and tea was a real treat but made it quite difficult to go back outside and face the rain again, which by now was quite heavy. Better news came in the form of a text from Jan to say that the van was safely installed at Rosses Point near Sligo, overlooking the sea.

The day's ride done the boys slipped into the familiar routine of showers and re-fuelling, tonight a great chicken curry from Jan to the accompaniment of suitable Indian music. As the day drew to a close the clouds thinned and there was a glorious sunset providing hope for us and the shepherds of a better day tommorow for our rest day.

Filling up with Holy Water!

Lost at sea, lost at sea
Or in the evening tide
We loved you, we miss you
May God be with you abide

Holly with her new pal

Promising for tomorrow's weather

Day 8: Castlebar to Knock (Team Time Trial)

Holy Water Bottles!

It was great to see two days of solid sunshine and temperatures up to 28 degrees forecast at last - just a shame that the forecast was for Southampton, not Ireland.

The team awoke to a grey morning and steady rain. It was to remain the same all day except for the occasional spell of heavier rain. Not in any rush, the boys got under way at 11:00.

Under 2 hours, and just 22 miles later, they were rolling into the campsite that was all part of the complex associated with Our Lady's Shrine at Knock.
In 1879 a group of 15 people are said to have seen a vision of the virgin Mary, and since then the village has become the destination for christian pilgrims. 1.5 million now descend on Knock each year and the facilities have expanded over the years to even include a caravan park - where the challenge team were based for one night. The proximity of the pilgrimage activities was in no doubt when the boys emerged from their showers to the background accompaniment of a mass being broadcast over loudspeakers from just over the hedge.

After a nice lunch from recently re-stocked supplies, the challenge 5 headed out to see what was going on in Knock. After a visit to the shrine it was onto the village and a quick look around the shops. Stocked up on plastic religious icons,  we indulged in a lovely afternoon tea at the museum - scones, chocolate and carrot cake, with teas all round.

After such a hectic schedule it was no surprise that on returning to the van, Greg, Emily and Tom were all asleep in under 10 mins. In the meantime Mum continued her ongoing battle with the washing and drying machines of Ireland, with the latter still just ahead on points at this stage.

Day 7: Clifden to Castlebar

Waking up in the van

After a sleep deprived night having been battered by gale force winds (and a street light blazing right above the boy's tent), we crawled to a very late start. Mum and Emily scraped together the last of the food rations to serve up a breakfast of cold rice pudding. The boys put on every bit of clothing available: arm warmers, leg warmers, overshoes, jumpers and rain jackets all came out to counter the chilly morning and its driving rain.

The ridiculous winds played havoc with the support team's attempts to pack away the tent, but it was great news for the riders as it had swung round to a southerly and pushed us along all day. The day's ride took us through dramatic mountain passes and along side epic loughs (lakes), unfortunately we couldn't see any of it through a thick sheet of misty rain. The day became about getting through the ride as fast as possible and we flew through the countryside, getting up to wind-assisted speeds of 30mph on the flat - it was fun.

At the 30 mile mark, when we usually stop to refuel, we spotted a quaint Irish pub at the side of the road, but as we pulled up, preparing ourselves for a refreshing Guinness, we discovered it had long been abandoned. We had to make do with a banana and some brown peaty water instead. 10 miles later we swept into the town of Westport and down into its harbour for fish and chips in a rare spell of sunshine. We finished off the last mushy pea just as the first drops of rain hit us and we were forced to tackle the steep hill out of the town. All that remained was a blast down an 'N' road - the equivalent of an English 'A' road. We arrived in Castlebar, got lost, asked someone in McDonald's where the camp site was, found it and crashed out. 

After the dramas of the past couple of days, the team enjoyed a night of drinking, cards, and board games. Emily won at cards.

Mum contends with the wind

Speed eating before the rain returns

Chillin' in the Irish ghetto

Day 6: Galway to Clifden

Day six begun with a miraculous vision - Greg was awake, up and dressed before 8am. He opened the door to the van, framed by dazzling light. At first the team's senses rejected the vision - we couldn't believe our eyes - but in time we released it had actually happened and set about making th most of the early start. To take some of the strain off our heroic support team, Tom took over breakfast duty and soon realised how difficult the seemingly simple task of preparing breakfast for everyone at the same time is in such cramped conditions. He produced some disappointing boiled eggs and cold toast.

The efficient start was cancelled out as a mile out of the camp site Greg got a puncture. The bike team, rusty after such a long puncture - free run took ages to make the repair and could have compiled a 'common errors when performing bike maintenance' training video from their efforts. We eventually managed to get Greg back up and running however, at this stage blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding just a few minutes down the road back at the van.

We finally set off properly into hard slog along the coast on a busy road through uninspiring scenery. It was Saturday so the road was dotted with cyclists out for a weekend spin, and plenty of heavily laden tourers. The highlight of these were two Scandinavian heavy-metal touring cyclists displaying the odd combination of white ponytails, leather jackets and bike panniers. After 20 miles we passed an isolated convenience shop, swung round a corner and immediately found ourselves on a vast deserted plain, stretching out to a band of craggy mountains on the horizon.

What followed was miles of perfect cycling on nigh-on perfect roads, with the sun and the wind on our backs we kept up a fast 20mph as the road dipped and and twisted across the plain - we were in cycling nirvana (again, still unaware of what was happening back at camp). Along the way, Tom befriended another animal, this time a tiny roadside pony. When it started nibbling his pristine Brooks leather handlebar tape however, the blossoming relationship was swiftly terminated.

As we started getting hungry, we passed a road side cafe with incredible views over the lakes and mountains, but it was slightly too early to stop and we pressed on. It was to be the last civilisation we saw for the next two hours as we pushed even deeper into the wilderness through pine tree thickets then finally onto the peat bogs. The landscape was now very barren and we were in it alone. A strong headwind and short sharp hills sapped our energy, but our spirits were kept alight as we drank in the breathtaking scenery. Long peat channels dissected the tufty moorland, and piles of peat drying by the side of the road were a constant feature, as were the typically suicidal sheep darting out in front of our wheels.

Finally we reached civilisation in form of old pub, set back off the road. There were two locals silently drinking on opposite sides of the bar. One an amazing old welly-booted Irish farmer with wooly sideburns and moustache dual wielding half a Guinness and a whiskey. The other a younger, less caricatured version. Without warning, after about an hour of this silent ritual, they both got up, left the pub and got into the same car. We were left mulling over this strange relationship as we finished off our steak pie and Guinnesses (Guinnei?). As we started our final fifteen miles of the day, Dad remarked that he could have used the lunch break to check his phone, but we were already saddled up and moving, so we pressed on. 

After a brief tour of the bright, modern town of Clifden we arrived at the campsite. As the receptionist welcomed us to the site, Dad confidently joked that we hoped his wife was here already. We set off to track down the much needed warmth and comfort of the van but after splitting up to scour every pitch on the site, we rejoined to confirm they weren't here. For the first time that day, Dad checked his phone to find a list of text messages and missed calls from mum. 'Can't find van keys', 'Have u got van keys', then one at 3.30pm: 'Found van keys'.

With panic setting in, Tom and Greg picked a pitch, installed themselves horizontally on a grassy knoll and waited for the van to turn up. Dad walked down to the reception to report what had happened, asking if he could stay with the tough looking receptionist as his 'wife was going to be quite angry'. Soon the familiar site of the van swung into view. Mum wasn't happy. The support team enjoyed a default night off as Dad stoically battled gale force winds to put up the tent.

It was our final night with Nick and Ellen, and we finally found the craic. It was in the cosy and traditional 'Guy's Bar' in the form of a fiddler and singer/guitarist who accompanied a fine meal with classic Irish tunes, rounding off a perfect night with the Waterboy's 'Fisherman's Blues'. After a round of Jamesons and a few old stories, we said goodbye to Nick, who once again had excelled himself in his dedication to using the Probert Challenge as an excuse for a holiday. Thanks Nick, and Ellen it was a pleasure to meet you!