Day 1: Ballinacourtny to Glengarriff

Today the riders got on their bikes and the trip really started. Ahead of us was a fairly friendly starter leg, starting at the south western point of Ireland, and hopping about 40 miles around a vast bay to the next spit of mainland.


We made an efficient start to the day, with everyone up before 8. Dad and Tom clicked straight back into tour mode and packed away their soggy tent with silent precision before Greg had even brushed the gunk from his sleepy eyes. Puzzlingly, we had emerged into a bright morning, with the threat of actual sun. After a hearty breakfast rustled up by mum in the van's compact galley, we set off on a 4 hour drive across country to Mizen Head, our official start point. As we gradually ran out of civilisation and land, the roads became increasingly smaller and smaller until the van was squeezing down a tiny track, balanced on the edge of a cliff.

Finally the land did run out, and the unimpressive sight of Mizen Head came into view. Unlike Land's End which has been commercialised into a near-theme park, Mizen Head was  merely a car park and some toilets. The atmosphere was tense as the support van became a bustling hub of activity. Cheese rolls, salad cream, and tubs of anti-chaffing sudocreme flew about, creating the opportunity of an unfortunate sandwich mix-up. Interrupting the madness, a fellow cyclist approached needing help repairing her daughter's bike. The daughter in question then made her arrival on the scene by executing a dramatic endo; propelling herself in slow motion about 6 feet over her handle bars. As the horrific scene unfolded, time stood still and we had time to plan the day's route, fill our drinks bottles, do a team photo, and pack our bikes out with an array of energy bars before the poor girl finally made painful contact with the ground. With the girl and her bike patched up, we got on our own steeds and took the first revolutions of the journey.

It was great to finally get onto the bikes and we zipped along the tiny country lanes, past barren rock formations, wild cliffs and sandy coves. There was a strange statically charged atmosphere with dark skies threatening rain, but sun highlighting the contours of the hillsides. We skirted round the steely waters of Bantry bay, before rejoining civilisation in the nearby town of the same name. We were re-tracing the route that we had just done in the van, and just when we were wondering what was taking them so long, the support team cruised past on their way to the next campsite, Emily shouting words of...well let's say encouragement. We had blasted through over half of our day's target miles, but as the adrenaline of starting wore off, Greg, recovering from a recent illness, started struggling on the shallow but relentless hills. 

We turned the corner of the huge peninsula to head north west, sweeping past Whiddy Island. We were now on a major (by Irish standards) road and the surface had improved dramatically - it was now at a merely unacceptable level. Ominously for tomorrow's ride, the scenery was getting more and more mountainous. We got a brief glimpse of what was to come as we started down a mountain valley lined with steep granite extrusions, but we quickly turned off this road to wend our way through the little town of Glengarriff and past its idyllic little harbour.

The campsite suddenly came into view and we immediately spotted the welcome sight of of the van shining in the sun. We went through the routine of showers and carbo-loading, before investigating the on-site bar for our first Guinnesses of the trip. That was enough for a tired but contented team, and we retired to our quarters, reflecting on a successful and amazingly dry first day.

Holly lived up to pre-tour form and was sick on Tom in the night.