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