Annagry to Dunfanaghy by Bicycle
I gazed out the bedroom window from my room in Caislean Óir (Castle of Gold) to the bay beyond. Some notes were scribbled in my journal then the drybags were packed again and we were off on our journey to Dunfanaghy.
Moss covered stone walls and narrow grass paths led to steps more suited to walkers.
Small fields, boundaries marked by dry stone walls everywhere.
Back up the hill to the Café for scones, muffin and coffee.
We rode along the coast, finding our own paths.
And made our way to the beach.
It wasn’t so easy to get off the beach as the path had been destroyed in winter storms.
Nothing else for it but to carry the bikes back up the dunes and take a breather and a spot of lunch.
A small pier along the way.
They told us the route was impassable. Three people in total. But we were tough and the ‘boulders’ that had been flung up by the storms were only giant pebbles.
We sat down to ponder.
A few hundred yards along, the path was clear. A ewe lay quivering as if close to death. Up on the hill, a tearaway dog chased sheep and lambs. The poor things were leaping over rocks and terrorised. We shouted at the dog, but it was too late. He’d separated a lamb from its mother and brought it down. We roared and shouted hoping someone would come and bring the dog under control. Three animals were subdued but all came back to life and the injured lamb bleated until reunited with its mother. It was a sad time in such a beautiful place. Then we saw Tory Island in the distance.
We made our way across the bog of Bloody Foreland until we found a track to the road.
Resting again and soaking up the view. It was warm.
Pedalling along the road, the Derryveagh range was visible. Flat topped Muckish on the left and the iconic cone of Errigal at the other end. One day, back in 2000, I walked the entire distance, The Glover Highlander route. My thighs burned for three days and I could barely walk for blisters.
It was narrow lanes to Dunfanaghy where sheep rested peacefully in canine free fields.
We cycled through the town, and under a bicycle tethered to a telegraph pole (ridden by a grey elephant) to a small white cottage with a B&B sign outside. The sign read ‘Tá tú anseo‘ (which means ‘You are here’). Two cold beers were offered and gratefully accepted and the best news of all, there was a room.
I found this delicate map in the dining room among great books and beautiful art work. I was indeed here. Lisa sure knows how to treat a weary traveller.