1
A gap in my weekend detox program! Fri Jul 27, 2012 10:00 pm
88
Life time member
The past couple of days have produced sunshine at last, in what has been to date the wettest and darkest summer in Ireland since records began. Working from home these past couple of weeks has seen me juggle kids with work and domestic bliss all in the confines of our own property. So this evening after seeing the weather forecasters predict more rain for tomorrow I muttered and mumbled like a professional grump. Then, without warning, “She who must be obeyed” said ”if you want to go for a spin on the bike I’ll mind the kids” - I almost bumped into myself in the rush through the door!
Riding out the gate and down the hill from our house I was unsure where to go with this unexpected freedom, so I pondered the possibilities as I pumped some gas and then some air into my beloved LT. Exiting the shop door the beauty of the evening sun struck me and what better place to see it set than the highest pass around known simply as “The Wicklow Gap”. From where I stood this gave me a good choice of routes ranging from hacking goat tracks to a quick blast up the motorway and into the mountains on reasonable roads to the twisting rolling route of the Vales of Avoca and Clara. I decided on the latter as I had promised myself more of these roads on my last trip along them. Rolling out of Arklow and heading northwest along the Beech Road (So named, despite its proximity to the coast, for the overhanging trees) I wondered if I had made the right choice with the low sun in my eyes. I flipped down the sun visor and pressed cautiously on taking the next few turn more on memory and faith than sight. Relief came in the form of the decent into the village of Avoca where I turned onto the Valley floor to head north, thankfully in the shadow of the hill. These are roads I know well and I settled into the rhythm of the sweeps and turns and enjoying the lean in and roll on the throttle out of a road that has no straights. The pleasure turned to adrenalin filled joy as I departed the village of Rathdrum along one of the most twisting rollercoaster roads this country has to offer. The abrupt little hills and sharp sweeping turns, sometimes on the apex, mean that trying to make swift progress is not for the feint hearted or inattentive. At times a mere 60kph feels insanely fast as the road disappears and sweeps left or right from under you as you crest a hillock almost airborne. After a few kilometres the road settles again into more sweeping turns and delivers you neatly over a quaint stone bridge to the village of Larragh. I eyeball the door of Lynham’s Pub and think about a nice cold beer or a strong coffee but I have a date with the sunset and it won’t wait for me. I keep rolling, swinging west for the climb to the gap but am simultaneously tempted and distracted by the idea of a cool photograph of the Round Tower of Glendalough that has stood for nearly a thousand years as a backdrop to the K. It’s a tiny detour and the roads seem devoid of tourists, feeding time I guess, so I seize the opportunity.
Bike positioned, pictures quickly taken.
Mmmmm, not happy, bike repositioned, pictures quickly retaken.
Then back on the original route I swing up the mountain once again then sky is now flaring with the Pink and orange glow making the uphill ribbon of tar seem like a ramp to the very heavens.
As I pull into the viewing area I see a bike in an unusual spot. “A like minded individual” I think to myself as I look at a rider standing beside his bike, which he has parked on the wooden viewing platform protecting the thin layer of mountain bog from feet. “Room for one more?” I shout across to him and he beacons me up. I ride along the wooden planked path and park up beside him where we exchange knowing, respectful nods.
As we view the sunset he tells me he’s come home this way to clear his head, like minded indeed.
The view west....
The view east.....
Edward is from Poland and living here now. We chat bikes and road trips and favourite local roads until the sun sets.
Then we become aware of the chill as the cool mountain air settles in dew on the bikes. We agree to keep an eye out for each other on local routes before shaking hands and departing. I relish the downhill run and the engine seems sweeter revving a bit higher in lower gear. I glance again at the door of Lynham’s but swing over the bridge in one motion. I’ve decided to call into a fiend to see his house renovations and wangle a freshly brewed coffee in the village of Glenealy.
Progress inspected, coffee imbibed, I head east again along the now dark sweeping turns that lead to the main Motorway to the southeast and home. A strange light in the North Eastern sky makes me wonder how bright it is at 11pm for the Scandinavian brethren on the forum. I roll through the roundabouts, picking up pace and join the M11 heading south and home. An impatient BMW car driver runs up behind me in a 5 series with very impressive lights. I move left to let him overtake me then wind out the throttle to take advantage of the spread of light. Keeping a safe distance, we streak through the night at 140kph and I’m felling the relief of a clear head, heightened by the chill of my unlined jacket on my shirt sleeves. In no time I was exiting the motorway and sweeping up the hill home.
As I pulled the bike onto its centre stand I smiled at the memory of the words of a friend “I won’t need rocking tonight!”
Riding out the gate and down the hill from our house I was unsure where to go with this unexpected freedom, so I pondered the possibilities as I pumped some gas and then some air into my beloved LT. Exiting the shop door the beauty of the evening sun struck me and what better place to see it set than the highest pass around known simply as “The Wicklow Gap”. From where I stood this gave me a good choice of routes ranging from hacking goat tracks to a quick blast up the motorway and into the mountains on reasonable roads to the twisting rolling route of the Vales of Avoca and Clara. I decided on the latter as I had promised myself more of these roads on my last trip along them. Rolling out of Arklow and heading northwest along the Beech Road (So named, despite its proximity to the coast, for the overhanging trees) I wondered if I had made the right choice with the low sun in my eyes. I flipped down the sun visor and pressed cautiously on taking the next few turn more on memory and faith than sight. Relief came in the form of the decent into the village of Avoca where I turned onto the Valley floor to head north, thankfully in the shadow of the hill. These are roads I know well and I settled into the rhythm of the sweeps and turns and enjoying the lean in and roll on the throttle out of a road that has no straights. The pleasure turned to adrenalin filled joy as I departed the village of Rathdrum along one of the most twisting rollercoaster roads this country has to offer. The abrupt little hills and sharp sweeping turns, sometimes on the apex, mean that trying to make swift progress is not for the feint hearted or inattentive. At times a mere 60kph feels insanely fast as the road disappears and sweeps left or right from under you as you crest a hillock almost airborne. After a few kilometres the road settles again into more sweeping turns and delivers you neatly over a quaint stone bridge to the village of Larragh. I eyeball the door of Lynham’s Pub and think about a nice cold beer or a strong coffee but I have a date with the sunset and it won’t wait for me. I keep rolling, swinging west for the climb to the gap but am simultaneously tempted and distracted by the idea of a cool photograph of the Round Tower of Glendalough that has stood for nearly a thousand years as a backdrop to the K. It’s a tiny detour and the roads seem devoid of tourists, feeding time I guess, so I seize the opportunity.
Bike positioned, pictures quickly taken.
Mmmmm, not happy, bike repositioned, pictures quickly retaken.
Then back on the original route I swing up the mountain once again then sky is now flaring with the Pink and orange glow making the uphill ribbon of tar seem like a ramp to the very heavens.
As I pull into the viewing area I see a bike in an unusual spot. “A like minded individual” I think to myself as I look at a rider standing beside his bike, which he has parked on the wooden viewing platform protecting the thin layer of mountain bog from feet. “Room for one more?” I shout across to him and he beacons me up. I ride along the wooden planked path and park up beside him where we exchange knowing, respectful nods.
As we view the sunset he tells me he’s come home this way to clear his head, like minded indeed.
The view west....
The view east.....
Edward is from Poland and living here now. We chat bikes and road trips and favourite local roads until the sun sets.
Then we become aware of the chill as the cool mountain air settles in dew on the bikes. We agree to keep an eye out for each other on local routes before shaking hands and departing. I relish the downhill run and the engine seems sweeter revving a bit higher in lower gear. I glance again at the door of Lynham’s but swing over the bridge in one motion. I’ve decided to call into a fiend to see his house renovations and wangle a freshly brewed coffee in the village of Glenealy.
Progress inspected, coffee imbibed, I head east again along the now dark sweeping turns that lead to the main Motorway to the southeast and home. A strange light in the North Eastern sky makes me wonder how bright it is at 11pm for the Scandinavian brethren on the forum. I roll through the roundabouts, picking up pace and join the M11 heading south and home. An impatient BMW car driver runs up behind me in a 5 series with very impressive lights. I move left to let him overtake me then wind out the throttle to take advantage of the spread of light. Keeping a safe distance, we streak through the night at 140kph and I’m felling the relief of a clear head, heightened by the chill of my unlined jacket on my shirt sleeves. In no time I was exiting the motorway and sweeping up the hill home.
As I pulled the bike onto its centre stand I smiled at the memory of the words of a friend “I won’t need rocking tonight!”
__________________________________________________
88....May contain nuts!"The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page." - St. Augustine from 1600 years ago & still true!
K1 - 1989 - AKA Titan (unique K1/K1100RS hybrid by Andreas Esterhammer)
K1100RS - 1995. AKA Rudolf Von Schmurf (in a million bits)
K100RS - 1991 AKA Ronnie. Cafe racer project bike
K75RTP - 1994
K75C - 1991 AKA Jim Beam. In boxes.
K1100LT 1992 - AKA Big Red (gone)
K100LT - 1988 - AKA the Bullion brick. Should never have sold it.
and all our international kbike bretheren
