Five countries tour

Friday 22^nd May 2026

The origin of this ride started in summer 2022 when Jim first floated the idea of a five-country tour to me although it had been on his mind longer than that.  Plans were made and a date was set for 12th May 2023.  Despite all the arrangements being made it didn’t happen that year, and it’s taken this long for us to rearrange.

So tomorrow, we’re setting off from Ashton-in-Makerfield at the start of a 764 mile (minimum) ride through England, Wales, Republic of Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland before returning to England in early June.

[An aside. You may have thought (like me) that Ashton-in-Makerfield had recently lost its identity after the announcement of the significant by-election there.  I can assure readers that the town hasn’t lost its name, but the media and politicians now refer to the town simply as “Makerfield.”  This shortcut occurs for two distinct reasons. Firstly Electoral Constituencies: the town is the most prominent part of the UK Parliamentary constituency of Makerfield. When election results are announced or discussed by news outlets, they are usually reported under the broader name of the constituency rather than the specific town. Secondly postal and local clarity: using “Makerfield” helps distinguish the town from the numerous other places named Ashton in the UK, such as Ashton-under-Lyne in Tameside. The town itself continues to be officially known and signed as Ashton-in-Makerfield.  Jim’s happy about that, having spent a couple of weeks being unsure where he lives.]

The weather forecast looks favourable (maybe a bit too hot at the start), the ferries and accommodation are all confirmed and the bags are packed and there’s just that simple matter of riding a bike for two weeks remaining. 

I needed to run an errand this morning which required panniers, so I pumped up the bike tyres sufficient for the additional weight they’d encounter tomorrow and set off.  I’d not gone a mile before realising that something major was amiss – a rhythmic thumping sound that I knew the bike shouldn’t make (experience, see?).  Upon investigation, I saw that the rear wheel rim had blown out which is a really serious issue.  

I knew that my rims were getting worn, and I’d actually ordered a new pair of wheels last summer, but for complicated reasons, I never bought them.  In January I had the wheels checked by a bike shop and was assured that they had ‘a good few miles in them yet’.  Had I realised that ‘a good few’ could be as little as 600, I’d have changed them then, but I didn’t. 

This morning I limped back home and found another wheel that would do if pushed, but it was a lightweight road wheel, not ideal for touring, so I went to buy a new set of wheels.

The only ones that were available at such short notice were a cheap and ill-matched pair but since beggars can’t be choosers, I bought them.  So now I’ve packed a spoke key ‘cos I’m sure that the wheels will become out-of-true before the tour is finished.

I’m just so thankful that this little episode happened today and not tomorrow.

Saturday 23^rd May 2026

The tour started today! Jim and I set off early, before any politicians were out and about making promises they couldn’t keep. In warm sunshine we headed first towards Warrington and then generally south-west.

Lunch was taken in Kelsall, where we tried to blend in with people attending the local Folk Festival. It was tricky, since there were some very odd people there – although, to be fair, they may well have been thinking exactly the same about us. In the end, our lack of musical instruments (and indeed musical ability) rather gave us away.

The roads were generally quiet and traffic free apart from one section of the very busy A51 near Tarporley.  We didn’t need to cycle this stretch (indeed Jim didn’t) but I was in pursuit of an orphan tile just 600 yards away – there’s always a reason why these tiles are unchecked.  Luckily there was a pavement which ended just as I reached my goal.

David had cycled out and intercepted us after about 40 miles, before escorting us back to his house for the night. Before we arrived, however, he guided us to a cake fridge with an honesty box a few miles from his home. Naturally, we couldn’t just pass by without contributing generously to the local economy by stuffing our faces with walnut cake.

David lives in a lovely house beside the canal with his wife and a Golden Retriever puppy, and we spent a beautiful evening watching the pleasure boats drift by, drinking beer and listening to the birdsong – a far more relaxing soundtrack than bearded folk musicians tuning banjos.

Now that I’ve stopped counting English counties I’m collecting countries instead. I can claim two already, since we briefly nipped into Wales earlier – although that is our primary destination tomorrow.

Sunday 24^th May 2026

We awoke to another warm, sunny day and decided to set off early before it became too hot, rather than our more usual approach of waiting until it got warm enough. Today was planned to be the longest day of the trip at 74 miles, with quite a bit of climbing in the second half. If we survive this, every day thereafter will be easy. Or at least that’s the theory.

I’d planned the route to try to keep to quiet roads and, if possible, less hilly ones. To help with this endeavour, I had to change the default setting on my route-planning app to “any surface” so that it would allow me to cycle along the Montgomery Canal. I had researched this route and decided that it was suitable for a road bike with panniers. Sadly, either my research was flawed or the app interpreted “any surface” as “anything short of a quarry”. It directed us along a stretch of canal towpath at the start, which was narrow, really rough and with a body of murky water just a couple of feet away.  It was almost uncyclable for a short distance.  After this, the surfaces improved, much to our appreciation.

David cycled with us for the first 90 minutes before turning back, leaving us to continue on to Welshpool where we stopped for lunch (poached eggs on toast). Before then, however, we had to endure a couple of miles along a really rough gravel track. This morning’s routes were wonderfully traffic-free and flat but did have a tendency to rattle my fillings loose and test the structural integrity of my bike.

Later in the day, I’d planned a short stretch – perhaps ½ mile – on a bridleway which cut out quite a bit of distance. It also cut out anything resembling a track or path. We were navigating simply by cycling through a field heading for the next gate. Now we’ve done it, I can say that the route was fine, but at the time, never knowing whether we’d ever see tarmac (or civilisation) again was certainly a concern.  

And then in the afternoon the climbing started. It was all deceptively gentle at first, but gradually the gradient increased and never let up. We climbed about 4,000 feet in less than 30 miles and one climb lasted over three miles with a constant gradient of 6%. And this was during the heat of the day, which today was over 25°C.

Despite topping up the water bottles in Welshpool, I was out of water with still 20 miles to go. This necessitated an emergency visit to a pub in Pen-y-Bont, which happened to be the only place we saw selling drinks all afternoon. The town is tiny (population 438) and I suspect most of them were in the pub with us enjoying the bank holiday weekend.

The hotel Jim had booked was the Llanelwedd Arms and was locked and bolted when we arrived at almost 6pm. Jim tried not to show it, but I could tell he was worried. Visions of sleeping in the bike shed briefly crossed both our minds. However, the landlord answered the phone, opened up for us and showed us where to store the bikes.

It turned out to be a very welcoming place which included a great Thai restaurant where we ate a delicious – and substantial – Massaman curry. I’d never tried one before, but it’s marketed as the ultimate potato curry. Having consumed enough carbohydrates to fuel a peloton, I can now vouch for that claim.

On Strava I posted that the route went to Builth Wells, but it didn’t. Our hotel was actually in Llanelwedd, which is on the other side of the River Wye. We walked into Builth Wells after tea, but apart from numerous party-goers in strange attire, there wasn’t much there. Still, after 75 miles and a mile of vertical climbing, we weren’t exactly looking for nightlife – merely horizontal surfaces and unconsciousness.

Monday 25^th May 2026

After a great night’s sleep (albeit with a fan going all the time to try and reduce the heat), it was lovely to wake to the sound of lambs bleating rather than Jim.  It was another bright, sunny morning with a forecast high of 30°C, which is rather too hot. Still, it was better than rain and wind, which could easily have been the alternative.

Regular readers will know that I write these blogs on the day they happen while the experience is fresh in my mind. This morning, after a refreshing sleep, I can look back on yesterday’s ride with a much brighter view. Now that I’m no longer actually doing it, I can report that the ride was marvellous – a terrific route, unbelievable weather and great company. Yes, the climbing was a chore and the average speed embarrassingly low, but it was a very memorable day. Although there were plenty of descents, I couldn’t really enjoy them fully since the narrow roads typically had gravel in the centre and often right across the road at the foot of the hills, making high speeds distinctly unwise. Arriving at the bottom of a Welsh hill to become embedded in a hedge might have spoiled my day.

Unlike yesterday, all the climbing today was at the start and we’d completed about half the ascent in barely a quarter of the distance. By this time the heat was building, so the pace was gentle. I was trying to find the optimum speed that provided enough cooling breeze without requiring so much effort that I overheated. These are delicate scientific calculations, performed only by cyclists and pensioners seeking a sunny bench out of the wind.

We knew refreshment stops were rare, so we were pleased to come across the Trecastle snack van. What a find!  Two decent cuppas and huge slabs of home-made cake came to just seven quid.  And we met an old farmer eating the biggest burger I’d ever seen. The huge bun appeared to contain a couple of fried breakfasts and it took the chap ages to plough his way through it all. He ate it in what I considered an unconventional manner, by opening the bun and eating the fillings with his hands. He’d almost finished when he reached over the counter and the snack van lady slapped two more cheese slices onto the remainder. He then covered these with chutney, replaced the lid and carried on munching. Impressive.

Whilst we were there, another chap rolled up with a Lamborghini Huracán on a trailer. Just making conversation, Jim enquired about the car’s fuel consumption.

“Which one?”

“The Lamborghini,” says Jim.

“But they’re both Lamborghinis,” replied the chap.

It turned out that the towing vehicle was a Lamborghini Urus, worth about £220,000 new. (We didn’t tell him that Jim had mistaken it for a Kia). The Huracán would have set him back a similar amount. (The Urus gets about 12mpg in case you’re wondering; the Huracán slightly more). I did briefly wonder whether he envied us on our free-to-run bikes. I certainly envied him his air-conditioning.

Part of today’s route went across a military firing range. At 31,000 acres, Sennybridge is apparently the UK’s third-largest military training estate. Red flags were flying when we rolled up, but the barriers were open and the fact that no-one shouted at us as we rode through was encouraging. This section took quite a while since it was very hilly and around seven miles from end to end. 

At the southern end, I saw the most unusual dual carriageway ever. For over a mile, the previously single-track unfenced road became a dual carriageway. It seems that the Llywel Mountain Road was widened so that tanks could travel in separate lanes to access the site. It’s possibly the only dual carriageway in Britain where sheep still have right of way.

Locating a suitable lunch venue was once more a problem, though less so than yesterday since we were still full of cake from the snack van. The first town we reached was Llangadog, which sported a few pubs but no eateries. The pub we selected had a beer garden but didn’t sell food, so we just bought a couple of bags of crisps and settled down with cold drinks. At least they couldn’t object when I ate my own flapjack there. I felt I was openly conducting a packed-lunch rebellion.

Tonight we’re in Carmarthen, which has an unusual cycling connection for me. Although Eddie Kelly (my cycling mentor from when I was about 12 years old, and a contemporary of my dad) lived much of his life in Chorley, he originally came from Carmarthen and regularly talked about how wonderful the town was. He left in the 1930s. I wonder if it will have changed?

Approaching the town, a phone message popped up on my Garmin device from Irish Ferries. When I receive a text on the Garmin, I only see a truncated version and all I saw today was: “Due to operational reasons, the 14:45 Innisfree sailing will be departing at the earlier time of…” Whilst this worried me slightly, there was nothing I could do until I reached Carmarthen, so I carried on riding. Then three phone calls in quick succession persuaded me to stop and discover that the ferry departure had merely been brought forward by half an hour. That’s manageable. It just means it may be unwise for us to take a diversion to see Pendine Sands, which had been the original plan.

We had a good meal at the Rose and Crown tonight, with the bikes chained up al fresco on their own balcony. I almost envied them since it’s really hot here now. Mind you, they’ve spent the entire day carrying luggage uphill, so perhaps they deserved the fresh air more than we did.

Tuesday 26^th May 2026

It’s gonna be another scorcher – it was 20°C by 7am. At least it’s only a short ride to the ferry at Pembroke, but, being Wales, it’s really hilly again. Having to be at the port by 1.30 at the latest probably did us a favour by getting us out before the heat built up too much.

I don’t think Carmarthen has changed much since the 1930s. The building society opposite the hotel hasn’t changed a bit, but the pharmacy next door appears to have bought a colour telly to put in the window. Other than that, the castle and the streets surrounding it look no different. I was last here in 2018 but I’ve no recollection at all of the place: it’s that memorable.

We were already on a fairly tight time schedule due to the hilly route, extreme heat and an earlier ferry departure, so when we saw a Road Closed sign right at the start of the longest climb of the day, my heart sank. The alternative route would have been a lot longer and involved time on a busy road which I really didn’t fancy. So, in a display of the sort of sound judgement for which cyclists are renowned, we decided to ignore the closure sign and risk it. Two miles on, we met the man just removing the cones who declared the road open once more. Lucky break yet again! Either our timing was impeccable or the transport authorities had finally recognised our importance.

The scenery today was pretty but not exceptional – rolling hills but no long views. The lanes were often flanked by hedges with nowhere to hide if a vehicle needed to pass. This wouldn’t normally have been an issue, but some of the vehicles here were enormous. Thankfully, the drivers in general were considerate.

The plan to visit Pendine Sands was abandoned in view of the need to get to the port in good time. Although we were very close it would’ve meant a further 350 feet of climbing on an already very hilly day.  At some point, even curiosity has to bow to gravity. There were some pretty villages along the way and even some oddities that had me scratching my head. I wondered whether I’d come across a prototype of Stonehenge in one village, since I believe some those stones originate from near here.

We were never too far from the sea, but the first time I saw it, I was almost on the beach at Amroth.

It was lovely and quiet here, nothing like Saundersfoot, which was teeming with humanity.  To reach that town we followed a very pretty hillside path along the coast which also went through a long and very dark tunnel. There were red lights on the floor for guidance, but generally it was pitch black and quite scary. I suppose the Welsh miners who built it would’ve felt quite at home. I wished I’d brought my canary, though.

After climbing out of Saundersfoot, we were quickly on the cycle path beside the main road into Pembroke, travelling quite a bit faster than the queue of traffic heading the same way. That’s a very satisfying feeling, even if it does display a degree of smugness. Mind you, after we’ve been sweating uphill in 30°C heat, we felt fully justified in celebrating this small victory.

Just before we reached the port, four very prominent signs advertised coffee available at a little cabin. We stopped there and, whilst chatting to an Australian couple, I was called yet again by Irish Ferries, who wished to know whether I still intended to sail with them today. To be honest, it made them sound a bit desperate.  One more call and I’d’ve started negotiating a discount.

At the port, I made my way into the departure hall where a lady intercepted me and handed me my boarding card! I was very impressed that she knew my name, but I now know that there are only two cyclists aboard the ferry, so she really didn’t need superpowers of deduction.

The ferry is really quiet (apart from all the annoying announcements they feel obliged to make before departure), which made me wonder why I was so keen to make the booking so early.

So now I’m leaving Wales.  It’s been fun.  Around 160 miles but with well over 13,000 feet of vertical ascent (that’s 2.5 miles!). I ‘m now looking forward to entering the Republic of Ireland, my third country on this trip, where I have a slightly longer distance to cover but with much less climbing.

8pm

On the ferry the food options were manifold, but we chose a filled jacket potato which managed to be both mediocre and barely warm. The good news, however, was that due to Jim’s youthful looks, he was only charged for a kid’s meal. Result! The only slight concern now is that an earlier ship’s announcement stated that children must be accompanied whilst on board, so we’re walking round expecting to be stopped by the crew and asked where our mums are.

Leaving the ferry was straightforward – no passports needed nor security checks requested – we were simply waved through alongside trucks the size of overturned skyscrapers. Unfortunately, when navigating out of the port I could hardly see the route due to the low sun and I didn’t entirely trust where it suggested we go and so we ended up circling the port several times. It took a mile and a half to escape.

Once we got away, we had a short spell on a very busy road (although it did at least have a cycle lane – or was it a hard shoulder?) before turning off down another closed road (!!). Once more, it wasn’t really closed, so perhaps like at home the signs here are more advisory than mandatory. Soon afterwards we arrived at the digs, which are terrific. No food available there, but fortunately there was a Chinese takeaway down the road which served us well and I could finally bring the day’s calorific deficit back to normal.

Wednesday 27^th May 2026

Jim persuaded me to begin publishing my blog daily on Strava rather than waiting until I’ve finished the tour. The full account will be really long, so perhaps this way is better.  So for the rest of this account, each day will have already been published to my Strava followers, not that I expect any of them will have read it – they’ll have had far better things to do – riding a bike, for instance.

It was several degrees cooler today, which suited me fine.  What didn’t go down so well was the threat of a 20mph headwind all day.  As things turned out, the wind was never that strong and the 22°C temperatures were perfect.  The scenery wasn’t all that different, but I was never in doubt that I’d changed countries.

Compared to rural Wales, the roads were busier, unless we just didn’t find the ruralest of them here.  The traffic was never too bad, but there were an unusually high percentage of huge tractor and trailer combos.  The trailers usually went by the name of Mega Hi-Speed which was very appropriate since they were stupidly fast and extremely mega. Nothing quite sharpens the senses like something the size of a small cottage on wheels blasting towards you at 40mph.

The first cafe stop was at Kate’s Coffee house in Kilmuckridge.  The coffee and scone were marvellous, if a little too large – yes, that’s actually possible.

After that, I shouldn’t have needed a second stop, but Gorey had a fine collection of cafes and I felt obliged to patronise at least one of them.  Many of them had seats in the sunshine, but I needed shade so we chose the Book Café, and an excellent choice it turned out to be.  Whether it was wise to fill up on cake just before the largest climb of the day was a moot point, but we did it anyway.

I wanted to see the sea, so at noon we diverted just a mile or so to see the waves at Cahore Point.  On another day, we could have been tempted to use the mobile sauna we found by the beach.  Haha, only joking!  Of course we couldn’t!  Nothing could persuade Jim to put up with 30°C+ temperatures just for pleasure.  Oh.  Except the last few days on the bike, perhaps.

I can’t decide whether Jim and I are good for each other or bad.  When we’re on a ride, one or other of us will often say “Hey, we’re really close to a tile in the West” so we’ll divert off route to capture it.  Then today we took it a step further: whilst we were on one of Jim’s diversions, I suggested carrying on to reach an even further tile.  I know other cycling buddies would draw the line at that, but we don’t care.  I’m sure that there are other people with even stranger hobbies, but I can’t for the life of me think what they might be.  Anyway, I collected 85 new tiles on today’s ride of 62 miles – a very good rate per mile, you must agree.  Mustn’t you?
Also today, possibly due to the frequent diversions, I had to invoke my ’60-mile rule’.  That’s the rule that says if I ride 60 miles in a day, I then must carry on until I reach 62.2 miles, thus ensuring that if I count in kilometres it’s over 100 and can go on Veloviewer as a kilometre century.

So there we are.  Episode five of the next blog published in serial form.  I feel like Charles Dickens. Possibly Dickens probably had fewer conversations about headwinds and flapjacks, but otherwise the analogy stands. 😉

Thursday 28^th May 2026

Sixth instalment of the Five Countries Tour.
The accommodation for this trip so far has been good and very varied.  From a formerly grand riverside hotel to a town centre pub to a holiday campsite and last night, a tired 18th century hotel in need of refurbishment.  I had a good night’s sleep in a rather hot top floor room.  To reach the room involved climbing a staircase, a walk along a corridor, down two steps, up three steps, up another returning staircase and then along another corridor.  Not quite far enough to warrant Hansel & Gretel’s technique, but almost.

The place is on a hill and the back garden (which would have been ideal to store the bikes) is accessed from the first floor.  Instead, the lady checking us in suggested the bikes were left by reception.  Any thoughts of them receiving admiring glances from other hotel occupants were quickly dashed: a) the bikes are hardly showroom condition after 300+ dusty miles and b) barely anyone else is staying here.

My planning sheet suggested eating at the hotel last night but the hotel didn’t do food and neither did the only other pub in town.  Hence the choice was reduced to a Chinese takeaway (again!), a chippy (the Pesce Grande) or a mini-mart for snacks (as long as we got there before it shut at eight).  The chippy won out, and in the local vernacular ‘the chips were grand so they were’.

Breakfast was very good once more.  All-you-can-eat cereal, fruit, yoghurt and toast plus a cooked breakfast (I had poached eggs on toast, which turned out to be fried – the eggs, that is – but I didn’t mind).  And it was all served in grand Georgian surroundings.

We were on the road by 9.15 along fairly busy ‘R’ roads (probably signifying regional) for the first eight miles.  Afterwards, we found some lovely quiet lanes up to Wicklow where we stopped for a coffee.  
Wicklow wasn’t as quaint as I’d imagined.  The bit we saw was just a tired port that had seen better days. 

Heading North afterwards it was disappointing that we couldn’t ride along the coast but were banished a few miles inland.  We dropped down to the seafront in Greystones and Bray but neither town made me want to stay longer.

Dublin has many cycle lanes, but many, many more sets of traffic lights.  We seemed to spend half the journey time looking at a little red bike banning our progress.  It was too risky to disobey, though several delivery warriors did so.

We arrived in Dublin earlier than scheduled thanks to a tailwind and we quickly found our accommodation close to Croke Park.

I’d like to say that our digs were bijou, but that phrase suggests something small, delicate, and exquisitely made.  Our digs were simply small.  We had everything we needed and the fact that we could make a brew whilst lying in bed could be seen as a bonus.  Our host suggested we also left our bikes inside, but that was ridiculous.  They are now outside in the back yard and they’re perfectly happy.

Off to the city now to see the sights.  More tomorrow.

Well done, you’re halfway through!  I suggest you make a brew and perhaps cut yourself a butty before tackling the rest.

Friday 29^th May 2026

We stayed just over a mile from Dublin city centre last night, so after a brew and washing my sweaty cycling tops (there’s a clothes line here, so I’m getting full value for money by actually using it), we headed on foot into town.
We visited the main sights of the city – the Spire, the GPO building, Ha’penny Bridge and, of course, Temple Bar – before seeking some appropriately Irish fare, eventually choosing a marvellous Lebanese restaurant from the many nationalities on offer.  I felt a little guilty not choosing Irish stew to maintain culinary consistency with the city’s heritage but only until the delicious maqluba arrived.

The accommodation last night provided all we needed, although parts of it were less clean than I’d ideally have liked. I think arriving early perhaps caught the host slightly unaware. We had a fridge, microwave, toaster, kettle, hairdryer and a foldaway table but no chairs, although there is a kiddy’s high chair. There are plenty of soaps in the bathroom, cleaning materials galore (unused, obvs), a small can of WD-40, a roll of masking tape and even a box of Tampax. He’s clearly thought of everything.
I’m not entirely sure whether breakfast was included in the Airbnb cost, but the host left us cereal, milk, bread, butter, jam and tea/coffee, so I’m assuming it was. We ate it anyway.
After eight miles of battling the Dublin morning traffic past the airport (albeit along cycle paths), we reached the quiet ‘L’ roads where we stayed until Drogheda, which was an insanely busy town packed with people and traffic. We walked through until we found a sort-of pedestrianised street with shops and a café. Traffic was still driving through, but only in one direction and quite slowly, which probably counted as fully pedestrianised to the planners.

While Jim befriended a fellow Leeds United supporter (who was wearing the full range of club merchandise), I sat and watched the world go by. Jim later admitted that after five minutes of conversation he’d only understood perhaps one word in three. I admit to finding the language here very tricky.  I know that people are speaking English, but I still can’t understand them.  After hearing the mandatory “How are ya?” (which I don’t think requires a description of how you actually are), much of the rest of the conversation is lost to me. I achieve a great deal through sign language, nodding and smiling. 
When we arrived in Drogheda, I noticed that it was at exactly the same latitude as at home and since it was almost exactly halfway through the total tour mileage this meant (to a geek such as me) that I had travelled the same distance South of Brindle as I will travel North.  This was a very satisfying statistic.  And I won’t mind if you fail to fully appreciate my pleasure in realising this.

Diversions followed to see the sea and also to visit an unusual tourist attraction: Ireland’s only potato vending machine. The sea was gorgeous – the vending machine less so. But at least I’ve now seen it, and I doubt many people can make that claim.

We cycled alongside beautiful sands for perhaps two miles, seeing barely a soul before arriving at Annagassan.  We stopped at The Glyde Inn, winner of numerous food awards, where I enjoyed tea and a (probably) award-winning scone. I didn’t like to ask in case I was disappointed by the response.

A helpful tailwind continued to boost us all the way through the busy town of Dundalk and on to Newry.
I left the Irish Republic at 4pm after riding over 190 miles in the country. I didn’t need my passport to cross the border – in fact I completely missed the border altogether and Jim had to call me back for the obligatory selfie of us both standing in different countries.

Tonight I’ve managed to book an amazing Airbnb. Called Lismore House, it’s like a ranch perched on a hill about a mile and a half from the city – although calling Newry a city is perhaps a bit generous; it has roughly three-quarters of the population of Chorley. The room is very spacious, boasts spectacular views to the north and has the best shower yet.
I don’t want to leave.

Saturday 30^th May 2026

Our terrific accommodation last night was about a mile and a half out of Newry, but our host insisted on driving us there in his AMG Mercedes. It was downhill all the way and Jim suggested it would have been better if we’d asked him to drive us home instead. I didn’t ask.
Instead, he dropped us off at a good restaurant in town where, in keeping with the international theme of my food this week, I enjoyed a delicious Moroccan-spiced lamb burger.

Later, Jim found a pub (calling itself an Irish Pub, but why? It’s a pub in Ireland) with live music. The place was lively enough, but all the clientele appeared to be schoolchildren. The bands (we saw three) were also teenagers playing to their mates and the quality was variable. Well, that’s being generous – one chap was dreadful. I particularly enjoyed watching the social dynamics play out as the youngsters tried on different personas in an effort to impress their friends.  A memorable night.

On another trip to Northern Ireland, I cycled from Larne, passing the top of Lough Neagh before heading south-west. In doing so, I rode through four of the six historic counties. Today I completed the set by cycling through Armagh and Down. We had actually walked into Down yesterday since Newry straddles both counties, but that wasn’t on a bike so it didn’t count. I have standards to maintain. Admittedly, they are rather niche standards.
No breakfast was provided today, so I snacked on biscuits and flapjack before leaving (in light rain 😕) at 8.45. The rain wasn’t too heavy, but I still put on my waterproofs after a couple of miles. Then I took them off again. Then put them back on. It was one of those mornings where the weather couldn’t quite make up its mind.
The first 15 miles were delightful, and followed a beautifully smooth track beside the Newry Canal. Then we turned off the canal and within half a mile had climbed more than we had in the previous fifteen. 

In all morning I passed only a couple of hamlets (which count as towns around here), neither of which had a café. At the second, however, I discovered via Google that there was a coffee shop described as being “off the beaten track” not too far away. It was actually directly on our route, which says rather a lot about where we choose to ride. Chatting to the farmer on whose land the Brew Barn sits, it turned out that his daughter runs it. The coffee and banana cake were wonderful and arrived just in time, as I could feel myself edging into calorie deficit. 

Jim had a minor mechanical issue just outside Lisburn which he quickly fixed, and soon afterwards we joined the Lagan Canal towpath.

Once again, this was a ten-foot-wide strip of smooth tarmac, this time leading directly into Belfast, about thirteen miles away. This meant that well over half of today’s ride was completely flat and traffic-free. Perfect.

We were allowed into Miriam’s house early this afternoon and, after a brew, headed into Belfast with no plans in mind. This was a mistake, as we wandered aimlessly around a fairly uninspiring city centre before admitting defeat and heading out instead to a recommended bar in East Belfast.
A great thing about Miriam, apart from her spotless house and infectious cheery personality, was that I could understand every word she said, which was great after I’d struggled with the local accents for almost a week. Oh, did I mention that she was Spanish, and English was her second language?
I wasn’t previously familiar with East Belfast, but I quickly realised that it was a predominantly Unionist and Protestant district.  This made me rather nervous, since I was wearing my bright orange cycling jacket – the only coat I’d brought with me. It was hard not to notice that sectarianism remains alive and well here, manifested in union flags on almost every lamppost, together with numerous political murals and loyalist memorials.

Bullhouse East is a busy, bustling taproom serving more than twenty different ales and about a dozen varieties of pizza. We managed to secure window seats and spent a couple of hours there wishing we’d brought earplugs. The beer and food were excellent and probably worth the noise pollution. Probably.

Sunday 31^st May 2026 10-30am

As I was walking back through Belfast yesterday evening I couldn’t get a song out of my mind which I was humming all night.  It was Northern Industrial Town by Billy Bragg, written in 1996.  If you haven’t heard it, it’s certainly worth a listen and as you do, think of me recalling the lyrics as I made my way through the city.  
The bed last night was the least comfy of the week, and I did wake up a couple of times, but going to bed early meant that I was wide awake at 6am and ready for the dash to the ferry in Larne, booked for noon today.  Jim was up early too and by the time we’d breakfasted we were ready for off at 7.45.  

As we were leaving Belfast, we passed a fine statue of CS Lewis (complete with wardrobe) and the Flying Angel sculpture in Sailortown before heading past the docks and out of the city in light drizzle. 

Then suddenly the sun came out and we found ourselves beside the sea – lovely. I didn’t see much that I wanted to photograph, but I did pass some fine bridges, oh, and a life-sized model crocodile. (I didn’t ask.)

It was only a 26-mile journey to Larne, firstly along cycle paths beside the coast and then a short climb over the hill before dropping into Larne.  We saw the ferry arriving as we were approaching the town, but the port was very quiet.  I just put it down to us being early.

Then the bad news arrived.  I received an email letting me know that the noon ferry was cancelled and we’d been booked onto the 4pm service.  Not good.  We still have 36 miles to ride once we dock at 6pm, suggesting a 10pm arrival at our digs.  It’s gonna be a long day…

11-30pm

After the noon P&O ferry went unserviceable (engine trouble apparently – possibly due to a lack of maintenance after the company dismissed 800 of their staff and rehired them as agency workers), we were booked onto the 4pm crossing, so there was nothing we could do for four hours. We rode up the road to The Prom Café (part of a leisure centre) where we sat for almost two hours nursing cups of tea. I was reading a book and felt myself falling asleep, so we rode back to the port, calling in at Lidl for supplies on the way.

My worry when I booked the ferry and accommodation for this trip was finding somewhere to eat tonight. The nearest place serving food on a Sunday evening was Newton Stewart, about six miles from our digs. When I realised that we wouldn’t arrive there until half past nine (if we were lucky!), my concerns became rather different and focused less on food and more on getting there before darkness fell. I couldn’t really change the route to make it any shorter, so I just hoped that the previous few days’ riding had made me quicker. (It turned out to be the fastest leg of the trip, so perhaps it had.)
Once we returned to the port there was total confusion at check-in before I realised they were also checking in passengers heading to the Isle of Man at the same time. When those people all left, the departure lounge looked awfully quiet for two boats’ worth of foot passengers, which generated a whole new set of concerns. I kept my spirits up by telling myself that at least the 4pm sailing was on a boat with all its engines working.
It was well past 4pm when we were finally called to board, but even then we didn’t make much progress. We pushed our bikes outside only to be directed to load them onto a bus! Not even one of the large buses they use to ferry passengers around airports, but a standard service bus. This was soon packed with people carrying suitcases trying to squeeze past a couple of oily bikes parked in the space reserved for buggies. We weren’t exactly enhancing cycling’s image.

To my surprise, at almost 5pm, the bus was then driven directly onto the ferry, where everyone left the bus while the bikes and bags remained aboard. Very odd. If P&O told me at the start of the day that my bike would be travelling to Scotland by bus, I’d have thought they’d really lost the plot.
By the time we finally left port we had an ETA in Scotland of 7.30pm. We should have been there at 2pm, mind.
We weren’t offered any compensation, unless it was hidden in those text messages that my phone refused to open because it thought they were spam. They certainly didn’t look like official P&O communications. We were each given a £6 voucher towards a meal on board only after Jim asked. Six quid for a meal?! Have they the foggiest idea what food costs on ferries these days? Still, it covered approximately the price of a scone and 10% of a coffee. Anyway, I had a very peaceful crossing and even managed to nod off for a while.
We did arrive at 7.30pm but only managed to cycle away from the port at 8pm, with 36 miles still to go. It was an exhilarating ride, especially through the wooded sections where we could hardly see anything. I could feel the midges gathering in my helmet but was rather dismayed to discover later that they also found their way down my vest and congregated around my waist. Thankfully, I never felt them bite me – they must have already eaten.
Overall, an eventful day that I shall remember for quite a while. Whether P&O intended it to be quite that memorable is another matter.

Monday 1^st June 2026

Sometimes it’s great to have a quiet day when nothing happens. Today was shaping up to be just such a day: the weather was nondescript (neither rain nor not), the scenery unmemorable (lots of green fields and very few towns) and the route simple. I collected lots of tiles since I was largely travelling north-east (although most of them I’d already ticked off on previous rides).
From Creetown I followed the same road as I took two years ago (there aren’t too many roads to choose from here), albeit a bit slower today since my bags this time weighed about as much as the whole bike did last time. I just managed to keep below the cloud ceiling, which was hovering around 500 feet, before dropping down into Gatehouse of Fleet for breakfast at The Mill Café.

All the drama happened after I stopped for a break at a café in Dumfries. After that, the rain began and I was soon drenched. Then I had a puncture just a few miles from my destination in Annan, which shouldn’t have been a problem. I eventually found the tiny piece of flint embedded in the tyre, but not before it had punctured my spare tube as well. Clearly it was determined to get its money’s worth.

With the tyre slowly deflating, I decided to dash to the digs, pumping it up every mile before carrying out proper repairs in the dry. This strategy worked well, although I don’t recommend it as an official maintenance procedure.
When I arrived at the Old Rectory, I was bedraggled and in desperate need of a cup of tea and a good wash. Before either of those luxuries, though, I had punctures to fix. I soon sorted the issues and reassembled the bike, but I just hope the tyre stays inflated now. I’ll know for sure tomorrow. A boring day when nothing happened would’ve been great.
So far, I’ve ridden around 600 miles, most of them in the dry, with only a few damp miles. Given British weather, that statistic alone probably deserves some sort of award.
I took very few photos today since there was nothing that really caught my eye. Just the mill wheel in Gatehouse and the 150-year-old suspension bridge in Dumfries, and that was it. Apparently the bridge is for pedestrians only, but I only saw the “No Cycling” sign after I’d cycled across it. Whoops! 

I’ve shown two separate rides because of my clumsiness at the first stop. I pressed “Save” by accident on the Garmin after 12 miles. At least I didn’t press “Cancel”, or I’d have had to go back and ride it all again. Jim wouldn’t have been pleased.
Tomorrow we head back to England and my final night away in Ambleside.

Tuesday 2^nd June 2026

All the weather forecasters warned me that today I’d get wet. To my delight, all of them were wrong. Even my host at the B&B seemed to display a peculiar glee in showing me an app that suggested heavy rain would follow me all the way to Ambleside. So I set off with waterproofs packed at the top of my pannier ready for immediate deployment.  And there they stayed for the next seven hours, enjoying the ride almost as much as I did.

There was a substantial tailwind for the first ten miles to Gretna and, even when I turned south, the wind never became a problem. Clearly it hadn’t read the forecast either.

There were no cafés beyond Dalston, so we stopped for coffee at the Country Kitchen, where we were even able to sit outside – another blow to the Met Office.

The weather allowed us to appreciate the wonderful Cumbrian scenery which took my mind off the climbing needed.

I barely saw a hill for the first 20 miles, and even after that they were quite gentle. Apart from the last one. The climb up Red Bank from Grasmere is a challenge on a ‘clean’ bike, never mind one encumbered with two bloated panniers. I admit to not riding up in one hit – I took at least three stops to get my breath back – but I rode all of it.  Were those pauses strategic recovery breaks or just opportunities to admire the scenery?  I’ll let you ponder that conundrum.

Apart from the expected rain, my main fear for today was the unavoidable short stretch along the A591. I have driven along that section of road and wasn’t looking forward to cycling it, but as it turned out there was a marvellous cycle path which climbed almost to the summit, leaving only a mile-and-a-half sprint downhill towards Grasmere. In that stretch, not a single vehicle passed me. Either the road was exceptionally quiet or nobody could catch me. Both scenarios remain entirely plausible.
We stopped for further sustenance with just 15 miles to go at a farm café. Their tea bread was outstanding – and huge – and they also had a friendly cat to stroke. We sat for ages in the warm sunshine chatting to another pair of cyclists from Chesterfield. Take note, weathermen and Annan B&B hosts.

I’m used to ignoring closed road signs, but one that gave me concern today reported that the Dam Road at the top of Thirlmere was closed, and this was vital if we were to avoid the trunk roads. It turned out that it was only closed to motorised vehicles and I passed through unhindered. This was excellent news because the road down the western side of the mere was sublime – absolutely flat, lovely views and barely any traffic. In other words, exactly the sort of road cyclist’s dream about and motorists should be banned from.

I didn’t fancy going out tonight, so we had a chippy tea next door to the hostel before enjoying a couple of pints in the hostel’s Lakeside Bar. 
I keep thinking tomorrow is my last day of the tour since I’ll be sleeping in my own bed, however I’ll still have 22 miles to ride on Thursday to complete the loop and retrieve my car from Jim’s. It’s still less than 100 miles to go whichever you look at it, and at this stage of the trip, that’s a very pleasing number indeed.

Wednesday 3^rd June 2026

I stayed at YHA Ambleside last night, a place I’ve been to before, but it was new to Jim.  I had booked beds in a six-berth dorm and sadly when we arrived the only remaining beds were on the top bunks 😕.  They’re alright, but a bit inconvenient, especially if you need the loo during the night. 

I enjoyed a good night’s sleep and awoke early, ready for the last proper day’s touring.  Unfortunately, it’s one of the longest and hilliest days – when I planned it, I was probably thinking that I would be keen to get home, but facing 70 miles and well over 4,000 feet of climbing wasn’t a good prospect at 8 o’clock.  And in the rain, too!
It didn’t rain all day.  I got as far as Kendal before it really started and where I got lost trying to read Garmin directions through rain-speckled glasses.  I followed the route through an allotment – although I soon realised that was a mistake as I weaved between puzzled-looking gardeners with wheelbarrows.  I’d lost Jim by now so I abandoned the official route and just followed my nose until I met up with him again – thank goodness for WhatsApp location sharing.  The rain fell just long enough for me to get thoroughly soaked and then it stopped.  Looking on the bright side, the strong headwind served well to dry me off before we reached a Milnthorpe coffee shop in which looked suspiciously like a car showroom.  We managed to buy tea and coffee without being pressed into also buying a VW Golf although we did pay enough to buy a 2nd-hand one.

After this the weather could be described as mixed.  I have another name for it, but politeness stops me from using it here.  The forecasters called it ‘sunshine and showers’ but failed to explain that the two weren’t mutually exclusive.  I was regularly getting wet whilst cycling in the sunshine.  
By the time we reached Scorton, the scent of cake lured Jim into the Barn, but once there he ordered a panini instead, whilst I chose the vegetable broth – just the sort of food a wet November day demands. Oh, of course, it isn’t actually November yet, is it?  Whatever the season, it was just what I needed to get me through the last 20 miles in those weather conditions.
By now I was eager to get home and so instead of taking the longer but more scenic route through Inglewhite, I headed straight down the A6 to Broughton before skirting Preston and heading home.  Of course, the tour hasn’t finished yet; I still need to cycle to Ashton to collect my car.  It’s only 22 miles so that shouldn’t take long.

Thursday 4^th June 2026

Whilst it felt like I’d finished the five countries tour yesterday when I arrived home, that wasn’t true.  To make the journey work for both of us, I had driven my car to Jim’s and we started from there, and so the trip had to end there.  It was just a short trip down to Ashton-in-Makerfield and (for me) on an unpanniered bike (luxury!)
Although it was only short, it was quite hilly with a 20mph headwind and frequent showers and I was glad when I arrived and grateful that I didn’t need to cycle back home.

Overall, the tour was a great success – just one minor mechanical and a couple of punctures.  The total distance ridden was 780 miles, with 46,000 feet of climbing. (If we’d just headed south-ish, we’d have ended up in Lausanne in Switzerland, with considerably less climbing done.)
As a percent of the total distance, I cycled 30% in England, 20% in Wales,25% in the Irish Republic, 11% in Northern Ireland and 14% in Scotland. Thanks for reading.