If only they could tame that ‘Wild’ part of our Atlantic Way
I’D thought the Burren, like the Bermuda Triangle, had disappeared. We have photos of my family arrayed across the stark, rocky scenery during the parched summer of 1976, but in all the years since, I’ve never been able to identify again the location of those photos.
But cycling from Listowel to Ballyvaughan on the Wild Atlantic Way last week, it was suddenly all around me – a glorious embarrassment of exotic flora and fauna grazing the bleached limestone rising above the turquoise ocean, one of the most dramatic landscapes on God’s Earth.
The trouble with Ireland is that there’s so much beauty in such a small place, it’s hard to single out the very best bits. Every time I take to the coastal roads on the Wild Atlantic Way, I savour another view that I think might be among the best – and each time, they’ve been relegated into runner-up spot by the end of my day’s cycling. And on days like these, those spectacular views just keep coming.
Connemara was like Greece, only a hundred times more breathtaking – and I love Greece – and when I dropped my shoulders down into the crystalclear waters on its beautiful white, sandy beaches, for the first time ever in Ireland, I didn’t flinch. And cycling on Irish country roads, you tend to flinch a lot.
I’m always nervous the first day out. This was my fourth foray onto the Wild Atlantic Way – and each time, as family and friends go pale and urge me to be careful out there, I spend a few days beforehand questioning my own sanity. Cycling on Irish roads at the best of times is dangerous; on the Wild Atlantic Way, with its narrow roads and overgrown hedgerows that obscure motorists’ views, it can feel like a bit of a death wish. But, I tell myself, I don’t want to give up doing something that I love so much and that is so good for me, body and soul.
But those first few hours – especially after the stress of getting my bike on and off trains and buses – are always a bit tentative. So thanks to the driver of the white SUV last Monday who, less than ten minutes after I picked up the route in Lahinch, practically exfoliated me as they whizzed past me, effectively cycling in the ditch, loudly blaring their horn as they did so. We get used to the horns – and even the verbal abuse can seem funny after a while – but at the start of the odyssey, it can be decidedly unsettling.
But this land is your land, this land is my land. And now that I’m used to how the Wild Atlantic Way unwinds around the coast, I can see how it could be made a whole lot better for cyclists. Most of the roads are too narrow to incorporate a devoted cycle lane, but there are miles and miles of road that run inland, or that have sufficient land on the sea-side to accommodate a separate cycle track that could run alongside the existing road. And it wouldn’t have to cost the earth: a simple two-metre tarmac track would be sufficient to take all bike traffic off the road, and since there are no environmental implications, it wouldn’t even impact on the farmland through which it runs.
ON those roads that run through towns or are right at the edge of the world – and there aren’t that many – signs reminding motorists that they are sharing these stretches with cyclists could be installed. Then we could all stop flinching and clenching.
It would also mean that the Wild Atlantic Way could be properly marketed as a cycling trail, both at home and abroad. You only have to look at the huge success of the Great Western Greenway in Mayo to see how popular cycling away from other road users is and how attractive a similarly devoted route along the west coast would be
There are now plans to develop a similar Greenway in Galway, from the city to Clifden – though its route is inland and while it will boast more of those breathtaking views, it doesn’t have the same show-stopping appeal as the coastal route.
We spend a lot of time congratulating the clever people who came up with the Wild Atlantic Way simply by putting up signs on a route that was already there. Now that there is more money in the national coffers, we should invest in the route so that more people can safely enjoy scenery that is better than anywhere else in the world. Now that I’m more than halfway through my epic journey, I can vouch for the views on the Wild Atlantic Way being to die for. But honestly, as my mind and wheels turn towards Mayo, I’d love not to be taken up on that.