I roll into Letterkenny and the GPS is sending me in the wrong direction. I pull over and a guy comes up to me straight away. Thick northern accent. "How are ye?", "That's a nice bike, where er ye from?" We chat for ten minutes. He spent a few months riding around the states when he was younger. He doesn't know the street I am looking for so he calls his mate and asks for directions and then tells me how to get where I am going. This is my first impression of Letterkenny.

Claire, meets me in the street and we head back to her house. This is my thid time couchsurfing. Claire and her flatmate Marie are both teaching French in Ireland as a part of a program that will enable them to become teachers down the track. We talk about travel and their impressions of Letterkenny. They are not surprised at the help I got from the locals with directions as they have both had similar experiences.



We down a pub meal. Bangers and mash, which I have to say the Irish are not quite as good at making sausages as the British. One thing they can do is stout and I grab my first of half a dozen Guinness for that night. There is a band playing trad music in the bar and a few more French turn up and pull out Uno and we play cards, listen to trad and sink more s.



In the morning I wake to see frost on everything in letterkenny. My bike is covered in frost and I put it in the sun to defrost. While making breakfast I drop out to the bike to check the air temp. It is hanging at 1 degrees. I only have 2-3 hours on the road today but I can't ride that long in 1c.



Taking a walk through letterkenny I check the roads for black ice. It's mostly clear. My aim is to get to Malin head, the northern most point of Ireland about 80 k's north of Letterkenny. I have to go over a mountain range to get there, that concerns me, the higher in elevation I go the lower the temperature is going to get. I wait until 11am and the temperature gets up to 3 degrees before I hit the road.



The riding is nice, the sun is out, the air is clear. It's a double edged sword - when the clouds are thick they hold the heat in - you get no sun but the temperature is 2-3 degrees warmer. The sun brings out the colour in the landscape but the temperature drops. Despite glazing my visor with anti-fog the helmet fogs up. I have to let the cold air in to clear it out. Each time my lips go even more numb. I alternate between sucking on my top and bottom lips to warm them up. Riding through flat farmland there are birds forraging through crop rows where ice has formed they are trying to find water that hasn't frozen. I am averaging 50mph and can cope with the temperature.

Hitting the mountains the temperature drops below zero. The guage on the bike constantly flashes to make me aware of black ice. I have to slow down at some points as ice crosses the road. I make it over the mountains but I am getting cold. A farmer is out on his tractor and I think that if I get too cold at least I can come back and ask him for help. The social implications run through my head.



18km to Malin head. Roughly 15 minutes to go. My palms are burning on the BMW hand warmers, the back of my hands are numb. My toes are numb.



Black ice has formed across the road.

10km to Malin head. I remeber thinking - I run that distance often - it's not far. Once I am off the bike I will be fine.
Cutting on to smaller roads I am looking for open pubs, anything with a chimney that indicates a fire is burning - looking for options.

The goal is still to get to Malin head. In my head it is still not that bad yet.

Time is taking forever. I need to have a slash. My stomach starts to turn.



Finally i round a bend and can see the parking lot, the ruins of a tower and the ocean breaking against the most northern point of Ireland.



Hopping off the bike there is nobody around. I dump the bladder and consider walking down the hill. It's going to be a 15 minute walk. My bladders nerves stop tugging at my brain and consuming my thoughts. With more capacity to think I become aware of the wind which is blowing a gale around me. The reprieve from the cold I was looking for isn't going to come. I realise I am shivering. Hopping back on the bike my adrenalin kicks in. I start riding back towards the town.

A sign says Malin - 10 k's. I still think I am riding to Derry today - only 50 k's away. Thanks to Claire I have a couch to surf in Derry. Looking for any pub or shop that looks warm I push through. My thoughts are not fluid and I can feel the heart beat in my chest. After what seems like more than 10 k's I reach Malin. It's a small town with a corner store and there are workmen fixing something in the street. I pull up at what looks like a shop pub and fuel stop. Walking inside there is nobody. A woman walks into the store and it is obvious she runs the place. "Do you have rooms?" I am beyond money now. All I can think is I need to get warm, I need a hot shower. She has none but directs me up the road to a B and B.



An older woman answers "Come inside, get out of the cold now..." I must have been blue in the face because she instructed me in front of the fire. Questioning my sanity she throws a couple of logs on the fire, makes me a cup of tea and a sandwhich. Her name is Mary - she is my mother of another brother. Her husband works for the IMF , she is well travelled and we exchange stories as the fire breaths life back into me. Mary runs Malin Village B&B and if you go through you should stay there. She is salt of the earth and I was happy to break my daily budget for just one night stay.

On the road after a square breakfast and headed for Derry or Londonderry, depending on which side of the political fence you sit on. You can usually pick Catholics from Prodistants by how they name this city. I lived in Ireland 2 years prior but never made it to Derry. It is the site of Bloody sunday and a large proportion of the violence during the 'troubles'.


Taping up my helmet to stop the cold air circulating.

Another dead hostel with only 3 other people staying, low season, 10 euro for the night with breakfast. I get instructions on where to go - first place on the list is Rossville street - the site of Bloody Sunday. Rupublican murals and political signage line the street. It would seem like any other street if it were not for this. A hill runs up one side to the city walls, painted with statements requesting the freedom of alleged political prisoners. There is a memorial in the middle of the street. In 1972, 26 republican protestors were shot by the British Army in what has become the most well known event from the troubles.


Political messages on Rossville street.





Mural of a famous image where a wounded republican is carried to safety.







I walk around the city walls to the prodistant side of the city. Foopaths are painted red,white and blue so you don't forget where you are. Fences and security measures remain everywhere as a reminder of what was and to a degree still is. I cross the newly built peace bridge that symbolically connects the prodistant and catholic sides of the river.



More editing and I wake to rain which has brought the temperature up to a level that is easier to bear. Head off to see the
Giants causeway and make my way to Belfast.