Yup. I have no idea where Cloon is either but here we are. Lets start at the days dawning.

The sun eased its way above the horizon to be veiled by clouds. The clouds parted. Briefly. The sun continued its valiant effort to bring warmth to this part of Ireland. The jury is out on its success.

Its gallant attempts did not go unnoticed by my good self. “OOO Andy, Blue skies”. Zero response from my colleague in duvet land in his bed. Nothing. Oh well. It was only 5:40 in the morning. The weather looked good to start with.

We got up, showered and ate a hearty breakfast. We started packing the bikes up and the only black cloud on the entire west coast of Ireland moved over and dropped its contents on us. Clearly we have been praying to the wrong God.

Slightly moist now we set off on the days ride.

The road continues in a SW direction. Sometimes rough and ready and sometimes even worse than that but always fabulous on a motorcycle. 

We stopped briefly at the carpark where the cable car to Dursey Island leaves should you choose to be transported in what looks like a caravan suspended above the sea on wires. Not for us. We chose to take a selfie in the rain instead.

Retracing our steps and in what can only be described as a chance encounter in a lay-by we came across a cairn attesting to a feat of amazing seamanship. Blink and you would have missed it. A photo was taken. 

On On!! We followed the tourist route of the Beara Ring. For tourist route read farm track. In many places it was a single track road with eye height bracken obscuring everything. Grass grew down the middle of the road. The bracken obscured Camper vans driven by loons who thought that 60 km/hr was a safe speed coming the other way. It beggars belief why people drive faster than the distance they can stop in. Anyway. We continued on to a small cafe in Eyeries where a coffee and a slab of carrot and walnut cake in warmth and shelter alleviated the rising damp that had by now found its way past ankle height, above the knees, above even the trouser area into the midriff where the bottom of my shirt got wet. We needed to dry out. We went from wet to damp to slightly moist in around 45 minutes.

We continued on. Stopping now and then to take in the vistas and have a break the kilometres passed.

We turned off to take the Healy Pass road. If there is one road that simply must be ridden on a motorcycle then this is it. Twists, hairpin bends, a climb into a mountain pass and a descent to boot had us both grinning.

We stopped at the top to take some photos. Whilst I was snapping away Andy took a tumble behind me. He slipped on a rock. I turned and he was lying on the ground. I ran over and did what all good friends would do in such a dire situation. I roared with laughter. Called him various unpleasant names. He took a photo of me laughing from his prone position. He has a little bruise to show for it. I helped him up. I had to. Who else was going to pour my gin and tonic later in the day?

We moved on.

Back to Glengariff and turn north into the Caha Pass. A brief stop for a coffee break at Molly Gallivans Emporium.

We dropped down into Kenmare township for lunch. A superb bowl of Seafood chowder. Rich, tasty and a boon to the weary and now getting dry biker.

The final leg of our journey took us onto the southern part of the Ring of Kerry. It is busy. Tourist coaches rattle along at a fair pace. Traffic is busy. But then again it is promoted as a premier tourist route. For me, the Beara Ring is much more rustic, more beautiful and less trodden. 

We arrived at our stop for the night. The Old School House in Cloon. Quirky, well lived in, an owner who keeps bees, a little dog that greets you. Time to rid ourselves of the last vestiges of the days showers, relax, recharge self and various gizmos batteries and write home. 140 miles of smiling, cussing, oh wowing and sheer unadulterated motorcycling pleasure.