Nick McIntyre takes us along for his “Irish Summer” adventures, with the Transpyrenees Ultra race and a visit to spectate the Tour De France, leaving him longing for the backroads of home. Check out his adventures and beautiful black and white film photographs below…
June 2025. I stood at the start of the Transpyrenees Ultra race. The route ahead scared me – 1078 km, 26185m elevation, and temperatures that no Irishman should ever have to endure. I clocked 40 degrees at the top of Col d’Aubisque. Having trained in and out of the Wicklow mountains in the months before the race, it had been difficult to conjure up routes that would be in any way comparable to the roads from San Sebastien over to the finish of the race in Llanca. It was nigh on impossible to imitate the climate that I would be riding through. Training in Irish weather gives you grit, though. It gave me enough grit to get through the race in 4 days, 1 hour, and 25 minutes. I savoured the beers and pan con tomate at the finish, before returning to home soil.
Mont Ventoux, France
The dust had just barely settled before I was boarding a plane, bike in a box again. I had a week of rest after the Pyrenees (Definitely not enough) before I tagged along on a last-minute trip to the Tour de France. Adam Clinton had pitched a ragtag affair. One that would see us blasting through the French countryside. A 600km route, starting in Nice. The plan was to ride from there to the base of Mt Ventoux, and catch the TDF stage at the top of the Giant of Provence. We rode all day on the 21st of July, 300km to just outside a small town by the name of Carpentras. We rolled out the sleeping bags in an abandoned train station and made sure to bank a good kip ahead of a big second day in France.
Fuelled by a couple of croissants and Tour fever, we rode along the crowded roads to Bédoin, soaking in the atmosphere. With thousands gathering in the town and the road closures starting to take shape, we were pressed for time. We grabbed an abundance of snacks from a tabac and scurried up the foot of the climb. It’s only from chatting to people on the way up that I realised how mad it was that we rode all the way from Nice for a single stage. If they knew that we were about to ride back to Nice, through the night, after the stage ended, they would judge us insane.
A beautifully clear day atop the mountain, we stuck around to see Ben Healy get pipped in the ultimo Kilometre. I have never experienced anything like Ventoux that day. We left the summit on a high and whizzed down the slopes with polka dot t-shirts on our backs. It was 5.30 pm when we left the mountain, and we had the guts of 300km to tackle. Inevitably, we knew that most of that 300 would be in total darkness. A gruelling graveyard shift back to Nice and another frenzied continental ultra bikepacking trip.
Despite feeling the effects of sleep deprivation, I was keen to see where the rest of the year in Ireland would take me. Spending time abroad and seeing more of the world always makes me conscious of the fact that there’s still so much of my own country left to be discovered. I have made an effort in the last few years to spend as much time as possible bikepacking in Ireland. On arriving back after the Pyrenees and the Ventoux mission, I was excited at the thought of cramming many more bike trips into the remainder of the ‘Irish Summer’. Ironically, this year, it was the warmest summer on record.
Waterford & Cork
A shift in employment meant that my now four-day work week was highly accommodating when it came to spending 3 days out on the bike. In the remaining 6 weeks of summer, I spent 5 of them rambling around various parts of the Irish Coastline. A single fast packing trip down to Waterford with Greg Clarke had me hanging on for dear life as we sped down towards Brownstown Head to sleep out in an old WW2 shelter, carrying very little aside from sleeping bags and a very compact coffee setup. We returned to Dublin via Passage East, and in turn, inspired the route for the trip that I would take on the following week with two more friends, Sufyaan and Carlo.
The following Sunday, an early train down to Millstreet in Cork left us off in an area of Cork that had been on my list for a while. We scouted around the scenic Gougane Barra, riding through wind farms and reaching the top of the old RTE mast at Mullaghanish just before 2 pm. An uninterrupted view of an extremely picturesque part of West Cork from the top, and a chance to catch our breath before heading on to Bantry to camp on the old Pharmaceutical Aerodrome in the rain. Tents may have been dampened, but after spending the morning recuperating in Sam’s Cara cafe, we turned to face the sun and catch the first of the sulky races at the Balladhbuidhe horse fair, a short way down the road in Dunmanway.
Petty bets, a pint or two in the sun, unfavourable odds and a few dark horses later, we were set to finish off our stint in Cork by catching the ferry at Passage West and carrying on through Ballycotton and around the bend in Youghal, before tagging on to the train home from Plunkett Station. Another stretch of the Irish Coastline covered with mates, and I was beginning to fill in the gaps around Ireland. In under 3 years, I have managed to cover nearly the whole perimeter of the country. Except for a small part around the south east, and a section of Northern Ireland. Something to go back for next year, or maybe I can fit another couple of nights in a tent before the end of the year. Let’s see.
The Kingdom of Kerry
For the final few trips, we danced around the Kingdom of Kerry. It is a place that I hadn’t seen much of before riding the Transatlantic Way Ultra in 2024. Strapped with my steel Cinelli, my first experience of the county was in favourable weather. I faced a fairly arduous part of the TAW route under a Golden Sun, and I purposefully didn’t recce any of that part of the route so that I could experience it for the first time mid-race. Rugged, isolated, and for the most part, unspoiled, especially as you venture further into the centre of the Peninsula. On that journey, I was caught by the sunset on Ballaghbeama and crested the pass with the sun on my back. Since that day, I have been eager to spend more time in the narrow valley and the surrounding Glencar Highlands.
Eagerness to return to the Puck Fair was stunted after coming away from day one with a bit of a head on us, and instead of being surrounded by more of the sup, we opted for a 130km loop around Iveragh. Easy rolling out from the campsite in Glenbeigh, we tacked onto the polished Ring of Kerry roads, riding around to Cahersiveen and making a last-minute decision to venture over to Valentia Island. Our plan that day was to reach the Kerry cliffs and the dreaded Coomanaspic climb, but plans change, and it’s always nice to add a ferry into the mix. Intermission.
Rolling off the ferry onto the Island, we headed in the direction of the lighthouse. The northern side of Valentia is an interesting little pocket of the world. It boasts one of the best views in Ireland, as you climb up towards the slate quarry and the Grotto held within it. From the lighthouse, you have a clear view over Dingle and the Blaskets, and just below the road out at the radio station, you have the Tetrapod site, where you can spot fossil tracks from some of the earliest land animals in history. There is no doubt that we could have spent the day on Valentia, but the rest of Kerry was waiting. The day took us over the bridge at Portmagee, and with a quick carb reload in the form of a pint of lager, we headed up past the cliffs, stopping briefly to take in the folds and jagged lines in the rock faces, and the stunning blue and green tones that are consistent all along that stretch. I’ve often seen natter about this area outshining the cliffs of Moher, and I would be inclined to agree. Wholly.
We were deep into the Skellig ring now, which is almost like a subsection of the Ring of Kerry, less the coaches. A massive advantage to it. An unforgettable climb up the steep side of Coomanaspic left us short of breath, and the view out to Skellig Michael only added to that. A serious vantage point if you’re willing to take it on, and a great descent into Keel on the other side. Especially fun because of the presence of hairpins. Unfortunately, much of Ireland doesn’t have the necessary topography to support their inclusion, but it’s good craic when you come across them. After cornering on rails coming down the winding descent, and climbing back up over the shoulder of the Ballinskelligs, we left sight of the sea and became surrounded by the green hills of the inner peninsula. Bealach Oisin, or Ballaghisheen as it is more commonly known, is steeped in folklore, and the name is attributed to a journey taken by a major figure in Irish Folklore, Oisin from Tir na nOg.
We finished that loop around Kerry at the infamous Climbers Inn, always a haven for those travelling around the inner peninsula, as there is not really much else going on. Steak sandwiches, bottles of Lucozade and a pint of Stout to wash it all down. A day like that, under a glowing sun, leaves you wanting more. To come away from a weekend on the West Coast with topped-up cycling tan lines is a rare experience. That ride set the bar high, but it also made it easier to deal with rain in the final 2 weekends spent out west. You have to roll with the punches when bike packing in Ireland, and I consumed enough Vitamin D on that 130km to string me along for another few weeks. A bit of rain just humbled me and brought me back down to level ground.
Kerry Way and the Rain
That’s exactly what the rain did. It brought me back down, and the black and white images above are from the final two rain-plagued trips. I packed my Nikon FE2 for the final kilometres and risked its health in doing so. I already killed one film camera on a wet weekend of bike packing, but kept the FE2 tucked into a dry bag where I could this time around. I’m sure newer cameras, especially digital, have a better element of waterproofness, but where’s the fun in that! The camera was packed away into my Cargo vest, and sleep equipment and cook gear were stored on my trusty Gary Fisher 26-inch MTB. I opted for the MTB because I was to spend the second last weekend in August reccying the Kerry Way. Byron, a good friend of mine, was due to run the Kerry Way Nite Ultra at the start of September. A 100km walking trail route that took in a variety of landscapes from Waterville all the way back to Killarney. He was unsure what the terrain would be like, and I was unsure if any of it was going to be rideable, but I was interested in staying off the roads and experiencing some varied terrain, so I packed light and got on with it.
It was chunky, and from the off, my heart rate was skyrocketing on the short, steep, grassy climbs. Byron ran the 100km trail, split over 3 days, and I followed along on the bike. At times, I sped ahead on the gravel descents, but he quickly caught up to me when the route got chunky, or when I was faced with a near 20% climb in a grass gully. The rain only added to the difficulty of the ride, glazing the days in traction-less tracks, but I loved every minute of it. I became very friendly with my rain jacket again and trudged along at a decent pace. The distance each day was a bit shorter than what I would normally cover if I were on the road, so it allowed lots of time for photos and for a good dinner each night when we eventually pulled off the trail and bundled into a local town for a bit of grub.
On the final day of the recce, the trail started to soften and turn into gravel paths that were a lot more manageable on the bike. I had to carry the bike a lot less and expended a lot less energy than in the days before. I have spent a lot of time around this area on the bike, and know well Moll’s gap, the road that runs parallel to the valley that we ventured through. It was amazing to get a totally different perspective of the area, and to experience the peacefulness of being surrounded by the hills. It is one thing riding alongside, peering up at the mountains, but it is another thing lugging a bike over them and racing down a trail on the other side.
The Final Lap
One week later, I pulled into the same campsite in Glenbeigh that we had stayed in a few weeks previous, and decided to ditch the remaining 30km of the planned route for the day because of torrential rain. I was with my Dad this time, and it’s no surprise that after all these trips, I was happy enough to knock the days cycling on the head and surrender to pitching up the tents and finding refuge in a local Kerry bar. We started the trip where I had left off the week before in Killarney, and cut right through the middle of the Black Valley. I suggested taking the walking trail I had spotted on a Strava heat map, and while I know that not all heat maps are to be trusted, I was curious to see if we could ride through the forests and exit the trail at Lord Brandons Cottage for a spot of lunch. It never veered much from being a fairly nice gravel path and allowed us to cut out a large chunk of busy road and continue through the valleys towards the coast. The Black Valley brought the rain, and we were pushing on right into what looked like the eye of the storm.
As the season was coming to an end, there was not much traffic on the roads. We turned out of the wind and started to ascend the south side of Ballaghbeama. The road is narrow, but it is the only way through the mountains. I could hear the rumbling of a large vehicle behind us, and we were pulled in to let a large ex-German Ambulance pass us. An old Mercedes Unimog or something of the sort was our only other company out on the road, and we chatted with its owners at the top of the climb. The gas guzzler looked totally out of place, pulled in at the top of the Derrynablaha valley, which is typically known for its isolated nature and wilderness. It is also home to the largest concentration of prehistoric rock art in Ireland, and for me, it is the heart of Kerry. Vastly left untouched, it is a special valley.
The wind whistled up through the narrow road, and we descended the other side of the Ballaghbeama climb. It was not long after this that we decided to pull the plug on the day’s route and succumb to an early finish, although there were no hard feelings. It allowed us to wring out our kit, get fed and watered and start early on the road the next day for the final lap of the kingdom. We dodged more main roads by chancing our arm on a gravel track up by the old Cahersiveen railway, and while it meant fully unloading the bikes so that we could throw them over a few locked gates in the farmlands, it made for another beautiful and quiet alternative to the coach-filled Ring of Kerry highway. Once back on the tar, we skirted out by the stone forts that my Dad had visited a while back, and took some time on Valentia Island again. I even managed to snag us free entry to the lighthouse, as I had been there only a few weeks previously and we had enjoyed a great conversation with the lady at reception back then. We talked a lot about life on the island, and fortunately, she remembered me on my return visit and waived the fee. We skipped the Skellig ring this time round but opted for the coastal road out by Waterville, and the long drag up Coomakista instead.
Finally, a view out by Derrynane, a night in Carrolls Cove campsite, and the road back to Killarney, and ultimately Dublin. The carrot cake at the cafe at Moll’s Gap sealed the weekend, and another successful year of kilometres covered in my home country. There is so much out there in Ireland, and when you really dig your teeth in, you can spend week after week exploring peninsulas and engaging with local people out there. I started off this journey only having a passing familiarity with the west coast of Ireland, and now I feel like I know it like the back of my hand. I often feel that there’s not much left to explore in a certain area, and then I delve into a new heat map trail, or I take a turn down a road that I have passed many times before. The beauty of riding out there is that you get a perfect mix of anything and everything, and anyone and everything. I have come away from the past few months with a desire to spend even more time out there. There is something in the air out there that drives a bit of a creative spark and constantly leaves you with a longing for more… hail, rain or shine.
Buíochas le gach duine a raibh mé ag rothaíocht leo i mbliana
An té a bhíonn siúlach, bíonn scéalach.
