This August, Susan and I decided to take a winter vacation in the middle of summer. Leaving balmy Barcelona we would spend the last half of August in cool and wet Southwest England, cooler Wales, cold Dublin, and frigid western Ireland. We now understand why pubs are so popular in this part of the world.
Southwest England
First, we ventured to southwest England. Why? Long story, but I can sum it up in one word: running (of course - we're so predictable). Susan's coach wanted her to run a half marathon in August and since Spain shuts down for the entire month we had to look outside our new country. The nearest race she found that fits her needs was in Longford, Ireland.
Feeling left out, I decided to find a race of my own. That's when I discovered a very intriguing race in southwest England taking place a week before the Irish race. It covered 34 miles of rocky trails overlooking the Atlantic from the coastal cliffs of SW England, included three estuary crossings, over 50 cattle/sheep gates, and over 5,000' of elevation gain.
So then it was a matter of connecting these 2 races in SW England and centra;l Ireland via a rental car from SW England through Wales to Liverpool, ferry to Dublin, and another rental car across Ireland.
The first challenge in our visit to England was sitting on the wrong side of the car while driving on the wrong side of the road. But driving in England proved more challenging than simply reversing one's mental map of the road. First, they don't have intersections but roundabouts which, while simple enough, require a certain approach. Second, and most challenging is the narrow, winding roads, with tall hedges and/or stone walls obstructing the view around every bend. To imagine an English road (or more properly a "lane") take a small car, add a tall hedge 6 inches to the left and a lane line with a fast approaching car 6 inches to the right. Now add in curves, and a tractor taking up a land-and-a-half coming at you from around the next (blind) turn and you have an idea.
So, every drive is essentially a combination of an obstacle course and a race. Perhaps that is why Susan kept getting car sick.
Stonehenge
After landing in Bristol, I had one mission - visit the world famous site of Stonehenge. It was well out of the way of our destination - Plymouth, England - but well worth the diversion.
Cornwall - Coastal Trails & Pasties
Fortunately my sister, Melanie, was still in London (she has since moved back to WI) and visited us in Plymouth. She had a simple goal: visit Cornwall, the Cape Cod (or the Door County for my WI family) of England. I too had a simple goal: eat a Cornish pasty. Why? Don't know it just sounded good....
Well, after our first night spent in Plymouth, we picked up my sister at the train station and since it was already late afternoon - and raining - we decided we only had time to visit the Eden Project and a castle along the way.
Restormel Castle
The Eden Project (essentially a giant botanical experiment)
The next day we had no excuse, but still did not get out of Plymouth until 2 or 3 (although Susan & I had run a portion of the Southwest Coast Path in anticipation of my race the next day while my sister took some photographs of the coastline while hiking behind us.
When we finally did set out for Cornwall we only had time to hike along some parts of the Cornish coast and to visit the port town of Falmouth. And to think I had a list and map of about 15 different places in Cornwall to visit.
Cows seemed to like me throughout our trip. This one approached me and just stared. Unfortunately the bulls became jealous. One bull in Wales began stomping his feet and shaking his head at me when I was passing through one of the UK's many common public "right of ways" that pass through private farmland. Needless to say, I quickly reversed direction.
Melanie, Susan & I - I can't tell if I set my camera on an angle or if the 3 of us just weren't standing straight.
FalmouthThat night we said goodbye to Mel and then awoke a short time later (4:15 am) for my race. At 6:50 am we were all lined up at the far end of a 100 meter-long pier (looking inland as we would run first). Ten minutes later and we were off. My running goal was to go out really easy and save energy for the swim. My swimming goal was not to drown. I had swam only 2 or 3 times in the past 3 years and never for more than 10 or 20 meters straight. Furthermore, the last time I could remember swimming more than 25 meters straight was in high school when my dad, brother, and I used to swim across Lake Ottawa (and I struggled to do that).
The first 8 mile section I enjoyed immensely. Running up and down the cliffs with a view of the Atlantic, I was enjoying running as much as I ever had since I had left New Mexico. The views on this run were absolutely amazing. Taking in the views, I tried to go as easy as possible for this first section of the run, but accidentally ended up in the lead coming into the first estuary crossing. But, I was extremely clumsy getting my shirt, jacket, shoes, socks, and camelpak into the drybag and by the time I got in the water I was in third. By the time I got of the water I was probably in 10th. The waters of the first crossing were calm, but in trying to not let another 10 people pass me I expended a tremendous deal of energy flailing around in the water. I had entered the bay feeling great - like I wa sjust out for an easy jog. Fifteen minutes later I stumbled out of the water absolutely spent. Trying to run again was very difficult as my legs (and new to me, my arms as well) felt rubbery. Lactic acid was paralyzing my muscles throughout my body. My head continued to swim even after I had been back on land for several minutes. 34 miles of running and 600 meters of swimming and it was the swimming that did me in....
In addition, I had equipment problems. Due to the swimming, difficult terrain, and erratic weather conditions along the coast the race director had required all runners to carry a hat, jacket, "drybag", a towel, and cell phone, amongst other things. While I fibbed about having a cell phone (I don't own one), I think I was the only one stupid enough to follow all the other directions, I ended up carrying way too much.
Upon exiting the 1st water crossing, I emptied my "drybag" to find that everything was soaked. So I ended up carrying a water-soaked jacket, towel, and shirt 34 miles even though I only wore the shirt and jacket for the first 8 miles.
I never really did recover too much from the first swim before the second swim 9 miles later, but I did move up a few places. The 2nd estuary was much wider and the currents were coming in much faster and it was not protected from the open sea like the 1st one wa.s I traversed the 1st 100-150 meters fairly easily as I could walk this whole section (even though ti was slow going against some very strong currents). Then I hit a very difficult stretch where I could neither touch bottom nor see the other side too well. I would go hard for 20 or so strokes only to look up and find myself not much closer. The waves were moving in to my left, but the under-currents were moving back out to sea. Therefore, I was getting pushed back anf forth.
Fortunately, for my peace of mind anwyays, a kayaker came to check up on me (actually the race director who along with 3 other kayakers was making sure we all got safely across). He suggested that I aim for the rocks about 100 meters down the coast from the beach. With much exertion, I was able to make it to these rocks. Yet the difficulty had not yet passed. Since the rocks jutted straight out into the sea, I could not exit the water here and had to stay in the water and walk along the edge of the rocks (in my now battered bare feet) to the exit point. This involved taking one quick step, finding a smooth place to set set my foot, grabbing the nearest rock with my hands, and bracing myself for the impact of the waves - holding tightly to prevent the waves from smashing me against the rocks, before repeating the process again, one step at a time.
About 35 or 40 minutes after entering the water I exited only about 300 meters away. But, in my defense, I saw much more accomplished swimmers struggle nearly as much against the tides. Wobbly and dizzy as I pulled myself onto the beach I looked over my shoulder and babbled some (probably incoherent) curse words. The runners behind us (being the top 10 or so) had been diverted to cross the water further inland at a point that was assuredly tamer and definitely safer. While this was done undoubtedly with their safety in mind, it was still dismaying to see them all have it so much easier.
I ahd to walk the first half-mile or so after this crossing - I was so dizzy and exhausted. Adding more difficulty, I had mistakenly expected an aid station after exiting the water which never appeared. Dehydrated from the difficult swim I would have to wait until the next water-crossing to refill my empty camelpak.
I don't remember much at all from the next 6 miles, but I do remember my excitement upon reaching the 3rd and final crossing. This one was advertised as being 60 meters - that should be easy even for me, right?
I arrive there to find tides rushing out to sea at about 10 mph. To cross this 60m stretch, the lifeguard pointed to a section of beach about 100 meters inland to enter the water. So to go 60 meters across, I would have to swim 100 meters along the retreating tidal waters. Without thinking I dove in and swam as hard as I could (no elementary backstroke here) trying to reach the other side before the currents carried me out to sea.
Successfully making it across, I then spent about 10 minutes re-grouping and rehydrating at the aid station. Knowing the worst was over, I now set the goal of running the last 11 miles at 8 minute pace (no easy task on this difficult course) and pass as many people as possible. Falling just shy, I completed the last 11 miles in 90 minutes, passed 10 runners (yes I was counting to provide motivation) and actually finished feeling better than I did at mile 8 after completing the first swim. I still finished almost an hour behind the winner, but I blame nearly all of this difference on those measly 600 meters of swimming.
I would like to think that I developed some new-found appreciation for tri-athletes and open-water swimmers, and in some ways I did. But mostly, I just think they're crazy - and that's saying a lot coming from me. At least in running you can slow down, even stop, if you are feeling tired - not in swimming.
At the finish line, Susan greeted me with a Cornish pasty. Finally, my trip was complete. But, it wasn't that good. Maybe I set my expectations to high....
The first 8 mile section I enjoyed immensely. Running up and down the cliffs with a view of the Atlantic, I was enjoying running as much as I ever had since I had left New Mexico. The views on this run were absolutely amazing. Taking in the views, I tried to go as easy as possible for this first section of the run, but accidentally ended up in the lead coming into the first estuary crossing. But, I was extremely clumsy getting my shirt, jacket, shoes, socks, and camelpak into the drybag and by the time I got in the water I was in third. By the time I got of the water I was probably in 10th. The waters of the first crossing were calm, but in trying to not let another 10 people pass me I expended a tremendous deal of energy flailing around in the water. I had entered the bay feeling great - like I wa sjust out for an easy jog. Fifteen minutes later I stumbled out of the water absolutely spent. Trying to run again was very difficult as my legs (and new to me, my arms as well) felt rubbery. Lactic acid was paralyzing my muscles throughout my body. My head continued to swim even after I had been back on land for several minutes. 34 miles of running and 600 meters of swimming and it was the swimming that did me in....
In addition, I had equipment problems. Due to the swimming, difficult terrain, and erratic weather conditions along the coast the race director had required all runners to carry a hat, jacket, "drybag", a towel, and cell phone, amongst other things. While I fibbed about having a cell phone (I don't own one), I think I was the only one stupid enough to follow all the other directions, I ended up carrying way too much.
Upon exiting the 1st water crossing, I emptied my "drybag" to find that everything was soaked. So I ended up carrying a water-soaked jacket, towel, and shirt 34 miles even though I only wore the shirt and jacket for the first 8 miles.
I never really did recover too much from the first swim before the second swim 9 miles later, but I did move up a few places. The 2nd estuary was much wider and the currents were coming in much faster and it was not protected from the open sea like the 1st one wa.s I traversed the 1st 100-150 meters fairly easily as I could walk this whole section (even though ti was slow going against some very strong currents). Then I hit a very difficult stretch where I could neither touch bottom nor see the other side too well. I would go hard for 20 or so strokes only to look up and find myself not much closer. The waves were moving in to my left, but the under-currents were moving back out to sea. Therefore, I was getting pushed back anf forth.
Fortunately, for my peace of mind anwyays, a kayaker came to check up on me (actually the race director who along with 3 other kayakers was making sure we all got safely across). He suggested that I aim for the rocks about 100 meters down the coast from the beach. With much exertion, I was able to make it to these rocks. Yet the difficulty had not yet passed. Since the rocks jutted straight out into the sea, I could not exit the water here and had to stay in the water and walk along the edge of the rocks (in my now battered bare feet) to the exit point. This involved taking one quick step, finding a smooth place to set set my foot, grabbing the nearest rock with my hands, and bracing myself for the impact of the waves - holding tightly to prevent the waves from smashing me against the rocks, before repeating the process again, one step at a time.
About 35 or 40 minutes after entering the water I exited only about 300 meters away. But, in my defense, I saw much more accomplished swimmers struggle nearly as much against the tides. Wobbly and dizzy as I pulled myself onto the beach I looked over my shoulder and babbled some (probably incoherent) curse words. The runners behind us (being the top 10 or so) had been diverted to cross the water further inland at a point that was assuredly tamer and definitely safer. While this was done undoubtedly with their safety in mind, it was still dismaying to see them all have it so much easier.
I ahd to walk the first half-mile or so after this crossing - I was so dizzy and exhausted. Adding more difficulty, I had mistakenly expected an aid station after exiting the water which never appeared. Dehydrated from the difficult swim I would have to wait until the next water-crossing to refill my empty camelpak.
I don't remember much at all from the next 6 miles, but I do remember my excitement upon reaching the 3rd and final crossing. This one was advertised as being 60 meters - that should be easy even for me, right?
I arrive there to find tides rushing out to sea at about 10 mph. To cross this 60m stretch, the lifeguard pointed to a section of beach about 100 meters inland to enter the water. So to go 60 meters across, I would have to swim 100 meters along the retreating tidal waters. Without thinking I dove in and swam as hard as I could (no elementary backstroke here) trying to reach the other side before the currents carried me out to sea.
Successfully making it across, I then spent about 10 minutes re-grouping and rehydrating at the aid station. Knowing the worst was over, I now set the goal of running the last 11 miles at 8 minute pace (no easy task on this difficult course) and pass as many people as possible. Falling just shy, I completed the last 11 miles in 90 minutes, passed 10 runners (yes I was counting to provide motivation) and actually finished feeling better than I did at mile 8 after completing the first swim. I still finished almost an hour behind the winner, but I blame nearly all of this difference on those measly 600 meters of swimming.
I would like to think that I developed some new-found appreciation for tri-athletes and open-water swimmers, and in some ways I did. But mostly, I just think they're crazy - and that's saying a lot coming from me. At least in running you can slow down, even stop, if you are feeling tired - not in swimming.
At the finish line, Susan greeted me with a Cornish pasty. Finally, my trip was complete. But, it wasn't that good. Maybe I set my expectations to high....
Susan running along the Southwest Coast Path (which would be the setting of my race the following day)
Finish the Classic Crossings Endurance RaceWales
Running in Gwyddir Forest in Snowdonia, Wales
The Eagles HostelThis turned out to be the coolest place I have ever stayed at. Yeah, our bedroom just consisted of two small twin beds, a sloping ceiling that required me to duck, and barely enough room to fit the two of us. But, the lobby was a bar - and not just any bar - but an old-style English (or should I say Welsh?) pub with some real ale on tap. Furthermore, the prices turned out reasonable unlike any other place we visited in the UK or Ireland. I just regret I only had one night at this place.
Caenarfon Castle, Wales
Conwy Castle, Wales
Ireland
After Wales, we drove to Liverpool where we then took a ferry to Dublin.
After Wales, we drove to Liverpool where we then took a ferry to Dublin.
Temple Bar in Dublin
Kilmainham Gaol (Jail) where many Irish dissidents were jailed between 1798 and the 20th Century
Susan, striking a royal pose, in one of the largest bars I have ever seen - Cafe en Seine in Dublin (also with some of the largest chairs)
Draft Guiness in Ireland - tastes so much better than what you find in a can - like heaven in a glass
After Cafe en Seine we then went to The Dawson Lounge (billed as "the smallest pub in the world")
After Dublin we headed to western Ireland. Here is Susan running up Diamond Hill in Connemara National Park.
Other photos of scenery in west Ireland
The Cliffs of Moher
Clifden
Susan running the Longford Half-Marathon
The winner beat her by about 6 minutes... but she was an Olympian... with a suspiciously dark tan for someone who lives in one of the rainiest places in the world....
Return Home
We returned home (well, Barcelona) on the last day of August, our adventure over, or so we thought. Taking the subway home, a tag-team of a man and a woman tried to pull a fast one on Susan.
We each were lugging a heavy suitcase around, with me carrying both of them whenever we got on or off a train or hit some stairs (it takes several connections to get back to our place from the airport). While at a busy subway stop, we were getting on a train and as I was lifting my suitcase I also reached over to grab Susan's suitcase as well. But, I noticed that some "nice" man was "helping" her already. He was holding the suitcase on one end and Susan on the other when a girl got trapped as he swung the suitcase around too quickly (although she didn't seem to try to get out of the way).
Seeing that Susan had "help," I looked away for a second as I lifted my suitcase onto the train and then looked over to see the suitcase dropped and Susan fighting with the girl - she had the girl's arm and was yanking her sweatshirt. Totally confused over why Susan was fighting with this girl, I pulled the girl's arm away just as Susan yanked her sweatshirt. That's when I saw Susan's purse wide open. Susan later told me that the girl had reached under the suitcase, using her sweatshirt as cover, to open Susan's purse. She was fumbling inside when Susan noticed and grabbed her arm, using her nails to full affect (Susan said later that the girl had only managed to grab Susan's empty glass case since her wallet was at the bottom of her purse- but Susan wasn't about to let her get away with that either).
In the meantime the girl's male companion had thrown Susan's suitcase on the train. Susan yelled something at the girl in Spanish and then we both noticed the train doors closing about to leave with our suitcase. We both lunged to hold the doors and entered the train to grab the suitcase. The doors closed behind us, and we looked back to see the perpetrators doing their best acting job pretending to be innocent and surprised.
This all happened in the time it takes for a subway door to open and close. Sadly, I was just realizing what had happened when the doors were closing and the train was pulling away. I did not even have time to get mad. On the other hand, I often give Susan a hard time about her distrust of strangers and constant worrying. This is one time when her paranoia helped.
I would have liked the opportunity to confront those thieves. But, while Susan botched their theft, they did have the perfect getaway plan - by throwing Susan's suitcase on the train, they forced us to dive in and get it while the doors were closing. However, at least Susan was not hurt. I guess our mistake was looking the part of tourists (with suitcases) and since we were both very tired from traveling we were not very alert (well I wasn't anyways). Needless to say, when Susan went to China the following day I escorted her the entire 90 minute trip to the airport.
We returned home (well, Barcelona) on the last day of August, our adventure over, or so we thought. Taking the subway home, a tag-team of a man and a woman tried to pull a fast one on Susan.
We each were lugging a heavy suitcase around, with me carrying both of them whenever we got on or off a train or hit some stairs (it takes several connections to get back to our place from the airport). While at a busy subway stop, we were getting on a train and as I was lifting my suitcase I also reached over to grab Susan's suitcase as well. But, I noticed that some "nice" man was "helping" her already. He was holding the suitcase on one end and Susan on the other when a girl got trapped as he swung the suitcase around too quickly (although she didn't seem to try to get out of the way).
Seeing that Susan had "help," I looked away for a second as I lifted my suitcase onto the train and then looked over to see the suitcase dropped and Susan fighting with the girl - she had the girl's arm and was yanking her sweatshirt. Totally confused over why Susan was fighting with this girl, I pulled the girl's arm away just as Susan yanked her sweatshirt. That's when I saw Susan's purse wide open. Susan later told me that the girl had reached under the suitcase, using her sweatshirt as cover, to open Susan's purse. She was fumbling inside when Susan noticed and grabbed her arm, using her nails to full affect (Susan said later that the girl had only managed to grab Susan's empty glass case since her wallet was at the bottom of her purse- but Susan wasn't about to let her get away with that either).
In the meantime the girl's male companion had thrown Susan's suitcase on the train. Susan yelled something at the girl in Spanish and then we both noticed the train doors closing about to leave with our suitcase. We both lunged to hold the doors and entered the train to grab the suitcase. The doors closed behind us, and we looked back to see the perpetrators doing their best acting job pretending to be innocent and surprised.
This all happened in the time it takes for a subway door to open and close. Sadly, I was just realizing what had happened when the doors were closing and the train was pulling away. I did not even have time to get mad. On the other hand, I often give Susan a hard time about her distrust of strangers and constant worrying. This is one time when her paranoia helped.
I would have liked the opportunity to confront those thieves. But, while Susan botched their theft, they did have the perfect getaway plan - by throwing Susan's suitcase on the train, they forced us to dive in and get it while the doors were closing. However, at least Susan was not hurt. I guess our mistake was looking the part of tourists (with suitcases) and since we were both very tired from traveling we were not very alert (well I wasn't anyways). Needless to say, when Susan went to China the following day I escorted her the entire 90 minute trip to the airport.
