14 Weeks And Counting...

14 weeks until we begin our next big walking adventure across the pond.  14 weeks!!  That'll be here before we know it, which should probably scare the hell out of me because there's much to do, but I'm not frightened at all.  I'm excited!

We need to inventory our gear, make sure our packs are in good repair and break in the boots again.  I know we have excellent rain coats, but we need better rain pants.  The ones we (meaning I) wore for our Walk Across England were hideous things.  They were heavy and made from burlapy/plasticy fabric and pretty much defeated the purpose of wearing rain pants.  Let's see, we wear rain pants to ... stay dry, yes?  Well, those particular little bastards were confused because within ten or fifteen minutes of donning them, it began to rain inside the pants!  No kidding.  As my body heated up from the exertion of climbing up and down mountain sides, condensation built up.  Within minutes, it began to rain inside my pants and by the time I stripped out of them at day's end, I was soaked.  The only difference between me and Lauren (who refused to wear her rain pants) was that my soaking wet leggings/socks were warm and hers weren't.  Oh, and she was happier.  In addition to being hot and rainy inside my pants, they were bulky and uglier than the red backside of a macaque monkey.

Maybe the joke is on me?  They were "rain pants", right?  Well, they were pants and it did, in fact, rain inside them.  Clearly, I'm the one with the problem.

See how easily I get off topic?

Once we've confirmed we've got all of the necessary gear, we're most of the way there.  Then it's just confirming accommodations, exchanging dollars for euros and booking trains.

But preparation is more than gear and trains.  It's also about beer and since I like to be prepared, I've been practicing drinking Guinness, singing loudly and swearing.  It's hard work, I assure you, but it's necessary.

Back to work...

Makes Perfect Sense

In preparation for our Irish adventure, I'm tearing up blacktop and researching the Lavelle's of County Mayo.  I'm fascinated by what I'm finding.  Fascinated but not surprised.

For example, the Irish Meaning of the name Lavelle or O'Maolfhábhail (how does that read as Lavelle?) means fond of movement or travel.  Well, isn't that fitting?  I'm certainly fond of travel, as is my traveling companion, in spite of the fact that her surname doesn't match my own.  It matters not because her spirit certainly does.  No one could ask for a better walking partner than my girl.

Then there is the fact that no Lavelle has ever reached the status of saint.

I'll give you a moment to adsorb that.  I know it's hard to believe.

In truth, the only Lavelle relatives I know are nothing like me.  They are serious, straight-laced and wouldn't say "shit" if they had a mouthful of it.  Since we're being honest, I really don't enjoy their company.  It's mutual though, so I don't feel badly about telling the world.  They've essentially done the same on occasion.  It's cool.  

In spite of the fact that the Lavelle's I know are endlessly boring, I'm totally convinced that there are Lavelle's of kindred spirit just waiting for me to stumble upon them in County Mayo.  I've found Irish storytellers, barkeeps and campground hosts all named Lavelle.  I think we can all agree that Irish pub owners are probably not boring people.  

It occurs to me that I've spent most of my life insisting I "wasn't a Lavelle" because the only ones I know are so...ugh.  I've been claiming to be a Magin for 46 years.  But the more I research, the more excited I become about being a Lavelle.  Just beyond my current reach - I'm quite sure - are charismatic, lively, engaging people related to me who aren't named Magin, but are in fact, named Lavelle.  Shocking, I know.

There are pint-swillers who share my surname and affinity for beer, laughter and cursing.  We are separated by a large body of water....for now.  Pretty soon, I'll find those people and embrace them.  I hope they're ready because for the first time in my life, I'm happy about being a Lavelle.

Dreams of Green

We're about four months away from setting foot on my family's original homeland;my Dad would be happy about that.  I'm dreaming about wide open, green spaces.  Hills that gently roll down to meet a frothy, cold sea, blue-grey sky and salty breezes.  I hear music, too.  It's a kind I've never heard before yet it almost sounds familiar.  There are smells, too.  Peat fires, fish, potatoes and Guinness.  Oh, I get it... I've been dreaming of Heaven.

I wonder if others dream like I do. My dreams are vivid and often exhausting.  I predict they will become more so between now and June, but when my boots finally hit Irish soil, the dreaming will stop.  That's how it was with England.  I dreamed of castles and bogs and mountains and pints with great clarity until we landed in Manchester and then the dreams stopped.  I suppose my brain was filled with so many incredible images, the dreams didn't have any room to build.

For now, I will happily settle for my Irish dreams.  I wonder how they will compare to the real thing.  I was excited about our English Coast to Coast to be sure, but this anticipation is different.  I am anxious to smell Ireland, to touch it and know my family once did the same.  There's something of a visit with the past about this trip that stirs the mind differently than other adventures.

What's waiting for us?

Feet and other things

Things are getting pretty damn exciting around here.  Dragged the hiking boots out; they are still caked with England's mud and sheep dung.  That makes them so much more attractive to me than brand new, sparkling clean boots.  These boots look like they know what they're doing, like they can find their way through the bogs and over the moors...and, in fact, they can.  They've already walked from Britain's west coast to its other coast.

I thought it was time to break them in again.  Turns out, it's more like breaking in my feet again.  Two years of wearing flip flops most of the time has made my feet rather ornery about being confined into any sort of enclosed shoe.  They began to get disagreeable when I put on the first pair of socks, but then I added a second sock to each foot and they got downright ugly.  After cramming them into the heavy, stiff hiking boots and doing six miles of blacktop, they fought back.  With blisters.

I let them have their way.  I pulled off the boots and the socks, found a spot in the shade and called Doug for a ride home.  I'll have to use baby steps if I'm going to win this battle.  I have from now until early June to make my feet see reason and adjust to life inside a boot; at least for a few weeks.  Once Ireland is behind us, they can go back to living in flip flops.  Until the next adventure.  (I'm thinking France or Scotland...)

Back to the exciting stuff -

I've booked all of our accommodations for the Dingle Way.  In addition to a safe, dry place to lie our heads each night, I've also arranged for our bags to be transferred from place to place.  We'll carry one backpack (or shall I say I will carry a backpack) with our rain gear, first aid stuff, extra socks, toilet paper, water and food.  I admit, there's always a wine bottle opener in there, too.  You never know when you might need one.
Everything else will be left behind for the proprietors to pack up and drop off at our next night's stop.  Isn't that wonderful?  That means we can bring crap we don't really need because we won't have to carry it on our backs all day.

I tried booking our train tickets from Dublin to Tralee (where the Dingle Way begins), but the online ticket system doesn't allow bookings more than two months in advance.  Hopefully, I don't forget to do that come spring or we'll be forced to rent a car and drive.  I've heard this is expensive and, quite frankly, not very appealing to me.  I do, however, love the idea of climbing aboard a train and watching the countryside change from bustling city to quiet farm country to seaside splendor.  We shared the train to St. Bee's (where England's Coast to Coast begins) with some chickens.  That was different.  Maybe we'll share our Irish train with a cow.  That would be a fine thing.

Stay tuned as we ramp up for our next adventure!