Another Mountain?!?!

I didn't sleep much last night because everything hurt, but it was a very comfortable bed with the most wonderful linens and comforter. I laid awake, listening to the rain, contemplating a ten mile hike today. I fell asleep just as the sky began to lighten, which at this time of year is about four o'clock. I slept hard until my alarm went off at 7:45am.

I went down to breakfast, but wasn't hungry. I had three advil and a cup of coffee. I tried explaining to my B&B's proprietor that I just couldn't eat. I told him about my toe - because that's excellent conversation to have whilst others are eating - and he offered an alternate route that would allow me to skirt the mountain, rather than climb it as the Way requires. I was all for a "cheat" that wasn't really one. Taking a horse or a cab is cheating. Finding a flatter walking route is not.

After packing, I hobbled to Owen's hostel two doors down. I chatted with the proprietor, a very personable man named Con (short for Connor, perhaps?) until my walking mate had finished his toilette and coif. I told him about the alternative route and he agreed that it would work. Owen and I hit the road about ten, I guess.

The start of the day was lovely. Cool and bright skies. We walked an old railroad bed shaded by a nice canopy of trees before dropping back to a tarmac road, which we followed for a few miles. The requisite up then began and didn't end for miles and miles and miles. I was beginning to feel downhearted because my pace was so very slow for the beginning of a day - it just didn't bode well. Then I got my first glimpse of the ocean and I was re-energized. Nothing like beautiful blue water to a spring in one's step. That view kept me feeling buoyant until that damn mountain in front of us refused to move. There was no going around that one - it was up and over or nothing.

I'll not complain. No one made me walk; it was my choice. I love Ireland and her views, her people, her music, and her mountains...but do I HAVE to climb one every goddamned day? Apparently, the answer is yes. I moved forward best I could.

After what felt like hours of climbing steadily up, opening farmer's gates and then carefully closing them behind us, we were high on a mountain, far above the Ring of Kerry. (To clarify, the Ring of Kerry is roadway that tourists in cars traverse from town to town. The Kerry Way is a walking path that also goes to the same towns, but does so via forest, farmland, and mountains. In spite of my aches and pains, the Kerry Way is the way for me. Cars not so much.) The tour buses looked smaller than matchbox cars. The edge was close enough to make me quite dizzy at times. (I was glad Lauren was not here for this point, because I'd have had a cow watching her walk it.) After a good bit, we turned away from the edge and climbed again to a summit. What can I say other than it sucked and I was in agony. The wind whipped and whipped at the top. The way down was easier than any of the climbs thus far. We followed a track through some forest areas and then it was time to part ways.

Owen was headed for Cahersiveen and I was going to Kells. I gave him a parting gift of bread and salami, sure that I'd find plenty of food at the pub to which I was headed. We took the obligatory selfie and said farewell. Thank you, Owen, for walking with me, waiting for me, and being the best cheerleader a girl could hope for. I'd never made it to Glenbeigh without you. Godspeed, my friend.

I followed a gravel track down and toward the coast. After a mile or two, I hit the main road - the Ring of Kerry - where people drive like assholes. It was only a half mile or so to my hostel/pub - Caitin's - but I had to step aside and press myself against a rock face to avoid being run over by passing cars. It takes longer to walk that way. No matter, I knew that pints and lunch were waiting for me.

I arrived safely at Caitin's about 2pm. I pulled the red door and found it locked. That's when I noticed that the sign in the window said that it didn't open until 7:30pm. Five and a half hours in a place that has nothing else...oh man. I called the number on the sign and miraculously, the call went through. To my eternal gratitude, the proprietor was there in less than five minutes. He let me in and took me to a private room. My bathroom is down the hall and shared with a bunch of other rooms. It was then that I discovered that the pub doesn't serve pints to anyone - booked there or not - until 7:30pm. I also learned that they don't serve food.

It was then that I regretting giving Owen bread and meat. I'd not eaten all day and was in need of something. The proprietor said that there was a place I could buy food about two miles away. Four miles round trip (according to an Irishman's distance guessing, which means it was probably more like six miles both ways). My toe told me to go without. I showered, posted yesterday's blog, crawled into bed and slept for three hours. It was clearly what I needed. I felt better than I had in two days...but I was hungry as a bear.

My fat little face was pressed to the pub's front window at 7:24pm. I was let in at exactly 7:30 and had my first pint of Smithwick's in front of me shortly thereafter. I chatted up the owner a bit, he was a good fellow with a kind heart. Long about 9pm, I gave serious consideration to asking a local to drive me to a grocery store. Moments later, the owner placed a bowl of beef stew before me. When I started at him blankly, he said, "I wouldn't want my mother to go hungry."

Oh. Wow. I thought we were the same age....I didn't care how old he thought I was; he fed me. I don't like beef stew, but I loved that one. I all but licked the bowl clean. As he cleared it away, I tried to find a way to express how thankful I was. That's when he placed a lemon tart in front of me. I don't eat sweets; I devoured in about three bites.

The kindness of people I meet on these long distance walks is mind-blowing. I am forever grateful for his generosity.

A group of musicians set up and began to play traditional Irish music; it's what I've been waiting for all week. I listened for about an hour and then came back to my room. Funny, it's just as loud up here as it was down there! At this very moment, they're playing Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues and the crowd is going wild. WTF? I love Ireland!!

I'm not sure how many miles I have tomorrow; I try not to read too far ahead because it can be overwhelming. I prefer to find out about the need to climb another mountain as it looms in front of me. I don't see the point in worrying about it before hand. It will be what it will be. Reading the map and fretting won't change it.

I will not quit. I will not give in to this toe. I will persevere.

Slan.