How can it be? How can this part of the adventure already be over? Aw feck and shit, too. I'm not ready for that. Lauren, on the other hand, is probably more than ready. Having said that, she's been a great sport - no complaints whatsoever, in spite of her sunburn, sickness and sore body parts.
We had a long breakfast, probably hanging around the table a bit longer than we should. We finally set off around 9:45am, but we only about 8 miles to cover, so getting an early start wasn't terribly critical. (Famous last words.)
We set off and just around the corner from our accommodations, we walked by a field of mares with their colts. The babies were literally out cold. Fast asleep in the grass while their mamas ate and fattened up. Lauren and I are suckers for anything warm-blooded with fur and four legs, but horses are one of our biggest weaknesses. We stopped to talk to the mares, taking care not to disturb their colts. The baby nearest us was snoring! I'd never heard a colt snore, but I assure you it maxed out the cute scale.
We took pictures and adored the beauties until our dwarf walked away without us. He does that frequently, but he usually stops and turns around to make sure we're following. This time, he just kept going so we figured he was serious. We said our goodbyes (the colt was still snoring) and followed our impatient friend. Not too far after that, we came upon more horses. We stopped and called to them across the pasture and to our extreme joy, they came to greet us! Four of them! They were beautiful. Cappuccino brown bodies and head, turning dark brown in the legs and chest. They must have smelled the apples in my backpack, because never, ever, has any horse found me that interesting. The dwarf grunted and kept going. I've already told you they don't like horses. Across the lane from the horses was a pasture with the cutest donkey I've had to pleasure of meeting. He liked us, too. Again, it had to be the apples.
After several minutes, the dwarf was nowhere in sight. Lauren and I knew we had to say goodbye to our four-legged friends, but stayed longer anyway. The fun is in the getting there. Getting there means enjoying everything along the way.
Eventually, we said goodbye and raced to catch up with our friend. He was waiting impatiently by a fence post. When we reached him, he gave us "the look" and took off at a brisk pace. I wish I remembered the dark chocolate I'd taken specifically for occasions like those, but I was too caught up in thoughts of horses and donkeys, so I just trudged along, not worried about anything or anyone.
In very short order, we were back to beach walking. Try as I might, I couldn't help but pick up shells and rocks along the way. By the time we get home, my pockets will be so loaded down with crap, I won't be able to walk. The weather was almost perfect. The sky was overcast and the temps had cooled. I actually needed a second layer! Yay! Along the beach, we walked and walked and walked.
I was distracted by a huge green expanse between us and the sea because at least twenty horses roamed it. . . . without fences. They could have run into the road if they'd wanted to. Or into the sea. Or into my arms. They were simply free. The house and a barn of sorts sat on one side of the property and the horses were free to go where they wished. Try to imagine how much this slowed us down. (Clue: it was a lot.)
Then there was a lab mix of some sort that raced from his yard to bark at the dwarf. Rather than continue walking/avoid making eye contact, the dwarf stopped in front of his drive to engage in a staring contest. The dog continued to bark and express his overall unhappiness with our dwarf. Then he saw Lauren and me. Tail wagging and legs running, he ran to meet us and threw himself at Lauren's feet. She laid down in the road with him to deliver a well-earned belly rub. I acted similarly. The dwarf grunted. Eventually, we HAD to go, although none of us were happy with the idea - except the dwarf.
"Will we EVER get to Castlebar?" I said.
"We would if you two didn't pet every horse and cow we meet," answered the dwarf.
Like that's gonna happen. Silly dwarf. I really should have broken out the dark chocolate.
Lauren's pace slowed and slowed until her walk barely resembled her normal pace. Her color changed and so did her mood. Long story made short is that my girl was running a slight temp, didn't feel good and wasn't going to make it another four miles to Camp. I sent the dwarf ahead, so that he didn't have to slow his pace to match ours, promising to catch up later. I kept telling Lauren "just a little bit farther" for the next hour or so, but Castlebar just refused to come into view. She was fading fast.
Suddenly, I began to question our direction. Were we even headed toward Castlebar? Nothing resembling a town was in sight. We could see a few houses here and there, but nothing town-like. Lauren continued to get slower and meaner. I knew if I didn't come up with a solution soon, she'd likely go zombie and eat my brain right there on the side of the road.
I waved down the next car. The driver waved back and kept going. My shoulders slumped. He watched my reaction in the rear view and stopped.
After thanking him for stopping, I asked if we were going in the direction of Castlebar. He asked if we were okay and I said yes, but Lauren wasn't feeling well and I needed to get to town to call a cab. He assured us that the town was just ahead, about a four minute walk. (You know the Irish; a four minute walk could be three miles.) He said he'd have given us a ride, but the back of his car was filled with bikes and he had his 11-year old twins in the back seat. We thanked him and told him not to worry; we were fine. He mentioned that he'd passed us on his bike about forty minutes earlier. (I'd waved and shouted a greeting.)
He drove off and we felt better knowing we were headed in the right direction and that a ride to Camp wasn't too far away. Lauren's pace slowed even more and I struggled to walk slowly to stay with her. About five minutes later, a familiar car pulled off the road. The man with the twins hopped out.
"Get in! It's not far, but this is more for your spirit than anything else." The man had dropped off his girls and their bikes and came back to get us. I warned him that we stunk like sheep, but he wasn't scared. We piled in and thanked him over and over.
Write this down. He was the first and only Irishman to reckon distance properly. In only a couple of minutes we were in town. I told him he was a kind man and that I wished I could repay him. He said that he'd been helped by others and was just trying to pay it forward. I told him that I hoped someone did something nice for him that day. I meant it.
I took Lauren to the nearest pub for lots of water and a bowl of pasta. She devoured it and laid her head on the table. She wasn't moving without a fork lift. The proprietors called us a cab, which turned out to be the very same woman who'd picked us up there the day before when we'd found a "short cut". She still drove like a bat out of hell, but she was very sweet.
Upon arrival at the Camp Junction House, the owner John Doyle stepped out to greet us. He was larger than life, as always. He remembered to ask about "our patient's burn" and our walk around the peninsula. Even thought it was early by B&B standards - 3pm - he sent us directly to our room and offered to make a pot of tea.
I wish I'd taken a picture of Mr. John Doyle. He knows how to work a room and its no wonder his place is always booked full. He goes above and beyond to make each and every guest feel like they're staying with family.
Four hours later, I pried Lauren from her cocoon (bed) and forced her to join me for dinner. We ate and then went right back to our room. I did sneak out to join the dwarf for a couple pints of Guinness while Lauren laid in bed, soaking up Mr. Doyle's wifi. I knew she was in good hands and I was just across the street.
Sunset that night was ...breathtaking. I've yet to adjust to a 10:45pm sunset. While it does allow for one hell of a happy hour, it's just not natural. Please don't interpret that as a complaint. It's not. I've nothing to complain about.
I crawled into bed, wondering what tomorrow's adventure will bring. We're renting a car and driving all the way to Mayo. God help us. Alert the presses.
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