A few months ago, Joe, Gordon, Alice and I decided to cycle from Belfast to Limerick for the 2022 World Organisation of Family Doctors (WONCA) World Rural Health Conference. Joe and I are ScotGEM students and Alice and Gordon are second year Generalist Clinical Mentors (GCMs). Our end of year exams ended just two days before the conference started, so we had just two days to cycle 225 miles.
Wednesday 15th June
This story begins just as mine and Joe’s second year exams ended. It had been a long week, and normally at that point I would either go to the pub or to my bed…but this year was different. As soon as our exams finished, and we had jumped off the pier at St Andrews, we all drove down to Gordon’s parent’s house in Ayrshire. Knowing we had to be up at 4am to get the ferry, we all went straight to bed.
Thursday 16th June
We got up at 4am for a bleary eyed breakfast. Chucking our bikes into Joe’s van, we drove to Stranraer for a 7:30 am ferry. The ferry between Stranraer and Belfast is massive and has many delights to sample, unfortunately none of us saw any of it as we slept most of the way hoping to store up some energy.
When we arrived in Belfast, we unpacked our bikes and got ready. I sorted and re-sorted my bags meticulously in a way which someone only does when they are trying to delay setting off on a long cycle. I eventually decided that every preparation that could be made had been done at least once and that the only thing left to do was to set off. We rode majestically through the industrial docks of Belfast for all of 5 minutes before Alice’s seat nearly fell off. Foiled at the first hurdle! It was quickly fixed however and we continued on through Belfast, heading in the direction of the border.
We headed out of Belfast for a town called Moira. The high buildings and built-up river path gave way to peaceful country lanes and lovely cottages. Moira is a small town about 20 miles outside Belfast and in my humble view is home to one of the best bakeries ever, although I am aware that this opinion is greatly influenced by the fact I hadn’t eaten for about nine hours when we arrived there. We each ate as many sausage rolls and ‘fifteens’ as we could and stored even more in our bags for later.
Setting off ever more south, we raced along the canal path between Portadown and Newry at full pelt. We cycled ‘slipstream’, which is basically riding right behind the person in front, the upshot of which is that you’re slightly pulled forward so you don’t have to cycle as hard. Now this is obviously a great way to cycle in a group because you go faster, and you’re also spending so much of your energy trying not to crash into the person in front of you that you can’t get distracted by chatting to anyone. I had never cycled in this way before, and I did have a couple of lapses in concentration, making the mistake of admiring the trees or the canal, and poor Gordon suffered the consequences as I crashed into him twice.
That section along the canal was quickly over and we arrived in the town of Newry. I was so tired by this point but I found a little energy in a cup of tea and a cupcake. The next section from Newry to Dundalk was probably the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. We decided to eschew the rush hour traffic-filled route from Newry to Dundalk, and took the “quiet road”. This “quiet road” was thankfully a lot quieter, but also was over a massive hill. At the start of the hill I was energetic, ready to take on a challenge and enjoying the beautiful views down to the sea. Halfway up the hill my energy was starting to fail and by the time we were at the top, I was crying. The least said about the downhill ride the better. Once we had summited the hill, we lurched into Dundalk and lay spread eagle on the first patch of grass we found. After a few minutes when some feeling had returned to my aching muscles, I told the others from my horizontal position that there was no way I could carry on for another 50+ miles that day. Handily, as we had planned to stay at my auntie Margaret’s house in Mullingar that evening, I knew I could get a lift the rest of the way. We had a restorative group hug and I phoned my aunt to ask her to come and pick me and Gordon up in the van. Alice and Joe made the brave decision to carry on; we saluted them as they set off, the intrepid explorers who ventured forward to traverse the N52. Gordon and I had a pleasant journey to Mullingar, showered and went to bed, only briefly being woken by Joe and Alice getting in at 2:30am.
Friday 17th June
The next morning was wet. The cycle out of Mullingar was a blur of rainy roads, splashy canal paths, and a great lunch stop at a cafe where we inhaled curry and chips.
At one point somewhere on a back road on the way to Birr at about 2pm, Joe’s jacket fell out of his bag. He stopped and picked it up, but unfortunately failed to notice that his phone had also made the treacherous leap out of his bag at the same time. Joe didn’t discover that his phone was missing until we were about 15 miles away from where it lay, by which point none of us were at all keen to go back and get it.
Joe bore the loss very bravely, and we were soon back zooming along the road to Nenagh. We were all slightly delirious by this point and we found the name of the town absolutely hilarious. We spent most of the way between Birr and Nenagh shouting “Neenaw!” like a fire engine at each other. I don’t remember much of the journey between Nenagh and Limerick, but I’m sure we must have done it because we arrived in Limerick at 7pm. We finished the day in the best way, a pint of Guinness and some crisps before heading to bed for one of the most restful sleeps I’ve ever had.
Would I ever do it again? Definitely.
