Galway on a Beater Bike

After theatre schooled I went travelling in Ireland and the UK for two years, and while I spent the majority of my time in Dublin and London, I did manage to go off adventuring between stage managing, assistant stage managing and the ever glamourous cocktail waitressing. One of those adventures was cycling from Dublin to Galway on a beater bike and sleeping in the wooded areas along the way. Why, you might ask. Good question. Maybe it's because I'm a Taurus and maybe it's because I lived in the same house my entire childhood, but I can get very comfy right where I am, so shocking myself out of my routine once in awhile is essential to my creativity and sense of autonomy.

I was also in my early twenties and had a lot to prove. I wanted to push my limits, physically, emotionally and socially. A lot of people told me it was too dangerous for a woman to travel on her own like that. I didn't believe it. I wanted to show them and myself that the world is full of goodness and as long as I stayed alert to my environment, I would be safe.

“But we have badgers,” my roommates told me. “They're vicious.”

“I'm from Canada,” I told them. “We have bears.”

The morning I left my friend Breda drove me, my beater bike which I had bought at a second hand bike shop for forty euro, and the gear I would be tugging along behind me in a small wagon, out beyond the city limits and dropped me at the side of the highway.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she said hugging me. “are you sure you want me to leave you here?” I was sure.

Out on the road it was just me and my thoughts, for the next three whole days. I had no music, and no companion but my own breath. Pedalling by those quintessential green fields with grazing sheep, I grappled with myself; my limitations, both physical and mental were being stretched. For three days I rode, pulling not only what I needed for the trip, but a lifetime of accumulated baggage that I now had no choice but to take stock of. I perspired emotions and memories as much as sweat. I knew then why I was doing it: alone like that in a strange land, you have nowhere to hide from yourself. The weight of your fears and doubts weigh down so heavily, there is no choice but to let them go. You learn to ride on your own strength, or you don't ride at all.

At dusk I would pull down a dirt road, and bike until I found a wooded spot. There I would put down my groundsheet and sleeping bag and make a fire. I would eat a meal of sardines, crackers and dark chocolate, and then lie down and not sleep. I wouldn't sleep because I was fucking terrified. Not so much of humans, more so of the Fae. You might laugh, but this was Ireland after all. Have you ever looked up bog wraiths? If you ever sleep alone in strange woods in Ireland, I promise, you will think of them.

I would wake in the morning to the sound of cows in nearby fields, pack up and head back to the road. You don't eat much on trips like that. You would think you would be ravenous all the time, but I actually had to force myself to eat to just to keep up my energy. I would stop whenever there was a patch of rain or the wind got too heavy, eat a handful of almonds, and take off again. I felt like I was being wrung out. I was exhausted, and the only way out was forward. Head down, I repeated again and again. Head down, eyes up, keep going.

On the third day when Galway Bay finally came into view, I couldn't have been more happy. For one I couldn't wait to take a shower and sleep in a bed, but I was also so happy that I had done what I had set out to do. I had persevered through all those difficult hours and proven to myself that I was stronger and braver than I gave myself credit for. If I had chosen to give up, no one would have blamed me. What I had set out to do was very challenging, and possibly, a little crazy. It's a good analogy for the life of an artist. It's a challenging and slightly crazy pursuit that many people choose to give up on, and when they do, no one blames them. But there is a sweetness is persevering, and a strength that comes from trusting in the call of your spirit to push on.

It's also a good analogy for life in general. All of us cover monumental distances within ourselves every single day. You never know what kind of burdens someone else is carrying. I had many experiences in my time living abroad, some painful, some poetic and all life-changing. Today I still have much strange land to travel, though I am not journeying with a groundsheet and sleeping bag, but with two little babies on my back, who I am responsible for even in the metaphorical dark night in the strange wood. That responsibility makes the danger feel closer and the poetry more poignant. But the need to push past my limitations remains. New adventures still call, I am still dared to face up to myself, even when I'm home. Landscapes change and new goals reveal themselves, along with all of their challenges. But one thing I learned on that open road gets me through to this day: head down, eyes up, keep going.