This was a good leg on a good day. The first 10k, warm, sunny ,un-crowded and soft underfoot. For those unfamiliar with these mountains I attach a few images. The Ulster Way weaves and dips its way through and around these hills and they are for the most part content to let you pass. Though in the bright sun it’s clear that Hen mountain’s thin skin of heathery sward really is unable to contain the bulk of the Mournes bulky granite knuckles and in bad weather all these hills can turn vindictive.
After 10k the path enters Rostrevor forest and you come across a Mass rock where in the time of the Penal laws Catholics would gather in secret to celebrate mass. Mind you, if secrecy was important then carving out an alter platform and engraving a cross in a big rock positioned right beside a popular path might not be the smartest move. But times move on and as you can see here as in many parts of Ireland religious zealots feel entitled to erect huge crosses on any and every prominent mountain position. These constructions scar many mountain tops across the country.
The forest itself starts well enough with copses of old oak and Scots pine but these quickly give way to less endearing conifers. There are nearly 8 straight kilometres of this so it could be tedious, but the entrepreneurs of Kilbroney park have contrived to make it interesting – they have installed mountain bike trails. These make it interesting for walkers in the same way that putting ferrets down a warren makes it interesting for rabbits.
Walkers progress cautiously listening out for the “ding, ding” of a bicycle bell. For those of you only accustomed to village street or country park cyclists the “ding ding” of a bike bell is noting more than advance notice to get out your smart-phone camera because there is a chance that when you turn around you’ll be able to snap a cute girlie in oversized safety helmet on a bike with ribbons, stabilisers and very likely a nervous following parent. This is not how it works in Kilbroney. Here a walker has the fraction of a second between the first and second “ding” to locate and crouch behind any object bigger and heavier than a full-grown adult atop a bike costing more than your car and going at eyewatering speed.
Most riders are not unfriendly, though as so many have lost front teeth their good natured “Fine Day” and “Hello” salutations can sometimes sound more like “Fuck Off” and “Help!” As you can see from the photo the forest services have even installed a number of mountain bike trail signs. These aren’t standard highway code issue so let me explain them: They are in a red triangle so are a warning sign, the graphic is of a chunky bike with no chain and no apparent means of braking, and the text informs you that the impact force of being hit by one of these is equivalent to 25 metric tons. It is also dangerous for the riders and many have scars and carry enough tungsten to light-up airport security scanners like Christmas trees. Not of course my friend John Bell who though a downhill biker has retained his boyish good looks, though no one can be sure what scared deformity is concealed behind his fashionable beard.
I am glad today went so well because tomorrow I have to tackle possibly the least attractive portion of the whole route, the A2 dual carriageway from Rostrevor/Warren Point up to Newry. I may not make it alive so now is your best chance to sponsor me before the posthumous donation premium kicks-in http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/BrendanMajor .
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