worth the effort

I’ve heard mixed reports about Meelmore Lodge. Some say it’s full of groups playing loud music late into the night, others say if you’re not husband, wife and 2.4 kids they’ll turn you away because they’re a ‘family site’. Some say it’s spotless, others say it’s filthy. Needless to say I had no idea what to expect. All I needed was a sheltered stretch of grass to pitch my tent, and somewhere to take a shower before I went home. What I got was as clean and comfortable a site as I’ve ever camped. Well kept grass, two toilet blocks, showers (which cost £1 a go) – all clean; friendly helpful staff, who stayed on site all night in case of trouble. Basic, but pleasant and well maintained. And I don’t think a fiver was too dear – especially when it’s so close to the mountains.

There were a couple of DofE groups, and a few hikers, but it was Thursday night, so it wasn’t busy; and the location is amazing, with an awe inspiring view of the mountains.

I fired up the trangia, and while the water boiled I pitched my tent.

I boiled up some couscous with curry powder, threw in a few raisins from my trail mix, and munched it down it straight from the saucepan while I pondered various routes on the map. Idyllic.

I planned to ride for two hours on Thursday night, and then four hours on Friday morning before heading home.

For Thursday, I thought I’d head along the Ulster way, to the path that goes up between Slieve Meelmore and Slieve Meelbeg, up into the Mournes, and then make a decision based on how long that took me.

The sun sets at about ten thirty at the end of June, but it’s light enough until nearly half eleven, so I got all cleaned up and on the bike by eight, and I was happy enough with that. I set off at my usual pace when I think there’s people watching – fast enough to get me out of breath within a couple of hundred yards – so by the time I reached the stile I was glad for the excuse to get off and push for a while. I headed off to the right – and realised riding was hard going. Sure there’s a path, but it’s about six inches wide, and it’s deep enough that the pedals would keep catching. I just couldn’t get any sort of rhythm going. I pushed a bit, tried to ride, got off, and pushed a bit more. In the end I pushed most of the way round the base of Slieve Meelmore, and when I looked up at the saddle between the two mountains I realised I’d just pushed the easy bit.

Undaunted, I pushed on.

All those authors who use that phrase in their books, they don’t usually mean it quite as literally as I do here.

There were one or two places where I thought to myself “I could probably ride this section, but I need to conserve my energy for that vertical bit up ahead”

“If I clear the lip of the saddle by 9pm… just after 9pm… a quarter past nine… half nine… I’ll still be able to get back to camp before it gets dark.”

I finally got over the wall just after half nine, and it was beautiful. The orange sun low in the sky behind me highlighted every white granite boulder and black peaty crevice against the green carpet that stretched over a mile across the valley floor to Cove, Doan and Slievemalagan. Everything was utterly still, not a soul in sight and in the shelter of the wall there wasn’t a breeze.

I love the Mournes.

Yes OK, I know that’s not exactly what I said in my last post, but occasionally, just occasionally I reserve the right to change my mind about these things.