It was a great day for sailing. It was also a great day for fuliminating and since sailing wasn't an option, anger won out. It all started innocously as I decided to walk to Three Rock Mountain. Suitably fed and coffeed, I headed towards Roche's Hill just after seven.
Under the blue skies, I struck up conversation with an elderly walker who was angry with the hard partying youth still going strong and loud in Killiney Hill. She wondered what their parents did since they didn't parent. She knew where youth lived and also wondered about their easy access to alcohol. I wondered if a casualty of equality is leadership?
I left her complaining about refuse collection not realising that some of her anger had infected me. I walked through Killiney Golf Course to my first irritation. Amidst the strangely melodious and satisfying sound of tee driven shots, blackbirds and thrushes singing, the roar of Harley Davidson rent the air. A long way off, I'd swear my jacket resonated. Then again, I must admit I've never understood the lure of the Harley.I reached Cornelscourt where the lack of pedestrian lights has been planned to force you to use the pedestrian bridge. It was occupied by a group of youths so wasted that they forgot to intimidate me. Not that I was any less worried by their oversight though I was annoyed at having no choice; I'd rather risk crossing the dual carraigeway.
I stopped to watch a Treecreeper running up a pine tree on Glenamuck Road. One of my favourite birds, they are compelling to watch. A third irritation came my way further up the road. A driver chose to pick something off the passenger seat and as she leaned, she pulled the car with her but towards me - she pulled back just in time, smiling at me as if to say 'No worries, I'm only doing 60!' rather than Sorry. My anger was short lived because a couple of cars later, I was passed by some friends - we all saw each other too late but it took my mind off what felt like a near miss on a road with a pavement.
At just under two hours, I stopped at the Golden Ball for a snack. Only nine, it was of course closed but I had my lucozade and fruit bar looking at the vintage tobacco ads for Clarke's Perfect Plug and Mick McQuaids (it satisfies). Then I decided that I'd go up via Glencullen. I followed many signs to Mick and Emma's wedding stapled to telegraph poles, presumably held in Johnnie Fox's but I turned into Ballybetagh Wood before I reached the pub. I had avoided a mirror swiped death on the least curved part of the road when two opposing SUVs accelerated to pass me first - unfortunately, it was a draw and I hopped into a briary verge so I could finish my walk rather than my life. And here's a point - walking facing oncoming traffic means you see just how close the mirrors are on country roads that have no footpaths. And here's another - something similar happended here two years ago.
Up through the pines, actively being felled, I counted the rings on several logs to see they were 25 or so years looking over us. I carried on my ascent to the Three Rock, passing through someone's garden at one point before I realised I'd turned into the wrong track. Three dogs barking made me quicken my pace. I finally got to the summit, 15 km from home and enjoyed a great view but more importantly, a wonderful cooling breeze.
By now my new insoles, purchased yesterday, were paying dividends. No shin splints, no pain and very comfortable. Let me quickly fast forward to 25 km where I realised different bits of my newly elevated foot were up against unfamiliar parts of my boots - blisters but no anger.
I was heading home. Down among the pines I saw a few white-heart rumped fallow deer. On through Barnacullia and past the The Blue Light Pub, a 'bona fide' pub I visited several times when I was in college - 'bona fide' travellers were once exempt from licensing restrictions - an urban myth at the time involved the policemen who had a late night drink here - they turned up next day at the home of another punter who'd taken their police car home by mistake - plausable since Hillman Avengers all had pretty much the same keys. I walked past Stepaside and down to the new Ballyogan Road and the next irritation. The M50 motorway has very few crossings. We build tunnels for badgers and foxes so why make walkers detour by several kilometres? The posters that promise the Luas light rail starting in 2010 are somewhat undermined by the contradictions in new station naming at Leopardstown Valley (on a hill) and Ballyogan Wood (no trees).
Across the M50 where FARRO has been fingered into the poured concrete paving, no replacement for the overbuilt Carrickmines Castle. Up past the tennis club and then down into Cabinteely House and Park where WalkMeter stopped itself to extend iPhone battery life. I'd been out six hours. A track suited woman practicing birthing appeared quite incongruous where you might have expected tai chi exercisers.
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