We took the R613 westwards, and once we got going the rain really didn't seem so bad.  A driver stopped us near Ballygarvan to tell us that a tree was blocking the road ahead, but we pressed on, hopeful that it would not be a problem for a cycle.  As it turned out it very nearly was a problem, but we just managed to carry the bikes over the huge trunk and were greeted on the other side by a friendly local who welcomed us to Ireland!  We wondered why there were no road signs warning of the blockage, but apparently this was quite normal for Ireland!

We were looking for the easiest route to the south west, and the main N71 road was just what we were looking for.  It seemed to be flat or downhill for miles from Ballinhassig to Bandon so the miles flew by.  We stopped at a garage that offered delicious French pastries baked on the premises and top quality hot chocolates - if only garages in the UK could offer such a service!  The shop owners and customers seemed a little concerned to see us dripping all around the store, but some locals made us feel very welcome, confirming our view that the Irish are a friendly people.

Stopping too long when you're soaked to the skin is never a good idea no matter how nice the food is, so we set off again quickly for Clonakilty.  As we arrived the rain was slowing, so we investigated a model railway village and discovered a cosy cafe built into an old carriage.  Sitting on the old train seats with our soaking clothes was not the most pleasant experience, but once again we were entertained by the cafe owner and his friend with stories of how Clonakilty was mainly a town of "blow-ins" - people who have immigrated to Ireland - and amusement at the enormous climbs we had planned for the next few days.

Now the rain had all but stopped so the next leg of the journey to Skibbereen was much more enjoyable.  We arrived there by 1.30 have completed 60 miles before lunch - quite an achievement by any standards!  We bought lunch and supper in a local supermarket, sent texts to Oliver and Tao (who had chickened out of the tour because they thought it would be too easy), then rode the final 10 miles to Baltimore, a small coastal village bustling with tourists that did its best to entertain us during our long wait wait for the 5pm ferry to Clear Island.  Gavin was so sore and we were both so tired that we slept on the 45 minute crossing in the rickety ferryboat, seeing little of the wonderful coastal scenery.

We took the red ferry bound for Skull, feeling on top of the world in the mid-morning sunshine.  The captain kept us amused on the 45 minute journey by telling us of the famous Fastnet lighthouse that could be seen from the boat, and the histories of the various uninhabited islands that we passed on the route.   The fishing village of Skull was bustling with activity and we would have loved to stay, but it was now 12.15 and we had ridden only 2 miles with around 60 to go!  We bought lunch from a garage at Ballydehob that offered convenient picnic tables outside, then tackled the first climb of the day in the afternoon heat before the long downhill to Bantry.

Next stop was Glengarriff, but now Gavin's knees were causing him real pain and he didn't feel he could cope with the next two major climbs without causing damage.  We were late in any event because of the morning ferry and there were still many miles to cover, so we seemed to have little choice but to hire a taxi van to take us on to the top of the second climb at Moll's Gap.

While we were waiting for the van to arrive, Michael went to buy an ice-cream from a local store.  The elderly gentleman sticking labels on tins turned out to be the proprietor, and when Michael indicated his requirements the man moved behind the counter, pointed to the two machines behind him and asked in a broad Irish accent whether Michael wanted plain or mint ice-cream.  Slightly bemused by the prospect of mint ice-cream being produced by a machine, Michael took a moment or two to ponder his reply.  The proprietor, however, interpreted this as an Englishman being unable to understand an Irish accent: he immediately took offence and refused to serve any ice-cream whatsoever, returning to his labelling task in the main part of the store.  Michael attempted to explain that he was only trying to decide, and that he was ready to buy an ice-cream, but the proprietor would have none of it and told him to leave the store!  We relayed the story to other shop-owners in the town who all burst out laughing and reassured us that he was like this to everyone!

The driver made good conversation with us on the journey and we were soon preparing the bikes for the descent into Black Valley, a remote mountainous area that looked similar to parts of Scotland.  Finally we reached the hostel, situated in a quiet hamlet with extensive views.  The main entrance was so poorly marked that we spent some time trying to get in through the warden's private doorway before being pointed in the right direction.  We shared our small dormitory with an Irish lad called Kevin who chatted all evening about his experiences and then settled down to enjoy a DVD with us on our laptop.