Trim Castle                                                                                                                                                                                                            photography: Burton Hall

Trim Castle looms defiantly as the largest medieval Anglo-Norman fortification in all of Ireland. Dating back to 1179, its grounds have hosted King Richard II and Henry V both noble centerpieces of Shakespearean plays. Centuries later late 20th century audiences around the world would witness its towering castle keep and impregnable walls when featured in the Academy Award–winning film “Braveheart.” Now, this past spring an invitation to a family wedding at Trim Castle presented the perfect opportunity to check a, too long, empty box. I would at last visit Ireland.

Once there, I discovered ancient back roads threaded through the Emerald Isle’s rich culture and glorious natural beauty that posed challenges for the unsuspecting and ill prepared driver.

Now, join me in the left lane as I explore Ireland’s back roads.

The Charming Terror of Driving on Ireland’s Back Roads

With a nod to Ernest Hemingway, I have a pretty good crap detector. It goes on alert every time I feel that I am being up sold for no purpose other than the up seller’s benefit. Thus, I found myself poised to reject the suggestion by the Hertz counter person at Shannon Airport to maximize the insurance coverage on my rental, a little Romania-made Dacia (Yes, I never heard of a Dacia before either). Even more off-putting it was a costly increase. Add to that my spotless record of never paying for extra rental car insurance dating back to the Nixon administration. However, something drew me in. Whether it being his kind avuncular demeanor, a projected unhurried sincerity or his Irish

M Motorway

accent I found myself considered his reasoning. Lacking any experience with Ireland’s left lane mandate versus America’s right lane rules, I considered my incident-free rental record stood in greater jeopardy. The punitive financial penalties should an uninsured event occur gave me pause as well. Finally the sage wisdom of my beloved and pragmatic Elaine came to the fore. She said, “Baby, we are spending bags of money to drive the length and breadth of Ireland, the extra cost compared to the total cost borders on insignificant considering the huge peace of mind it affords us in an unfamiliar country.” You got to love her logic. I bought the bumper to bumper coverage. She must have a crystal ball. More about that later.

N National road

Ireland has three categories of roads. “M” Motorways, provide major multi-lane shouldered thoroughfares. Other than their left lane bias they should feel quite familiar to North Americans. Speed limits top out at 120 km/h (75 mph). “N” National roads, offer two facing lanes with a center line and intermittent passing zones. Top speed 100 km/h (62.3 mph). “R” Regional roads, shrink to two lanes with the shoulder consisting of either centuries old stone walls or abrasive brush clawing at the passenger door with both hazards closer than a fast food drive-up window. Such intimacy with roadside destruction provides excellent potential for scaring the crap out of wide-eyed, recoiling passenger-side occupants. Locals quite frequently exceed the posted top speed of 80 km/h (50 mph).

R Regional road

The final category of byway noted here does not appear as any official Irish designation because these normally low traffic paths barely qualify as a road. I call these brutally slender rural alleyways “sheep paths.” They feature the same destructive roadside features as “N” roads but possess neither road markings nor sufficient width for two approaching cars to pass. And, they do have one additional feature, free range sheep. Lots of them.

Fortified with our bumper to bumper insurance security blanket, Elaine and I set sail for our Irish adventure. It quickly dawned on me that driving on the left side, at least for me, presents little concern. However, a nerve jangling scream emanating from the passenger seat, alerted me to one thing all the left-lane-o-phobes fail to mention. Spatial awareness would be an issue. A big issue.

Sheep Path

Right lane drivers with the steering wheel on the left, such as Americans, instinctively locate themselves in space with the predominant mass of their car to the right. To their left is a door, no more. However, when driving a left lane vehicle with the steering wheel on the right, the predominant mass of the car extends far out into a space that North Americans instinctively and, In Ireland, mistakenly treat as empty space. Big mistake. Especially on “N” roads and, most certainly, sheep paths this space when not respected can quickly fill up with stone walls, curbs, branches and parked vehicles.

After taking a few left lane practice laps around Shannon Airport in the early dawn light I decide the time has arrived to embrace the task at hand. We set out for our destination, the Corrib House, a charming B&B in the center of Galway. We have anticipated the traditional inclement Irish weather. We have not been disappointed. The rain is heavy, the wind stiff. We set out on the M and R category roads leading to Galway. Left lane driving eases into my conscious awareness. Elaine’s reminders help.

As we approach our destination the journey into downtown Galway affords me an excellent opportunity to hone my spatial awareness in a vibrant urban environment. Said another way, the center of town clearly struggles to accommodate cars, broad beamed transit buses and six-axle semis that loom like Australian outback truck trains. The charming but tightly packed city squeezes this all into a claustrophobic tangle of back alley size streets. Corners and curbs snug up to the road affording little room for error. When walking close to the curb one instinctively ducks from fear of being decapitated by a bus mirror. I am increasingly comforted by our bumper to bumper insurance decision.

Though we arrive well before check-in, the Corrib House staff demonstrate an extraordinary level of service. As housekeeping hustles to get our room ready in advance of normal check-in time, staff brings out coffee and tea to our car. Across our time in Ireland we would find the superior level of hospitality and congeniality exhibited by the Corrib House staff to be in evidence across the vast majority of our journey’s B&B experiences.

With our luggage stowed in our room and a splendid breakfast dispelling our travel fatigue, we eagerly set out in search of adventure. We first headed north to historic Aughnanure Castle and with it an unnerving introduction to Irish back roads. Leading to the castle a lengthy and narrow road acquainted me with a quintessential sheep path. Certainly it would not be the last. Briars and brambles eagerly awaited for me to drift too far off center. Elaine’s not infrequent reflexive screams served as a reminder that I had yet to master an accurate perception of my vehicle’s relationship to the world around me. They reminded me as well of my great relief at having decided on the maximum insurance as the clawing branches attacked my rented Romanian Dacia from both sides. I would soon be even more grateful for my maximum insurance coverage.

Departing the castle after an impressive presentation by Gilles the docent, I again suffered through the same gauntlet of dense clawing roadside branches. To my relief I sensed my driving skills had improved as Elaine’s vocal outbursts have ceased. I felt relieved. My confidence elevated. As I turned to smile at her I realized she had simply clamped her eyes shut to avoid the stress. I drove on.

Roundstone

With the castle fading from view we turned our attention to the delightful Atlantic fishing village of Roundstone, population 231. Cutting a narrow path through the bay side center of town Route R341 offers little in the way of shoulder room for passing cars. So on this day a driver chose to park on the left lane next to the shops and away from the water. Heading east I had to swing out around his intrusion into the narrow two lane. A car quickly approached from the other direction. I cut back in after passing the parked car giving the oncoming car plenty of room and time. My front left wheel however, found a curb that extended out after the parked car. Ka-thump! Up, over and back down. Annoyed at myself, I soldiered on. No harm No foul, I thought. Fwap! Fwap! Fwap. Damn! Flat tire. I limped off the road. Just them a young fellow in an E46 BMW pulled down his driveway to the edge of R341. He left his car, walked over and offered to help. Just then a friend of his pulled up and offered help as well. What great guys. In short order we had the spare on, but no hubcap. That remained long gone back down the road at the impact zone. Elaine was upset. I was annoyed at myself. I pulled over by a stone wall by the left side of the road just to reset.

To paraphrase the movie “Cool Hand Luke. What we had here was a failure to navigate. A centuries old stone wall awarded me a resounding “F” in spatial awareness as my front left fender grazed its ragged face. I now had added a gashed front fender to a brush scared left side and a spare on the front with no hubcap. AHHRRRGGG! I would, now, for the remainder of our journey be condemned to drive wearing the American tourist driver “Badge of Shame.” I felt like Hester Prynne in the “Top Gear” version of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Scarlet Letter.” The only bright spot? Feeling really happy about that bumper to bumper insurance now. Hell, I figured we could go off-roading in the Irish moors and have nothing to lose. Thinking better of the idea, I opted to stay on plan. We spent our final day on foot walking about Galway with our dented Dacia cosseted in an 24-hour parking lot. We toured the magnificent Galway Cathedral. I thanked God for Elaine’s advocating the full insurance coverage. Rain and wind greeted us the next day as we turned our sights on the green fields and ocean views of Killarney in County Kerry.

Heading south, our scarred but intrepid little Dacia performed admirably despite the punishing rain and wind. Considering the wretched weather we thought better of visiting the storied Cliffs of Moher. Enduring buffeting wind gusts while poised at the precipice of towering cliffs seemed neither appealing nor wise. Next stop the lovely and highly regarded Killeen House Hotel, a charming gem of a country retreat on the outskirts of Killarney.

Killarney

Reaching Killarney, breathtakingly beautiful landscapes welcomed us as we departed the main roads. Breathtaking describes as well the narrow country roads snugged up against thick stone walls that have endured centuries of assaults by man and beast. Our valiant but small Romanian Dacia, had no chance in a roadside face off. Elaine again took this opportunity to rest her eyes. Having arrived, we found ourselves welcomed by an absolutely top notch staff. Hotel manager Michael, and staff members Xhirsi (Pronounced “Jersey:) and Egli treat us like visiting family throughout our stay. Resting in our room Elaine and I made the second great out of character decision of our trip.

Dingle Peninsula

The town of Dingle and the Dingle Peninsula rated high on our to do list. However, for some of the more beautiful sights, guide books cautioned as to the challenge of some roads accessing these areas. As it would be near impossible for Elaine to enjoy these world class vistas with her eyes clamped shut, we decided on treating ourselves to an uncharacteristic indulgence. This decision proved as rewarding as our choice of insurance coverage. We parked the Dacia. We hired a driver for the day.

Joseph Long the driver & Elaine

Nine-thirty the following morning Joseph Long cordially greeted us in the lobby. His immaculate black Mercedes-Benz waited outside to take us where Joseph almost psychically knew where we would want to go. Like sucking on a Xanax ice pop, with Joseph at the wheel stress levels plummeted. We explored mountain roads demanding passing cars cling to a hillside to allow others to pass. Like a seasoned race car driver, he has driven this track before and he knew it.

Subsequent days found us visiting castles and manor houses. We took horse cart rides into the hills and stumbled upon seasoned shepherds barking out orders to skilled border collies as they herded the sheep down from the hills to narrow roads leading home there to be sorted and brought to market. The total experience proved glorious and ever so worthwhile. The roads can present a challenge, but they need not. Other modes of transportation and touring are available. Consider Ireland a gift that can be unwrapped in many ways.

Leaving Killarney we headed north to Trim for the wedding. Four hours on M and N roads presented no challenges. Once there our little Romanian road warrior spent the time in the Trim Castle Hotel underground garage. A hotel full of family and new friends provided no reason to roam.

A rainy Tuesday and a traffic jammed rush hour Motorway had Waze redirect us on an alternate route to the Dublin Airport. It afforded us a final taste of all four categories of Irish roads. My driving skills had improved considerably. Elaine quietly watched with her eyes open all the way.

Cecilia, my friendly Hertz check-in girl scanned the car, photographed the damage, accepted the receipt for the new tire, confirmed the full fuel tank and wished me a good day.

Her parting words, “Don’t give it another thought.” I would not. I smiled.