With the hour changing next weekend, it’s time to put the good bike away for the winter — dry roads are already a distant memory, and every ride leaves a rime of grit and leaf mould on the drivetrain. Last Sunday I pulled the fixed-gear out of the shed, chipped away the thick crust of agricultural filth remaining from the spring, and drenched the chain in thick, green lubricant.
The following day I took it for a shake-out ride along the Strawberry Beds. Hugging the north bank of the Liffey, it’s a beautiful stretch of road, the slow-moving river glinting in the sunshine. Nonetheless, I rarely ride it because, in a remarkable feat of road engineering, the council have managed to squeeze no fewer than twenty-six speed bumps into a distance of 2.5km, with another four as an amuse-bouche when you join the road at the Knockmarroon Hill. The velvet smoothness of the tarmac in between them comes more as a taunt than a relief.
Gingerly checking that I still had all my teeth, I stopped into Coffee Works in Lucan village. It was fairly thrumming with activity on a Monday morning, the tables inside and out filled with people deep in conversation. Points awarded for checking whether I wanted the espresso in a ceramic cup (yes, always yes…espresso is a paper cup is an offence in the eyes of God) and giving me a glass of water to accompany it. The roast (courtesy of Groundwork from Celbridge) was a bit dark for my taste, but their hearts are clearly in the right place and I finished the rest of the ride with a song in my heart.
I suspect many Dubliners are unaware of quite how much the city is sheltered from rain and wind by the arc of mountains to the south-west. But every cyclist knows that no matter how sunny and still it may be when you leave your house, thirty minutes later you can be battling through sideways rain against a malevolent wind bent on your destruction. If you can feel the breeze down in the city, it’ll be a gale up at Sally Gap.
Thus it was with some trepidation that I watched the wind merrily tossing the leaves around the back garden as I ate my breakfast on Thursday morning. I headed up Stocking Lane more in hope than expectation, the calm in the lee of the hill offering fertile ground for self-deception. But there was no hiding from the truth when I got to the Featherbeds, unpredictable gusts aggressively shoving the handlebars left and right. I staged a tactical retreat down the Glencree valley.
There was a long line at the Bear Paw in Enniskerry (more power to them) so I pushed on to Mugg Uggly. Tucked away behind Glencairn LUAS stop, Mugg Uggly is an oasis of conviviality in a desert of blank suburban roads and newbuild apartment blocks. Screened by trees and high walls, you could imagine yourself far outside the city, the roar of the traffic a muted and distant. The espresso was good enough that I can overlook (if not entirely forgive) the paper cup and the terrible name. While these autumn days stay mild enough to sit outside, it’s hard to imagine a better place to stop.