Woke up all ready for a nice calm medium length ride and found a flat.
The damage I did at that last triathlon had returned. The wound in the kevlar I found last weekend had fallen victim to some debris I picked up yesterday. I’ve ordered a new tire, but it hasn’t arrived yet.
So I took off the old tire, pulled out the tube, found the leak was in the same place. Checked the liner there for any junk that’s going to hurt the next tube and cleaned the frame.
I have the my front tire died and my new one hasn’t arrived yet blues. A friend suggested there’s a song for that:
That song applies even when the bike is in working order..
It is slow here. Have you noticed? July is slow. I am doing other things, like catching up on old posts and catching up on email — there’s a special filter in my email called “You thought you were done, but no” — and catching up on other important things.
Plus, none of it, so far, is terribly exciting. I’m riding and running, but that’s about it. So July is slow. (Not unlike my riding and running.) Have you noticed?
But I did want to say this: One year ago today I was having surgery, getting titanium and screws, thank you very much, because 53 weeks ago today I was falling, destroying my collarbone, hurting my shoulder and whacking my head on asphalt.
So after a year of that: six months of fuzzy memories — and some periods I just don’t really recall at all — and lots of travel for work and pleasure, physical therapy, impatience and somewhat starting to feel like myself again, finally starting to ride again and wondering, for months, if I was ever going to really feel like myself again … I kinda do.
I still have some muscular issues in my shoulder, but I carry stress there anyway. I have, on occasion, finally started to notice the absence of pain in my collarbone. The surgeon said six months to a year, but I’d given up on all of that.
Last month, though, for about an hour one day while snorkeling, I realized that nothing was hurting. And it had been 11 months since I could say that. Nothing. Hurt. (It is hard to pry me out of the water anyway, but I almost willfully got left behind that day. The absence of pain is a pretty incredible feeling on its own.)
This week I’ve noticed a few times where I have to willfully turn my attention to my shoulder and my collarbone. Are you still there? I don’t think I notice you right now.
This dawned on me last night. Delightful progress.
Of course right now that section of my upper body is singing the tune I’ve come to know so well this year. It has been that kind of year.
But it is getting better. It isn’t perfect, but it is better.
We decided this morning that our current host is like the Irish grandmother we didn’t know we had. The rooms are a bit small, and the WiFi has the curious ability to stop at our front door, but it is clean. The gentleman of the house, Tim, is a retired police officer. His guardia station can be seen from the dining room window. A 30 second commute, he said. Mrs. Eileen made a delicious breakfast and fussed over us continually. One of the other current guests, she said, has been coming to visit her every year for a decade. It isn’t especially hard to see why. You’re just dropping by to spend a night or two with an old friend here. It is lovely.
We went out for a bicycle ride today. Here was our route, zoom in and follow along:
This is just under two miles into the ride and we’re just getting started. We met some nice folks from the D.C. area and swapped pictures with them. Figured it would be the sort of thing where we leap frogged one another all day, but we only saw them one more time.
Here’s a lovely little waterfall we found in Ventry, just under five miles into the ride:
That waterfall is very close to the Dunbeg Fort, or Dun Beag, which is dated to about 2,500 years old. There’s a sign here that quotes National Geographic “one of the very few oldest historical monuments that we have left in this planet.”
So, being history nerds, we started counting things older. Never mind that now, though:
She does handstands at forts and on beaches and other interesting places:
And planks. (She’s taking them back.)
The fort consists of four ditches and five mounds, with dry stone masonry. It was originally a straight rampart, but later work made it circular. There were guardhouses and the remains of a square Clochaun, a dry-stone hut with a corbelled roof, a building technique common in this part of the country’s history. There is also a Souterrain, or a manmade cave if you like, that likely dates to the Iron Age. It was probably used for storage, refuge and passageway.
There’s an active geological fault here, the signs say, which has contributed to some erosion of the original earthworks.
And various reasonable yoga poses, merging old forts with old fitness disciplines in the world. Because she can:
Off to the other side of Dun Beag:
These next several are in the Slea Head area, when we were about 10 miles into the ride. Adam is beginning to think this activity disagrees with him:
Here’s a little more local history:
Is this not the coolest piece of road? A different version of this picture is going into the headers on this page and is presently the image on my home page, too:
We took a lunch break at the Great Blasket Centre, which is full of hardscrabble history. There’s still quite a bit of ancient Gaelic culture in this area, they say.
We found the Reasc Monastery about 20 miles into our journey. It is thought to date to the 6th century and featured seven of those Clochaun huts, six of which were arranged in pairs for the monks’ residences, you’ve just learned a bit about. There is a graveyard with 42 graves and the remains of a slab shrine.
There was a small church oratory here, of course. The area around it was used as a children’s burial ground after the monastery was abandoned.
It is important to note, when you see those Clochauns, or beehive huts, that the re-creations, or remains, honor an important part of the shared European heritage. During the dark ages, places like these huts were where the educated people, typically high ranking church members, lived. These were the people that played a significant role in keeping literacy alive.
You can peer at the walls of the monastery and see what was original and what had been reconstructed by archeologists. (There was a tarpaper layer noting the difference.) And if you wonder where the original stones went, my guess would be into the walls that mark pastures everywhere. here.
At least 10 of these types of slab stones have been recovered from the site. The cross inscriptions of the Reask stones also feature spiral designs and the letters DNE, which you can only barely make out here perhaps. The abbreviation is for Domine, which is Latin for “O Lord.”
This is the Kilmalkedar church, a 12th century structure on a sight that is religiously important back to at least the 7th century. Some of the artifacts here go well beyond that, even. The Hiberno-Romanesque church includes a nave and chancel. The chancel is thought to have been a later addition. The Saint’s Road, a pilgrimage trail to Mount Brandon, passes between the church and the nearby house of St Brendan. There’s a prominent medieval cemetery here, a sundial, cross slabs and this holed ogham stone.
Some literature suggests that stone had been there nine centuries before the church went up, some of the engravings support that idea. It marked a grave, which has suggested that this was holy ground even in the pre-Christian era. The hole was drilled through so people could come to seal a deal—standing on the graves of their ancestors and in front of the house of God by touching thumbs through this stone. People renew their wedding vows there, too.
You go into the church through this romanesque doorway. It has three orders and a round head with a projecting hood made from red and green stone. The keystone is a carved head. As we learned at Cashel these head carvings often had a role in warding off evil spirits. So perhaps this one was a sentry as well:
We finished our ride with a long, easy 300 foot climb as the sun set over Smerwick Harbor. In 1580 600 Italian and Spanish troops (sent by the pope to aid a rebellion) surrendered here to the English, and were slaughtered for their trouble. Have a nice day!
Here are several extra shots from the day’s ride, mixed with music we heard with dinner last night:
We coasted back into Dingle town, got back to our B&B and cleaned up for dinner at The Dingle Pub. After all of that bike riding, 29 miles and almost 1,000 feet of climbing, on rental bikes he was beat. He kept saying “I do not know what is happening.”
We also saw Westminster Abbey today. Made it just in time for a tour and a beautiful evensong service. I did not take pictures inside — this is the first time I’ve ever abided by that rule — but I did make a recording. You can hear it in the video below:
Had my first ever fish and chips today. Don’t know what took so long. I like fish. I like fries …
We went to this place, which came well recommended. And it was very good.
And now we’re going to get historical and nerdy. I hope you’ll indulge me.
Today we visited the highly regarded and “You must go see” the Churchill War Rooms. Here’s the entrance, which is little more than a landing and a staircase underground. This is where Winston Churchill met with his war leaders during World War II. This was where the British ran their war from 1939 until 1945. It was reopened by Margaret Thatcher in 1984.
Generals and high ranking civilians and Royal Marines worked and lived down there. Previously it was a basement store, but was converted in 1938. Churchill’s name is on the name of the place, but he actually didn’t like it.
This is the first thing you see, is this authentic 500-pound German bomb. During 1940, in the height of the Blitz, the roof of the underground workspace was augmented with a steel-reinforced concrete layer. People in the area had no idea.
The tour is self-guided. They give you the device with the keypad and speaker and you just listen and linger at your own speed. I lingered slowly. Here is the cabinet room. They’d all meet here. That oak chair in the center back was where Churchill sat:
These rooms, with few exceptions, returned to storage after the war. But they were meticulously restored for museum purposes. Someone thought to take highly detailed photographs when the war room was still in service and the Imperial War Museums rebuilt the entire facility. It feels incredibly immersive, too.
This little room was the living quarters of Brendan Bracken, the minister of information. Bracken founded the modern Financial Times and was briefly the First Lord of the Admiralty. George Orwell worked for him. Bracken was the inspiration for Big Brother. He died of cancer in 1958.
This was Sir Edward Bridges’ room. A captain in World War I, Bridges became a senior official in the British civil service. After the war he was named Permanent Secretary to the Treasury and Head of the Home Civil Service. He was knighted in 1965 and died four years later, at 77.
Clementine Churchill, the prime minister’s wife, slept here. This feels about diagonally opposite of his room.
Other bedrooms belonged to Maj. Sir Desmond Morton (who was shot in the heart during World War I and still served, with the bullet lodged inside him), Cdr. Tommy Thompson and others. Secretaries and others working in the war rooms carried sheets with them and slept wherever they found a space.
This is an authentic map hanging in the Chiefs of Staff conference room. Note the Hitler graffiti.
Speaking of maps, try this one, which marked the battle lines. Just to the west of those white pins, about three-quarters up their path, is where my great-grandfather was wounded in the Battle of the Bulge.
Here’s the code for that map:
This map was in the map convoy room. This is the eastern seaboard section of a world map that ran the width of the room. Each day the location of Allied convoys were updated here. Note the hundreds of pinholes.
Some of the original electrical equipment:
Some of the keys that ran the joint:
Keys for these doors were there. But you don’t really know what these rooms were for. Some mysteries remain secret:
And now some kitchen shots. This is where all of the food was made for the people in the war rooms:
I went back, after our own snack lunch in the museum’s cafeteria, to take these individual shots. A group of students were working their way through. One said “I thought Churchill was rich?”
Time changes perspective on a lot of things.
Right after them came a group of six older folks. One said “We had one of those. Do you remember those?” Another, looking at this black stove, said “We had three of those. One was for the help.”
See those three stacked cans on the shelf? That was corn beef sold by Libby, McNeill & Libby, an American concern. They were founded in Chicago in the 19th century and were also canning fruits and vegetables by the time war broke out. By 1960 Libby’s had annual revenues of $296 million. As with everything, there have been corporate changes. Swift & Company sold to Seneca Foods in 1982. Nestlé picked it up a few years later. Then, just before the turn of the century came ConAgra to take over canned meats. The nectar side of the business was picked up by Tequesta Foods three years ago.
And they’re sitting there in the British war rooms kitchen. Corned beef in the famous trapezoidal can. That wasn’t what Churchill ate. He preferred prime rib.
Tea? I’d just like everything to be labeled like this, please.
Bread? Not a big fan of the drop shadow font here. I wonder how authentic that is to the time. Anyone?
Whitbread started as a brewery in 1742 on the outskirts of London. They got in to coffee and then at the start of the 21st century dropped beer and pubs for the hotel and restaurant industry.
Sand. For fires and such:
A propaganda poster in one of the secretarial areas:
A scramble phone in one of the bedrooms:
This wax mannequin is manning the radio system. From here the prime minister could speak to the BBC and, thus, the world:
And here’s where Churchill delivered those speeches. This was his room and office. Supposedly the items here are authentic. When they closed the war rooms this was one of the few areas that were left untouched.
That’s Churchill’s bed. But he seldom stayed there. Hated it, remember? Had to put on the brave British front. He actually watched the London bombings from the roof above. History records that Churchill spent three nights here. And countless naps. The man loved his naps.
The man also loved his maps. Here’s a legend he kept in his room:
This clocked in at 1,000 words and 31 pictures. And there’s still more to go for the day …
