Singletrack

Plenty o’green here in Ireland. That’s for sure.
Spirits were high as we convened in the small car park at the
wonderfully named Happy Valley, with a ‘schoolboys on the
skive’ vibe and a hazy heat in the air. Caolan fretted over
the diminishing blue skies and the ensuing impact on photo
quality, but cheered himself by messing around with camera
gear while we tentatively picked our way over the stile and on
to the crumbling turf.
Landscape shots in the bag, we commenced the ride
proper, contouring round the base of Meelmore mountain on
a techy, off-camber trail that split into multiple lines round
boulders and dried bogs. As part of the fully signposted
‘Mourne Way’ section of the epic 625-mile Ulster Way
route, a more defined path could be expected, but smaller
populations mean that even our honeypots are often quiet,
and we encountered nobody as we tracked the wall around the
hillside into the next valley.
Mourne granite is internationally renowned for its quality
and our classic ride would take advantage of several historical
quarry tracks, the first of which led us down the Trassey
Valley with spectacular views of the High Mournes at our
backs. Terrain here is a treacherous mix of loose marbles and
babies’ heads and the jolting direction changes caused shots
of pain in a shoulder joint I was protecting with a stiff overemphasis
on my remaining good arm. Nevertheless, us crocks
were delighted to be riding again and pleasantly surprised at
our progress, half expecting to have packed in before even
reaching this point.
A speedy downhill scoot saw us depart the open
mountain and enter Tollymore Forest, passing the King’s
Grave, an ancient burial site that was one of several local
spots to feature in Game of Thrones, responsible for initiating
a spate of hit TV series and Hollywood blockbusters being
filmed here in the forest. A right turn at Maria’s Bridge
and a punchy fire road climb awoke the lungs before the
tantalisingly technical rise on to the New Park hilltop. This
ascent is a favoured test-piece, usually tortuous and greasy, on
this day the elaborate criss-cross of roots had grip to burn and
all four of us emerged dab-free for a quick stop to admire the
split granite summit tors of the aptly named Slieve Bearnagh,
Irish for ‘mountain of the gap’.
This section of the forest is alive with luscious deep greens
as the springy moss creeps up the surrounding trunks with
numerous strips of brown stretching enticingly between.
Selecting one, we dived down in, flowing over the rolling
ground, shafts of daylight breaking through the branches,
creating shadows on the rocky features.
This is quintessential woodland singletrack, the kind
that adorns magazine covers and leaves you itching to
ride whenever glanced at. Feeling truly fortunate to live in
proximity to this dream terrain, our ailments were temporarily
forgotten, no jarring hits on this smooth ribbon to break the
trance, and smiles were beaming as we spat back out on to the
fire road.
Hill of Death, er, of bitey death.
Happy conversation masked the pain and monotony of the
locally monikered ‘hill of death’ and we paused at the summit
for pictures and a breather.
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