Day 10 - Ballybofey to Ballymoney - projected distance 62 miles.

Rain again this morning as I set off as an international traveller, an hour away from the border with Northern Ireland. Before that, I passed through the confused village of Castlefin/Castlefinn. The place name on the left-hand side of the road spelled it with two 'n's, and the sign on the right-hand side of the road with just one. I spent a good quarter of an hour speculating as to why. Perhaps the village elders just couldn't agree. Or perhaps the signwriters were unsure, and decided to go for one of each, reasoning that it was better to be at least half right.

Armed with my passport, I was ready for the border crossing when I noticed, just past the turning for Lifford, that the road signs were more familiar, and one had a big round '50' speed limit. There isn't actually a physical border at all any more: not even a 'welcome to Northern Ireland sign.' This was quite a surprise. Entering the next village, Ballymagarry, any doubts I might have had about which country I was in were soon dispelled. Union flags were flying from every lampost. Such strident claims of allegiance to the union, common across this region it seems, also came as a shock.

There were some other small signs that this had once been a more tense border region. Within a few miles I was overtaken by two police Land Rovers, fully decked out in riot shields, and the road signs changed from Derry to Londonderry. Generally though, the area north of the border seemed little different - still fairly agricultural, and with a good smattering of Centra and Costcutter foodstores in the towns.

I passed by Londonderry on the far side of the river. It is the UK's only walled town, so I would have liked to have taken a detour, but I was on the clock today, keen to arrive at our B&B in good time for an afternnon trip to The Giant's Causeway.

Before that, I had some repair work to do, using my first patch from my puncture repair kit. Not to repair a puncture though. No. Stopping to wipe the rain from my glasses for the umpteenth time today, I managed to break one of the arms of my glasses. The puncture repair patch did the job and held the frame together for the rest of the day, thank goodness. I can switch to another pair tomorrow.

Turning off the busy A2 to Coleraine on to some smaller roads, I turned right at the aptly-named Windyhill roundabout, on to Windyhill Road. This was almost a highland road, providing the challenge of a decent climb, made harder by the wind. There was very little traffic on this cross-country road, which was probably just as well as my bike moved around in the gusts. In spite of the crosswinds I managed to hit 44mph on the way down and into Coleraine.

Coleraine was smaller than I thought it would be, but with some amenities and some familiar British retail names along its high street, HMV and Sports Direct amongst them. I noticed some signs for speed cameras as I left the town - another reminder of the joys of being back in the UK.

As we've travelled north over the last couple of days I've noticed a sharp change in the local accent. It has changed from a soft southern Irish burr to the harsh northern Irish accent many of us became used to from the BBC political correspondent John Cole. I have a real problem understanding the accent when people speak quickly, although I've also noticed some similarities with the Scots accent. This evening our waitress invited us to "choose a wee table for four." Of course the northern Irish do have close links to Scotland, ethnically and geographically. We are nearly as far north now as Glasgow.

This afternoon we were at one of the northernmost points of the country - at The Giant's Causeway. This UNESCO World Heritage Site is an extraordinary place to visit. Its 38,000 basalt columns are the result of ancient volcanic activity. Most of them are hexagonal, formed by solidified lava which has cooled and cracked. It's a cracking sight, and almost unique. There are some similar basalt columns at Fingal's Cave in Scotland, a connection that has given rise to a legend of the giant Finn MacCool who challenged his Scottish rival Benandonner and then tricked him so that he ran back to Scotland in a fright, ripping up the causeway behind him.