Day 12 - Belfast to Dublin - projected distance 105 miles.

Hundred-mile rides shouldn't really hold any great fear for me, but there is something special about a 'century' ride which carries a certain sense of gravity. I was slightly nervous as I munched my way through two large bowls of cereal in the hotel room this morning. I set off at half past eight, a little earlier than usual.

As usual, I punched my destination into my Garmin GPS, generally a wonderful and reliable aide. Not today though. It was reluctant to calculate a route at all, and when it did, it suggested a 249-mile route to Dublin. I thought it best to ignore the GPS and to consult my map. I did have some trouble finding my way out of Belfast city centre (where Sarah and the children were off to see the murals on Falls Road and Shankill Road), but I eventually picked up the road for Lisburn.

The obvious route down to Newry was the busy A1 dual carriageway. Not scenic, and not enjoyable, but I needed a direct route and this was it. I stayed on the A1 for a couple of hours, finally turning off a few miles before Dundalk, and into the Louth countryside. On the way through Dundalk I stopped at a pharmacy to buy a tub of Sudocrem (don't ask), and found the price was in euros - the first indication that I had crossed back into the Republic. As was the case when travelling north, there is no physical border and no need for a passport.

I was pleased to see that the Dundalk Institute of Technology had its own wind turbine - practising what it preaches perhaps - and across the road was a sign proclaiming the temperature to be 26 degrees. The sun was shining all day long, but I'm not sure it was ever quite that warm.

The attractive village of Castlebellingham saw 70 miles come up on the Garmin, a reminder to stop at a Centra to refuel on flavoured milk, bananas, and chocolate. From the massive array of confectionery available, I've been choosing Bounty bars, but I really prefer the dark chocolate ones which are less common. After quite a few days visiting branches of Centra, I consider myself an experienced Bounty hunter.

Approaching Drogheda I overtook a couple of cyclists and spoke to them as I went past. We had a brief friendly chat - actually the first I've had with any other cyclists on this trip. There really are very few on the roads: very different from Bristol, where cyclists are extremely prominent both in and out of the city. I took a quick detour into Drogheda which seemed like a busy town, and more prosperous than many I've visited. It had a fine church along the main street, as well as the usual temples of retailing.

Next it was on to the R108, a pretty country route used by as many tractors as cars. The fields were busy with activity. Unfortunately my lack of knowledge about farming prevents me from describing it very well. My wife, who has listened to The Archers for many years, would have a much better idea of what was going on. I stayed on the R108 for a few miles, enjoying the views but cursing the hills. After 90 miles my legs didn't really need the inclines.

The scenery remained largely agricultural until I got quite close to Dublin. It was only when I turned on to the main street in Swords that the surroundings suddenly became more urban. My route into Dublin took me past the airport and past the Croke Park sports stadium, where Sarah and the children had gone for a tour. From there it was straight into the city centre, against the commuter traffic, and to our hotel just off O'Connell Street. My final reading for the day's ride was 111.8 miles, and it was hilly too. I climbed over 4000 feet today, which is easily the most of any day in Ireland so far.

Clearly there was only one thing to do after such a big ride - head for some pasta and a Guinness. We managed to find a pub with music that allowed children in, and Flora entertained everyone with her dancing. I'm not sure now who has the more tired legs.