Day 5 - Adare to Ballyvaughan - projected distance 70 miles

A grey morning greeted us after a slightly fitful night's sleep. Still, it didn't take long for the day to take on some colour, as we shuffled across the gravel to the surreal experience of taking breakfast in the garden centre restaurant next to the B&B.

Having spent some time drying my shoes from yesterday's rain with a hair dryer, I decided to take no chances today and to don my overshoes. These are industrial-looking rubber affairs that make me look as though I'm about to go deep-sea diving, but they do the job. With a chill in the air, I put on a base layer as well under my cycling jersey, so I was all ready for what the weather had to throw at me. I set off towards the Atlantic coast while Sarah took the children to Bunratty Castle.

First main target en route today was Ireland's third largest city. If you're not sure which city, here's a clue:

There was a good man called McHattie
Determined not to get fatty;
He could think of no way fairer
Than cycling around Eire,
But his friends all thought he was batty.

Ah, yes, Limerick. The name conjures up lovely images of grinning leprechauns and jaunty souls, but the reality doesn't quite match up. Cycling through the city centre it seemed like a largely uninspiring city, and I have read that it has some social problems. I had no problems in Limerick though - it was later in the day that the trouble started.

The R471 seems like a nice enough road. It undulates gently and the tarmac is smooth. There's very little traffic, but plenty of farms to pass to observe some activity. Until, that is, the dog attacks start. I had read in Jane Tomlinson's books about her suffering from dog attacks while riding through the US, but it has never happened to me before. It is very unnerving when you are pedalling along at a steady 15-20mph, past a farm gate, when suddently - from the side - a big dog, barking wildly, launches itself in your direction. The first one was a stayer. I accelerated in fright, which only encouraged him more, until I finally hit a downhill section and was able to leave him panting in the middle of the road. I had just recovered from the shock when, cresting a hill, it happened again. By now my nerves were shredded, and in my haste to get away I jabbed at my gear levers, yanking them pretty hard. That's when my front gear cable snapped.

By now I just wanted to get off the R471, but there was no way I was going to stop to examine a map, or my gears. I managed to avoid a third dog - just - by zipping past him quickly as he ran out into the road. Now my task was to find a bike shop. I still had ten gears, but I couldn't shift up onto the big front ring, which limited my speed.

I passed a few small towns, scanning the high streets for bike shops without success, before I came to Ennis. I stopped and asked a local lady if there was a bike shop in town, and she gave me some directions. I found the bike shop and wandered in. They were great. The mechanic fitted a new gear cable in ten minutes flat, and then we had a chat about my bike, as he doesn't see many Italian racing bikes in Ennis.

Nine euro later (the plural for euro in Ireland is euro, not euros), I was back on the road and able to change gears merrily once more. I needed them as I climbed up to The Burren (meaning 'great rock') which really was an unexpected pleasure. The landscape changed very quickly to one more like Dartmoor - The Burren is a rocky limestone plateau with some dramatic geology. It has some dramatic rainfall as well, and as I got another soaking I was glad of those overshoes.

This evening we set off down the coast to the Cliffs of Moher, reputedly Ireland's most-visited tourist attraction - with good reason. Rising 214 metres out of the Atlantic Ocean, the cliffs are truly spectacular - even more memorable than the gaping jaws of the R471 hounds. Our photos may not do them justice.