Most travelers don’t get out here, they stay in Cork and then go somewhere easy to get to, like Doolan or the Cliffs of Moher.
I had a license. And a car, my very own. And OK, it was a provisional license so I had to have a big sticker with a red ‘L’ on the back windshield. Embarrassing. Still, you would think driving here was no big deal. But getting up the nerve meant gritting your teeth and taking a deep breath. Every time. The thing is, I was sitting on the opposite side of the car than I was used to, driving on the opposite side of the road.
Out here in the western part of County Cork, some potholes as wide as a passenger’s seat appear as soon as you take the roundabout turn towards the southwest. There are other inhibitions to driving, too, like heavy-duty lorries passing at what used to seem like ungodly speeds.
But driving confidence in west Cork comes when you start getting the hang of “talking” to other drivers:
- an index finger to greet an oncomer,
- blink an indicator light once to let someone behind know it’s safe to pass,
- hit your emergency blinkers twice to thank someone who’s let you go on ahead.
What signs?
Don’t count on any street signs, and if you’re lost in the backcountry, good luck. Directions I remember once to get to a friend’s place: “There’s a big turn in the road, then a dip, then a big tree.”
Downhill from the farm
Still, you know you can do this. Even when the rain is “fierce,” you’ve done it before. Don’t worry, you tell yourself. Nice and easy. It’s with this picture in mind—a comfortable, safe drive ahead—that you make your first descent. Clutch in. Gear in. And crawl slowly down the hill from the Shepperton farmhouse—the place some friends say they still think of as “your house.”
Climb down the dirt hill past the daffodils that smile at us at the top of every spring, past the neighbor’s dogs skirting about our blue Opel like it’s a big wayward cow, and out, down, slow and steady to the T that our drive makes with the road. Oh, wait, it’s not a T at all. It’s more of an L, with a very sharp angle, so angled in fact, it’s invisible if you approach from the city. You’ll miss it if you’re not in the know. Pause to check for oncomers.
Casual conversation might go something like, “Say, are the swans on the lake today?”
“Yes.”
“Grand.”
A quick look at the hills beyond while cars are or aren’t passing. Shall we go to Skibb town today? Left. Or are we up for a little drive? That would mean a hard right, to Clonakilty where they have those nice new restaurants (is Gleason’s still there?) Or maybe further up, to Cork city, for take-out from Jumbo, the best Chinese restaurant in the world, and a movie at the Kino.
Clutch in. Gear in. Right turn, in anticipation of Leap, Rosscarbery, Clonakilty, Bandon, and Innishannon before Cork, just for the sake of adventure. Clutch in. Gear up, up, and up.
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