{"id":2294,"date":"2026-07-24T17:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-07-24T16:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/?p=2294"},"modified":"2026-07-23T08:30:00","modified_gmt":"2026-07-23T07:30:00","slug":"at-79-he%ca%bcs-cycling-every-greenway-in-the-country-this-summer-and-rating-the-cafes-as-he-goes-%ca%bcthe-old-rail-trail%ca%bcs-the-flattest-and-the-scones-the-best%ca%bc","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/at-79-he%ca%bcs-cycling-every-greenway-in-the-country-this-summer-and-rating-the-cafes-as-he-goes-%ca%bcthe-old-rail-trail%ca%bcs-the-flattest-and-the-scones-the-best%ca%bc\/","title":{"rendered":"At 79 he\u02bcs cycling every greenway in the country this summer and rating the caf\u00e9s as he goes \u2014 \u02bcthe Old Rail Trail\u02bcs the flattest and the scones the best\u02bc"},"content":{"rendered":"

He starts at dawn with a mug<\/strong> of tea and a folded<\/strong> map, the day sketched in pencil and optimism. By the time most of us are scrolling our phones<\/strong>, he\u2019s already tracing green threads across the country<\/strong>, hunting for well-poured coffees and perfectly buttered scones<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

At 79, he pedals with purpose<\/strong>, not haste, greeting hedgerows and rivers with a nod<\/strong>, and caf\u00e9 counters with a veteran critic\u2019s eye<\/strong>. \u201cMileage is grand<\/strong>,\u201d he says, \u201cbut a good slice of cake<\/strong> can make a mile feel twice as sweet<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The man and the map<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

His name is Michael<\/strong>, and his plan is enthrallingly simple<\/strong>: ride every greenway he can reach this summer<\/strong>, scribble notes about the coffee and chat<\/strong>, and stitch a season into one long<\/strong> memory. He works in penciled<\/strong> arrows, not GPS, and trusts his legs more than any algorithm<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI like when a trail whispers history<\/strong>,\u201d he adds, pointing at a mossed bridge<\/strong>, \u201cand when a caf\u00e9 remembers your name<\/strong> by the second visit<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

A summer on easy gradients<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

Michael moves like weather: Waterford<\/strong> to Dungarvan one week<\/strong>, Westport to Achill the next<\/strong>, with pauses at Mullingar, Athlone, and Rathkeale<\/strong> strung between. The Royal Canal Greenway<\/strong> gives him miles to think; the Great Western Greenway<\/strong> gives him hills to taste<\/strong>. He calls the Limerick path a \u201cgreen corridor<\/strong> of cattle and cloud,\u201d and the South East Greenway<\/strong> \u201ca river of rusty memories<\/strong> turned smooth as slate<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He rides early to avoid<\/strong> crowds, late to meet locals<\/strong>, and always, always, stops where the windows steam<\/strong> and the pastries gleam<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

How the caf\u00e9 ratings work<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not a snob<\/strong>,\u201d Michael insists, \u201cbut my standards<\/strong> travel with me.\u201d His pocket notebook is soft as a handkerchief<\/strong>, pages dimpled with rings of espresso<\/strong> and raindrops like small moons<\/strong>. He swears by a tiny rubric<\/strong> that never fails<\/strong>:<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n
  • Warm welcome<\/strong>, honest prices, and a clean loo<\/strong>. Fresh bakes, hot plates, and coffee with a crema<\/strong> that lingers. Decent tap water<\/strong>, a plug for a tired phone<\/strong>, and staff who know the weather by its smell<\/strong>.<\/li>\n

    \n<\/ul>\n

    <\/p>\n

    \u201cPerfection is a myth,\u201d he chuckles, \u201cbut kindness is a policy<\/strong> any caf\u00e9 can adopt<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Roadside wisdom at 79<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He rides a steel-framed tourer<\/strong>, blue and faithful<\/strong>, with tyres wide enough to ignore small troubles<\/strong>. At his cadence, conversation finds its breath<\/strong>. He waves at toddlers in trailers<\/strong>, nods to club riders with metronomic knees<\/strong>, and shares the same short sermon<\/strong> at every bench: stretch, sip water<\/strong>, and don\u2019t skip the jam<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    \u201cPeople think the legs go first<\/strong>,\u201d he says, \u201cbut it\u2019s the courage<\/strong> that sneaks away. The trick is to invite it out for a scone<\/strong>, then ride until it stays<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Trails that linger in the legs<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Some paths leave a signature<\/strong>. Waterford\u2019s coast sings of salt and harbours<\/strong>, a tune made for easy, loping gears<\/strong>. The Great Western rolls like a soft accordian<\/strong>, scenic, patient, eventually grand<\/strong>. The Royal Canal can feel endless<\/strong> and meditative, reeds bowing to a bicycle\u2019s hush<\/strong>. Limerick\u2019s old line cuts through stone and field<\/strong>, with echoes that fit inside your helmet<\/strong> and rattle there all afternoon<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    When rain comes, Michael simply shrugs<\/strong>. \u201cWet roads wash the noise<\/strong> away,\u201d he says. \u201cYou hear your breath<\/strong>, you taste the day<\/strong>, and the coffee after becomes its own small holiday<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    A flat favourite and a buttery crumb<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Ask him for the smoothest spin<\/strong>, and he grins like a magician unveiling a familiar coin<\/strong>. The Old Rail Trail<\/strong>, he says, is \u201cpancake-flat in the best sense<\/strong>, kind to old knees<\/strong> and new dreams<\/strong>.\u201d He laughs at himself, pockets crinkling with receipts<\/strong> and candied peel<\/strong>. \u201cYou can let your thoughts wander<\/strong>, and they\u2019ll never fall too far behind your wheels<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    And the bakes<\/strong>? \u201cI\u2019ve had scones that crumble like tired castles<\/strong>, and scones that melt like good news<\/strong>,\u201d he says. \u201cSomewhere along that line<\/strong>, I bit into the season\u2019s best: warm, gently salted<\/strong>, with butter that refused to be shy<\/strong>.\u201d He won\u2019t name the exact stop<\/strong>, not yet. \u201cLet people ride and find<\/strong> it. The search is half the spice<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    What he carries, what he leaves<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    In his saddle bag<\/strong>: a small pump, a light jacket<\/strong>, two plasters, spare spectacles<\/strong>, and a stubby pencil he sharpens with a penknife<\/strong>. On his wrist: a strip of neon tape<\/strong> his granddaughter insists he never removes<\/strong>. In his head: station names, cake prices<\/strong>, and the smell of orange zest<\/strong> when a door swings open<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    What he leaves behind is mostly worry<\/strong>. \u201cI keep a pocket for the day\u2019s delights<\/strong>, and another for things not worth keeping<\/strong>,\u201d he says. \u201cIf the chain squeaks, I oil it. If my heart squeaks<\/strong>, I pedal until it sings<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    A calendar made of crumbs<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    By August, the map will be scuffed and honest<\/strong>, a ledger of benches, bridges, and plates licked almost clean<\/strong>. He hopes to stitch his notes into a modest zine<\/strong>, part guide, part love<\/strong> letter to the slow lanes of a small island<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    \u201cPeople race for records<\/strong>,\u201d he smiles, \u201cbut I ride for recipes<\/strong>\u2014for the way a baker\u2019s laugh turns a grey sky blue<\/strong>, for the way a good espresso steadies a wobbly hour<\/strong>.\u201d He zips his jacket, taps the bell, and pushes into another morning<\/strong>. The chain mutters, the tyres whisper, and somewhere ahead, a warm door is already opening<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2315,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2294","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-50"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2294","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2294"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2294\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2308,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2294\/revisions\/2308"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2315"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2294"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2294"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2294"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}