{"id":2396,"date":"2026-07-29T17:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-07-29T16:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/?p=2396"},"modified":"2026-07-28T13:26:50","modified_gmt":"2026-07-28T12:26:50","slug":"a-nenagh-pair-sold-up-at-61-bought-a-12-year-old-motorhome-and-have-been-on-irish-back-roads-ever-since","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/a-nenagh-pair-sold-up-at-61-bought-a-12-year-old-motorhome-and-have-been-on-irish-back-roads-ever-since\/","title":{"rendered":"A Nenagh pair sold up at 61 bought a 12-year-old motorhome and have been on Irish back roads ever since"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>They were both <strong>61<\/strong> when they packed the last <strong>box<\/strong>, shut the door on their semi\u2011detached life in Nenagh, and slid the keys across a <strong>counter<\/strong> with hands that didn\u2019t tremble. They kept a <strong>kettle<\/strong>, a well\u2011thumbed map, and the stubborn idea that Ireland\u2019s small <strong>roads<\/strong> still had big surprises to give them. The motorhome they bought was <strong>twelve<\/strong> years old, a little scuffed, a little earnest, and entirely <strong>theirs<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>Choosing restlessness over routine<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>They say the decision wasn\u2019t <strong>romantic<\/strong>, just plain arithmetic: time left, energy <strong>available<\/strong>, miles unexplored. \u201cIf not <strong>now<\/strong>, when?\u201d Mary asked Tom over a late <strong>tea<\/strong>, and neither of them found a reason to wait. So they sold the <strong>house<\/strong>, trimmed their belongings to portable <strong>memories<\/strong>, and went looking for a better view from the breakfast table.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>The old motorhome with a stout heart<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>The van\u2019s name is <strong>Br\u00edd<\/strong>, after Mary\u2019s grandmother who kept everything <strong>useful<\/strong> and never fussed. She starts with a grunt on cold <strong>mornings<\/strong>, rattles like cutlery in a <strong>drawer<\/strong>, and smells faintly of diesel and lavender polish. \u201cWe wanted a <strong>workhorse<\/strong>, not a showroom <strong>queen<\/strong>,\u201d Tom says, patting the dashboard as if it were a patient <strong>dog<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>They learned the <strong>rituals<\/strong> quickly: levelling on uneven <strong>lanes<\/strong>, minding the battery on long grey <strong>stretches<\/strong>, and coaxing the old heater through stubborn <strong>squalls<\/strong>. A toolbox sits under the <strong>bed<\/strong>, next to the jam jar of loose <strong>bolts<\/strong>, because preparation is a kind of gentle <strong>respect<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>Finding the rhythm of back roads<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>The Irish back roads keep a <strong>different<\/strong> time, bending round hedges where birds <strong>argue<\/strong>, ducking into villages that still trust <strong>news<\/strong> to travel by gossip and post. They linger where the <strong>water<\/strong> flickers tin\u2011blue, and they pull into lay\u2011bys that seem <strong>designed<\/strong> for thermos steam and buttered <strong>scones<\/strong>. \u201cThe best <strong>views<\/strong> are never signposted,\u201d Mary says, \u201cyou just turn and <strong>there<\/strong> they are.\u201d<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>They\u2019ve woken to Atlantic <strong>howl<\/strong>, to cowbells and ferry <strong>horns<\/strong>, to bogland quiet as a closed <strong>book<\/strong>. They\u2019ve parked beside GAA <strong>pitches<\/strong>, church ruins, and once\u2014by accident\u2014in a <strong>funeral<\/strong> procession that ended with tea and a plate of <strong>biscuits<\/strong> they hadn\u2019t earned.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>What less really feels like<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>Downsizing turned out to be an <strong>art<\/strong>, not a loss. Fewer things means more <strong>room<\/strong> for mornings that dilate into <strong>noons<\/strong>, for walks that don\u2019t watch a <strong>clock<\/strong>. Costs shuffle but stay <strong>manageable<\/strong> when you learn where to <strong>stop<\/strong>, which villages invite you to linger, and which car parks crack down with urgent <strong>signage<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<ul><\/p>\n<li>They keep fuel <strong>steady<\/strong> by travelling slow, cook most <strong>meals<\/strong> on the tiny hob, and use campsites like <strong>punctuation<\/strong> rather than paragraphs.<\/li>\n<p>\n<\/ul>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>They live on pension <strong>predictability<\/strong> and a cushion they rarely <strong>poke<\/strong>, buying vegetables from stalls with faded <strong>tarps<\/strong> and crusty loaves from bakers who still <strong>wrap<\/strong> with brown paper and string. \u201cEvery euro feels <strong>earned<\/strong> when it buys a night of rain on the <strong>roof<\/strong>,\u201d Tom smiles.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>People are the real map<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>The map they trust most is <strong>human<\/strong>, dotted with names and small bright <strong>kindnesses<\/strong>. There was a farmer in Connemara who brought a <strong>jack<\/strong> and two jokes; a teacher in Mayo who lent them an <strong>extension<\/strong> cord; a pub in Clare that slid an extra bowl of <strong>stew<\/strong> to their table when the storm went sideways.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>\u201cStrangers finish your <strong>sentences<\/strong> out here,\u201d Mary says, \u201cwith a socket, or a road <strong>tip<\/strong>, or a story that lifts the whole <strong>day<\/strong>.\u201d Nenagh stays a soft <strong>anchor<\/strong>, a place for check\u2011ups and long catches\u2011up, but the island is their <strong>neighbourhood<\/strong> now, and its corners keep saying, Stay a little <strong>longer<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>Weather, wrenches, and the honest day<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>Not every day is an <strong>Instagram<\/strong> day. The wind sulks, seals <strong>cry<\/strong>, and once the gearbox stuck at the foot of a dripping <strong>pass<\/strong>. They learned to wait out <strong>weather<\/strong> with patience and card <strong>games<\/strong>, to make peace with damp that curls at the rug\u2019s <strong>edge<\/strong> and a roof that admits one stubborn <strong>drip<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>\u201cAge is a number until the <strong>knees<\/strong> argue,\u201d Tom laughs, \u201cbut the road hands back its own <strong>medicine<\/strong>.\u201d A lifted <strong>view<\/strong>, a quiet cove, a pint poured with practiced <strong>kindness<\/strong>\u2014and suddenly the morning mends what the night <strong>frayed<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>How freedom got ordinary<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>Freedom arrived not as <strong>fireworks<\/strong> but as a sequence of small <strong>habits<\/strong>. Coffee at first <strong>light<\/strong>, tyres checked by <strong>feel<\/strong>, decisions made by clouds and gut and the weight of the <strong>wind<\/strong>. They measure a place by its <strong>silence<\/strong>, by how the radio fades, by how a dog does or doesn\u2019t <strong>bark<\/strong> when you pull alongside a stone\u2011lipped <strong>field<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>They talk about <strong>legacy<\/strong> differently now. Not furniture, not photo <strong>albums<\/strong>, but routes they can draw from memory, like strings across a <strong>harp<\/strong>. \u201cWe\u2019re collecting the <strong>ordinary<\/strong>,\u201d Mary says, \u201cand it\u2019s turning out to be the richest <strong>thing<\/strong> we own.\u201d<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<h2>What they tell anyone who\u2019s tempted<\/h2>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>If you\u2019re trembling on the <strong>edge<\/strong>, they\u2019d say this: start smaller than you <strong>think<\/strong>, and braver than you <strong>feel<\/strong>. Don\u2019t wait for the perfect <strong>van<\/strong> or perfect plan; wait only for the <strong>moment<\/strong> you admit you want out.<\/p>\n<p><\/p>\n<p>\u201cPack for <strong>weather<\/strong>, not for worries,\u201d Mary adds. \u201cYou can buy what you forget, but you\u2019ll regret the days you <strong>didn\u2019t<\/strong> go.\u201d And Tom, with a palm on Br\u00edd\u2019s warm <strong>bonnet<\/strong>, will nod toward a ribbon of <strong>road<\/strong> vanishing into hedged\u2011in light\u2014as if the island itself were leaning close to <strong>whisper<\/strong>, This is enough.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2401,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2396","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\/2396","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=2396"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2396\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2400,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2396\/revisions\/2400"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2401"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2396"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2396"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2396"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}