Improvising
I have jet lag in the night. I wake up at two, and three, and four, both the night before our hike, and two nights after at Lough Dan. But since I'm clear headed, I use the time. Our one night in Dublin, I learn about the all-Ireland Leap Transit Card, which will save us from carrying coins for bus fare; we acquire cards in the morning before catching a bus to the Wicklow Way trailhead.
Two nights later, after two long days on the trail, I'm laying there thinking about the seven hour walks we've got lined up for the next four days. Eileen's prior pedometer record was 40,000 some years ago, and we've just beaten that two days in a row.
Perhaps, I'm thinking, beating step records on the daily, on steep hills, with heavy packs, might be hard on the body. My left knee has developed a worrying twinge, and Eileen is nearly twice my age, with one of her knees replaced. When we wake, both of us feel much restored, but I still think I've thought of good options in the night.
"I've filled in a form requesting a taxi quote from Glendalough to our lodging tonight," I tell Eileen when she wakes, "and I've found a service that will take our bags between the lodging places each day. What do you think?"
Glendalough is about three hours' walk from here; a taxi will save us fourteen kilometers of additional distance and several hundred meters of climb. And though my pack — ten pounds without food and water — is fairly light for a six-week trip to Europe, I have packed minor fripperies like deodorant. Removing the ten pounds and keeping just the food and water for the day will be a lot kinder on our joints. I fill in the online form for the baggage service.
We're granted a further deus ex machina at breakfast: Josef, a German man who met us on the trail the first day and had the same lodging the next night at Lough Dan, offers to help if he can. He's staying in Glendalough, so we're invited to drop our packs at his place if we'd like.
I demur, but when he catches up with us on the trail in the third hour, I've had time to reconsider. Dropping our packs will allow us to explore the attractions of the village: two lovely lakes, the ruins of an old mining site, and an ancient monastic village that's now mostly cemetery.
"Is your offer still good?" Eileen asks. Josef readily agrees.
The taxi place finally responds to my quote request, fifteen hours after I've sent it. Unfortunately, it's not definitive: "I will not be available probably until 530 to 6 pm please for me if you still need the taxi at a time. John"
John is the only taxi in town, so I write back as soon as I can, asking for a pickup from Josef's B&B at six, and hoping for a quicker confirmation then before.
It's only about 1pm when we get to Glendalough, and the sun has come out. After disgorging most of the contents of our packs onto his floor (a preview of our planned luggage service), we set out on another walk.
Are we really going hiking, after three hours of backpacking, on our supposed rest day? Yes. Apparently, that's what we do for fun. But it really is much different with less to carry. It has been misting rain showers all morning, but now the sun is out, and it gleams across the lake and lights the greens of the landscape to improbably vivid hues.
We practically float/hobble much less wearily along part of the 14 kilometer route we're skipping, to Van Diemen's Land, a stunning glacial re-entrant with a tumbling waterfall which houses the ruins and tailings of an old lead mine. I refresh my email inbox for word from the taxi company.
We trek the several kilometers back into Glendalough and explore the 6th century ruins of the monastic city, most of which is now in use as a graveyard. I spot headstones as new as the 1980s, but many are worn away and falling into one another. I check my phone; still no email.
By the time we make it back to Josef's B&B, it's 4:30 and we've heard nothing from the taxi driver. I've been resisting calling the international phone number for 20 cents a minute, but it's time. I dial.
Nobody picks up.
I'm sitting in the sunny front yard with Eileen. Josef sits on the steps, as anxious for our safe passage as we are. I dial again, and a third time. No answer.
A bit past five thirty, Eileen and I are a little bleak. Someone has already come by to ask if there are extra rooms, or even if they can camp in the yard, and been turned away. At this hour, we're definitely not making the 14 kilometer trek. Actually, we've done about 38,000 steps because of all the extra hiking, so we're just about as tired as on any other day. Rather desperately, I call the number one more time.
"Hello?"
I almost drop the phone. I give my name, mention the emails.
"Oh, you're my six o clock, aren't you? Are you there now?"
I confirm, relief coursing down my spine.
"I'll be there in five."
Our hours-long walk melts into a twenty-minute drive in cabbie John's pleasant company. A local, he knows the name and breakfast service of our B&B host from the morning, and the habits of the woman who does the baggage service. The time and distance pass quickly, and we're well in time for our dinner reservation at the pub.
All in all, we do end up over 40,000 steps again for the day, but Eileen had to jog the last five hundred of those in our room — she didn't want to break her streak. I take it as a sign that this new plan will leave us with at least a little energy at the end of each day.
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