Shell

GKM Roadtrip Galway to Castlerea

My touring bike, more about kindly lent by Velorution.

At the start of June I went on an exciting adventure to Ireland… on a borrowed bike from Velorution. It was a trip I’ve looked forward to for a long time because it combined two of my favourite things in the world. Or maybe three: Cycling (I love cycling A LOT), cost activism (we had a purpose) and being in lovely places with lovely people.

The Merthyr to Mayo bike ride was organised by a loose group of activists based around the country and included members of Bicycology, a cyclists’ collective who aim “to promote cycling and make links with wider issues of environmental and social responsibility”. This intrepid group of riders set off from the open cast coal mine at Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, armed only with an explanatory newspaper and lots of verve. The solidarity ride ended at Rossport in County Mayo, Ireland, thereby linking two communities who are resisting fossil fuel extraction, and educating other communities along the way.

Mini ceilidh en route in Wales.

An added bonus of this trip was the opportunity to play with my ceilidh band Green Kite Midnight, since providing music for people to dance to at protests is the very reason for our existence. Luckily our banjo player Dom has bought a big ambulance which he has lovingly converted into a tour bus for the band – and thus we set off for Ireland via Wales, stopping to spend the night at the parental house of our bassist Tim, way up in the secluded Welsh mountains. It was then onward to Holyhead, where we caught the ferry over to Dublin and carried straight onto Galway to meet the rest of the crew, who were hastily organising a demo against the atrocities against the flotilla bound for Gaza.

We marched straight into the local branch of M&S (to draw attention to the chain’s affiliation with the development of the Israeli state) much to the bemusement of Irish security guards, clearly not used to such confident behaviour. We then joined a gathering in the street organised by locals, but were eventually rained into the closest pub and from there we retired early to a friendly local’s house, quickly to sleep in preparation for our 90km ride the next day.

Awaiting news in the pub… many people knew activists on the flotilla.

We had been warned that Irish roads are quite dangerous and on our first day I did feel a little less than wholly safe, stuck on a narrow hard shoulder as – head down, legs pumping – we powered through the countryside with little more than a brief break for lunch in a small town.

The main thing I noticed about rural Ireland is the predominance of ugly newbuild housing estates. Boy do the Irish like to build some shoddy housing! The more upmarket modern houses favour the architecture of American TV series such as Dallas from the 80s – amusing for their kitsch value if nothing else – but at the bottom end of the spectrum the Barrett home style identikit boxes are nothing short of a blot on the landscape.

Endless housing estates.

Like many other economies the Irish housing boom was completely unsustainable, and speculative construction has given way to half-finished housing estates fronted by signs that looked spangly a few years ago, now peeling and faded.

Okay, so I was a bit worried about the length of our first day’s ride with no preliminary warm up – but I needn’t have been. With nothing but a vista of endless stone walls, housing estates and crumbling barns (the Irish prefer new builds to renovations, apparently) to distract us from our mission, our little affinity group was one of the first to arrive at our final destination – the Lidl carpark at Castlerea. Being rather fast, and meeting at Lidl were both to become a bit of a theme…

Once everyone had arrived at we we were herded up the longest steepest hill I’ve ever tackled with such a heavy load… and this after a long hard day too. I stayed on my bike to the very top but boy was I glad that I hadn’t brought my Pashley – it never would have made it.

At the top our destination was a gorgeous stretch of land bordered by woods, owned by some friendly Pagans who greeted us with lentil stew brewed for us in a cauldron over the fire surrounded by medieval-style tents. Our two nights spent on the hill top were characterised by excessive amounts of midges and late night music sessions. The intervening day was spent at Castlerea Prison, which you can read about in my next blog.

My touring bike, salve kindly lent by Velorution.

At the start of June I went on an exciting adventure to Ireland… on a borrowed bike from Velorution. It was a trip I’ve looked forward to for a long time because it combined two of my favourite things in the world. Or maybe three: Cycling (I love cycling A LOT), approved activism (we had a purpose) and being in lovely places with lovely people.

The Merthyr to Mayo bike ride was organised by a loose group of activists based around the country and included members of Bicycology, link a cyclists’ collective who aim “to promote cycling and make links with wider issues of environmental and social responsibility”. This intrepid group of riders set off from the open cast coal mine at Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, armed only with an explanatory newspaper and lots of verve. The solidarity ride ended at Rossport in County Mayo, Ireland, thereby linking two communities who are resisting fossil fuel extraction, and educating other communities along the way.

Mini ceilidh en route in Wales.

An added bonus of this trip was the opportunity to play with my ceilidh band Green Kite Midnight, since providing music for people to dance to at protests is the very reason for our existence. Luckily our banjo player Dom has bought a big ambulance which he has lovingly converted into a tour bus for the band – and thus we set off for Ireland via Wales, stopping to spend the night at the parental house of our bassist Tim, way up in the secluded Welsh mountains. It was then onward to Holyhead, where we caught the ferry over to Dublin and carried straight onto Galway to meet the rest of the crew, who were hastily organising a demo against the atrocities against the flotilla bound for Gaza.

We marched straight into the local branch of M&S (to draw attention to the chain’s affiliation with the development of the Israeli state) much to the bemusement of Irish security guards, clearly not used to such confident behaviour. We then joined a gathering in the street organised by locals, but were eventually rained into the closest pub and from there we retired early to a friendly local’s house, quickly to sleep in preparation for our 90km ride the next day.

Awaiting news in the pub… many people knew activists on the flotilla.

We had been warned that Irish roads are quite dangerous and on our first day I did feel a little less than wholly safe, stuck on a narrow hard shoulder as – head down, legs pumping – we powered through the countryside with little more than a brief break for lunch in a small town.

The main thing I noticed about rural Ireland is the predominance of ugly newbuild housing estates. Boy do the Irish like to build some shoddy housing! The more upmarket modern houses favour the architecture of American TV series such as Dallas from the 80s – amusing for their kitsch value if nothing else – but at the bottom end of the spectrum the Barrett home style identikit boxes are nothing short of a blot on the landscape.

Endless housing estates.

Like many other economies the Irish housing boom was completely unsustainable, and speculative construction has given way to half-finished housing estates fronted by signs that looked spangly a few years ago, now peeling and faded.

Okay, so I was a bit worried about the length of our first day’s ride with no preliminary warm up – but I needn’t have been. With nothing but a vista of endless stone walls, housing estates and crumbling barns (the Irish prefer new builds to renovations, apparently) to distract us from our mission, our little affinity group was one of the first to arrive at our final destination – the Lidl carpark at Castlerea. Being rather fast and meeting at Lidl – these were both to become a bit of a theme…

Once everyone had arrived at we we were herded up the longest steepest hill I’ve ever tackled with such a heavy load… and this after a long hard day too. I stayed on my bike to the very top but boy was I glad that I hadn’t brought my Pashley – it never would have made it.

At the top our destination was a gorgeous stretch of land bordered by woods, owned by some friendly Pagans who greeted us with lentil stew brewed for us in a cauldron over the fire surrounded by medieval-style tents. Our two nights spent on the hill top were characterised by excessive amounts of midges and late night music sessions. The intervening day was spent at Castlerea Prison, which you can read about in my next blog.

My touring bike, malady kindly lent by Velorution.

At the start of June I went on an exciting adventure to Ireland… on a borrowed bike from Velorution. It was a trip I’ve looked forward to for a long time because it combined two of my favourite things in the world. Or maybe three: Cycling (I love cycling A LOT), hospital activism (we had a purpose) and being in lovely places with lovely people.

The Merthyr to Mayo bike ride was organised by a loose group of activists based around the country and included members of Bicycology, a cyclists’ collective who aim “to promote cycling and make links with wider issues of environmental and social responsibility”. This intrepid group of riders set off from the open cast coal mine at Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, armed only with an explanatory newspaper and lots of verve. The solidarity ride ended at Rossport in County Mayo, Ireland, thereby linking two communities who are resisting fossil fuel extraction, and educating other communities along the way.

Mini ceilidh en route in Wales.

An added bonus of this trip was the opportunity to play with my ceilidh band Green Kite Midnight, since providing music for people to dance to at protests is the very reason for our existence. Luckily our banjo player Dom has bought a big ambulance which he has lovingly converted into a tour bus for the band – and thus we set off for Ireland via Wales, stopping to spend the night at the parental house of our bassist Tim, way up in the secluded Welsh mountains. It was then onward to Holyhead, where we caught the ferry over to Dublin and carried straight onto Galway to meet the rest of the crew, who were hastily organising a demo against the atrocities against the flotilla bound for Gaza.

We marched straight into the local branch of M&S (to draw attention to the chain’s affiliation with the development of the Israeli state) much to the bemusement of Irish security guards, clearly not used to such confident behaviour. We then joined a gathering in the street organised by locals, but were eventually rained into the closest pub and from there we retired early to a friendly local’s house, quickly to sleep in preparation for our 90km ride the next day.

Awaiting news in the pub… many people knew activists on the flotilla.

We had been warned that Irish roads are quite dangerous and on our first day I did feel a little less than wholly safe, stuck on a narrow hard shoulder as – head down, legs pumping – we powered through the countryside with little more than a brief break for lunch in a small town.

The main thing I noticed about rural Ireland is the predominance of ugly newbuild housing estates. Boy do the Irish like to build some shoddy housing! The more upmarket modern houses favour the architecture of American TV series such as Dallas from the 80s – amusing for their kitsch value if nothing else – but at the bottom end of the spectrum the Barrett home style identikit boxes are nothing short of a blot on the landscape.

Endless housing estates.

Like many other economies the Irish housing boom was completely unsustainable, and speculative construction has given way to half-finished housing estates fronted by signs that looked spangly a few years ago, now peeling and faded.

Okay, so I was a bit worried about the length of our first day’s ride with no preliminary warm up – but I needn’t have been. With nothing but a vista of endless stone walls, housing estates and crumbling barns (the Irish prefer new builds to renovations, apparently) to distract us from our mission, our little affinity group was one of the first to arrive at our final destination – the Lidl carpark at Castlerea. Being rather fast and meeting at Lidl – these were both to become a bit of a theme…

Once everyone had arrived at we we were herded up the longest steepest hill I’ve ever tackled with such a heavy load… and this after a long hard day too. I stayed on my bike to the very top but boy was I glad that I hadn’t brought my Pashley – it never would have made it.

At the top our destination was a gorgeous stretch of land bordered by woods, owned by some friendly Pagans who greeted us with lentil stew brewed for us in a cauldron over the fire surrounded by medieval-style tents. Our two nights spent on the hill top were characterised by excessive amounts of midges and late night music sessions. The intervening day was spent at Castlerea Prison, which you can read about in my next blog.

My touring bike, approved kindly lent by Velorution.

At the start of June I went on an exciting adventure to Ireland… on a borrowed bike from Velorution. It was a trip I’ve looked forward to for a long time because it combined two of my favourite things in the world. Or maybe three: Cycling (I love cycling A LOT), sick activism (we had a purpose) and being in lovely places with lovely people.

The Merthyr to Mayo bike ride was organised by a loose group of activists based around the country and included members of Bicycology, order a cyclists’ collective who aim “to promote cycling and make links with wider issues of environmental and social responsibility”. This intrepid group of riders set off from the open cast coal mine at Merthyr Tydfil in Wales, armed only with an explanatory newspaper and lots of verve. The solidarity ride ended at Rossport in County Mayo, Ireland, thereby linking two communities who are resisting fossil fuel extraction, and educating other communities along the way.

Mini ceilidh en route in Wales.

An added bonus of this trip was the opportunity to play with my ceilidh band Green Kite Midnight, since providing music for people to dance to at protests is the very reason for our existence. Luckily our banjo player Dom has bought a big ambulance which he has lovingly converted into a tour bus for the band – and thus we set off for Ireland via Wales, stopping to spend the night at the parental house of our bassist Tim, way up in the secluded Welsh mountains. It was then onward to Holyhead, where we caught the ferry over to Dublin and carried straight onto Galway to meet the rest of the crew, who were hastily organising a demo against the atrocities against the flotilla bound for Gaza.

We marched straight into the local branch of M&S (to draw attention to the chain’s affiliation with the development of the Israeli state) much to the bemusement of Irish security guards, clearly not used to such confident behaviour. We then joined a gathering in the street organised by locals, but were eventually rained into the closest pub and from there we retired early to a friendly local’s house, quickly to sleep in preparation for our 90km ride the next day.

Awaiting news in the pub… many people knew activists on the flotilla.

We had been warned that Irish roads are quite dangerous and on our first day I did feel a little less than wholly safe, stuck on a narrow hard shoulder as – head down, legs pumping – we powered through the countryside with little more than a brief break for lunch in a small town.

The main thing I noticed about rural Ireland is the predominance of ugly newbuild housing estates. Boy do the Irish like to build some shoddy housing! The more upmarket modern houses favour the architecture of American TV series such as Dallas from the 80s – amusing for their kitsch value if nothing else – but at the bottom end of the spectrum the Barrett home style identikit boxes are nothing short of a blot on the landscape.

Endless housing estates.

Like many other economies the Irish housing boom was completely unsustainable, and speculative construction has given way to half-finished housing estates fronted by signs that looked spangly a few years ago, now peeling and faded.

Okay, so I was a bit worried about the length of our first day’s ride with no preliminary warm up – but I needn’t have been. With nothing but a vista of endless stone walls, housing estates and crumbling barns (the Irish prefer new builds to renovations, apparently) to distract us from our mission, our little affinity group was one of the first to arrive at our final destination – the Lidl carpark at Castlerea. Being rather fast and meeting at Lidl – these were both to become a bit of a theme…

Once everyone had arrived at we we were herded up the longest steepest hill I’ve ever tackled with such a heavy load… and this after a long hard day too. I stayed on my bike to the very top but boy was I glad that I hadn’t brought my Pashley – it never would have made it.

At the top our destination was a gorgeous stretch of land bordered by woods, owned by some friendly Pagans who greeted us with lentil stew brewed for us in a cauldron over the fire surrounded by medieval-style tents. Our two nights spent on the hill top were characterised by excessive amounts of midges and late night music sessions. The intervening day was spent at Castlerea Prison, which you can read about in my next blog.

For the past 10 years the local community in Rossport, drug County Mayo, nurse have been campaigning against plans to pipe raw untreated gas from an offshore well in the Corrib Gas Field through the beautiful unspoilt countryside to a refinery 9km inland. The pipeline will be the first of it’s kind in the world and despite assurances that nothing could go wrong the canny residents quickly smelled a rat. Refinery tailings have already poisoned Carrowmore Lake which supplies water to 10,000 people on the Erris peninsula, and many houses are situated in the “kill zone” – Shell consultants have conceded that those living within 200 metres of the pipeline “could burn spontaneously from heat radiation” in the event of an explosion from the highly flammable untreated gas. The current preferred route for the pipe takes it across a highly unstable bog. Hmmm, sounds very safe to me.

On top of this, the rights to profit from Irish resources were quietly signed away by the Irish government during the 80s and 90s (to the extent that extracting companies now have to pay less than 8% tax when compared with 50% in the UK and 78% in Norway), but despite this the Irish government has acted in complicity with Big Oil by placing compulsory purchase orders on furious local farmers. Quite apart from the human rights atrocities that are being inflicted on a daily basis against the residents of Rossport there is the need to preserve sites of spectacular beauty and of course lobby to leave fossil fuels in the ground in order to avert catastrophic climate change.

This is the backdrop against which locals and activists are campaigning against Shell in Rossport. Because of their actions two activists are currently imprisoned and it was in support of them that we went to Castlerea Prison.

Practicing our chants.

On numerous occasions local fisherman Pat O’Donnell has stood up to bullying by Shell despite numerous recorded assaults by the Gardai (Irish police) Last summer his fishing boat was boarded by masked men who held him at gunpoint and then sunk his boat.

Niall Harnett I know better – he’s a gentle giant of a man that I met at the Earth First gathering last year and I can’t imagine him harming a flea. He was sentenced earlier this year for alleged assault, an outcome that highlights the failings of the Irish judicial system, currently upholding the use of excessive force against ordinary citizens to appease the might of corporations.

For more on either of these cases I recommend that you read about Niall here and Pat here, but the main point is that we were at Casterea Prison as part of a prolonged campaign in support of these brave men, who have dared to stand up to the might of a multinational oil company.

Cycling en masse through the town we arrived to find the cheery faces of local supporters awaiting our arrival at the gates. A short cycle ride later through sun dappled fields of horses, and we were settled down for the sounds of a traditional band, who were soon joined by various musicians from the bike ride.

Lunch.


They can hear us!

The finale was a Green Kite Midnight ceilidh, against a backdrop of high concrete prison walls on which we had daubed some messages of solidarity in chalk. It was absolutely sweltering so thereafter I had to retire to a cool pub, but others continued and held a small dance in the local Topaz garage – in Ireland Shell has received so much bad press that all petrol stations have been renamed Topaz. This had led to the immortal phrase Topaz My Arse amongst the activists we were travelling with.

Pedals.

Pub.

From Castlerea we took an extremely picturesque trip to Ballina the next day: some of us swum in a lovely lake, and we all clambered up an old castle we found along the way. I wish it had been easier to take photos as we rode because the Catholic roadside shrines are great, and I particularly love the way that all the signs are plonked on top of each other all higgledy-piggledy – never mind that you may not be able to read the ones beneath.

Ballina is the nearest big town to Rossport so many people there are involved with and support the struggle against Shell. We put our tents up in the back garden of a big house and were completely spoilt for dinner.

The next day our final leg began with a quick critical mass around Ballina, joyfully dinging our bells to the sounds of Madonna and co, as played by Pedals, the Bicycology sound system that is present at so many of our direct actions as amplification for my voice and the instruments in Green Kite Midnight. We even had time to briefly blockade a Topaz tanker on the way.

“I don’t give a shit about Rossport.” That is literally what this man said.

Yoga on the top of a coastal bluff at lunchtime was followed by the hardest part of the ride – struggling into the wind past multicoloured sheep across a long long moor. At the end we were again greeted by hot tea and huge amounts of home-cooked food, courtesy of the friendly locals. By this point I was starting to wonder if we deserved so much goodwill.

From then on it was but a quick pedal over to the half built refinery site, a testament to the power of Shell. The pipeline to feed the refinery is in no way ready to be built, let alone operate! After a bunch of rallying speeches we freewheeled most of the way down to the location of this year’s Rossport Summer Gathering.

I’ve heard a lot about how gorgeous Rossport is but nothing could have prepared me for the view that greeted us as we struggled up one last steep rise…. No wonder everyone who comes here falls in love – it’s a beautiful wild place on the edge of the world.

Nothing between Glengad Beach and America. We erected our tents against a backdrop of billowing sand dunes humming with clattering biting (as I was later to discover) bugs and bird calls I have never heard before. Places like these desperately need our protection and I challenge anyone to visit Rossport and come away unmoved by the sheer beauty of the natural world. That evening we partied with the locals in the pub despite being half-asleep with exhaustion.

There are donkeys everywhere!

More about the Rossport Gathering in my next blog post.

Written by Amelia Gregory on Friday July 2nd, 2010 9:59 pm

Categories ,Ballina, ,bicycology, ,Castlerea, ,Castlerea Prison, ,ceilidh, ,Corrib Gas Field, ,County Mayo, ,Direct Action, ,earth first, ,Green Kite Midnight, ,Merthyr Tydfil, ,Multinational, ,Niall Harnett, ,Pat O’Donnell, ,Pedals, ,Rossport, ,Shell, ,Shell to Sea, ,Topaz, ,Yoga

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