Connemara Ireland Biking Adventures

When you travel, a new silence goes with you, and if you listen, you will hear what your heart would love to say.   May you travel in an awakened way, gathered wisely into your inner ground; that you may heed the invitations which wait along the way to transform you.   John O’Donohue

Ten years ago, a friend placed a book in my hands that would change the direction of my inner life. It was Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom by John O'Donohue, published in 1997. An Irish poet, philosopher, and scholar, John became known throughout the world for his lyrical explorations of Celtic spirituality, beauty, and belonging. Drawing inspiration from the wild landscapes of County Clare Connemara western Ireland, his words carried a wisdom that felt to me less like reading and more like remembering.

In the Celtic tradition, anam is the Gaelic word for soul and cara means friend. So anam cara— translates to soul friend.

Over the years, I returned to John's writings again and again. His books became companions on my path, offering language for experiences I could feel but not always name. As time passed, a quiet longing began to grow within me—a desire to understand more deeply the land that shaped him. Though I knew him only through the pages of his books, I had come to think of him as my anam cara. I found myself wondering: Could I somehow feel what John felt? Could I experience, even briefly, the living presence of the landscapes that inspired his vision? Might the mountains, sea, and sky reveal something of the mystery he spoke of so often—that nature and the human soul are not separate, but woven together as one living tapestry?

One afternoon, not long ago while sitting at my desk, I began researching trips to Ireland. Within minutes, I discovered a cycling adventure offered by Backroads https://www.backroads.com/  in Connemara. "Ride the legendary Sky Road along the Wild Atlantic Way. Experience cinematic mountains, hidden inlets, sweeping coastlines, and emerald grasslands."

As I read the description, I knew that the time had come for my pilgrimage. I shared the incredible news with Kirkland, my sweetheart and favorite travel companion, and from that moment on, the months of dreaming, planning, and eager anticipation began.

On May 26th, we finally boarded our flight to Ireland, our long-awaited adventure becoming a reality. After landing in Dublin, we traveled west by train, making our first stop in the charming town of Ennis. For two unforgettable days, we wandered its welcoming streets as the joyful sounds of traditional Celtic music drifted from cozy pubs and filled the evening air.

From there, we continued to the vibrant seaside city of Galway, where we met the sixteen fellow cyclists who would share the journey that lay ahead. After a briefing at the Padraig Pearse Cultural Centre with our Backroads guides, who would lead us over the next six days of cycling, we continued on to our first night's stay at Ballynahinch Castle, https://www.ballynahinch-castle.com a magnificent estate whose history spans nearly five centuries.

That afternoon, Kirkland and I climbed onto our bicycles and set off into Connemara's cool, mist-veiled countryside. Yellow irises brightened the rural roadside, while moss-covered stone walls glowed emerald beneath a silvery sky. The air carried the scent of rain, rich earth, and something timeless. As I pedaled through the landscape, I felt an unexpected blend of arrival and recognition—as though I were returning to a place my heart already knew. For years, Connemara had lived only in my imagination, shaped by John's stories. Now it stretched out before me, breathtakingly real.

The next morning, we began our first full day of riding. Rain greeted us immediately. Dressed head to toe in waterproof gear, I rolled onto the road feeling equal parts excitement and apprehension. Riding on the left side of the road, navigating unfamiliar terrain, trusting the GPS route—all of it demanded attention. The rain intensified. I noticed anxiety rising inside me. Could I do this safely? Would I be able to relax enough to truly experience where I was? Yet as the miles unfolded, something shifted. The rain softened. My body adapted. My mind settled. The constant need to control every moment loosened its grip. The landscape slowly worked its way beneath my defenses. Every turn in the road revealed another breathtaking vista.

By the third day, as we cycled the legendary Sky Road Way along the wild Atlantic coast, I felt myself surrendering more and more to the everchanging canvas of the land and sea. Golden boglands shimmered beneath changing light. The wind carried scents of sea and grass.  Morning showers no longer felt like obstacles. The rain refreshed the hillsides, the sheep, the fields, and somehow my own spirit. The boundaries between myself and the landscape seemed less defined. I was riding through Connemara! As the miles passed beneath my tires, excitement and joy rose within me like a tide.

On the fourth day, our route carried us in-land. By lunchtime we arrived soaked to the bone. We crowded into a warm village pub, steam rising from bowls of chowder while laughter filled the room.  Beneath the laughter I could feel my resolve wavering. The rain continued. The afternoon ride promised stronger winds and steeper climbs. No one would blame me for taking the shuttle back to the hotel. For a moment, comfort seemed like the wiser choice.But when it was time to leave, I pulled on my wet socks, slipped my feet into damp shoes, and got back on my bike.

As we climbed higher, powerful gusts pressed against me, and rain pelted my face. Yet in those difficult moments, my fear and resistance began to transform to strength and the exhilaration of a monumental adventure waiting to be discovered. By the time I reached the summit, it was as though the wind itself was breathing new life into my soul. Those grand, ancient green hills stretching to the horizon and the smallest yellow flowers at my feet pulsed with an eternal majesty and mystery of nature’s beauty. And me too! I was pulsing right along included as this sacred magnificence.

By the fifth day, something had shifted so profoundly within me that I could no longer tell where the pilgrimage ended and ordinary life began. Then again, nothing felt ordinary anymore. That day, I rode my bicycle through Connemara, singing softly to myself. My pedaling found its own rhythm, joining the music of the wind as it swept across the hills saying in its own language, you belong here. Welcome home.

On day six gazing out the window of the shuttle bus taking us back to Galway, I found myself writing a letter to my anam cara.

Dear John,
How often I imagined meeting you here. The joy, the trust, the quiet companionship your presence evokes. The mist that touches my face, the grasses bending in the wind, the mountains rising beyond the horizon—your spirit lives within all of it. Everywhere I turn, I sense you woven into the landscape of your Connemara. You hold me in your flowering arms along the road less traveled. Fresh air breathes my being here where I am not alone with my thoughts, but filled with the companionship of your soul. You remember me. You are not gone but are alive everywhere in the sky, the land in this body of beauty. John, I’m your dear soul friend seeing it freshly for the first time.  

John O’Donohue died unexpectedly on January 4, 2008. He was