Ayr to the Ferry

 Final Day – Scotland to Northern Ireland, Then Home

Up early and down for breakfast, but the dining room was packed with tourists from two buses. I grabbed eggs and pancakes and took them to the empty dining room to eat in peace.

Today was just a few hours’ ride to the ferry port for my return to Belfast, Northern Ireland. It had rained overnight and was misting when I left, but I didn’t bother with the rain gear—my jacket is “kind of” waterproof. The ride wasn’t bad, taking about fifteen minutes to get out of Ayr, then mostly secondary roads along the shoreline.

I arrived at the port about an hour early. There was one motorcycle ahead of me—a Harley, which you don’t see often here. About half an hour later, more Harleys rolled in. Turned out they were Hells Angels. I guess they’re everywhere.

The waiting area was full of Asian tourists wandering around, and a few were fascinated by the motorcycles. A couple asked if they could take my picture. I said yes, and posed with the woman, then the man.

Loading onto the ferry was the same as before—motorcycles first. They strapped mine down using a rack, a ratchet strap, and a piece of foam. I noted my parking spot and went up to the fourth deck, finding a table up front with a long bench seat where I could stretch out. I put some of my gear on the table to claim the spot and went to get food. When I came back, an older German couple had taken the table. I moved my stuff and sat down between them with my tray. They didn’t say a word, but there went my chance for a nap.

The ferry docked in Belfast and I was back on the road—mostly highway, with light rain off and on. My ride was about 200 miles. I didn’t put my rain gear on, even when the showers turned heavy. By the time I reached Celtic Riders a few hours later, I was soaked.

Once there, it was time to unpack and repack my gear for the flight. My checked bag had to stay under 50 pounds, so it took a bit of rearranging. My carry-on? I wasn’t worried about weight.

A taxi ride to Dublin took almost an hour. I checked into an airport hotel late. The meal I’d had on the ferry was enough, so I skipped dinner and went straight to bed—up again at 3 a.m. for my flight home.

At the airport, the app wouldn’t let me check in, so I was at the American Airlines desk before 6 a.m. I didn’t realize Dublin has U.S. Customs and Immigration right there in the airport. The process took a while, and I even got pulled out of line for a body search.

The flight left on time—six hours back to Philly. My neighbor Robbin picked me up, and before long I was back on I-95 with all the crazy drivers.

It was a great trip. I loved both Scotland and the Isle of Man—two very different places, but each amazing in its own way. Along the way, I met many people, some carrying their own grief. I cried more than once. I scattered Nancy’s ashes in beautiful spots across both countries. She loved adventure. We had traveled to so many places together. Before she passed, she told me she had lived a good life, and she left me with these words: “Live and enjoy life.”

I’m so sorry she couldn’t join me in person on this ride, but I know she was with me in spirit—and in ashes. She’s still an adventurer. This trip made me feel a little lighter inside, and I thank her for that. Nancy, you are my wife, and I will love you forever. I will try to live and enjoy life, even when it’s difficult.

So… what’s next? I’ve been thinking about Spain—I’ve heard the riding is incredible there. But Paul from Celtic Rider wants me to come back and do a full ride in Ireland, since I only did a short one before. So, I booked the Wild Atlantic Tour for May. I’ll be riding solo. I like it that way.

I hope to see my friends from IBMW-Riderspace soon. Thank you to everyone who followed my posts—yes, even if it took me a few months to get them all written.

— Furman