Somewhere in the Manor resides a copy of "The Military Road", by Michael Fewer. I say somewhere, because I've been looking for it for the past half hour but can't find it anywhere, inspired as I was earlier by a spin out in that direction.The Military Road runs from the foothills of the optimistically named Dublin Mountains right into the wilds of Wicklow, over the boggy shoulder of Kippure on to the Sally Gap and out to Laragh (near Glendalough) before twisting on towards Glenmalure and beyond.
If I could find the book I could sound very authoritative here and give you some interesting little snippets, but sadly it is not to be. A quick google tells me it was constructed by the British military between 1800 and 1809 to flush out the remaining participants of the 1798 rebellion who were hiding out in the wilderness of the Wicklow uplands at that time.
It's not often that I can say many positive things have been achieved by rebellions in Ireland over the years, but the Military Road is one worthwhile consequence. Many were the times in my youth I'd head out that way on my trusty old mod scooter and be gobsmacked by the isolation of it all. Even now, after years living away, it still holds a fascination of its own, both for the vistas it reveals at every turn and for marvelling at the feat of engineering of its time that it was.
But hold on... this sounds too much like a Bord Failte article for comfort. So let me add that you are best going up there in winter time - as there are still far too many natives about in summer, despite the Redcoats' best efforts. If you venture up there on a day like today, you can be sure it will be populated by half-wits capable of spoiling the Zen-like composure of the Dalai Lama, inducing in that personage mouth-foaming fits of road rage akin to the ones I suffered earlier.
Examples? Try the following...
Pretend 4x4s coming around blind corners in the middle of narrow roads at breakneck (literally) speed, where two cars can hardly pass without sampling the flora and fauna of an obliging ditch.
Other "drivers" doddering along at 20 km/h with a serpentine trail of cars behind them, either oblivious to their presence or simply not of a mind to let them pass.
Cyclists going along two abreast - subjecting one to prolonged observation of their sweaty, male, lycra-clad arses (fine, if that's your thing, but it's not mine... Gwen Stefani's lycra-clad arse might just be about tolerable).
Verminous little brats spilling out of MPVs onto the road ahead of you, forcing you to test your anti-lock brakes (my car's work very well, by the way... and so does the horn, showing no signs of fade even after constant use).
And why, oh why, do the authorities insist on locking the carparks shut, so that people have to park on the narrow roads instead? And what does the guy driving around in the Jeep that says "Ranger" actually do?
A relaxing drive in the countryside? Don't get me started.
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