Lately I’ve been making some new Irish paintings available for sale on my personal site rather than on IrishKC.

They include scenes of Dublin - landmarks and bridges by its River Liffey and bay - and rural scenes. 6 of the 9 are now sold.

If a painting you’d like is sold there there prints of my Irish paintings available.

There is also a fuller list of my paintings available for sale.

L. Landmarks

Sheep

Howth & Dun L.

Cottage…

Loopline Br

Liffey Bridges

Fr Grattan Br

L. Hall & O C. Br

Sherwin Br

 

Read: Paintings of Ireland Summer 2010 »

Long-time Irish KC readers might recognise that this painting of an Irish Cottage (detail shown, click for full painting) comes from the Cottage Chronicles that appeared on IrishKC 2 years ago.

This painting is priced at a special reduced price for the painting’s introduction which is good until late on Wednesday, July 20, 2010.

There are also other Irish paintings currently on sale and more being launched over the next 2 weeks. Some paintings have already sold - to avoid losing out you may wish to read How I Sell Paintings Online

Read: Painting of an Irish Cottage »

One of the Irish highlight’s of the year in Kansas City is Brown’s Irish Street Faire, and 2010 was no exception despite the afternoon storms.

If you missed it, like I did, or you just want to live it again, here’s an epic slideshow of photos of this year’s event.

The video is courtesy of the Midwest Irish Focus, the monthly news magazine for the Irish-American communities in Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, southern Illinois, Arkansas and Oklahoma. You can, and should, read the blog of the Focus

Next year’s festival celebrates 124 years for Browne’s Irish Market & Deli as North America’s Oldest Irish Business and Kansas City’s Oldest Family Owned Business.

Read: Brown’s Irish Street Faire 2010 »

I do.

Hoping your day is lovely.

See Also:
  • Frequently Asked Irish Question
  • For Fathers
  • An American Dog in Ireland

Read: Do You Have The 4th Of July In Ireland? »

For fathers, and all who miss them,

Happy Fathers Day.

“Leave my son alone. That goes for everyone in your family.”

Read: For Fathers »

I put your card on the pile.

Read: Happy Day »

Ocean

Part 82 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal documenting what I’m hoping is my last day as I attempt to reach the west coast:

Out loud I screamed at myself - “Look ! Look ! Look!”. I was trying to tell myself to look at that blueness cradled between 2 mountains as I was descending from Santa Ysabel. Going 30mph the view only lasted a minute and then no more as I was left to wonder if I’d seen the coast which was 40 miles away.

What would it look like? The image I’d pictured in my mind so often. What shade of blue, of green or of turquoise might it be? Could it be grey or brown (the Liffey influence)? A sandy beach or rocks? Scenic or unremarkable? Residential or recreational? Would the waves be breaking? What shade of blue would it be like?

I had long expected the possibility, indeed likelihood, of an anti-climax among all the endings of the trip - but I hadn’t envisaged what actually happened. The ocean when I saw it was not any of the above colours. The blueness I’d seen from the great distance away was clouds which I later descended into.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #82 »

Anza-Borrego Desert

Part 81 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section somewhere in a desert in California:

After talking at the outdoor stand with my Philadelhia host for a good half an hour, I put the phone down. Almost immediately I saw a coyote. I had started running to keep warm but now I was stopped just looking at him. He stopped also and we looked at each other for a couple of minutes. He was maybe 25 to 30 feet away. It was cold so I moved on.

Back here only a few minutes and I heard a racket. I turned off the lights and stood outside. Coyotes all around, howling. Like a fantastic orchestra. For a full 5 minutes there was this wonderful noise filling the valley. And then it stopped completely and it was time for me to come back in and try and warm up.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #81 »

Yuma Desert

Part 80 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in California:

NFL Week 12. The Chiefs beat the Bears. My last NFL Sunday on the bike. All being well tomorrow morning I’ll pay for the Amtrak tickets and have them posted on to Oceanside. That means this time next week I’ll be on a train going East. With the day that’s in it tomorrow it’s still difficult to think that far ahead.

It’s only 55 or 60 miles but it’s the biggest climb of the entire trip. I’m going up over 4,000 feet I’ve been led to believe. That will test my legs and their currently dormant pains, my pedal and its widening crack, and my ability to beat the sunset.

The last 11 miles have me particularly worried. That’s when I rejoin Highway 78. Without a shoulder and accompanied by heavy fast traffic - I have noticed that traffic in California is certainly fast - possibly fighting dusk, and all the time worried that my pedal will snap off as I push up the winding road. With the weekend over at least all the dune buggy traffic should be gone.

With the first piece of indecision yet regarding the cycling route I went one way then the other etc.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #80 »

Algodones Dunes

Part 79 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in the California desert:

What is it that Americans have against contours? As well as the truly awful map I purchased back in Blythe I got 2 more maps yesterday. One of San Diego County (from which I’m only 25 miles away) and the other of Imperial County (which I’ve been in since shortly after leaving Blythe in Riverside County). Both of them are very very detailed but contours are not something they’re interested in.

It’s turned half-8 so realistically I won’t leave until 10. First I have to decide where I’m going. A fitter me would have no problem reaching the coast in 2 days but it’s been quite a while since I’ve been fit. Actually my legs seem to have got stronger since the pains stopped. Or maybe my mind is now elsewhere.

Every day a different problem. Today’s focus is the left pedal. The crank is very seriously cracked lengthways. More than a hair line. When it breaks I’ll be stranded. To get it fixed might take some time and from what I can tell I’ll only be able to get it fixed in San Diego at which point if I’m there already then the trip is over.

So the biggest concern is the immediate consequence of the break. It’s on the left hand side so if I’m pushing (as I will going up any kind of slope) then I’ll fall immediately to the left straight underneath any passing vehicle. Even if there’s no vehicle following - unlikely as the population is now picking up - I’m still going to hurt myself.

Standing up on the pedals to give my saddle-sore backside a break or simply to admire the view is also now quite dangerous. Therefore with safety first in mind I’m trying to pick a route that minimises climbing. There’s only really two options with one of those options having a sub-option.

Narrow twisting roads up mountains with fast Californian drivers strike me as dangerous given that I’m bracing myself for the pedal to break off as every vehicle approaches from behind. Given that I’ve still got the trots I think I’ll try and keep today very short.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #79 »

California

Part 78 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in the 24th and final state of the trip, California:

You know you’re in the desert when the road is lined with beer bottles. I’ll be seeing a lot of bottles today.

The coverage of the death and life of Cardinal Bernadin goes on. President Clinton gets reported on going back on his promise of troops leaving Bosnia yet I seem to remember that everybody expected this to happen. Texaco have settled their racial discrimination dispute although Jesse Jackson is still calling for a boycott starting today.

The Colorado River Indian Reservation is unique in the sense that it is occupied by 4 distinct tribal groups. The Mohave, whose tie to the land dates from 9,000 years ago, are followed in number by the Chemehuevi who also resided on the land before it became a reservation. The Hopi and Navajo were relocated by the Bureau of Indian Affairs in 1945 from their home reservations in north-eastern Arizona.

I was heading for the Tribes Museum when I realised I’d forgotten my coat. Back at the Kofa Motel the receptionist told me I’d had a phone call just after I’d left - an international one. Breakfast had been next door at a place called Coffee Ern’s. Again I tenderly ate some French toast and a muffin. The hot tea on the menu said “one package only” in brackets which annoyed me so I got none.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #78 »

Somewhere, Arizona

Part 77 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in Arizona as I get try to get nearer to California:

Had breakfast yesterday in the Free Lunch Restaurant. If it had been my birthday they’d've given me one (with proper ID). I’d woken up feeling nauseous. I still wanted to throw up. I certainly didn’t want to eat so I just ordered some French toast and a muffin. The French toast was a struggle, the tea was warm, and I didn’t attempt the muffin.

Harcuvar is Mojave for “sweet water” not that I could see any. It used to be a station on the Parker branch of the Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe railroad. It’s also known as “Mountain Pass” after the mountain pass truck stop, which used to be very busy when Highway 60 was the main route between Phoenix and L.A. (before I-10).

I couldn’t see anything that might lead to the Indian petroglyphs so I just cycled on through the pass. It was downhill and through a heap of gravely hills with Saguaros all around. This is Granite Wash Pass. When you come through you drop into the town of Hope. I say town but like all the others it’s just a couple of buildings and an RV park which makes it look much bigger. I stopped and loaded up with water and some chocolate.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #77 »

Southwest Dreams

Part 76 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in Arizona where I was enjoying soups:

For another day the trip is still alive. The leg is now as it was cycling, very tender. But the cycle was easy - in fact one of the easiest. It needs to end soon; my dreams are getting worrying.

Last night I was at Goodison with a friend from Liverpool for ages. Kevin Sheedy was still playing albeit a bit slow. In the Presidential election Regis Philbin got less votes than Clinton but when Clinton declined the presidency Regis ended up accepting. A few nights ago I dreamt I stopped in the Southwest and started working. I was very happy until an old work colleague from England turned up in the mirror of a pub. Then he turned up in the workplace, and finally he ended up sitting beside me. Then I woke up.

I forgot to take any photos of Wickenburg. One of the nicest small towns I’ve been in and I have no photographic record of it. Another McDonald’s for another breakfast. Everybody seemed to smile at me and I ate my horrible pancakes as if they were medicine.

26 miles to Aguila through the hills. Occasionally through gaps I would get glimpses of mountains behind the hills. These were the Vulture Mountains to the South. I had climbed up a couple of hundred feet.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #76 »

Leaving Phoenix

Part 75 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in Arizona as I begin the final stretch of the trip from the Phoenix area west to the coast:

Today I made a promise to my legs. I’ll never put them through anything like this again.

If I keep this promise - and I always do when it’s to a person, so I guess I should when it’s to a pair of legs - that means categorically no Africa, no Australia, no Asia, and no Latin America. Pain. Today was agony. The most painful day of the whole trip.

For the first time since the crash, I considered considering stopping.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #75 »

Valley of the Sun

Part 74 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in Arizona when I was resting with my last contacts before heading on for California and the end of the trip at the coast:

It really isn’t that far. Certainly in relation to what I’ve already cycled. I’m starting to believe that I’ve almost done it or at least am about to complete it. Is that dangerous? Today I spoke with a man who said I could ride on Interstate-8. He said it’s a tough ride - being in the desert and there’s a big climb as you cross the state line into California, but then even he said I’m practically there if I’ve already come from Boston.

I’ve relaxed a lot here. Become part of an American family and just enjoyed sharing their life and their friends. I’ve had a lot of fun and not thought too much of the last 3 and a half months or the road ahead. I haven’t used my time here to tour Phoenix and I’ve been happy not to. Instead I’ve got to meet many people and observe life for an American family in what is essentially a new town in the Southwest.

And the picture becomes clearer. The options fewer. At 8 in the morning a friend of my hosts called Mark arrives on his bike. Going his usual way to work he will escort me the 12 miles into downtown Phoenix and see me onto the Buckeye highway.

A year ago Mark cycled with sag wagon from San Diego to here. It was with a prayer group of businessmen, most of whom carried on across the country to Jacksonville, Florida. Today Mark showed me a short video of the trip to give me an idea of the terrain between here and San Diego and he talked me through the route.

Problem. He was at the beginning of his trip and was able for big mileages as I once was back in the East. Now I’m not. It would be foolhardy to budget for a 115 mile day along Interstate-8. I wouldn’t make it and when it gets dusk I’m on the most dangerous stretch of road you could want.

In the morning if he confirms that there is definitely a hotel 90 miles away then I will consider it and if I go ahead then I will carry on to Gila Bend via Buckeye. If not then it’s on with my plan going north-west on the busy US 60 to Wickenburg. From here I could find out about lodging further down the road. I suspect there’s something in Salome. At the very worst there’s something in Quartzite.

By sticking with my route I just have so many more options and life should be safer that way. He’s concerned about what liquids I can carry but I’m not. He went across the desert in over 100 degrees. Although yesterday was 89 today was lower and the norm for this time of year is 77. I have also already been in the desert for some time so drinks is far from my biggest concern. It’s not even lodging anymore. It’s the muscular pain in my legs.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #74 »

Apache Junction

Part 73 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

Some easier to read excerpts of the journal from the handwritten section in Arizona:

What colours, what shapes. Every day it’s impossible to know what forms I’m going to see, to cycle past and through. Arizona seems incapable of being anything but spectacular.

From the Apache Gold Casino complex to Globe was a demoralising 7 miles. It was uphill and into a headwind. I was annoyed with the forecasters who told me it was “calm”. This was a wind, and like the day before when they forecast a south-west wind only to leave me with a north-west headwind, I was finally starting to dislike and disrespect these people.

My left leg went straight away. In these conditions I didn’t have a chance of making it to Apache Junction let alone to Tempe or Mesa. Immediately took 2 more extra strength Tylenol and they reduced the pain enabling me to pedal. There are so many advertisements for pain killers that compare themselves favourably to Tylenol that I prefer to stick with the market leader even if it’s not the best. I simply don’t like all this negative promotion. Having been in supermarkets I would buy groceries this way too - if I lived here. When a package says 25% more than Brand X I would simply go and purchase Brand X.

The road to Globe confirmed to me that I actually would’ve taken an hour in the dark had I persisted the previous night so I was very lucky when I found Apache Gold at Cutter.

Without the setting sun draping the surrounding mountains in red the scenery was not as spectacular but I felt safer on my 2-foot shoulder in the bright sunshine. With my leg and the wind maybe I should just call it quits and write off another day by staying in Globe.

The community of Globe was established in 1876 because of the minerals there. Supposedly it got its name from a large piece of silver in the shape of a globe found in a local mine. The area is still active in mining both copper and turquoise.

I needed breakfast and chose a “Jack in the Box” for potato wedges with cheese and bacon and a cheeseburger. If the wind did not get any stronger and the road stayed level then I could just about make it to Apache Junction but it would mean no time for the Indian ruins of Besh-Ba-Gowah. What to do, to do?

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #73 »

Reservation

Part 72 of the Cycle-Across-America series. (Read from the start in Boston or see the full index)

My first full day in the state of Arizona, a day dominated by an Apache reservation.

This post is made up of excerpts from the audio-taped section of my journal so it’s long and frequently awkward. It will be edited and rewritten for the book.

Friday I think. No it’s not, it’s Thursday. The 7th of November. I’m not certain where I am. It’s not in Globe where I was supposed to be. I’m 7 miles from there. On the Apache Gold Reservation, Casino section.

None of the place is finished. The hotel, the casino, the restaurants. But, it’s open. 35 dollars for a room which should be about 70.

The way yesterday was laid out I decided to have breakfast before I left, then eat half way at a town called Bylas in the reservation. There was no chance of me going a few miles and having breakfast, that wouldn’t do much good so I had to go into a McDonalds for a 2nd morning on the trot.

It’s pretty built up from Safford, because you go through Thatcher, Central, and Pima - and they’re all within maybe 8, 10 miles of each other. All completely dominated by Mount Graham. It’s huge.

The road was a bit hairy, because there was no shoulder. A 4-lane with a turning centre lane, but there was little traffic so it wasn’t too bad.

When I got into Pima there was a sign which said “Last Motel for 70 miles” which struck me as a very threatening way of trying to get business. And it would’ve worked on me if it was the evening.

Mount Graham is 10,713. In that same section, because it’s almost free standing this small range, is Red Peak which is also over 10,000, and you could see snow up on that one but not on the higher one for some reason.

The valley was quite fertile, obviously well irrigated but I couldn’t see the river off to my right a few hundred yards. There’s quite a lot of cotton around. It’d been taken in and was in those big brick formats sitting in fields or in the backs of passing trucks. There wasn’t much else. I saw one tiny field of corn, which was a nice trip down memory lane.

The next town I got to was Fort Thomas, where there was what looked like a couple of big government buildings with the town on one side of the road in behind a big country store. And then, 5 miles further along, I came to Geronimo.

[The rest of this post, is continued below the fold]

Read: Cycling Across America #72 »

Loath as I am to blog about blogging, I should probably tell you that currently I’m working on putting a system into place that will prevent periods like this of quiet activity on IrishKC.

Or in other words there are all sorts of exciting things destined for this Kansas City Irish corner of the web, but I can’t give you an exact date when because matters relating to painting Irish pictures take priority.

You’d think, lazy as I am, that I wouldn’t have priorities.

Read: A Kansas City Irish Corner Of The Web »