TKAS Returned (2026)

Six years ago was the last time Orwell visited The Kingdom for the annual pilgrimage to TKAS.

Fifteen Orwell members descended on Tralee for a fun-filled weekend away. They were joined by Ann Horan, Aisling O’Neill, Carthach “Cora” McCarthy and Luke GJ Potter, so the re-pioneering of TKAS was not the only blast-from-the-past.

Friday

Shaun Kelly and Martijn Vercauteren enjoyed the best of the weekend’s weather. They got out for a spin, as the rest of us saunaed in Limerick county Traffic Jams. Our outriders scouted the area and their reconnaissance returned route restructuring reports. In the intervening half decade, Sammy’s on Inch Beach had shuttered, and Tom Crean’s pub was as depopulated as its eponymous South Pole counterpart.

The memories of Sammy’s French Toast in with Barry and Lucy, and Sun-drenched Tom Crean Toasties with Sinéad flooded back to me, as I patched the Strava and RwGPS Routes.

Inch Beach. 📸 Martijn

Over dinner we were introduced to the newer members, William Browne and Gerry O’Dowd. Both were fairly accomplished cyclists in their own right. Tales were told of Paul’s Portugal trip, The Altea Affair, and re-counting some of the chat from the Red/Race group from the recently recessed Rás Week.

Possibly showing our sensibilities acquired over the previous six years, we were back in the apartments before ten pm. The TKAS veterans had become fathers, grandfathers, aunts, and I had even acquired the dreaded “Unc Status”. The TKAS first-timers must’ve thought they were on a health retreat. The Grolsch guzzling ghosts of TKAS-past were turning in their graves.

Saturday

Four and a half hours in the rain was not the postcard we had hoped to mail home.

The Saturday route brought us out the peninsula, over Conor Pass, into Dingle and around Slea Head. We had two distance options 160km and 100km. The rain cracked all but five of us.

The three person yellow group rolled out first, tapping an easy tempo to the foot of Conor Pass.

The eight Amber/Oranges were underway twenty minutes later. Having Richard McSherry and Ann Horan in the group was great. They had Swiss stories and West Cork tales to tell.

The final three musca-rocketeers started their Red-paced scone scent-lead ride at 08:30.

On the first rise on the route, Paul Quigley realised it was not going to be his morning. Luke GJ Potter, unchained from a laptop after three sedentary weeks, rolled slowly with him to the cafe. We were soon joined by the Red group, where Martijn was also not feeling the best. He pulled a U-Turn. William and Shaun did some slow paced pulling for Paul and me.

With the rain jacket on it was an arduous process to get to my food in my pockets. So I was happy to be cycling below my Critical Power, and not depleting my W’ Battery (you heard it here first, in a few years no one will be talking about FTP, it’ll be “15kj in 2 minutes” this, Compound Score that, everyday is a school day).

Conor Pass gradually got mistier as we ascended. By the time we were in the upper alcove section, it was five meters visibility. Our rear lights were a super safety feature. As we were crawling, to not even remotely the slowest Strava times in history, I saw some WhatsApp notifications on my phone. My screen was too wet to operate. I thought it was the others enquiring where we were. But they were too busy discussing tasting notes in Cappuccino foam to remember we existed.

Gor-Gillas in the Mist. 📸 Richard.

The descent was probably the closest I have ever come to “running out of talent". My rose-tinted glasses were unsee-out-of-able. My rim-brake bike was in summer mode. On wet Carbon Clinchers, slowing is a suggestion. I switched my Garmin over to the Map Page, and hoped for the best. I knew the descent, that there were only two corners that I needed to brake for, but that was in the dry. After a white-knuckle (trying to brake) ride, and sections that were more like stop-motion due to blinking rain out of my eyes, I reached Dingle, Paul in tow.

Luke, Ann & Michael Tea. Higgins. 📸 Helen.

The cafe was a narrow standup affair. The other groups were huddled in there like Penguins. Facing a sure-fire rain soaked next 40km, undeterred Marie Murnane announced her intention to circumnavigate Slea Head. There was a slow “I’m Spartacus” response. The Famous Five, as they would become known as, also consisted of local lad Tony Walsh, Richard, Ronan Gill and William. William powered on ahead solo. Ronan metronomically set the group’s pace. The sun would eventually come out for them.

They got a headstart on the kit drying. 📸 Richard.

The rest of us sulked home. Tomorrow was another day. Paul and I again brought up the rear. My ego would take a beating that I had come home without a 25kph average speed, but my main aim of the weekend was to get a lot of time in the saddle. I’d eventually clock up more than ten hours. Paul started to feel much faster as the ride wore on. I noticed that he was actually pushing decent power on the kick up through Annascaul. He came back to his old self, at just the right time, the flat run to Tralee. I was slowly wearing down, as I was lazily taking food out of my pockets at too poorly spaced widening intervals, as the rain jacket pocket access was arduous. I was still full of glycogen, but my lizard brain was starting to freak out over the pit opening in my stomach. Paul was pulling hard and I was physically and mentally unable to come around him. A massive role-reversal.

At dinner we were joined by Kerry native Aisling O’Neill. Aisling had arranged the food stop for Glencar on Sunday. She told us all about the Rowing that she had embarked on since departing Dublin. We were also photographed for a paper in Tralee.

Papped 📸 Kerry Eye

Sunday

On the second day of TKAS we could see scenery.

The Sunday route went south, to Killarney, up the Gap of Dunloe, around Black Valley, over Moll’s Gap, included a humbling on Ballaghbeama and passed some lakes. It offers 145km and 112km route options.

Gerry opted for a shorter route along the greenway to Fenit Pier and the statue of St. Brendan. Consequently, he was the most fresh-faced at the pre-dinner Guinness taste testing. The Murnanes drove to Killarney to lop off ~50km from the 145km route. Marie had done the big route the previous day, and Dave Murnane had done most of the pulling in the Amber/Orange group. A duo-deserving rest.

Paul, Richard and Luke rolled out of Tralee at 08:06. We headed up the climb at the start of the R2018, and onto the rolling road to Killarney. We met Carthach “Cora” McCarthy, and the big rigs were rolling. To be a member of Big Rig CC, you need to be either 80kg+, six foot tall, or be really handsome. Our alliance lasted until the foot of the Gap of Dunloe. As the Amber/Orange group, with their engine room supplemented by newly added fresh legs of Diarmuid Donnelly, and audible to route via the N22 (which all of them voted against the previous night, 🤔 sneaky), caught us. Cora was the last survivor of our breakaway efforts, or maybe she was an undercover satellite rider for Helen Horan of Blondies CC (🤔 sneakier).

Over the first bridge on the Gap of Dunloe, I was wondering why I could hear Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries". I looked over my shoulder to see Shaun, William and Mountain Goat Martijn, of the Red group. The starting time splits had worked fairly well, as we all convened on the Gap of Dunloe without anyone being under pressure depleting their W’ Battery. It was then 15km to the Café. The Gap of Dunloe was very beautiful. Paul and I got over the top together.

These fans thought he was the real Sean Kelly. 📸 Martijn

Black Valley was placid with no wind. Although Paul and I did need to stop to put on rain jackets. I wore my Cargo bib shorts today, as with the longer route, I wanted to carry a pack of Sour Patch Kids. The pockets on the thighs are also great to stuff a Gillet into, and also the leaky Gel wrappers don’t stain your jersey. I’m amazed that all leisure kits don't come with cargo pockets in the year of our lord 2026. I did make a small push for my new club, Tuam CC, to try to get cargo bibs.

On Moll’s Gap, it was very apparent that my ego would take another beating, as we were nowhere near averaging 25kph. I looked back to see how Paul was doing. He was getting passed by a girl on a gravel bike. As I was going at Paul’s pace, she passed me too. My fragile ego was about to shatter. Decision time.

I bridged up to the interloper. Her name was Astrid, and she had picked up the gravel bike earlier that day, and was taking it on its maiden voyage. I pre-apologised for not letting her beat me on the climb, explaining the 25kph-Bruised Ego situation. When we got onto the final few hundred meters, I politely attacked. As I looked back, Paul was also attacking. We had both rescued our fragile egos from shattering. Day Saved!

Upon arrival, at Avoca Moll’s Gap, the faster groups were finishing up their coffee stop. Ann had also joined the group after riding up Ladies View from Killarney. Ann had a double-length coffee stop, which was ideal for her Wicklow 200 Taper. The three of us then rolled down Ladies View. One of the most fake news descents in the country, given how much pedaling you need to do.

Taking a mental health break from pedalling down a descent. 📸 Luke

The rest of the gang pressed on for their own ego checks. Every tactic in the book is needed to not walk up Ballaghbeama. It requires zig-zagging, sleepy sheep skirting, sheep dropping dodging, and a full Oisin in Tír na nÓg feet can't touch the ground/floor is lava mentality. They were rewarded with Aisling’s pre-booked Soup and Sambos in The Climber’s Inn in Glencar. The gang coasted around the lakes, and Shaun set an infernal pace on Castlemaine’s final climb. Martijn could not come around Shaun. Cementing Shaun Kelly’s “King” nominative determinism status.

The Climbers Inn had Climbers in. 📸 Diarmuid

Luke and Paul said au revoir to Ann, and battled the Killarney Bike Fest traffic jams. We opted to take the N22 home. It was safe enough for us to ride single file. Just like Saturday, Paul had got the motor running when we needed it most, a long 32km run for home. Unlike the day before, Paul requested help in riding on the front. He gave me the “Remco Rotate” gesture, and I had the choice to either be Jonas or Pogacar. Choosing the lesser of two evils, we chopped off. For the remainder of the ride, Big Rig CC averaged 27kph from Killarnery to Farranfore, and then 29kph to Tralee. I saw on the map that we were basically back in Tralee, but there were two punchy hills remaining. I was going to put a marker on Paul on the final hill. But first I had to survive the first one. Chanting a mantra of “ce n’est pas fini”, I held on with pure force of will. On the final bump, I unloaded five hard pedal strokes on Paul. He shouted “STEADY!!!”. I turned around to make hand gestures at him, for style points. And when I turned back to push on again, envisioning my hands in the air, my legs filled with Lactate and I was pedalling squares. Just like Aesop had foretold, the Tortoise had beaten the Hare.

God bless the work. 📸 Luke

We were, once again, back in the apartments by ten o’clock, but we had sampled various pints of Guinness before dinner. You need to be very tactical in this game. The only downside of the TKAS weekend, for me personally, is that my Car Insurance expires on June 1st every year. So I had to sort that before attempting to drive home in the morning.

We had fifteen make the trip this year. But we would love more to attend next year, to re-make TKAS into the Orwell Summer Weekend Away that was so popular in the mid-to-late-2010s. June 4th to 7th 2027. €150pps for the apartment, you can’t go wrong. The only catch is that you need to decide in January/February if you’re going. Full Details: TKAS 2027.