There is nothing more important than family, the family you are born with or the family you make along the way. This latest series attests to that.

One of the most amazing things about where we are in our journey is that we have the incredible opportunity to work with our family. It is with the most heartfelt pleasure that we were able to be a small part of this latest series from photographer Andrew Hetherington.

It is hard to believe there was a time when we didn’t know Andrew, we had, in a previous life, traveled in the same circles but not actually met. Very very many years ago we finally sat down over a couple of pints in NYC's east village on a rain soaked afternoon to meet and talk all things photography and storytelling. From that seat in the pub in the east village until now and forever in the future, Andrew has and will always be a trusted conspirator, a source of tremendous inspiration and a member of our family.

Andrew’s work has always been unexpected and raw and documentary in a way that is honest and direct but also full of wit and intelligence, lyrical and full of warmth and humor, much like the man himself. When he approached us with the idea for an epic ride through some of the most heartbreakingly beautiful parts of his native Ireland with his brother and nephew it was the easiest ever decision to be a part of it. We are proud to know him and prouder still to be a part of this special series of work.

Enough from us, here is the story from the man himself.

As difficult as it is for an Irishman to make a long story short I will try to condense this one to a few pints in length:

For starters I was born and bred on the Emerald Isle, I moved to the USA when I was 25 and have lived in the States for the past 25 plus years. So do the math to figure out how old I am. My family is still back in Eire and I think of home as two places now, here and there. Anyways trying not to ramble already so that’s another story for more pints.

Back to this scéal about my love of bicycling and bikes. Started with stabilizers, then a Raleigh Chopper knock off, followed by some real Raleighs; an 18, an Olympus and a Rapide. I took a big break from the bike in my late teens till I put my leg over the cross bar of a Cannondale Synapse decades later and became a fully fledged MAMIL.

My formative cycling years were spent riding around the Dublin and Wicklow mountains. It was the 1980’s, where you took off with a few pence in your pocket for grub, a soft chamois leather in your shorts if you were lucky, a puncture repair kit, a bidon, a destination and little else. No smart phones, Garmins, power meters, compact gearing, gels, helmets or the like. My Mum and Dad hadn’t a clue where I was, who I was with, or when I would reappear but never batted an eyelid. Always made it back safe and sound in one shape or another. Dreams of being a pro were shattered early on when I realized in my first big race I wasn’t as athletically gifted as I thought I was. And even though I had a bike called a Rapide I wasn’t rapid enough myself to keep up with the fast kids. No such thing as a neutral zone turns out like I had seen on the telly. Full gas from kilometre 0. Where’s the fun in that? Why not a little genteel bike banter before the flag drop!

So yeah remember that big break I mentioned that was the start of that big break and well there were other contributing teenage activities of the non sporty sort. As luck would have it and with help and encouragement from my dad who was an incredibly talented, creative, skillful film and television cinematographer, the stills camera became my passion and gave me an all access pass to pursue my sporting interests up close and personal all be it from a different angle.

Back in Dublin for Christmas 2019, my dad, Stuart gave me a book as a present, ‘Cycling in Ireland’. A route packed road bible with over 80 different parcours ranging in distance and difficulty, over all sorts of terrain; tarmac, gravel, canal towpaths, single track, in some the most beautiful and the most remote parts of the island. Dad discovered after purchase that the author David Flanagan lived just up the road from the family house so dad being dad knocked on his front door one evening and had him sign it for me.

Leafing through ‘Cycling in Ireland’ I came across some of the old routes and so so many new ones I had partially driven but hadn’t ridden over the years. The seed had been planted on previous trips to ride ‘The Wild Atlantic Way’ one day with my brother Richard and my nephew Adam who have become cycling converts in the past few years. The ‘WAW’ is a monumental 2500km continuous road that stretches the entirety of the western coast of Ireland from tropical gastronomic capital Kinsale in County Cork in the south to the wind ripped Malin Head in County Donegal in the north. You see my dad has a camper van so the idea was for him to drive and us to ride by day, to set up camp every night along the way and have some craic as we say. Dad was always one for an adventure and this was right up his epic alley.

Covid put any idea of this being a reality on the back back burner. But I traveled to Ireland this past September for the second time since the pandemic began with hopes of riding a bit with the lads. Calendars aligned and as with the best adventures it all came together last minute spontaneous spur of the moment like. We didn’t tackle the entirety of the ‘WAW’ as originally envisaged. Instead we loaded the camper van with bikes and supplies and headed to the south west to tackle loops in Kerry and Cork all taken from the pages of the ’Bicycling in Ireland’ book.

Magical, mystical, mythical, beautiful, breathtaking (both emotionally and physically;) are only some of the words and feelings that sprung to mind with every pedal stroke. We rode for 5 days straight, each parcours being even more monumental than the one before. There was always a mountain or two to be climbed in the mind and in the legs, but there were laughs, competitive ribbing and Guinness and Negroni’s to help ease apres ride pain away. The weather gods shined and rained a little on us too. No where in the world quite like Ireland when the sun is out or when you get a taster of all 4 seasons from one minute to the next.

There is a giant pothole on the tour de life that is never ever going to be filled though. Our road captain, our Directeur Sportif, our dad, our grandad wasn’t behind the wheel of his camper van, doling out motivation and support over race radio and dishing up nourishment and goujons of wisdom by the side of the road. He died May 12 2021 of complications from cancer. We were all there, his nearest and dearest, by his side holding his hands for his final last calm peaceful meticulous breath. He and I had talked about the adventure in the days before his passing in the hope that he would get better and could partake. He had encyclopedic knowledge of all the best roads, scenic routes and spots to stop after a lifetime of travel through every Eire nook and cranny. Of course he was there in spirit guiding us as we drove, rode and set up camp. More than a few glasses were raised but the craic and the banter was not even close to being the same without him leading the team.

As he would say; it’s not about covering the most distance or being the fastest or being first. Enjoy the moment, see the world. Take the long way round while you are at it and don’t stress as the best parking spot will always be waiting. Be kind, thoughtful, compassionate, curious, loving and do it all with a big side of deliciously wicked humor and a pinch of style and some full Irish panache. And if jelly and ice cream is on the menu for dessert or even if it isn’t, always order it. I could go on and on but often times less means so much more and the smallest moments are in fact the biggest…

All the chapeaus to you dad!!!

May the road rise up to meet you…

May the wind be always at your back…

May the sun shine warm upon your face…

Until we meet again…

Share this Story

a look behind the curtain

after hours in the city

June 7th, 2023

A portfolio from Rennie Solis

April 28th, 2023

A love letter to small towns from photographer Buck Squibb

June 7^th, 2023

April 28^th, 2023