Dunquin, in Irish Dún Chaoin, is the last village before the road turns north, and it has the look of a place that has been hanging on at the edge of things for a very long time. The houses are scattered down a hillside above a cove, and the pier below is reached by a steep, zigzagging track that has been a postcard staple for decades. From here the boats once crossed to the Blasket Islands, a mile or two offshore across a stretch of water that can be calm one hour and furious the next.
The islands were abandoned in 1953, when the government moved the last inhabitants to the mainland after a hard winter and a dwindling population made life there impossible. The islanders left behind a literary legacy out of all proportion to their number, with books like An tOileánach, by Tomás Ó Criomhthain, and Peig by Peig Sayers, which every Irish schoolchild has met, willingly or not. The Blasket Centre in Dunquin tells the story well and is worth an hour if the weather turns. It sits right on the road, with a cafe, and the view from its windows is hard to beat.
For riders, the stretch around Dunquin is one of the more rewarding parts of the loop. The road drops and climbs through small bends, with views across the sound that change on every corner, and the surface is mostly good. Parking at the pier is tight, so leave the bike at the top and walk down if you want a look. Sheep and tourists are the two main hazards. In summer the village is lively; out of season it can be nearly silent, and the weather can strip the colour from the landscape in an afternoon.
Fuel is not available in the village, and the nearest dependable pumps are in Dingle, about thirteen kilometres away. If you need a sit-down meal or a bed, Dunquin has a small youth hostel and a handful of guesthouses, and the cafe at the Blasket Centre is a good fallback.
There is something faintly humbling about standing here. Few places have so little between you and the other side of the Atlantic, and the cliffs and the sea still do exactly what they did when the islanders rowed out in their naomhóga, the tarred canvas boats built for these waters.