Baking in the sun outside the ‘Rusty Mackerel’ a picture perfect pub in a forgotten corner of south west Donegal on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, I watch as the owner of the pub spins past on Garry’s fatbike. “I am cruising” he shouts , cigarette in mouth. Sometimes days and experiences come along that you know will last forever. The ones you will try to recreate without success. The owner flies by in the opposite direction ‘Still cruising’ he shouts gleefully, cigarette still in mouth. The pint in front of me is going down easier than the first one. I may never leave. Garry, bike shop owner and fatbike lover, is talking to Mary, a local lady and her German partner. I am having my second pint because of this lovely lady. She is just back from bringing Garry up to collect the van, saving us an half hour uphill climb and more importantly creating time for me to have a second pint. She insisted on giving us a spin up even though we had only been speaking for few minutes. I am chatting to an Indain granny and her 6 year old american grandson about why bikes have gears. She had never seen a gear on a bike before. She says it’s very flat where she is from.‘Feckin hell’ I think ’I know we Irish are famous for our friendliness but this is ridiculous’. An indian granny,a 6 year old American boy ,a Berliner and a Manchuian (owner) all having the craic on a sunny evening after one of the best days on a bike I ever had.. South west Donegal has put us under a spell I think. Click this link to read the full report in PDF format