The Road Where Things Go Backwards
(No it’s not a bad Irish joke)
‘Have you been to the road where things go backwards?’ asked Eilish, as I sat having breakfast in the Carlow hostel.
‘The what?’ I replied.
‘The road where things go backwards. It’s up near Dundalk. Daddy took some Americans there last year. There is a section of road that goes downhill and if you stop the car at the bottom, put it in neutral and release the brake the car will roll backwards up the hill.’
I started looking for the TV cameras. This was obviously some sort of joke. The thing was that Eilish was dead serious.
‘You’re joking, of course,’ I replied.
‘No, it’s no joke. It’s up north of Dundalk. Daddy knows where. I’ll get him on the phone for you.
Before I knew it I was speaking on the phone to a fella called Éamonn, who proceeded to explain to me in full detail how to get there. ‘It’s no joke,’ he explained. ‘I took some American friends up there, and the man was a high court judge. Well, they couldn’t believe their eyes and videoed the whole process.
I put the phone down and pondered this for a moment. It couldn’t be a joke, they certainly wouldn’t send me all the way up there as a joke. The Irish were fun loving, but not cruel. I still couldn’t find those cameras, so I assumed it must be true, or at least true in the old man’s eyes.
I mentioned this to my friend Eoin, who had never heard of it and was quite intrigued by it all. Later that day I met up with my friend Eddie who is basically the Delboy of Ireland, and one of the best known street traders around. Eddie had been there, and said that back in the day when it was first discovered it was all over the television, and is also in the Guinness book of records. ‘It’s an illusion,’ he said.
‘Yeah, you’re actually rolling downhill, but the way the hill is situated you feel like you’re rolling uphill.’
This was disappointing news. Not only was it well known, but it was also not real.
‘It’s good though,’ said Eddie.
Upon return to Wexford I told the story to others and none of them had heard of it, so it couldn’t be that famous.
A few weeks later I found myself purposely travelling up that way in order to check out this phenomenon. My friend Nika was equally keen to see this for herself. I drove into Dundalk and spent a few hours visiting the local papers looking for potential book reviews. During an interview with Francis Carroll at the Argus I mentioned that I was up here to look for this.
‘Ah yes, I know it,’ he said. ‘I used to live near it. Can’t remember what it’s called, though. But it’s on the road out to Carlingford. Look for the turn off for McCrystals and ask anyone around there. Actually Carlingford is a nice little place to visit.’
I then went for an interview with Joe Carroll (don’t know if they are related) who was a very funny and friendly man. Joe also knew of the place. ‘Gravity Hill,’ he called it, and sent us on our way with a hearty handshake and some fruit from a nearby basket for the journey.
With all these people knowing about this, I was beginning to wonder if this would mar the adventure somewhat and that we would arrive to find a queue of tourists in cars paying small fees of money to ride the hill.
According to Éamonn’s directions I had to clock up eight miles to the turn off along the Carlingford road before finding the turn off for a tourist attraction called the Long Woman’s Grave. The Carlingford road took us along the stunningly beautiful Cooley Peninsula, awash with low green hills, high mountains and ocean views. As I drove I searched in vain for the signs, but before I knew it was driving into Carlingford town.
I pulled to the side of the road and asked a man digging his front garden.
‘Ah, you’re the second person to ask me about that. You’ve gone past it. Go back out to the Dundalk road and drive for about five miles and you’ll see McCrystals and a big petrol station. The turning is directly opposite. Ask inside and they’ll direct you from there.’
Carlingford turned out to be a pretty little town sitting aside Carlingford Lough with narrow streets and whitewashed cottages. The peninsula’s mountains formed a stunning backdrop to the town. It had been my intention to see this hill and then drive on to Donegal, but time was getting on and I quite took to the idea of spending the night in this attractive little seaside town. I found the Carlingford Adventure Centre and Holiday Hostel, but there was no parking outside. The woman at reception informed us there were public toilets near the tourist office and suggested that we spend the night in the car park there.
We left Carlingford and headed back out on the Dundalk road. Five miles were clocked up and still there was no sign of McCrystals or a petrol station. I figured that five miles was just a bad estimate on his part. It was, and soon I was pulling into the petrol station. There was still no sign of McCrystals. The girl at the counter smiled when I asked her about the road that goes backwards.
‘Go back down the road towards Dundalk and take the first turn off left. Follow the road to the right and then immediately left.’
I took the turn off and discovered that what everyone had been talking about was actually a sign for McCrystals. After another wrong turn we headed back to that road and found McCrystals Food Store just a little way up. We pulled over there for a drink and an ice cream.
‘I’m looking for the road where things go backwards,’ I said, as he handed me my ice cream.
‘Ah, Magic Road,’ he said.
‘Is that what you call it then?’
‘That’s right. If you go left from here to the end of the road you’ll come to a T-Junction, take a right and then an immediate left. Follow the road to the top of the hill, then down into a dip where you’ll see a big mushroom. Stop there, put the car in neutral and release the brake. You’ll roll backwards up the hill.’
A big mushroom! I thought. This phenomenon has obviously messed with the minds of the local people.
I got back in the van, finished my ice cream and then took to the road. At the junction I took a right then a left at signs indicating the Táin Trail, which is a 40-kilometre trail that makes a circuit of the peninsula through the Cooley Mountains. The road led up a long, straight and steep incline and then at the brow of the hill went down into a dip. At the bottom of this hill I spotted a large, brown, circular storage hut, which, if you imagined hard enough, could have been a giant mushroom. Immediately I slammed on the brakes.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Nika.
‘I think this is it,’ I replied. ‘Look, there’s the mushroom.’
Nika remained quiet, possibly wondering if this obsession was beginning to affect my sanity. We were at the very base of the hill, so I put the van in neutral and took my foot off the brake.
‘Bloody hell!’ I cried. ‘Look, we’re rolling uphill!’
And we were, we were rolling up the hill. It was amazing, no it was astounding. The hill slanted upwards slightly then became steeper halfway up. At the steeper point we picked up speed, until finally reaching the brow of the hill and then beginning to roll down the big hill. I braked, put the van in gear and drove down the hill again to the mushroom. Once again we rolled back up the hill. I felt like a child who’d just watched a magician for the first time. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I rode up and down that hill for the next half an hour, as traffic passed cautiously. The local people watched with amusement, obviously knowing exactly what I was up to. You could tell when the passing car contained tourists because they ! looked on with complete bewilderment at this deranged man driving up and down the hill.
I drove up the other side and turned around. A man was building a wall in front of his house, and watched us with a smile. I drove back down and stopped at the same place, to see if we rolled forward. We did, but somehow it didn’t have the same effect. So I turned around again and repeated the backwards roll. I swung my head from back to front looking from both angles trying to see how this worked. I couldn’t. Nika got out and took photos and then drove the van herself. We both laughed like schoolchildren.
Eventually I pulled the van over to the side and studied the road from the side. From the ground I could see that the road actually slanted down and that it was the funny angle of the hill creating this illusion. It really was an illusion, but it was a bloody good one. But what was so great about it was that there wasn’t a queue of tourists paying to try it. There wasn’t even a sign to indicate what it was. It hadn’t been exploited one bit, and was just a piece of country road with a hidden secret.
Eventually I managed to tear myself away. We decided to continue up the road to the Long Woman’s Grave. Once again we passed the man building his wall and waved. He waved back, took one look at our huge grins, and burst out laughing.
The Long Woman’s Grave lay at the very top of the hill. There was nothing else around except rocky hills and sheep. A small sign by a pile of rocks indicated the grave. A plaque underneath told the story. Another car had pulled up and a woman got out and joined us as we read it:
The Legend of the Long Woman
Deprived of his heritage by a scheming brother, Lorcan O’Hanlon of the Ui Meith Mara, using his splendid galley, engaged in profitable trading to the East. On one voyage he rescued a Spanish grandee and his daughter, Cauthleen, descendents of the princely O’Donnells. He fell in love with the tall Spanish girl and promised to bring her to Ireland to share his possessions in view from high up on the mountain.
With him, she climbed to this hollow and saw a small area of barren, rocky mountain. The shock was such that she collapsed and died. This scattered pile of stones marks the last resting place of the Long Woman.
I imagine here last words were: ‘Bloody hell, you expect me to live here?’
‘It’s a bit of a tall story, isn’t it?’ said the lady who had joined us.
We laughed. Naturally we got chatting and I couldn’t resist asking her if she’d heard about Magic Hill. She had heard something about it but didn’t realise it was around here. I had been bursting to talk to someone about it, so for the next ten minutes her ears flapped back and forth as they were bombarding with my excitable words.
Inevitably the conversation got on to me being a travel writer and that I was travelling around to publicise and sell my book. Ten more minutes later I was signing a copy for her. So there I was, on a lonely mountaintop surrounded by rocks, sheep and sheep shit, and I was selling a book to the only other tourist there. I wondered how many travel writers could say that they had sold a book and done and signing at the top of a lonely mountain at the Long Woman’s Grave, after having rolled backwards up the hill?
Directions to Magic hill
Leave Dundalk and take the R173 to Carlingford. Halfway along you will spot a Texaco Petrol Station. Take the first left after this, where you’ll see a sign for McCrystals Food Store, and signs for the Táin Trail and Oriel Trail; there is no sign for the Long Woman’s Grave. Follow the road around and past McCrystals until you reach a T-Junction. Turn right and immediately left on the other side, again following signs for the Táin and Oriel Trails. Follow the road straight to the brow of the hill, go down into a dip and stop immediately next to the big mushroom. Then watch in amazement as your car rolls back up the hill.
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-By Ian Middleton
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