Today, I used the excuse of my birthday to cajole my nearly-12 year old onto the Torr Road for a spin.
It was, as always, lovely.
We only had two near-misses, one with a tourist who’s clearly never driven the road before and was white-knuckling it. The other when we attempted a 6 point turn to snap pics of some lambs that Liam spotted. They were cute, and worth it. These are said lambs:
The thing about the Torr road is not just that you can spot the Mull of Kintyre in Scotland on a clear day like today (this is from Torr Head):
And it’s not just about the vistas, like this one back toward Cushendun:
Or this one, toward Fair Head and Rathlin Island:
There are sheep that spill across the road in ways that make you laugh, and at times that look like ‘guard sheep’:
It’s a place that shows you life clings to the edges — the harsh, sometimes unforgiving edges — and it can thrive there.
So as I turn 39, I think of my Granda’s home truth (spoken by my Granny) that “where once his hair was wavy, it was now waving bye-bye”, and recognize myself in it.
And that my greatest achievements in this life, however modest they may be, will be in and through my three lovely boys.
So the Torr Road represents to me the twisty, windy, undulating, steep, sharp, lovely, tight, broad, crowded, lonesome, uncertain road of life.
A journey best taken with people you love and cherish.
Torr.Road 