I made it to Dublin by the early afternoon. I had a wee bit of trouble renting a car; it turns out they do not accept photo copies of your driver's license, even if it expired while you were abroad and the new one was stuck in America. Put on my most winning smile and ended up with an ugly little Toyota or Nissan. I assured the nice man behind the counter I was quite adept at driving a stick shift. I forgot about the whole "left side of the road" thing.
The stick shift on the left wasn't so bad. However, I was a little uncertain at first if the pedals were also backward. I was confident the brake was in the middle. I guessed wrong about the other two. Nothing quite like revving the engine right before pulling out of a rental agency to get their confidence in your abilities high.
Survived the roundabouts, the interstates, the sheep in the road, and my inclination to pull to the right on a narrow road. Crossing the border into Northern Ireland, I noted signs informing me that the speed limits were now in miles per hour. Too bad my speedometer only reported kilometers per hour. I guesstimated how fast I was going. I guesstimated poorly. I was either being passed or flying by other cars on a regular basis.
Otherwise uneventful drive to Northern Ireland, checked into B&B, showered, went into town for dinner. Met Larry, a dentist, at the pub. Drank and hashed out what was right and wrong with the world. I'm sure we came to some excellent conclusions, but I can't remember any of them.
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