There she is. The Saltee. That brave little Tavern at the foot of the monstrous and ignorant Wicklow Hill that will test the bejaysus out of poor Richie and I next Saturday. Through the muck and rain and ridiculously strong gale force headwind that brute of a Hill will taunt and mock us both...'You want that pint? Then earn it boys... earn it'... 'Earn it wimps'... With blood running through our socks we'll carry on no matter what doubts weigh us down... we'll carry on with one clear thought in our mind to motivate us; the Saltee, and her pint of plain. A majestic black wonder at the end of a horrendous run. The Saltee. Pint one of 24. Four days and a wicked hill run away. http://www.thesaltee.ie/.
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