I’ve driven some pretty wild roads. Mountain roads where boulders the size of houses look ready to crush you. Roads with snow higher than the car. A road that had a wolf jogging alongside it. You want a bad omen for a road? How about a WOLF trotting next to you! That one screams, “Buddy, you’re going to die and I’ll to be there to eat you.”
But after a week of driving my family around Ireland – mostly along the Wild Atlantic Way on the western coast, where the rocky shore line meets the cold, raging ocean – I’ve found roads that redefine the meaning of “wild.”
Not wild in any traditional sense – the kind of roads where you might plummet off a towering cliff and people stand with mouths agape saying, “Did you see how the smoke spelled, ‘Holy crap!’ right before it exploded?”