Attempting to maneuver my sea legs onto land, I clumsily step off the ferry and take my first look at the Aran Islands.

Despite obvious attempts at tourist attractions with a colorful gift shop, the dock and surrounding area have a distinct look of antiquity and isolation, a look I would classify as the defining characteristics of the islands.

The bicycles, parked at the bottom of the climb, were the primary method of transportation for three days.

Nine miles off the west coast of Galway, Ireland, across the Galway Bay, a tiny cluster of three islands forms the Aran Islands. The Glór na Farraige, “The Voice of the Sea,” had docked at the largest one, Inishmore, Irish for “large island.”

Inishmaan (“middle island”) is the second largest and Inisheer (“south island”) is the smallest. Combined, the islands have a population of about 1,360, with the greatest number of people residing on Inishmore.

The wind blows mercilessly on the dock, whipping my hair in my face, and the clouds glare at us threateningly. Clad in sweatpants, a T-shirt and a sweatshirt, I feel the chill of the wind and begin to regret my choice of attire and lack of jacket.

It is summertime and the westerner in me had expected sunshine and relatively warm weather. However, it rains often in Ireland, especially in the summer, and temperatures do not usually rise above 65 degrees.

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Dr. Murphy, our group leader, guides us to the shack where we are to choose a bike - our sole mode of transportation for the next three days. I haven’t ridden a bike in eight years and, even back then, I did not win the best-biker-in-the-neighborhood prize.

I can tell I am in for an interesting weekend. The boys’ bikes have a shiny coat of baby blue paint and the girls’ are a shockingly bright pink. I choose a pretty pink bike. Perched on the seat, I feel as comfortable as I am going to get on any two-wheeled vehicle and I prepare myself for the ride.

Dr. Murphy, a spry man of 66 with white hair, takes off on his bike and the rest of us struggle to follow. I take a deep breath and push down on the pedals, wobbling from left to right. Eventually, I gain momentum and remember how to ride without falling on my face.

As our band of explorers journey down the one main road on the island, we attempt to avoid hitting obstacles in the road: sheep, cows, donkeys, horses, dogs, people, bikes and the very rare car. We have to remind ourselves that traffic flows in the opposite direction in the UK and biking on the other side of the pebble-filled street takes some getting used to.