One of the obscure details about traveling in Ireland is that some of the car-rental companies zip-tie the hubcaps to the wheels of your car.

This is as if to taunt you that the hubcaps are not really going to stay on.

Sooner or later, as a passenger watching your life pass before you as you edge closer and closer to a rock wall along a narrow, winding road, you will hear it: the ka-clank-clank-clank of a hubcap dangling perilously from a plastic tie.

It is not a pretty sound. It is a sound closely associated with clenched knuckles, nervous prayers and ugly curse words.

It also is the sound that welcomes you on a road trip of Ireland.

I guess you could say this is the story of our drinking and driving adventures in Ireland. Although that may be giving the wrong impression: It's not that we drove drunkenly or anything like that. It's just that our Irish travels included both partaking in the pub scene and pounding the pavement in between each destination.

WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD

Did I mention that they drive on the wrong side of the road in Ireland? Yes, I think THEY have it wrong. The Irish do not believe in driving on the right-hand side of the road. I think they actually prefer the middle. It frightens the tourists.

The Irish believe in equally frightening clockwise roundabouts (otherwise known as traffic circles), where Americans long to look left but must look right as they merge into traffic. In these dizzying navigational traps, it's best to repeat the mantra: "When in doubt, roundabout" and keep circling until you are sure of your next correct turn. (This, too, may involve clenched knuckles, tense prayers and ugly words.)

If you have the misfortune of being in an accident, don't be surprised to hear callers moan about it on talk radio. Thankfully, we did not personally experience that, but we did discover that the Irish believe highly in talk radio ... and the understood rule of the road that stray sheep have the right of way.

The Irish do not believe in sidewalks, shoulders or guard rails — or in automatic transmissions, for that matter. The cost of renting a car with an automatic transmission is astronomical.

So I left the backward, stick - shift - driving - from - the - right - hand - side - of - the - car to my husband, a pilot by trade, who has Type-A tendencies behind the wheel. We picked up the rental car at the Dublin airport and headed into the city.

It was not the most relaxing way to begin a vacation. That changed as soon as we met Alex, a French student working at our B&B who not only carried our bags up six flights of steps but also navigated a bunch of one-way streets to park our car. And then the innkeeper pointed us in the direction of a few decent pubs. That's what I call good service.

PUB-CRAWLING WHILE PREGNANT

The mere mention of a pub, however, brings me to my second realization: My Ireland experience would be a little different than I had imagined. I wouldn't be able to belly up to the bar the way I might have otherwise.

The month before my husband and I set off on our long-awaited tour of the Emerald Isle, I found out I was with child.

I should mention that my husband and I met over pints of beer at Honolulu's own Murphy's Bar & Grill.

My Guinness-loving hubby didn't want to miss out on Ireland's pub experience. That is how I ended up pub-crawling while pregnant. And since I had left the driving to him, I couldn't even be the designated driver.

I could be the sober one to remember the details, such as the George Carlin lookalike in Dingle, a song leader in the band at a real Irish Murphy's Pub who pointed to my husband to lead the bar in a rousing chorus of Johnny Cash's "Ghost Riders in the Sky."

"Yippie-aye-aaay! Yippie-aye-oohh! Ghost riders in the sky!"

And then there was Gilbert, the heartbroken truck driver at a pub on Inishmore Island, who bought us a round of pints and assured me that Guinness was good for the baby.

I found that listening to stories of the locals and tapping my foot to the Irish jigs was just as entertaining.

BUS GHOST RIDERS

It took a while, though, to get over the disconcerting feeling of riding on the wrong side of the road. Maybe first-trimester nausea contributed to my jumpy disposition and inclination to yell "Stay left!" — interrupting the silent beauty of the striking cliffs and castles we passed.

Renting a car gave us the freedom to go where we wanted when we wanted. But with an around-the-island itinerary, it also meant a lot of time in the car, half enjoying the scenery and half wondering whether we were going to make it around the Ring of Kerry or to the next town.

I don't mean to exaggerate. My husband and I are easygoing people by nature. We got used to the driving situation. I even got used to the passenger side of the car being on the other side.

Near the end of our trip, I stopped mumbling driving instructions. About the same time, my husband admitted that he had been shutting his eyes briefly each time a tour bus came close from the opposite direction. We laughed about it.

I never expected we would be the kind of tourists who would pile on a tour bus to be carted around Europe. But the next time we go to a wrong-side-of-the-road country, it's not beyond the realm of possibility.

We could be bus people.

Yippie-aye-aaay!

Sheep with the right of way. Clanking hubcaps. Wrong-side driving. A road trip on the beautiful Emerald Isle can be a bit crazy.

Former Honolulu Advertiser reporter Tanya Bricking Leach, now a freelance writer in Alabama, can be reached at tmleach@gmail.com.