In side car lingo, the passenger on the side car is called the monkey.
As I have zero desire to drive on this trip, I am the monkey.
Happy to hold that title.
So the monkey hears-sees-and smells things that maybe the driver doesn't experience..
Side cars are a novelty here in Ireland, and as we pass through little towns, I hear shouts and cheers, feeling a bit royal...should have worked on the royal wave! Cutest things are what the little kids call out: twice I have heard a parent reply to their kid "Yes, it is like the motorbike from Wallace and Gromit"
As for seeing, besides the photo worthy castles-churches-and cliffs, I have also seen plenty of cows (close enough that we give each other a stare down), a few sheep, and of course a few close encounters with the curbs (not really, hubby has done a fabulous job of juggling the host of hazards that await us Americans when we take to the narrow roads, with always presents round abouts from the other side of the road than we are familiar with)
And as for smells...oh my, the sea mist, the dense forests and even those cow fields provide me with an ever changing stream of olfactory treats.
As for my initial thoughts of riding in the sidecar: I say keep it coming, being a monkey is way cool here in Western Ireland!