WRT 2020 Bear Bones W RT 2020 was a shadow of its usual self. Titled "The Apocalypse" I decided to make it a true Zombie get-away in the best way I know how. I used up the last of my accrued Covid leave to take bank holiday Thursday and Friday out, as well as Tuesday so I could ride to + from the event. What started out lightweight grew with the addition of a stove and coffee, one sachet of dried food and 2 stashes of porridge for a range of off grid opportunities.
With a new warhorse to ride (the Cotic Solaris Max) I gave my gear a weigh-in. I was really pleased with 19. 4kg on the kitchen scales lighter than my carbon fibre bike! I must have packed light!
But then realised I'd taken off the front roll containing Tent, extra fleece, pillow. Sod it, I didn't want to know. By the time I'd packed it was 9:30pm Wednesday night so I was too tired. I enjoyed a night at home and vowed to leave early. I set out my clothes, got everything ready and set the alarm for 3:45am and 6 as a backup.
Astonishingly 1 made it out of bed and onto the road by 5am. My course had studiously ignored the toughest trails near home and I ignored it back, throwing myself through the rock garden instead. At least the hike a bike would be good practice. Nothing fell off me or the bike.
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| Something's coming, something good |
Lesson learned, I crossed the rest of West Sheffield on easier roads before starting on Houndkirk Road.
Desperate for a wee, I thought I'd go before Joe Public got out of bed. The pause was what I needed to look up and see the sunrise over the city before the sun faded away for the rest of the day. I had one shot at the full sun before it departed behind a never ending succession of cloud banks.
It's loss was countered by a herd of deer who initially scrambled away then stopped to watch me pass.
As I bounced over Froggatt traffic started to build in the form of a couple of elderly hikers and a man and woman who looked suspiciously like the morning after the night before.
I haven't got the hang of Froggatt yet and had my traditional off, leaving one bar end in a bog. At the end of Curbar edge my sacrifice was rewarded with a view of the temperature inversion in the Chatsworth Valley.
I'm embarrassed to say I got lost around the Chatsworth estate. The main road was hitting rush hour status and drivers have little patience to wait their turn on that road in particular so I was distracted by a small Lane that drew me out to Hassop Station (still to early) and the Monsal Trail to Bakewell.
I navigated Bakewell quickly as it was still too early for cake, continuing to Youlegreave where I sourced a 09:03 scone to eat on the lovely bench in the church yard and invested ahead in cakes to take with me. It took off-roading again to get properly cow shitty on the descent to the manifold valley. I was hoping I'd make it into Wales before getting so cruddy... but new bridleway time was calling .
At the Manifold valley, at least the cafe was open. At 10am it felt like lunchtime. I stocked up on a fresh Sandwich and more cake and ordered a sausage roll + coffee. Sitting outside watching kids going out for rides with their grandparents was great.
• • •
The manifold trail was short-lived. It runs N-S and my general E- W direction meant I had to leave its tempting tunnels and head over the cliff onto new (to me) bridleways. This was a common theme but most railways do go north / south I suppose and canals through the Peak seem to be mostly rare or decommissioned.
The first gate was irreparably inoperable (without an angle grinder) so I swore for my grass-wet feet and rode across the extremely private cattle grid instead, muttering under my breath. All was redeemed by the next gate which opened smoothly, leading to a gravelled drop to a paving slab bridge over a stream. The edged gravel exit flowed seamlessly onto the green slope ahead. Over the top I slithered down to a Peak National Park work group building a similar structure at the next stream. We had a chat about where I was off to, about camping gear and conservation works. They warned me about the sketchy bridleway ahead and I reminded them I had plenty of those to go in Wales.
I thanked them for their efforts. A few bridleways and lanes later, the belly rumbled again. Checking the map there was a picnic area at a church. The bells struck 12 as I rolled through so I accepted the invite and sat at a bench nodding to passing, retired hikers.
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| On the trail: "what kind of creature is this?". Back at home: "Ah, a horny one!" |
After lunch the ride got distinctly less bridleway-ish and more lanesy. My lazy route plotting had left it to Garmin and Sustrans. There was less "grass-up-the-middle" and more just, "lack-of-tarmac-up-the-middle" riding. TSK had warned me to be on the lookout for flood waters and it was a sound reminder.
A bus shelter was on hand for the purpose. As I pulled on full waterproofs and delved into the M & Ms I checked the forecast for the route. The weather was locked in till 2am. No dry spells up for grabs. If I stayed out I'd be arriving at the event Piss wet thru so I burned some data to book a Travelodge. £94 for a room! Then realised I was booking for 2. £70 was bearable so I booked and embarked on a journey to Telford.
When plotting the route, I decided that thrashing across 50% of the country on completely unknown bridleways wasn't really a good use of my energy resources. So I'd used Sustrans or Garmin to find me the best options. In all they did a good job. The occasional foray into overgrown nettley nightmarish footpaths could often be replaced by another diversion to a pleasant bridleway to cut across to the same road. And so we continued through the midlands to the secret pleasantries of the Stone Canal which diverted me away from Stoke on Trent.
I stopped in yet another Church vestibule to eat more sweeties and to plan my final miles into Telford. Becoming quite the religious experience this ride - in many senses of the word (biblical).
Another loss of direction led me to an off road trail through birding reserves and "The national stud" where tiny horses are grown in test tubes whilst big ones tread the bridleways making them chossy and a bit shit for mountain bikers.
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| Getting closer... |
I had one main road on my route which was circumnavigated by a rather charming old road bike lane that ran alongside but just far enough away not to see the traffic, even though I could hear its presence.
My new re-route took me to the North of Telford to a suburb called Wellington that has an army base. Whilst the re-route was easy to latch onto, like all army bases, the houses are predictably brick and gaudy filled with kids toys and nappies on the line whilst on the other side of the fence, overpaid tweens without responsibility or mortgages bezz around the roads in oversize American V8 SUVs laughing at anyone that engages in outdoor pursuits for fun instead of work necessity.
After 5 minutes of horror I realised Wellington and Telford are well endowed with an underground network of Greenway style bike lanes away from the roads and once you've found a way onto it you can never leave-unless you have a good GPS.
At this point I realised that despite tracking my position, the GPS was not recording my route. Shame because it was both innovative and not. I had cycled towards the Leek road then, realising I needed to avoid it in fear of my life, I cycled out of my way to Cheadle, Staffs which has road works and is shite so I did three laps of that trying to escape onto the closed major road back to my route.
Oh well, I captured the final run in, emerging onto a bike lane along a busy dual carriageway which led, predictably to the Travelodge.
Had I asked at the time what food was on offer, the Toby Carvery would have put me off but now I didn't care.
I pulled to one side, out of sight and wiped the cow shit off my bike with my glove. It was the least I could do.
I put a clean hat on over my helmet hair, wiped my face and removed my wet coat then put on a face buff and strode into reception to sanitise my shitty hands.
"Can I help you?" said the dubious receptionist. All smiles returned though as she recognised my name from the bookings list. At 8:30pm I must've been the last arrival and she seemed dubious she might need to turn me away but in the end she checked me in to the family sized room 1 hadn't booked - I could have brought TSK and the cat, Landslide, his wife and the boys along!
I set my Garmin to recharge off the TV USB and put it on mute whilst I went out to obtain an overly dry roast dinner with as few questions on the side as possible. Coke? Refillable? Only pepsi unless you want a bottle. Then it's not refillable. I DONT DRINK THE SHIT I DO NOT CARE!
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| At least they had icecream |
I cheered up with the food and fell into bed at 9:30 with the phone on charge. At midnight I woke up to turn the TV off.
The alarm in the morning led me to pop them back on for the weather. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 5°C overnight??!!" I slowly packed, enjoyed petrol station breakfast while watching the rain through the window.
Eventually the Greenways called again, up to the Wreakin trail centre where I could have spent a decent bivi night in the right conditions. My first encounter with a steep drop helped identify the issue that the brand new dropper post had succumbed to yesterday's wet and muddy conditions.
At first I put this down to the outer cable shaking loose and hauled out the internal cable routing and post merely to find out it was fine. A few free-hand taps on a hardy tree-trunk and everything was functioning fine. Still, a frayed cable, lost ferrule meant I now had no ferrule,we'd have to hope for the best. Still, Tom Hardy passed with his son to check I was OK (I'm convinced, you can have your opinions).
At least an hour lost. I couldn't face the second hill after the abs and arms workout I'd just had so I skirted around instead. I then regretted it as I rode past. Still, this weekend was part of something bigger and there was no point wrecking myself on the Wreakin.
More crappy puddles followed and the rain gradually flowed back. As Dorrington approached, I started to think about lunch. On the incline to the village I pulled up alongside a runner and through the pouring rain she directed a thankful me to the shop. The shop looked fine but the pub looked finer.
A tentative look proved it to be open. As the rain intensified 1 could think of no better way to wait out the storm. I made myself moderately presentable and was positioned in the window with a view over my bike enjoying it's oak tree shelter. I dispensed with a posh Sausage sandwich, chips and as many hot drinks as I could muster before braving the conditions again and continuing towards Wales.
On my route there was no particular fanfare to Wales, just the appearance of Montgomery and some extra Consonants in road signs. The first thing I recognised at about 4pm was the A 470 followed by the realisation that I did not now want to follow the route to Carmo, but instead take the canal path to Newport, avoiding the constant stream of campers, caravans and overloaded estate cars heading for Barmouth and beyond, and get myself some dinner. There was no point in arriving in Carmo and at BB Towers too early.
I'd only ever ridden this path in the dark at last year's WRT after messing up my start to the route. Someone else had already nabbed the best bivi spot so I'd had to press on. This time I was too early. I debated coming back to it after dinner. I absolutely love this canal though. It was great in the dark and beautiful in the daylight. Considering it is the alternative to an arterial A road it is so peachy.
I got directions to the Chinese from a dog walker. I was relieved when the people at the takeaway did not ask me to follow the rules and ring through the order whilst standing at the window. I found a breeze-free town centre bench and went into full hobo mode. I put on my least attractive warm clothes and hat. Shoes and socks off to dry on the paving slabs, still hot from the day's high sun - well, warmer than my feet anyway.
One lady talked to me on her way home from work. Most people hurried by, busied by their phones or keys - and I can't say I blame them. The sky grew increasingly dark - both the evening drawing in and the arrival of clouds. I prepared to make a dash for the cover of the porch at the bank but, appart from a sprinkle of a shower there was no dramatic outburst of rain that the skies were hinting at.
I adopted a slightly new route toward Carmo but still one that went up a sharp hill. Still, I could manage it, stopping only to put on my rear light, then my dynamo light too. This glowed dimly for a while but because I couldn't muster any speed but there was no traffic so I really didn't mind. A few Land Rovers rumbled down to Newtown. Valley boys heading into town for a pint or three. It made me start to believe it was later than it really was and, after all, I was tired.
After I dried my socks out. I didn't want to be caught in any evening showers so I started keeping an eye out for a spot but the road was relentless in its pursuit of the sky.
Eventually I found my route taking a turn onto a wind turbine bridleway.
One look at it in the darkness and I knew I was NOT in the mood for getting wet and crappy any more. This is not good news when you've just arrived in Wales.
Fortunately I'd just passed a small woodland without any fences around it. It wasn't far from the road but the nearest houses seemed too far away to notice me. On closer inspection it was thinned out enough for me, the bike (Midnight) and the tent.
Half way through pitching, a van came up the track. I lay low. Nothing happened. Then dogs started barking. I got ready to pack away quick but they didn't get nearer. No sooner had I got in my tent than the Mrs came home. She started barking at the dogs which made the whole thing worse. Fearing more for my sleep sanity than my safety around canines, I considered moving on but fatigue got the better of me.
I lay down to think about it and before I knew it I was snuggled in my bag drifting in and out of sleep. whilst listening for packs of hounds. At 2am I awoke to the sound of wild boar grunting and lay awake terrified until I dropped off and realised it had been my own allergic snoring that woke me up, not, in fact, a wild boar. The munching and farting of cattle in the next field definitely didn't help either.
When the alarm went off at 5am I thought it best to move on before the early morning dog walk and I set off up the track to catch the sunrise over the Montgomery hills before topping out with the wind turbines. The track was not so bad and the dog house was nowhere to be seen for miles around.
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| Sunrise without a dog house |
I don't remember the approach to Carno, though I should, so that I can remember to avoid it for next time. Clearly the route was was from my "make this as hard as possible" phase or more likely my, "I can't be arsed to check this" Phase.
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| Can you get any more Welsh? |
After some pleasant happy times rollicking around on the moors with sheep following a pink line on a map, I found myself bamboozled, staring straight down a precipitous bank of bracken with a bridleway hidden in there somewhere. I should have at least tried the obvious, unmarked path but instead I dove foot-first (or tyre first) into the handlebar high mini-forest with an" it can't be that far" and "it won't take too long" altitude (despite being able to see at least how far).
This is how it worked:
- the bracken ached as a bike brake and just about neutralised gravity enough to keep us moving
- I followed the occasional sheep trod but these turned out to be nothing more than alarming mini land-ships.
- We sat under a tree for a bit to eat sweets and regain our composure.
- I dropped the bike side-over- side a few times, entrusting the bracken to catch it, then followed behind on my bottom.
- Despite the heat my waterproof trousers stayed on to minimise bracken-related stab injuries.
- We managed to avoid the unfenced cliffs
- We both travelled the height of a mature oak tree in about 10 seconds through a combo of sliding and jumping down branches.
- We still had to climb over a fence at the bottom.
- We survived
- We ate an apple.
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| I recognise that valley |
I'd stayed a bit too long, leaving hungrier than when I arrived but I didn't want to eat more than my fair share of cake and leave others without. I climbed the other sleep way out to Dylife and carefully managed to avoid stopping at the Star Inn for any more food and long conversations. Thanks to whoever waved at me but I was on a mission.
• • •
The mines behind Dylife brought me universal mountain bike satisfaction. Steep, slippery descents, wet feet, sunny climbs out.
Beyond, I chased the sunshine across the edge of the Hafren Forest.
Another rider had taken a completely different route through and yet 4 hours later we rocked up at the same place - Clewedog reservoir at 7pm. Well, ok, it was another checkpoint but we couldn't quite believe we'd arrived at the same time.
My plan at the Checkpoint had been to turn right then head over to Ponterwyd where I had dinner in January. However by the time I'd fought my way up and down shale and rivers, the promised icy wind had arrived and I was totalled. I needed more clothes and food stat - preferably hot food. I checked the map then abandoned my route and turned left to the picnic spot. My heckles were set to "up" by the bloke powering across the reservoir in a white rib (boat) with binoculars. He was dressed in black and looked more "Ranger" than "late evening fisherman".
The slipway to the lake was rudely blocked by a camper van but I squeezed by.
If we don't say anything... she won't notice we're here.
I snuggled down in the once-upon-a-time toilet block amongst the bird shit and brewed up enough water for my emergency food supplies and some left over. While waiting for my water to boil, the actual ranger stopped by to politely remind the van owners that there's no overnight camping. Oh. Having suspected this might be the case I had not unpacked my kit, waiting to see. That does not mean I wasn't disappointed. I've been coveting this spot for years-though May or January are definitely a better bet.
• • •
I had a chat with the vanners. They were reluctantly going to look elsewhere yet all official sites were full. I also decided not to risk it. I didn't have my bivi, I had a tent that needed pitching out and the lie of the land would have meant pitching it in plain view. I needed a good night's sleep, not moving on at midnight. The extra brew water was used to brew a micro-coffee. 1/3 of my stash-into 1/4 of the water. It was enough to get me reloaded and out of the Clewedog steep road sections. Once that was done though. I couldn't face much more. The uphill legs were still empty.
I followed the ridge road getting further and further away from my route. All of the fields were full of sheep, or overlooked by farm houses
• • •
My plans disintegrated to:
- finding + staying at the George Borrow in Ponterwyd.
- Carrying on to Devil's Bridge bothy or the picnic site.
- One previous bivi spot near Old Hall ruled out by a noisy wind turbine with dodgy bearings that made the whole valley groan.
- The Dinas reservoir boat yard.
- Going up random Bridleways to see where they went.
- keep riding to Landiloes to get a hotel room or sleep in a bus stop or get TSK to come and pick me up.
knew I would regret the last one. Thankfully after I got fed up with bridleways that made farm dogs bark then petered out into muddy puddles, I stopped to take off some layers.
The weather had warmed up again after its brief spell of autumn and I'd lost about 300m in elevation. Whilst looking at the map for the sudden emergence of Valhallah right before my eyes, I noticed that there were no houses on the last track I just passed.
I was getting desperate and passing out by the side of the road in a crying mess was starting to seem more inviting than pushing one more pedal stroke - even if it was towards a hotel room. One of those would mean a conversation closely followed by the expectation of standing up in a shower for longer than necessary.
The gates on the track were unlocked so I slithered my way through beyond the first field of cows then the second any vaguely flat grass appeared, I was on it.
There was space for a bike on the fence. The stream was a bit high on noise volume but I had the sense my brain would not care and also if there were any nearby animals, my rustling noises would be masked, avoiding the consequential woofing, bleating and moo-ing.
My brain switched off at 2am. My alarm switched off at 6am. I got up at 7, having missed the sunrise.
Still, it was only 5 hours since I'd gorged on something out of my food bags so I had plenty of energy to pack up and see what the wind farm had to offer. I'd missed the Hafen forest checkpoint on my valley amble but my track brought me back to a pleasant ridge-way bridlepath to the checkpoint above Dinas. Pleasant, that is, once I'd left the dead-end of the track and ad-libbed across an open field of long grass to the bridlepath. Note to self: I can not distinguish bridleways from contours in the dark. Thankfully the erection of the wind farm meant some awesome drainage ditches had been built and my feet were only wet-grass wet instead of bog-hopping wet.• • •
• • •
With my plans turned a little upside down, I realised I wasn't standing much chance of capturing all the checkpoints, riding up hill and down dale, eating tea in March or sleeping at the idyllic bird hide in Borth. I'd desperately been wanting to ride to the coast since Lockdown lifted and at this rate I wasn't going to make it so I swallowed my pride and decided to peg it down the A44 for a bit of easy riding.
It was less hellish than I imagined. I didn't get many close passes or caravans, the surface was mostly as smooth as ice. I occasionally considered the forest instead but by the time I did, I realised the track I'd picked was shown on the map as a dead end. I decided not to risk it and was right not to. My mistake would have meant a 100m hike across chossy felled wood land in front of 250 passing holiday motorists.
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| I've never seen this carriage in the sunshine before |
After suffering a bit of road I enjoyed the sudden submersion in the forest above the the MTB Centre Bwlch Nant Yr Arian, dropping out of the mossy muddy wetlands into a sun-baked valley sprighted by dragonflies and tiny lizards that slithered through the grasses.
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| Sun's out... |
I had a Skittles celebration then embarked on the short hike-a-bike across a bog, my bike held aloft over my head as I assessed the easiest way out. I clambered along an old building wall, depositing my bike sunny-side up on the other side, as I bent double over the wire fence. All well and good until I tried to extracate myself from the handlebars, only to find my rucsac lacing was caught and I unceremoniously unlatched myself from the rucsac like a parachutist whose first chute gets snagged.
When I righted myself a group of 6 backpacking Duk of Eds were trying (unsuccessfully) not to point and laugh.
On over to the Afon Rheidol for the crossing to the MTB centre. Another pleasant bridleway which felt substantially under-used for its beauty. Then in complete contrast I dropped down to the heaving moutnainbike trails, where two bears on their way out assured me there was a cafe to be had.
There I joined forces with more bears working on an engineering project - a stripped deraileur being single-speeded and a front mech that wouldn't come off its cable. I obliged with pliers and cable and removal techniques before leaving dad to sort his own single speed out whilst I ate ice cream, chatted to the kids and watched the impressive display of red kites.
One pastie and lots of unhealthy snacks later I set off none the wiser as to why anyone visits a trail Centre on a Bank Holiday weekend - except for the obvious pull of a cafe.
Still, it was nice to turn away from them all, collect the view of Aberystwyth-on-sea, the lead-mines at Cwmerfyn, got hollered at by someone at "The Study Centre" -does anyone know what they study there? -and reach my final checkpoint of the day-the hills above Tal y Bont, looking down on the ocean and, possibly, Ireland.
I texted TSK to make a plan for pickup, accepting that if I can't face riding across a hillside, I sure as hell can't face the ride home through Shropshire.
I whooped down the hill to Tal y Bont, parked on an iron drain pipe and booked myself a table with my coat and helmet. I left my "muddy boots" on the sun-soaked concrete slope to cook dry along with my socks and disgorged insoles. Inside the grumpy proprietor was a bit fed up of this Covid Crap so we had a giggle and he was nice to me and didn't charge me tourist tax, unlike the waitress who tried to add a quid to my pot of tea order but I'd already paid my mate at the bar. I even managed a beer. The weather stayed warm enough for me to sit out until dark when I drank some more tea and spent more time indoors preparing for the night ahead.
When I'd put on all my layers to leave, the concrete slope outside was still radiating heat so I lay there for a while, getting my dried socks on and stretching out the legs.
My new get up and go didn't last long. The shop was still open and I realised that all I had for tomorrow was some fizzy fish sweets and porridge-which required effort. I raided the stores for Popcorn, Welsh cakes and couscous. As I left I heard the proprietor say, "we've had more cyclists in this weekend than the whole of last year". There we go Stu - supporting local business... stealthily.
• • •
My route to the coast was a little disjointed by dead ends. I wonder how many times one old man has been asked for directions to the bridleway at the end of his lane. Stealthy indeed.
On one tiny road I stopped for a wee at a bench mounted atop the 8ft high grass verge. Relaxed now. I found myself becoming wistful for my bivi bag again. The bench was the perfect length for me-including the slot in the arm where my feet could hang loose.
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| Moon so near |
• • •
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| Aberdovey so Far |
I could see but not hear the lights of Aberdovey across the water and the almost full moon made it certain that no rare passing vehicle would notice me. Still, I also liked the idea of bird watching with my eyes shut at the Visitor centre. I carried on.
Several abortive attempts at the canal path later, I just cycled up the B- road to Borth, past the seaside holiday town - shopfronts, takeaways and the mobile home parks and packed full touring sites. It's not that I couldn't have sneaked a spot and been gone before dawn but the floodlights and tarmac pitches really didn't appeal. The closest I got to stopping was a luxury bus stop complete with benches and a shady corner but I resisted and ploughed on, at the same time, acknowledging that the return journey would be shit into a headwind.
At last the visitor centre arrived. Another ranger vehicle in the car park. Nobody in sight though. I went to "take a look at the info boards". Like the proverbial solo stage audition or an interrogation scene in a movie, banks of fluoro lights switched on by motion sensors, "Bam Bam Bam Bam". Hm.., no stopping there then. I went to investigate the boardwalks. They soon ran out. I didn't fancy spending Monday grinding sand through my chain so I backtracked, checked the toilets then turned tail and rejoined my route which went up to the Estuary mouth before heading back south.
I stopped at the estuary. A number of cars were parked-I stopped to wait for a heavy vehicle to leave, assuming (for some reason) it was a council van clearing the beach. As it passed I realised it was a camper. Someone else evicted by wardens? It didn't matter, I was having a ton of that draft, I don't care why they were leaving. There's not much better for drafting than a box build camper, especially a box build camper driven by old people. He held a perfect 24 mph average right along the golf course before stopping to consult the map at my turn. Over 20 minutes riding and a lot of pain saved there, I'm sure.
I sped across the road raised above the mudflats, not even pausing to consider stopping there, then resumed my track to Furnace. Unlike last night I wasn't completely desperate. Sure it was late but I was warm and I had food, plus there were wooded off road sections and the Forge checkpoint to come and the checkpoint almost seemed to be on a flatter spot.
Unfortunately I forgot this path was up a virtual cliff of a lane so there was a right hike to get to it. I seemed to remember a kennels nearby but to my inane relief, the barking and smell of dog poo did not materialise.
On the path, I put on my big light. There were no overlooking houses and the time was right to get my head down soon. Before my checkpoint, before leaving the womb of the woodland, a fallen tree gave rise to a flat bit of earth JUST the right size for my tent. Just.
Branches were moved. Tyvek placed. Trial lie-down confirmed all Ok. When I say "Just", I had to drive one of the pegs into a split in the fallen trunk to get my rear guy rope tensioned. It wasn't a perfect pitch but without wind or rain it didn't matter. I bedded down, ate some couscous and slept like the log I was tethered to. The dog walkers might have had a "death to wild campers rally" outside my tent and I would not have stirred. I shamefully packed up my tent at 8:30, admired the checkpoint (a rock slab that would not have been any good for the tent anyway) and headed into March for some tea (and breakfast), so only 2.5 days later than when I previously said I would go to Mach for tea.
• • •
Mach was sunny. I grabbed a coffee and breakfast order from the park cafe and sat down to wait for my order and to see about the 2 "nearby" checkpoints I had missed and whether I could get to them before TSK arrived to pick me up.
No sooner had I made myself comfy, 2 mountain bikes approached. Thinking they might be Bears that I do or do not know, I prepared to give a non-committal "Hey" and a wave. This quickly escalated as I realised that they were two really good friends from Cheshire who I haven't seen in ages instead of the 4-or-5 times I usually see them either at races or for our Christmas get together.
They had been riding the Cambrian Way as a credit card tour and were just heading out unladen to ride the last bit to Dovey Junction.
• • •
All plans went out the window as we degenerated into more coffee / tea / cake and they debated calling the cat sitter to say they'd be late. Before I knew it TSK had arrived and my Last two tenable check- points remained unchecked. Not that I regret it. I travel alone to make new friends and keep old ones. I like my own company but I like surprises more.
Despite not getting the best out of myself on the WRT because I left a lot of it in Staffordshire, I had a great time being away from my desk and only having a sketchy plan that got binned was great stuff. I drank more alcohol than I'm normally capable of, did one of the longer cycle tours I've done on a MTB, 450km / 7900m in Elevation) and all on my new bike so great for bonding and man did we bond!
• • •
It may not have been the peak 200 or my Northern Myth route but it was a lot of hours in the saddle so I'm pretty happy I didn't suffer any of the bruises I have experienced this summer.
The wrist pain I had after 134km on day I was resolved with a bar height adjustment and a change to saddle inclination. My new Igaro charger worked a treat to keep me off grid for 4 days (2 if you count the 2 days battery I took with me) and for this trip I appreciated the training and gear ratios from the slightly higher 11- speed old setup compared to the twiddle-anywhere on the Trek. I'm excited for the possibilities though.
• • •
Am I tired? Hell yes I am mentally exhausted. I haven't had nearly enough sleep. I haven't dared to try to ride today. Just getting around the house has been a chore but of course I could ride today - just not fast.
Aside from the beautiful scenery and the pure ecstasy of being out for 4 days straight I'm pleased about the information gathering. I've done few multi-day rides recently. Especially at any effort or off road. Particular highlights were feeling like I'd repaired myself after day 2's exhaustion with just a good meal and asleep.
The recovery that happens over the next few days is one that has to be extremely kind to me. It needs to acknowledge the effort that went into making this happen. Acknowledge that the improvement to carrying on as long as I did is massive. Finishing on Monday was not "quitting" but rather accepting that I was no longer cycling with any effort, merely pushing on the pedals free wheeling the flats or walking the climbs. I stopped not because I wasn't having fun but because I wasn't getting any real training or riding out of it. I needed to recover for next week-both mentally and physically, come back and do it all again soon.
The knowledge collected for the HT was incredible. I now know that day 2 may be a disaster but I have experienced the comebacks that can happen whilst still keeping moving. I know what I can squeeze into a day, what extra I need to do or how I can recover better on stops.
Missing out in Wales made me a bit more comfortable about driving places to ride and made me more comfortable about putting some skinny gears on a heavy bike to last out better in the future... I just need to wear these ones out first.
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