So,
only a week after the Dirty Reiver 135k - this was going to be
interesting. Despite my reservations, I ambitiously plotted myself a
200km route from Stu's, West to Aberdyfi (nearly), South to
Aberystwyth, South East to Rhayader and back North through the Hafren Forest to
home. I took enough food with me this time for lunch in the sun and we
all finally left Stu's at about 2 pm after I won myself a multi tool, hat and buff - all of which ended up in the van as they were unexpected!
It felt a little odd setting off in the afternoon. After a chat with Karl Brooks I headed up the valley, across hillsides and into beautiful sunny countryside.
For some reason my navigation had been off all day and I kept finding myself slightly off course over and over again. Lots of frustrated backtracking to get on route. I was happy when most people dropped away and it was just me and the sheep. I never really trusted where I was going and kept expecting an attack of the angry farmer.
A family at a house asked if I was heading in to Mach... I kind of was
but also wasn't. I didn't have the heart to tell them I'd only really
just set out. They were kind enough to warn me there was a comedy
festival on and it would be heaving.
Approaching yet another farm house along a dirt road, I found a sheep entangled in barbed wire. It wasn't hurt but wildly trying to escape the wire that had become entwined in its woolly rear-end whilst its lamb bleated helplessly on the other side of the fence. I propped my bike up, dug my knife out and leapt across the stream. Of course the sheep panicked when it saw the big woman in the funny hat coming at it with a knife and started trying to leapfrog across the stream even harder and when it realised that wasn't an option, it tried to bolt past me. Now, I had 45kg of wool trying to drag three strands of barbed wire across my thighs and my life - at least my life as a bi-ped flashed before my eyes. Thankfully I managed to grab hold of flossy in a slightly ungainly reverse leg lock and hack away at the three strands of wool that had it trapped. Freed, it ran back off to its lamb without so much as a thanks and I got on with my ride - somewhat discombobulated by the direction again, riding all the way around the farmyard before getting back on the road.
One more farm crossing had me passing through a farmyard where the farmer barked angrily at his dogs to shut up and leave me along while his wife smiled sweetly from the cowshed and the scotty terrier headed over for some fuss. Things are changing for the better.
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one of many lunch stops
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One thing the family was right about - Mach was heaving. I gave it a wide berth or rather, I gave up on the main bike route and reverted to the road instead to avoid the crowds then re-joined the minor roads out of town which are hellishly steep and I ended up walking up. Nearer over to Glaspwl there is a woodland where I have slept before but it was too early to stop this time. Instead, I decided to eat my dinner then refil on water at a river crossing I've used before. Chicken curry brewed from a pot whilst sitting in the woods listening to blackbirds singing their springy songs was bliss and no-one disturbed me at all. I had a wall to lean on and my waterproof over my knees to stay warm. I'd not last much longer but I could manage a bit more riding and the imminent rain got me moving.
Down towards Furnace and the bit I'd been looking forward to - a reverse of my Winter Ride route along the Dyfi estuary. The sky was unfortunately moving down to reach the earth but there was still just enough view of the estuary before the rain started to come down.
I filled up my bottle in the river then climbed on. It was about 8pm and I was getting hungry. It was the perfect place to be. Clearly no-one had walked this bit of path in some time. The single-footway width, the fallen trees that were still hardly touched by human passage and certainly no horses or mountain bikers. I lay my bike down to walk ahead and see if there was anywhere suitable to camp and found a tee-junction with the main route signed to the right. I turned left and there, just off the path was a flat mossy clearing just big enough for my tent.
I went back to my bike, snapped enough branches off the tree to get it past and then clambered over. The bike was secured to a skinny tree out of the way and I unpacked. It was a bit of a challenge to get the pegs in for the tent but if I delved deep enough there was enough grass and a few rocks under which to wedge a tent peg. The mattress went up, the sleeping bag came out to fluff up. I had a wee and then quickly changed into dry clothes before climbing indoors for the night. I haphazardly pulled everything inside so that no wild creatures would make off with my snacks and passed out without a problem. There were the occasional chilly shivvers in the night but all in all I got a good sleep except for it being from 11pm to 5:30 am when the dawn chorus went off and woke me up.
Still, I wanted to be sure I wouldn't be disturbed by early morning dog walkers and the bladder wouldn't let me sleep any longer. The rain had me back in my tent pretty quick though and I went to brew sat in my sleeping bag with the tent door open. What I actually discovered was that my camelbak lid had not been securely fastened up after I filled it with water and through the night, a small puddle of water had accumulated in the waterproof pocket of my rucsac. This then spilled out onto the floor of the tent when I moved it and I spent the next 15 minutes bailing water out of the tent with a little cloth that I carry around with me. (think of your average kitchen cloth cut into quarters). It was time consuming and annoying but it did the job. I managed to keep my sleeping bag dry and only the underside of the mat was 50% wet. I brewed up my breakfast sitting on my sit mat with the sleeping mat on my knee hoping to radiate enough heat to dry it out. It worked - a little bit.
After porridge and coffee I got going again. Most of my stuff was dry. The sleep mat was firmly tucked away in its stuff sack and everything else including my sleeping bag was crammed into a spare dry bag I had had my coat in yesterday. Only the tent was packed up wet which isn't a problem since I was wearing all of the other items that it shares a bar bag with. The only problem was I didn't have any waterproof gloves with me - only waterproof socks. Still, not an issue - the first stop of the day was Tal-y-Bont and I headed straight around the corner, off route to the shop to get lunch for the day, a bit of extra breakfast and some marigolds which thankfully came in a large size. Fully kitted out for the conditions I set off South.
As a comedy accompaniment to the rubber gloves, most of the sheep in most of the fields I passed through decided that I was definitely coming to feed them. Something to do with my waterproof being boilersuit orange? One flock of sheep followed me all the way from one gate to the other baaa-ing at me along the way. In another field, I had to prop the gate closed with a log so that the whole lot wouldn't follow me down the bridleway whilst I was trying to steer one lamb that had got itself separated from the crowd. I properly found myself a crook stick, to hook it out of the corner it got itself hemmed into.
The landscape got a little less friendly the closer I got to Aber, with paths unsigned and access limited by string-tied gates, barbed wire and shitty cow puddles. One particular bridleway was the first that has made me retreat for a long while. I retraced my tyre-tracks to the road and reluctantly took the lanes to get around - though I'm glad I did because the alternative climbs were lovely. Capel Saion, I'm looking at you. After sapping so much strength I dropped into the Halfway Inn in the hope of some food. The most depressing thing about this place being that it was only 75km into my 200km ride.
They said Cyclists Welcome on the sign but not so when all the tables are booked. Thankfully they agreed to let me sit at a table for 30 minutes and eat a quick plate of chips before their 1pm booking arrived. I had a quick half pint with my chips and then said hello to the couple arriving to take my place as I sneaked out of the door at 12:55pm. I'd at least dodged the worst of the rain.
It was over to Devil's Bridge next, where I found the happy band of the Lonely Heart's club riding the other way. I rode all the way up the long steep climb and scared myself because I pushed so far up this climb in years gone by during much shorter rides. The bike sounded like a bag of bolts though and I noticed that the block was wobbling all over the place so that was worrying. My brakes were also making loud honking noises on downhills and despite trying my damnedest I couldn't figure out what was loose or out of alignment.
I had a giggle about Ffair-Rhos (pharoes) village then headed for the Claerwen Reservoir and Elan valley. A lot of people have been enthusing about Claerwen and I get it, I really do but every time I go there it's pissing with rain. I'd had my share of fair weather today but by the time I got to Claerwen it was raining again which made the bike and me look like ghosts of ourselves as the crushed stone tracks threw up all kinds of white mud. The only plus side being, it was raining a lot less than last time I was here.
I saw a land rover with its roof tent out and secretly hoped they'd offer me a cup of tea but they didn't so I passed silently through the Elan Valley, passed Elan village and hopped on the road-avoiding cycleway all the way in to Rhayader where all the boys in 4x4s who passed me 3 hours ago reappeared dressed for dinner. I did what I knew best and fell into the pub at 7:30 with all my gear in an attempt to dry my shit out. It was a slightly tired, unwelcoming, slightly cool room that I sat in but it was drier than outside and I slung my sleep mat over the back of my chair.
Everything I was served was served with bread - soup and a roll then risotto with garlic bread. I couldn't drink enough water to manage all that bread and I left the hotel feeling horribly bloated, burpy and ill. I even took my time leaving, filling up my bottle, getting re-dressed in the toilets, loading my bags onto my bike. Bank holiday Sunday night in Rhayader was kicking off and the welsh valley boy outside the pub was combining insulting gay tourists with some casual racism and off-hand mysogeny whilst the bloke from the chippy came running across the high street trying to knock ten shades out of a guy urinating on his BMW. It was time to leave.
My route took me onto the steep mountain road that climbs away from Rhayader. In my head, this had some forest just off it where I could bivi, I even hoped I might get over the hill to the other side but I wasn't sure. When a car started approaching in the distance, I decided to get off and have a walk so that I could jump out of the way in case they were pissed - quite a frequent occurrence around here really. The mizzle gradually increased and I had to rely on my dimmer dynamo light because my exopsure light was too bright to see beyond the fog. I rode and pushed up that hill for 2 hours after my dinner. There was at least one good thing about it - it sorted out my stomach issues. Knots straightened out and I farted my way up the hill, drinking on the (not so tasty) chlorinated water from the pub which was probably doing my camelbak the world of good.
It was so late by the time I got to the top of the mountain road, I decided to give up on the day and camp high - blow the temperature gradient. This decision was helped by what looked suspiciously like someone with a spot tracker camped up on the other side of the valley... or further out on the moor - I'm not sure which.
At least it wasn't windy so I had no chance of suffering a cold night. Even if I did, I had some heat pads with me that I could use to raise the temperature in my sleeping bag.
Just as I was wondering how to identify a suitable sleep spot since my Garmin map is a bit poorly at the moment, I noticed that there was a layby off to my left so I rode along the edge of it, turning my helmet light on to see if there was any flat spots off to the left. Better than that, a landrover track led off into the grass so I followed that. I followed and followed it into the darkness and the fog until I eventually realised it was heading downhill a bit more rapidly than I'd like. I would, after all, have to get back out of this in the morning.
Before it got too steep, I stopped and started heading back the way I'd come. Sooner or later, a flat spot appeared ahead amongst the sloping tussocks and it was just far enough off the track that I wouldn't get mown down in the night if anyone decided to do a bit of late-night offroading. Right on time, a car passed by on the road. I covered my own lights and was pleased to just about make out that I was well out of sight of the road due to the lie of the land (and the pea-soup fog). All I could make out of the motor car was the reflection of its lights in the fog as it moved across the horizon.
The mat got blown up and once that was down on the soggy floor of my tent all was well. I had somewhere to sit and put my stuff. The bike got rigged into the tent door pitch so no-one could nob off with it while I was sleeping. I changed my clothes very quickly this time then got inside my sleeping bag and this time, made a point of making myself a cup of herbal tea to warm me up and get some more hydration inside after the sweaty day I'd had and the heavy salty meal.
It wasn't a wholly comfortable night. Despite the flatish spot, I had to keep adjusting my position because one tussock had me sliding about off my mat. I ended up adding my liner bag later on in the night after trying to do without it. Eventually I resorted to the heat packs - one set had gone on my socks in the pub in an attempt to dry out the inside of my waterproof socks (from sweat). The other pair got stuck interchangeably to my thighs and then my back when I got the shivers in the night.
I was woken up by the skylarks who seemed intent on singing the sun up as they kicked off at 4:45 when it was still dark. I snoozed for a bit then looked outside and concluded that I had probably better get up and get gone and have my breakfast later. Since I'd eaten so much about 6 hours ago, I was quite OK with this approach. I just wasn't relishing the long downhill descent, just 2km away.
Packed up and back on the road, it wasn't long before I turned off onto a track. With a mixed emotion of "oh god not this tussock pushing" and "oh wow it's so secluded there's no one here but me and the sun is coming up and its so quiet and everything is good with the world" I totally missed the fact that I'd gone off route ages ago. I carried on pushing across the quad bike track I had got enslaved to, enraptured by the wind turbines churning very very slowly in the early morning breeze and just generally assuming I'd be heading for a wind farm. Alas no, the route was 100m to my left.
Despite taking every quad bike track left, I wasn't getting any nearer so I turned 90 degrees left towards the edge of the hillside. Sure enough there was a precipitous drop and at the bottom of it was a motorway of a trail - currently being (re)constructed by a JCB digger... how the actual hell did I miss that?
I retraced in the opposite direction to the route to lose some height on safe ground, concluding early on that my new sandals are really good on steep, slippery grass as I eventually needed to get off and walk it was so steep and I couldn't keep the back wheel upright. All the while I was watching a farmer in his field at the bottom of the hill watching the stupid dick head mountainbiker who was lost on the hillside and scaring his sheep at 6am. I prepared myself for a bollocking.
I finally made it to the route and the JCB, content with my diversion and descended swiftly to the farm. I needn't have worried, it was a scraggy horse watching me from afar. I had mistaken its shapely hips for a boilersuit.
Relieved, the countryside seemed to relax along with me. As I pootled along the river Wyre I was reminded that I'd not had any breakfast yet so I started looking for a sit spot. Finally, a large concrete slab presented so I sat down, brewed up and chatted to the local morning walkers as I brewed myself rice pudding with cinamon (since the porridge was less appealing) and added a drop of rum from my hip flask to make myself smile a little. It was a damn fine breakfast, sitting in the sun watching the minnows in the shallow flowing water.
My second "breakfast" stop was a far more comedic affair. Yet anther flock of sheep came running over to the gate to see if I had anything for them, a gaggle of bleating and baaa-ing, all rushing upo and then away-from me. When I sat down to eat, the whole lot stopped and stared at me from a distance. "What?" I asked. It was starting to get unnerving. Eventually one solo lamb appeared over the brow of the hill ahead of me, ears up, like "Guys! YOU LEFT ME!". He full on stared at me for 3 minutes, before getting up the courage to bolt around me and the building I was perched on, through the walls and back to his mom in the flock. Stoopid creatures.
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I dropped into Hafren forest realising I'd never actually ridden through bits of Haffren forest before. I always skirt it. This time, I was at the visitor centre boardwalk and could I find my way through! Feck. Bloody Garmin maps failed again so I couldn't see where I was going and got myself on one of those forest trails that looks like its' going the right way but actually follows the valley side for 15km first instead of taking the mountain bikers direct line down the hillside.
I got back on track at 175km so decided to start scrapping bits of my route to get back to BB towers before my knee gave out and before my husband arrived too early and ate all the cake back at base. A few checkpoints might have been lost in this scrapping process but heyho. The left knee started to scream at me every time I stood up on the pedals so it was time to call it a day.
Arriving at the road I got confused by the 7mile marker to Llanbrynmair with my garmin telling me it was 7km to the finish - I forgot what ride I was on. Still, rode it all in to the finish, even the final downhill with my brakes squawking like a sick elephant. So pleased.
I gorged myself on cake - just enough to feel sick on - and got changed just in time to meet Andrew who'd come up from Oswestry. Three nights of sleeping 4-6 hours a night caught up with me and I passed out in a heap in the car on my way home but otherwise all was well with the world. After two weekends riding in excess of 130km I'm slightly more confident about my ability to survive HT550 if I can - even if I don't go as fast as last year.
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