BB200 2022*

*no placenames have been used in this report so no spoilers for the November crew.

I get pretty fed up with the comparison between bike packing, unsupported racing and life - especially work. "It teaches me resilience for my job" Bollocks. If your job ever puts you in the hole I am in now -you need to leave and get a new job.

I wanted to get a blue badge this year. In the (all of 2 weeks) build-up between my last race and this one, I set my heart on a blue badge. I have 2 green ones already.

Last week I sat at my computer to figure out the time gaps between "aid stations"- or as we call it in the self-supported world - every village offering a food source. I worked it out for 3 speeds - 28 hours for a blue badge (6.8km/hr), 6km/hr usual Trep speed and the 36 hours time limit for a Green again (5.4km/hr).

• • •

There was nothing else for it. I'd have to ride my long legs off to make the petrol station in time for closing. My best plan was to carry a dehydrated meal for dinner & hope to top it up with hot water from the petrol station coffee machine, not cold. I left the stove behind and pared down to a top tube bag and minimalist seat pack. I still took a tarp, lightest sleeping bag and mat - despite my temptation to throw caution to the wind. I know it gets dark and revolting when I have no quality sleep.

It felt too easy at first. I met Tom coming the other way at the top of a road climb - which alerted me to my wrong turn. He's right, I do owe him beer.

Nelson and Hannah soon caught and passed me. I wouldn't see any of them again.

Finally we turned off road and I instantly regretted not switching to grippier tyres until I got used to my racing tyres and thanked myself later for sticking with the lightweight option (as I pushed the bike uphill and needed to lift it over fences).

At the next descent, torrents of water paid testimony to 3 days rain just-passed as spray peeled off the tyres and onto my legs. I went in for the gaiters and they stayed on until lunchtime when they got too warm to tolerate.

• • •

Cath caught me up on the way into town and I started off by almost leading her the wrong way then calling her Fiona all day. Sorry!

We spent the cruel detour chatting as much as we could, debating loss of layers. We did some bike-sitting outside the shops as John (see later) popped in to buy his lunch, then Cath and I set off together for a while. One steep push-up and all my cyclocross training separated us again as Jay and Mart/k(?) caught up to take the reins. We switched around the order of things as I passed them faffing or snacking and they were faster on the bike.

• • •

Eventually a steep climb left me just taking time to walk while I ate some food - partly so the eating was easier, partly to get a rest from my saddle. My mates disappeared over the hill, only for me to catch them again. They were filling water bottles by a river. The moon was rising behind. There should have been a kiss. I thought we were nearly at the pub so I'd wait to fill my water bottle there. 

We weren't nearly at the pub. 

Landmarks came & went. There was no pub. Another rider caught me as I faffed. Sorry dude I never got your name. He was younger, fitter, more gravelly. Then there were 4 of us for awhile, and just as quickly our young friend pulled away, as did Jay, chasing the closing times at the pub.  There was a lot of hungry struggling from all of us.

I arrived at the petrol station to our young friend eating, Jay & Mark/t heading up to the pub and then John arrived. (I have no idea what his name is so John will have to do).  There were 3 of us again. 

We debated whether the others would make it out of the pub.

I brewed up my dehydrated curry which was fantastically shit. Sorry Firepot, it didn't hydrate on just 400ml and I couldn't be arsed to fetch more water.  It was ridiculously spicy for an adventure meal. No. 

Half of it got packed in case I needed it later then I regretted carrying it, it was so bad. I enjoyed coffee a bag of crisps so stocked up on some other stuff before setting off again with John just behind me.

• • •

I mused on my plan - were there really, as I remembered, lots of road miles between here & the next stop? Probably not but I thought, maybe. I piled on leg warmers - my waterproof coat for extra warmth and set off.

Of course just as Cath (Fi) arrived, we were ready to go. We wished her well.

There weren't more road miles We were on a bridleway - in a field. The road wasn't far away - so close that when I hit it I called out "not far" to John behind me. He passed me in the forest with a "What brings you here at this time of night?" As the stream ran down the path we were walking on I responded with "the water, I just fucking love the stuff" He offered to help me lift my bike over the fallen tree but I was resolutely purist, admitting I'd have said yes had we been on a fun event and not a personal ITT "challenge".  I slung the bike under and just about managed to un-wedge the Jones bars from the fallen trunk whilst I scissor-kicked my legs over.

Onto the steepest of descents. My pal had ridden ahead. At the top the tyre track was so deep in the gully I could crawl either side on my knees.

In the middle I cursed Stu. This wasn't any good for tall people at midnight as the trees whipped my helmet. Then I remembered I had a dropper post which helped a person of almost 6ft a little better.

At the bottom the slope threatened to tip me over - thank god for the dropper post.

I dealt with the chill by keeping turning the pedals on the road section. I knew where I was and there was a flat grassy patch ahead I'd scoped to sleep in if I was desperate but I wasn't desperate enough as it was too open and breezy.  I reasoned that there might be somewhere lower down (but before I reached "The Fog") that would be warmer and out of the wind.  I had my eye on the shelter of some bracken and briars.  

Climbing up the mountain road I let a few drivers pass as this is rural Wales and you never know how drunk/high people are at midnight.  The second guy turned off at my exit from the road, parked up and turned his lights off.  I rode past as quickly and discretely as I could hoping I wouldn't by mauled by released dogs or joy-ridden off the route.  My plan to pitch up for a sleep was being scuppered by the thought of a rogue 4WD rolling through my pitch at 2am.

The route detangled into a stream of ruts and puddles.  I fell in one and when I went to put my foot down there was nothing there and my whole body weight pitched onto one hand.  There was a lot of swearing and one soggy hip as I tried to wrestle myself upright again.  

Just then I noticed my water bite value starting to leak. I did the best I could to stow it away from my shorts but my left leg was soaked again.

As we descended into town, I felt a cold drip of water run straight down my bum crack from the spray off my back wheel. What kind of fresh hell? Though I was actually impressed that the shorts had done this good a job at keeping me dry so far.  I stopped and added my goretex trousers over the knee warmers, hoping that my body would push the trapped moisture out into the cold night air. I'd noticed the temperature inversion at the petrol station and the valleys were only starting to get colder. By the time we approached town, I couldn't face camping low down away from the Bridleway so thought I'd push on through. By the time I reached John snacking, I was hell-bent on reaching the town at the bottom of the valley and climbing back out again as soon as possible.  I checked he was OK and continued on.  It was the last time I'd see him.

I wasn't really OK though.  I was a bit sleepy and I also recognised that if I were going to carry on I'd need to wear my insulating layer to ride on.  When I saw a sign for public toilets, I felt like all my prayers had been answered.

Tentatively I tried the door on the ladies'. Not only were they open, it felt so warm inside. I set my bike against the wall, folded the baby change station back and sat down on my sit mat. Perfect. Wrapped in my sleeping bag I fell asleep with a bar of chocolate in hand, my head wedged between the cubicle wall and the baby-change table. At some point the motion sensor reset and the lights went out. I grabbed my pillow & blew that up but couldn't be bothered with my mat. It was too much effort and thought it'd look worse to have blown up a camping mat if I was disturbed and moved on.  I tried lying down with my bum on my sit mat but it was too cold and uncomfy on the tile floor so I sat up again and used the pillow to prop up my knees so they didn't feel locked-out. I slept a little more, only being disturbed by someone else leaving the gents next door and I wondered if it was John. My alarm went off at 3 am and I stayed in my makeshift bed a little longer - consuming the breakfast I had carried with me all day - which was very satisfying compared to chocolate and crisps.

Before I left I tried my new toothpaste tablets but was too lazy to dig out my toothbrush. I was pretty disappointed that the chalky, flouring lumps just stuck to my teeth uselessly and I probably swallowed more of it than I should have.

• • •

I redressed in my goretex trousers for warmth and tried on my highland trail Marigolds for extra hand warmth but they were too tight to fit over my long finger gloves - good job it didn't rain. I had liner gloves with me that did a great job of making my hands feel warmer and I tore into the warmer pads I'd packed at the last minute on Friday night - putting one in each of my gloves and my waterproof socks.

There were a few cars still moving around town - people coming home from clubs in Aber, I guess, or going to work. I passed through town and onto yet another steep bridleway, constantly looking out for the haematite-coloured glow of a lightening sky in the East. It didn't come soon enough to stop my second wave of sleepiness The toothpaste incident had left me feeling somewhat sick and I didn't dare drink any more of the half-empty bottle of coke in case it ended in some kind of volcano effect. Eventually I decided to try it out and stop for a turbo kip while the sun came up and/or I vomited.

This time I got my Tyvek out to lay on the damp grass and threw my tarp over me like a makeshift bivi.  I put the sit mat under my bum and just used my helmet as a pillow. I was warm enough in all the layers I was still wearing from town and by elevation I was above the temperature inversion.

I didn't need a second alarm, the birds started singing above me.

• • •

Crows were caw-ing and a red kite mewled overhead. When I opened my eyes the sun was already rising. I got moving again, getting joined by a much faster rider who gleefully told me he'd had a luxurious sleep in his little tent, then he was gone as I continued to deal with night demons and my dodgy tummy.

One thing that was reassuring me was the passage of kms. No matter how rubbish I was feeling, 70 soon turned into 30km to go and I started to believe that a sub-28 hour finish was possible. 

I constantly recalculated. Going up hills it didn't look good. At the bottom of downhills it seemed just in reach then my gears started to play up. Several people had already been laughing at the bizarre noises coming from my drive train but now, when I went to shift up, the change only came 20 or 30 seconds later when I least expected it. It was not what tired legs were expecting for the rolling hills and country lanes to the finish. I checked the distance to go and the elevation profile and discovered a new climb which I had completely forgotten about. Selective memory? 800m! FFS

All of a sudden it didn't seem doable. A band of 3 merry men came by. Each one asked me if I was Ok. I was not Ok. They didn't hang around long to talk to the grumpy old lady. The last guy passed saying, "It's ok, we've got all day". I did not want all day. There was no way I could go on feeling this shit all day and this would be a lot of effort to go through just for another green badge. Serious thoughts of quitting entered my mind. It felt like there was little between me and the finish but a lot of time. In the next village I went to have a sit on a bench then realised the 3 merry men were along the road a little sitting at tables outside a shop serving coffee. Perfect.

In theory I waved goodbye to time limits and decided to stop for a lovely brew with my new friends, try not to depress them any further, and eat some cake.

For the fifth time that morning I decided it was all stupid, I wasn't going to play any more and the clock could go to hell. I'd have had a lovely sleep if it hadn't been for that pesky alarm. What was I rushing back for anyway? The coffee, cake and company was good and I found I was slick at getting my stuff together and getting on the road. By the time the guys caught me up I had stopped to remove my layers before the big push up to the wind turbines in the sky. For a moment I started to think 28 hours was still doable.

Somehow, two "camp" stops meant my gear was all awry and despite ditching/eating a lot of food it was quite a challenge to repack all my bags. Some things that had been packed away had to be unpacked, relocated and repacked and my coke bottle finally drained and squashed just to squeeze my gaiters into my stem cell bag. There was stuff everywhere.

• • •

I set off up the climb at an angry stomp. I was soon off the bike and pushing but the coffee and calories were doing their thing. The canister of tuna bean salad I'd been carrying for 2 days was digging into my shoulder blades but there was no time to stop and sort it out.

An undefined track across tussocky moorland leads to a wind farm. Only the thought of gravel roads leading to the turbines brought me any hope and then the locked gates came.

The first was the worst. A primal scream was the only mechanism I had to lift the heavy bike over the tall fence and then I got the rear wheel caught on the barbed wire and dropped the whole thing hard onto the crushed stone, carbon bars first. That made me mad. Then some gymnastics to get me over the awkward gate rendered un-climbable by the anti-sheep mesh welded in place.

The next one was easier but still annoying. The third one was taking the piss. There was a lot of swearing as I wondered: why lock the internal gates? Do wind turbines escape? Surely it's inefficient for the work crews. I was further enraged by the perfectly acceptable bike gates at the other end with full, unhindered access.

The tuna salad still dug into my back but I was cheered up by a happy farmer on a quad bike giving me a wave with his stupid collie grinning into the morning sunshine.

I checked the distance to go: 13km in 24 minutes. 32 kms/hr average - a big downhill but some flat and short, steep climbs on the road to go. First gravel then slate flew by under wheel, then more gates - horrible gates. Gates you have to get off for. Gates you have to lift shut. 

8km in 20 minutes 24 km/hr. I flew down the hillside, cow shit and water spraying everywhere. For once the cows were running the other way- thank god.

6km in 12 minutes but now there was tarmac and a sweet, sweet tail wind. I stamped on pedals, hauled the bars span my legs on the downhill till I couldn't go any faster then tucked hard. Begged drivers not to pull out, took the racing line, ran the red light through the roadworks because it will catch you even if you wait for green. 2km to go in 5 minutes. I rounded the bend. No-one was in the carpark to witness my elation. I totally missed the driveway so ran down the stairs with my bike and banged on the windows.

"I'm back".

27 hours 58 minutes. One very happy Trep.

Bear bones Winter Event. Pleasant Valley Sunday.

A pub on a Friday night? I haven't done that by design for a long time. I took a half day's leave to give me packing and driving time and we managed 2 pints, unfortun­ately missed chatting to Verena, met Ben, Sam, John and chatted with Reg and Andy and my travelling partner Landslide.

A few of my companions tried to persuade me to join their groups but haunted by a lack of training - so far & a desire to not slow anyone down (including myself) I turned down the offer of a yurt and a pub and cafe ride to moans of "What are you going to do between 4:30pm and 7am??" My response: "that's what lights are for!". I've become accustomed, no, enamoured, of riding at night.

The Wynnstay inn is run down but affordable and held together with warmth and the enthusiastic care of Pauline, landlady who looks after everyone - and I mean everyone and everything. She left Highgate in London in 1984 and the only obvious remnant of the big smoke is a hint of the queen's English - though she speaks and understands the Welsh crowd at her public bar.

My blood sugar couldn't handle the beer so at 3am I was sat on the stairs eating chocolate buttons to get rid of the nausea. Once I'd got a hangover my stress levels dropped. When I realised the weather was mild and wet for now, I downgraded my sleeping bag (ignoring the overnight forecast) and sat around in the community centre too long drinking tea and chatting but it was all in the name of avoiding the rain on my ride. I started (after 3 lashing showers) at 11 am. My first checkpoint was at the bottom of the Pennant valley.

I had to stop on the way to remove my waterproof trousers & change into lightweight gloves when I started to melt with the sunshine that was flooding into the day.

• • •

My kit packed away surprisingly easily until I realised the reason. I had forgotten my big coat and any form of lunch to keep my energy levels up through the day.

I reckoned I'd have sufficient to sustain life just long enough to get to Mach for dinner and I could stop and brew up a dehydrated meal if I got desperate.

 

I had a chat with a man trying to unearth a telegraph pole from a flowing stream then turned tail and headed out behind BB Towers. 

 As I rode up the track on the Eastern flank of the valley behind my friends' house for the first time, I realised you only make the mistake of using the path on the West side once in your life. As I pedalled smoothly up the wide forest track, my mind cast back to the WRT in 2019 when I carried my bike up a scree slope, after I fought my way past nettles, brambles, tussocks and gates overgrown with grass (but still bolted in three places).

I had a pleasant valley wee, reassured that most folk had left by now and gone the other way.

After that it was time to take on a much longer slog onto the moors to visit three checkpoints in succession. I had plotted a very uppy downy route to take in Bugeilyn but the forum gods advised against it & I used Landslide's alternative route to dab in and out of checkpoints without losing too much elevation. First off the North of Glaslyn and the nature reserve. It is high and it is wild up there.

On the way it started to rain. I looked out for some shelter to scurry back into my waterproof trousers and change my gloves but the only things on offer were 4 scrawny yew trees battered by hundreds of years and some corrugated steel sheep pens.

The steel was mostly embedded in a mound of earth on the leeward side so I used what I could as shelter and planked myself down on my sit mat on the grass and faffed with my boots. 5 minutes later I pulled my hood sinch tight around my glasses against the hail, thankful I stopped when I did.

After a seeming age of picking my way across heavy and tussocky bridleways, swearing at the sheep it was already pleasant to have the respite of the road for a few hundred metres. Two riders crossed it ahead of me from a different direction but I couldn't catch them and they certainly couldn't hear me over the wind. We all turned off for the checkpoint and from my vantage above I captured them admiring the view before the long, steep descent.

 It was very steep and I soon caught them up where they started to walk. I couldn't get my dropper to drop so I walked sooner and soon realised that for the out-and-back I did not need to take my bike down the hill with me, only to have to push it back up again. 

The rider at the back noticed I was walking bike-less, checked I was OK with a thumbs up (yes) then descended into the rain.

I enjoyed the scenery, then ran back to my bike terrified I'd taken my eyes off him for 5 minutes. Of course I'd travelled further than I realised and every empty tussock was agonising until I finally saw the outline of handlebars in the fawn-coloured grass.

Back on the moors I pedalled over to the next checkpoint on the mines around Penycrobren to the South side of Glaslyn nature reserve.

At the bridge crossing the ford over the reservoir I held my breath as I tipped the bike up on its back wheel and literally walked the plank, balancing myself and my 20kg bike over the roaring, raging torrent pouring over the dam and onto the broken concrete 4 feet below.  I had zero chance of recovery if either of us went in and my heart stopped for a moment as a gusty sidewind struck us mid span and we wobbled heavily before regaining our composure and teetering to the final leap out of the roaring torrent.

Alongside the Lyn, seemingly devoid of any nature as the wind rushed across it and buffeted me sideways or head-on, slowing my progress to very little. It was another out-and-back on my route that Landslide had  chopped away, saving me from Bugeilyn and cutting off some distance before deciding on going for the pub option ride instead. 

 

I dropped into some farm buildings located by the headworks of a mine and enjoyed the rushing torrents of water between crags and trees before backing up to the buildings with what remained of the daylight to sit on a rock out of the wind and eat half a pot of honey roast peanuts for my late lunch.

On the way out I topped up the camera with some photos of valleys, waterfalls and sheep so my Welsh vibe was real.

Finally I reached a descent which was fast and fun right up until the moment I overshot my turn off by 200m and had to retrace up hill. Something creaked in the trees and for once it was neither my knees nor cranks. A large, single rook swirled overhead then returned to the darkness for cover.

I felt uneasy as this wasn't my route plot.   I'd forgotten to refresh my memory or check out what Landslide proposed so I had no idea where I was going or where the next point was.

I soon realised I was going to scatter the sheep I'd just photographed "all the way over there" as I pushed my heavy bike up the hill through their midst.

The route chosen for me cut straight up the grassy bank to my left then eventually contoured around the hillock to my left. On the map it looked easier to skirt the other side of the Cairn since the "path" was non-existent any way, it seemed mostly harmless to smooth the route. I started grasping at straws and nearly found myself at my first fence crossing of the day when I mistook a fenceline for the trail in the already-failing light (how was it getting dark already?) and tussocks.

Thankfully I realised my mistake in time, completed my circuit of the cairn and then stumbled upon something resembling an old cart track that was actually probably my route for as long as it lasted before degrading back to sleep field. I slalommed between the ewes - a careful balance of not disturbing the flock and not falling off and reached the track and its inevitable locked gate for the first lift-and-climb of the day.

• • •

The route soon turned again but thankfully this gate wasn't locked because I was already pissed off with locked gates and could have quite readily stormed into the nearest farmhouse, grabbed a rifle and shot all of the occupants in the house without question. 

I set off into the dusk riding just on my dynamo light for as long as I could manage.

There were a few more positive gating experiences until I reached the final straw - a friendly gate marked "Mach 6 bike route" That had been super-imposed by a much less friendly rusty steel pipe gate with a big steel box and padlock over the top. Fucking fucksticks. Thankfully no barbed wire on the fence but I managed to drop my bike onto its handlebars on the fence rail so that all of its weight was on my garmin.  The one remaining flange on my Garmin and the Garmin mount shattered leaving me with a Garmin dangling on a piece of string.

Thankfully I recently added a Moloko bar bag to my Jones bars and stuffed the device under the bungee cords next to my Spot so I could read my map for the rest of the ride-albeit sideways and between the strings.

• • •

Around a corner on the forest track I startled a very handsome little snipe standing in my lane before it fluttered away.

I finally garnered enough speed on forest tracks to make the big light worth while. At some point in the evening I stopped to take one last photo before the light went and realised I was (not surprisingly) really rather hungry. Except for my peanuts I'd eaten an ancient SIS energy bar and a gel - packed 5 months ago for such emergencies.

It was past 5pm.

A look at the route profile on Garmin included a long descent, a little climb and another long descent. I'd been promising myself it was all downhill to Mach "soon" but my poor progress and a late start meant Mach was not just around the corner but a whole half a day away on-route.

 

After I took my photo I started to notice rude signs. "No access except for permit holders". "Anglers only" "No Entry! CCTV" . They were very bright and shiny. I had made it to "Angler's Retreat". I remembered this from the map and I also remembered that nearby there was a water crossing where I had simply hoped there would be a bridge. God. I really was not in the mood for my feet to get any wetter. I had waterproof socks on but my feet had sweated in them for 6 hours and as the temperature dropped I could already feel my damp feet getting chilly when I stopped.

I stopped by a sign claiming the mountain lake as private and consulted the map. I had a lot of route to go to Mach but also if I abandoned the route in a bit, there was a bridleway going straight North that went directly to Mach. I could get dinner after all and I wouldn't get shot by angry fishermen. I'd continue for a bit and make my mind up at the junction. Out of the darkness a tawny owl swirled up from the field below. I managed to focus my headlight on its belly as it whorled away to find another hunting ground.

On I went until the Garmin piped up "off route". I'd just passed another flourescent sign and a gate. Please tell me my route isn't through there. Half expecting to be accosted by night fishermen; half expecting to drown in an epic river crossing - or worse get stranded between both.

I think Andy is wrong - I'm not a stress bunny - I'm a drama queen (especially when hungry).

I checked the map. Sure enough, my route went that way and it was also my quickest route to Mach and dinner. I decided it would be best to give it a go and deal with any consequences if and when they arose. What's the worst that could happen? A grumpy exchange with a fat bald man with a flannelette shirt and a big rod.

As I approached the lake, I gave them their due. It was a lovely looking lake but I didn't linger as I was distracted by a light ahead. I turned off my headlight so as not to draw attention to myself and aimed to pass quietly without disturbing anyone.

I think I made out two people and a tent in the darkness but I was so concerned about looking innocent and not getting bollocked by anglers that I didn't even think they would be friendly bike packers. Sorry for being ignorant-whoever you are!

• • •

I was so grateful to them though for sewing the idea in my tiny brain.

My mind flipped back to the pub, "What is there to do between 4. 30pm & 7:30am?". I had the answer:

• Cook food
• Eat
• Pitch a tent.
• Drink
• Sleep
• Had I been really desperate, start writing this up on my phone

The temptation to eat then lie down in a sleeping bag for a very long time was super high. 12 hours sleep? Luxury. I pedalled away from the lake on a sweet bit of single track but instantly fell in love with a tussocky bit of grass without any slope in a fire break in the forest.

• • •

I lay the bike down and on closer inspection found a rare flat spot in the tree line where there was just enough space for a tent pitch and cook spot between the trees. I was hidden from the world and the wind and felt so secure I didn't even care that there were no scrawny trees to tie my bike too.

The tent went up first in case it was needed and I unpacked all my stuff then I brewed the water and sat out on my mat to eat before having a last wee and retreating to my tent.

Right on cue the first rain shower came and I grinned insanely with the self satisfact­ion of someone who isn't out in it any more. I made a point of letting it go and won.

• • •

By the time I'd eaten and made myself comfy in the tent it was 8:30pm There might have been a tiny notebook in my frame bag but I couldn't be bothered to get it and was perfectly content after my efforts and a late night last night to lie down, listen to the trees and gently drift off.

I woke up many times in the night, shivering. Even when I eventually found the will power to go for a wee (which usually makes me feel much warmer), I was shivering again within an hour. I cursed myself for switching sleeping bags but getting up or riding my bike was not a tempting option given the snowy hailstones that kept falling on the sides of the tent like a million hissing grass snakes in the night.

• • •

I'd found a pair of foot warmer pads that I was saving for the morning but since my hips and thighs refused to warm up under fleece leggings, Paramo, liner bag and quilt, I resorted to sticking the foot warmers to my leggings, then - when that didn't work - to my groins to warm the blood in my Femoral artery. At one point I stuck them straight on my skin (you're not supposed to) until I woke up 20 minutes later in pain (the next night I had little rectangular pink marks on my legs).

The heat pads did the trick and I woke naturally in the morning. Thanks to my hideaway and the eventual realisation that only bike packers, not anglers, would be anywhere near in these conditions, in that shit, I didn't bother with an early alarm and let myself sleep in until just before dawn. When I got up for a wee, light was just breaking at 7.  

When I found my little note book in a pouch in the bag there were also 2 fresh sachets of hand warmers so a pair went in the boots and a pair were saved for my gloves.

I managed to ration my water overnight. I'd been sipping. It was easy not to guzzle long mouthfuls of ice cold water. I had enough left to brew up my porridge and coffee. My new porridge experiment was a hearty success. As planned, when I re-emerged from the tent to pack up the dawn had well and truly happened and the sky was silvery and cloudy.

I finished packing and pushed the bike back onto the trail.

• • •

My old porridge plan was only ever enough to get me through loading the bike but this time, when I got to the Mach turn-off I was already committed to stick to my plan for a tour of the South Dovey Peninsular and two more checkpoints.

My commitment was further enforced by the appearance of some very satisfying downhill with grass up the middle and trees overhead so I had to hang off the side of my bike and limbo my way through. It was only interrupted by a fallen tree. Not from last night but certainly from last December's storms. It was only to be expected after such an excellent start to the day but I got around it with reasonable ease following a dirt bike track that went before me.

When the downhill track ran out, rather than leading back up, the Garmin suggested I turn right on the unpaved road. Through the proper bridleway gate I soon realised that this was my river crossing on the route plan.

The unpaved road was a little less paved than expected but about as good under wheel as a path through a field can be. After I drew my eyes away from the amusing bus stop I was more excited to see a gate leading to a bridge that crossed the stream ahead.

Sure, it looked like it went straight through the forest garden of the house on the other bank of the river but a quick glance on the map showed the house was riddled with bridleways above it and to the right.

I pushed my bike out from under the tree swing and passed several odd-looking wooden buildings balanced atop stilts like bird hides. The gate to the bridleway was locked (of course it wouldn't be that easy) and when I got through it I realised I'd gone the wrong way and had to turn tail and go straight back past the house. Much to my relief, despite the warm lights in the living room, there was no-one around and I just sneaked through the unlocked gate, onto the road and on my merry way.  When I closed the gate behind it was Blaeneinion Beaver reintroduction scheme - which I assume explains the hides to watch beavers a-beaverin'.

They'd clearly picked the right valley for wildlife as I stopped to photograph fieldfares on a wire (and failed), I instead snapped (badly), this bird stomping around in the long grass.

The road was an uppy downy joy alongside Einion (onion) valley or the Artists valley, where the mountain water burst ice-blue over the rocks, occasionally right next to the road, occasionally 40ft below the lung-busting climb I'd just been sent up. I managed to ride them all.

Faced with choice between Ford and turn-off I took the turn-off only to realise I'd skipped the carpark for the Eonion valley mines infoboard.

The other entrance to the carpark was via a perfectly respectable bridge so I stopped for a read.

 

Before the bike and I were spit into the Irish Channel, the route took me down to the E..onion river where I disregarded all the properties I'd just passed and sourced myself some wholesome welsh mountain river water before climbing up to and across a road onto the lovely path,

I can see the sea!

At the top of the path was an even lovelier viewpoint over-looking the whole Dovey estuary and Cadair Idris that was still underneath cloud cover. 

 

 

Now I could smell the breakfast, however my route had other plans.

I dropped down to the nice big road that could have fast-tracked breakfast but instead I followed my route onto a minor road and then onto a Bridleway. "Explore Dovey" promised the plaque on the gate. The sun was shining and birds were singing. How could I refuse?

Within 10 minutes any traffic noise from the big road was gone and forgotten and a big old oak tree presented a flat spot and a carpet of leaves on which to park my sit mat, pull out my stove and brew up second breakfast and coffee or more specifically: last night's desert and coffee. Dehydrated apple and custard never tasted so good.

• • •

A choice of route ahead led me to take the upper route where I enjoyed the company of a chaff whirling and croaking above the crag. The Garmin said I was off route but quick deduction told me I'd soon be back on-route. For a while I told myself I wanted to stick with the chuff and the crag but I was missing a checkpoint so I backtracked, calling myself "silly" all the way down the hill whilst sneakily enjoying it. The fun doubled up with a bit of forested single track which eventually decayed into pushing up something too narrow and overgrown to ride without snagging a pedal and being catapulted 30ft off the hillside. Still, it was better than the muddy track at the bottom made up of puddles and round rotting logs.

It was the only checkpoint I didn't photograph, boo.

• • •

At the end of the track some old hall-style buildings were eye candy for the road ride to my final excursion past a smallholding where I was swiftly put right by the owner when I strayed off path and accidentally towards the veg patch. I thanked her for the directions and we waved happily to each other as I cursed the footpath sign hidden by the long grass just at the point when all your attention is on fastening the big, awkward gate and she probably cursed the "bloodymountainbikers who can't follow perfectly good signs".

• • •

Thus my eventual arrival in Mach at 1pm, 19 hours later than planned, to eat some "real food" from the Spar sitting on the step of the toilet block in the car park as it seemed to be the only place in Mach I could get out of the wind. Everything looked shut and one look at "the Wynnstay" pub there put me off the idea of hauling my muddy ass inside a respectable establishment.  From what I've heard the welcome was not a good one although I could have made an effort with the White Lion.

The pay-as-you-go toilet was locking people in so a steady stream of folk were thankful for me stopping the door open with my rucsac while I ate my lunch in a never-ending queue for the toilet.

Every time I finished a piece of food the Loo was occupied so I started eating something else.  Still, I met more people there than I would've done in the pub.

Eventually I let the door go, jumped on the road, cast recklessness aside and plotted an easy road ride back to the finish in time for tea. My adventurising was done and I now know how easy (or not) it is to get home from Mach the quick way.

2020 Welsh Ride Thing - The Apocolypse

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.

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.

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. 

I did take on fords nervously, used bridges where available and did some puddle dodging, though from the smell, partic­ular puddles, I suspect, contained cadavers, possibly human, I wasn't hanging around to find out. At 2:30 the rains finally came and, man, did they come good: just as I was ready for another snack. 

 

 

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.

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! 

 

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. 

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. 

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. 

The homeowner sent his dustbin out but the fat Labrador did not like apple cores. The next hill took us to our first checkpoint of the trip, the Trannon Windfarm. Then it was in to Pennant for checkpoint number 2 to visit Stuart (organiser) and Dee. 

 

I recognise that valley

We styled this one out too, doing the hardest of bridleway / footpath  combo's to get over to the house. I felt like I was re-opening a pony track that hasn't been used since the mines closed, forcing open overgrown gates, forging through the nettles and climbing over fallen trees, where I drew the first blood of the trip. It was all worth the smiling faces when they realised they had another customer. Stu and Dee were pleased to see me as well as the dogs. I ate cake and drank hot drinks as much as possible and chatted until more willing volunteers arrived. 

 

Stuart was interested in my route. I waffled something about the pink line on my map. He suggested a bivi spot at the Borth visitor centre and Machynlleth for tea which, to be fair, sounded like a lovely idea but I was pretty sure it was the other way around to what I had planned.

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.

• • •

 

I brewed the remaining coffee and porridge with a sheepy audience and wind turbines.

• • •

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. 

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. 

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. 

 

Time to celebrate life. In the impossibly beautiful sunlight, sat out on a rock slab in my fleece, the swallows screaming overhead, I finally finished the M & Ms and the last of the rubbish crisps from Carmo. I was too early for the sunset. I couldn't face the down and up to the actual check- point as it was going to need to be retraced but I stood and looked on, thought, "that's very nice Stu" and left again and appreciated that it didn't matter. What mattered was a pleasant evening at the pub, a decent night's sleep and having enough beans left to manage Monday.

 

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.

Moon so near

 

• • •

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.