Wet, Wild Wales, Woooooah!

At least it wasn't Birmingham... Here follows a lengthy and not particularly eventful (only two potential scrapes with injury/death included) account of a truncated cycle tour.



Not a total disaster, but I've certainly had better cycling trips than that. On Tuesday I didn't set off for St. Briavels until after midday due to fitting a new front derailleur, so it was a bit of a cram getting the mileage in during the afternoon. The first thirty miles was along the coastal flats along the northern edge of the Severn Estuary through Newport and Caldicot. The flatness of my route, however, meant that on reaching Chepstow the long drag uphill to St. Briavels was a bit of a shock to the system. At least the weather was nice (not too hot, occasional glimpse of the sun), albeit with a bit of a headwind. Total mileage for the day was a mere 40 miles. St. Briavels youth hostel actually occupies the village's 13th century castle and, in keeping with Britain's heritage, was populated mainly by Yanks and Aussies.

Wednesday: woke up too early and discovered that it was raining quite consistently. Got drenched on the way up the Wye to Monmouth where I managed to get disorientated and exited the town 180 degrees opposite to my intended direction. Got vaguely back on track and by this time the rain had stopped. Had lunch at the castle at Skenfrith before bobbing up and down hill to Grosmont (stomping ground of panzer_attack and yet another castle). Upon departure from Grosmont the heavens opened again which meant that I didn't get to enjoy the views from the ridgeroad to Llanvihangel Crucorney. The pedal up the valley through Llanthony to Capel-y-ffin wasn't as bad as I remembered it and by this time the weather had settled down to just light rain. Distance for the day was a scarcely better 42 miles, one of my slowest cycling days EVAH! Was shocked to discover that Capel-y-ffin youth hostel is under threat of closure. I've stayed there about half a dozen times over the years (including on my first solo cycle tour in 1988) and it's in such a good location that I'd be sorry to see it go.

Thursday: the original plan was to carry on to Llanddeusant youth hostel out on the Northern edge of the Black Mountain, if the weather was fine then via the Wye at Erwood, Builth Wells, Llanwrtyd Wells and Llandovery. However the weather wasn't fine, it was yet again raining determinedly in the morning plus my legs were feeling a little achey. So I decided to cut my losses and head back to Cardiff. I didn't particularly want to repeat the route I'd taken last time I'd done Capel-y-ffin to Cardiff (Abergavenny, Usk and Newport [sorry redcharel!]) so I instead chose to go over the Gospel Pass to Talgarth, then to Talybont-on-Usk to join the Taff Trail. So it was in the familiar rain that I set off up the remainder of the hill to the Gospel Pass soon engulfed within the low clouds. The five mile descent on the other side was quite exhilarating (the bad weather meant that in about 10 miles I saw only a couple of cars) and the rain stopped, there was even a hint of sunshine. Alas, on reaching Talgarth I found that the cafe had run out of my cycling favourite, toasted teacakes, and I even managed to take a wrong turn again (a little knowledge is a dangerous thing). The descent towards Brecon saw the rain start up again and it absolutely pelted it down on the road to Talybont-on-Usk. I passed half a dozen or so mountain bikers going the other way who looked thoroughly miserable (that's what you get for not fitting mudguards to your bike).

The Taff Trail up round the Southern side of the reservoir was the usual slow gentle climb, with lovely views out across the reservoir and the easternmost Beacons. By this time it'd stopped raining and not only was I steaming but so were the trees. On the drop down to Pentwyn reservoir from Torpantau I noticed a bit of a wobble in my rear wheel. Thinking it may be a kink in the rim caused by a broken spoke I decided to investigate when I got to Pontsticill. Just as I was cresting the last small hill there was a loud bang. I'd got a blowout in my rear tyre, the side casing having split for about 3 inches (no hope for a bodge repair there). Clearly the wobble had been due to a bulging tyre. As is the way with these things I had thought about replacing that tyre before I'd set off from Cardiff because there were a few minor cuts in the tread. Luckily, however, not only did I have a spare inner tube, but also the folding tyre that I'd bought as insurance for the End-to-End last year. So it was 20 minutes of changing the tyre and tube, chucking the now-worthless tyre in a bin, and then back down the Taff Trail towards Cefn-coed-y-cymmer.

Earlier in the day I'd decided that if I was feeling rough and the weather was still bad by the time that I reached Merthyr I'd cheat and catch the train down to Cardiff. On getting there I wasn't feeling too bad and it was only late afternoon so I decided to carry on. Naturally, this was a sign for the heavy rain to start up again and I soon discovered that I was cycling into a headwind as well. However, as I was still soaked from earlier in the day and the Taff Trail is pretty sheltered for most of its way this wasn't as bad as it sounds. Indeed the grim weather had a bonus: it kept the annoying Valleys brat quota along the route down to a minimum. Only took me just over a couple of hours to get down to Cardiff from Merthyr, with just a racing cyclist and a couple of hardcore mountain bikers overtaking me, and of course as soon as I got into Cardiff it stopped raining. Distance was an uncertain 65-70 miles (uncertain because my speedo's contacts got so inundated with water it gave up for the last third of the ride), not bad given that it included two major climbs (up to 525m and 425m).

For further whingeworthy enhancement, here's my top five moans for the three days (in ascending order):

5. Monmouthshire County Council. Clearly, keeping your roads in a reasonable state of repair is too much for you.

4. That old favourite, the suicidal sheep. In filmic internal monologue style:

[Curving zoom-in of me hurtling down a moorland road, ultimately framing my eyes registering something of note ahead.]
Me: Hello sheep.I'm not going to run you over...
[In black and white slow motion the sheep looks up]
Me: ...but you're going to run away anyway. You're on a grass verge next to a wall so you've nowhere to run to except...
[Sheep looks from side to side]
Me: ...across the very road that I'm bearing down upon!
[Rapid montage of sheep, spinning bike wheel, sheep's feet hitting the tarmac, hands depressing brake levers, "Nooooooo...oooooooo!!" and a cycle-shoed foot fore-grounded against a bloodied, buckled bicycle lying on the road, a plaintive "Baaaa!" the only sound to be heard]

3. SUVs. If you think they're bad enough in the city, they're even worse out in the countryside. Almost as wide as a tractor, faster and without the road sense or courtesy of the average farmer, they're not going to stop or slow down for a mere cyclist wobbling up a hill. [By comparison, again, VW camper van drivers are the most considerate on the road, I've yet to be squeezed/spooked by one]

2. Farm dogs. About 9/10s of the way up a hill there's three dogs waiting for me, not just barking but two of them actively going for me. It's happened to me before with the same farm, that time I actually waved my pump at them to keep them away, this time however I'd only taken a mini-pump which was in my pannier so outrunning them was my only option. Given that this road is on a National Cycle Route there's going to be dozens of cyclists passing by each day, but that doesn't seem to stop these stupid mutts from being a menace.

1. Club runners. A shock new entry in at number one. From Forest Farm inwards the Taff Trail was peppered with runners, I'm guessing out on a club run given their attire and semi-regimented order. A not inconsiderable number of them were running three abreast taking up the entire width of the track. What's more, they weren't tucking in when they saw me coming in the opposite direction (and I wasn't exactly hurtling by this point). A couple of points I had to veer onto the grass or stop completely to avoid colliding with the outermost runner. Coming as it was at the end of the three days it was a complication that I could have done without.