The CarTen, sounds simple – ride from Cardiff to Tenby in a day. One Hundred miles, three stops, free brekkie, free liquid, no time limit – yes, I’ll have some of that.
Up at 5:30 in the morning, too early by half but needed to get the bike on the car and some prep ready to leave the house at 6:20. Got down to the Cardiff City stadium around 6:50 and already there were a hundred or so there. So unpacked and tried to find John, then stood in a queue to register. Once registration opened we found that we didn’t and indeed shouldn’t have our bikes, so a hundred bikes were dumped to the ground or any available lean post as we filed up to our registration slot, I was number 177.
Little bit of faffing around and we made our way to the start – and found ourselves first. We noticed that quite a few had already set off, but we are good boys so waited for the tape to be stretched across then dropped and away we went. It was quite odd to seem to be leading the CarTen at this point, and as the first group of 8 or so rode off we had our first pratt in a car honk and shout – luckily there were not too many of them.
The first part of the ride took us through the edge of Cardiff and out to Culverhouse Cross, where we met the first hill. Dropped a couple of gears and the field started to overtake, John was just in front, but as I cycled past I thought he had missed a gear so on I went. This is “his” hill as he lives at the top, so I was not surprised to see him zoom past me slightly further up, I tried to keep pace but couldn’t. Once at the top I started to settle into a rhythm and kept at the back of the pack to be pulled along to Margam.
I was giving it some, not all, but some to try and catch him, but couldn’t get there, so resided myself to the fact he was too fast I kept with my new pack buddies and cycled our way through Wales. Just before Margam it poured down and the wind was more noticeable it felt just like the majority of yearly cycles I do – I must be a jinx. Sooner, rather than later and I was in Margam, thirty miles down the road, after almost getting lost after “my pack” buggered off too fast, but I got to breakfast and looked for John. No sign of him.
In the food place I could barely see thanks to my rain splashed, steamed up glasses, but I found the bacon rolls and had a cup of tea with 4 sugars. Back out to get the roll down me neck as fast as possible and who should roll in, but John. It seems that it wasn’t him who passed me on the hill, and he had been behind all the way! So I was chasing after him like a berk, when he was behind me all along. Oh – how we laughed ;o)
So after a short while we took off in search of lunch, at Bury Port – another 30 miles down the road. This section was not nice. Getting to Swansea was a pain through the back end of Port Talbot, the Swansea front along the Mumbles was okay, and the long but gentle ascent into Gowerton was pleasant – there was a road closed, police vans and what looked like a police blow up bouncy castle in the street. But after this section and on the way to Llanelli was a welcome to a world of pain.
We knew it would be windy, but at worse I thought it might me the sort of wind which worries you when you have an umbrella, a little strong and gusty. It was more like the wind you dream of when you are a child and you want to jump off a small wall with an empty bin bag so you can be blown to another country. It was not only strong, but relentless – as the wind was coming from the West, as it often does, and we were heading due West it caused a problem, normally when one cycles you do a circuit which is only fair that you get the wind in your face for half the time – this run was just dedicated to direct you straight into the wind, at all times, for ever and ever and ever.
From Gowerton past the sign to Carmarthenshire on the bridge before Llanelli all the way to the lunch stop at Bury Port I cried silent tears to the God of Wind to please give me a break. 13 miles of in your face drafty conditions which really broke your spirit. Across Llanelli front, which is always shit as far as I am concerned, the amount of exertion I was putting in to do 8 miles an hour was criminal – if there was an email address to “Wind” I would have drafted (!) a strongly worded letter. People looked at us with pity as we strained on our bicycles through the torrent, if we had been going the other way we could have sailed through at 30 mph…
But we got through and then in Bury Port we had a Burger, Chips and half a coke – refilled a water bottle, and soon(ish) later we left to continue to laugh in the face of the wind. The next section to Carmarthen was windy and hilly, we had some down, and quite a lot of up, but it was okayish to Carmarthen and just after we went off the main road onto another cycle route. This meant we met a hill, a steep one, and really steep first gear straining type of hill, the type of hill that makes you forget that its windy, or that there is an existence outside of you, the bike, the pedal, your knee and the road. People were pushing! These were the “expert” cyclists with all the kit, who can do 40 down a hill whilst sucking at their stupid energy gels – and they pushed up a hill – ha ha ha is all I can say. I was passing them, albeit slowly, and they were taking their bikes for a walk whilst shoveling “energy” down their stupid, lazy, give up faces. It was steep though.
The detour took an age, up and down a lot, but as with all things it came to an end and we got to St Clairs. Short uphill through the town took us out onto the main road and a couple of miles later we where through Whitland and we hit a real hill. This was a hill to sort the men from the whinny, shandy, look at me with all the kit and no legs brigade. This hill went from 78 ft to 626ft over two miles, which I must admit is not as difficult typing it as it was in real life. It was a biggy, people were pushing, people were crying, people were praying to their imaginary friends. I didn’t get off.
Top of the hill in Tavernspite was a crappy pub, so I just got some normal liquid in me for the trip to Tenby. Once JB was sorted we set off for the final 12 miles into Tenby. This was a good run, the hills were okay and the wind was not too bad, at one point we were cruising along at 20+ mph for a couple of miles. Before we knew it we were descending into Tenby. I had stopped to warn the family in case they missed it, and there were people cheering, so I did my Bradley Wiggings winning the Tour de France impression and then I stopped. That was it, finished. Time to pick up a polo shirt and get me a pint in.
106 miles, 8hrs 20 mins – average of only about 13 miles an hour but the CarTen was finished.
Some things I learned there:
A lot of cyclists are arses, they deliberate ride in the middle of road “because they are on a bicycle”, they run red lights “because they are a cyclist”, and they drop their empty stupid energy bars/gels/liquid/pixie dust whenever they feel like it. They are not nice.