Slept okish – but was woken by the torrential rain – nice.
Morning had broken, and our hearts when we saw the stupid, stupid weather. It was wet. And windy. And we had to have a little chef.
After a latish breakfast we set off in the rain on the final leg. This one was only a small jaunt around Dartmoor to Plymouth.
We got wet at the beginning, and in the middle, but not at the end. The ride from Okehampton is a good one, “mostly” downhill, with some hard climbs, but in general you are on tracks and it is pretty flat. Obviously by this time, every little climb is more tiring than you would expect, and if it hadn’t been for the rain, it would have been almost pleasurable.
We didn’t stop for lunch today, as we expected to get to Plymouth for lunch time, and we almost had a sit down for a coffee, but the serving wench was most put out that we were wet, so we ate in the street. At one point it said “13.5 miles to Plymouth”, 5 miles later we say a sign saying 13 miles to Plymouth, but at that point it was nearly downhill all the way. We crossed some amazing bridges, and went through some really eerie tunnels, with mist and darkness that even Marrsys super bright lights couldn’t penetrate.
I was loving today, the sun came out, and the last 13 miles were a joy mostly great road, and you could really get a spin up – I even overtook navman at one point – much to his disgust.
We got into Plymouth and had one last surprising hill to crawl up, and then it was down the harbor for a beer, and to let Brend change in the darkest toilet – in the world…
Sian came to pick me up for our trip to Dartmouth, and the guys were off to get trains home. We had cycled around 170 miles and gone up 11,000 ft or so, half of Everest or three Snowdons, some of the scenery was epic, some of the hills steep, and some of the weather wet – we had pints and pies and good times…
Big thanks as always to the team – hopefully we’ll get a few new stragglers next year
Marrsy had whinged all day yesterday about the hotel I had booked, so first thing was to re-book a different one. Then he still wasn’t happy. Breakfast was great, in the B+B – real good quality and plenty off it, although the three foot plate made it look smaller than it was (and the miniature toast made it look bigger). Poor old Brend was now really suffering, not just because of cycling, but also he had the sniffles. Today I has assumed was going to be easier, that’s a relative term really, it was not.
Once sorted we headed out, and everywhere out of Ilfracolme is up, so up we went – it was steep. But after a short while we went down, then up again and so on and so on. Had a good decent down towards Braunton after getting a little lost in a village. Then it was 19ft above sea level, knowing our end point was 1000ft above – nice one…. We followed the track around the bay, and along some really good cycle tracks for about 20 miles, then more up until we stopped at Petrockstow for lunch. And confusion, if not precipitation reigned.
We went up individually, pint and omelette, then we went outside to wait. We could hear Brend having some debate with the woman in the bar, and after an age he came out, complaining that there was no eggs for his omelette and no ham either. Anyhoo, after a short while his toasted sandwich came out, then another, then another – did he order three toastees? Nope. It seems that when he ordered his, they had assumed he was re-adjusting our orders – so we all had the same, expect for navigator who had to send his back because there was bacon in it. It was quite nice though. Then I had a helmet malfunction.
Other side of the pub was yet another massive hill, so at the top, taking a breather awaiting Brend – who was nearly killed by some dude with a trailer, I realised I had left my helet in the pub. No way was I going back down then up again, so although fresh faced Nick said he’d go we plowed on – refreshed with no hat, but Marrsy was very concerned I would die. I didn’t.
The rest of the day was many hours up and some down, some very steep bits and some not so. At one point Brend even took the lead, and surprised a squirrel who had come to cheer him on – the poor thing didn’t know whether he was coming or going after seeing The Brend power past, it did that four legged bounce and sprinted in a few directions before heading off to tell the tale of the rider in orange who had red legs.
After the final push up to our hotel, and one of the steepest sections of the day, we finally arrived at the prison which was to be our home for the evening – Travelodge Sourton Cross.
There was only one pub around, and it was on the other side of the A30, so after a quick refresh, me and navman played frogger across the main road for a crap pint in a seventies pub with just us in. Whilst we read the paper and drank, The Brend relaxed in the bath with a podcast of Russian Politics. Once he was fully conversant in the ways of the new Russian political system we ordered a cab. It was coming in “15 to 20 mins” – yeah right. It was raining.
50 minutes later and a maniac pulled up, unfortunately this maniac was our only hope of getting somewhere other than Little Chef for grub. He swore extensively as he set off at 120 miles an hour down the country lanes – to a place he “recommended”. Tell Ed the barman that Ed the Taxi brought you here. It looked okay, and was full – and we had no other choice so we stayed. Food was great, surroundings not so much. Brend had his, then drank my gravy. We had some beers and an expensive whisky for nav, and then Ed the Taxi came back and spoke to Ed the Barman, and whisked us away at the speed of a maniac cab driver to the safety of our beds.
Another year, and another of the annual cycle rides. Due to holidays and iron man training competitors were restricted to just three this year – me, Mr Marr and Brend “The Straggler” Thomas.
We decided to do the Devon Coast to Coast this year, but as it was only a hundred miles, and we are so hard, we decided to do a little ride first off to get us to the Devon C2C start point in Ilfracolme.
I arrived on the Friday around five, after spending weeks in slow traffic around Bristol – and after checking in, Sian, Kate and I descended to Taunton, to see what we could see. We could see a pub, so we went in. I asked a rather aggrieved bar man whether the Stella 4 was cold – he told me in no uncertain terms it was. It was. Then right across the road was another pub, so we went in there too.
After some time The Brend arrived, due to some confusion (foreshadowing) he had to go back to the hotel to let Marrsy in, but he was down, and looked like he had had an enjoyable year all told. We got him settled in the pub, and before long the final arrival appeared – he had cycled up to Taunton – just to ensure he had ridden more than anyone else on the weekend…
After being told to leave the pub, because Kate wasn’t allowed in after 7, we umm’d and arr’d for a food place. Brend suggested Bills – so Bills it was, and rather good it is. So good we went back there for breakfast on the real cycling day. Brend had a tiny fish, and some scones, and finished off Marsys main, and after a short while we followed the navigator round a perilous route back to the hotel…
Next morning was ride proper. Weather sunny – check, no cobwebs on the bike – check, Brends camel toe sack filled – check, navigation aid started – check, Petr Cech in fantasy football – check, and off we went. After around some time we were at bills eating. Then we got lost.
But we soon(ish) sorted it, and we were on our way. Ilfrcolme is about 65 miles from Taunton, and Marrsy had regaled us with bad tidings of his last attempt at the route – he said, wait for it, he said – He had to push up the big hill – AARRGGGHHHHHH… So navigator in the lead we high tailed it through the town and out onto the countryside. Before long we got to a small incline, this was where Brend “The Power” realised that not cycling for a year is to his detriment, and his legs “had no power anymore”. We followed Cycle route 3 until we got somewhere (Bampton I think) and stopped for a “coffee” – Brend had a croissant, and our tea dregs and the left over milk, and licked the menu clean. Back on the bikes for the journey to the lumpy bit.
Few miles further and we stopped for a breather, before the first hill of the day – and what a peach it was. This was the one cyclist thought he might have to push up, he didn’t, I wouldn’t, Brend did (a little). It was steep, and slippery, but we met no cars, and it was early in the cycle. It was the sort of steep that unless you cycle up steep things you would think was steep anyway. Oh and slippy. And steep. And it had a massive leaf on it (you’ll need to check google street view to understand that.) Once up this abomination we paused to reflect on Brend. Then up again, and I had to get off – not by choice I have to add, but because some wally in a car caused a road block half way up – it was steep enough that it was impossible to get into the clip on’s, so after a little push we were on the way again… We now had fourteen miles of “up” to go – they were long old miles, but we stopped before the top for lunch in the Sportsman, which looked pretty dodgy, but had nice faggots and cold lager. At this point Brend started to suffer.
Two pints down, and stodgy faggots does not set you up for a 25 mile lumpy afternoon, I wasn’t happy about being back on the bike – but the “worse” was over – it wasn’t.
Well actually it was, but there was still some up to go, and a great 3 mile down, followed, as expected by a 3 miles up, then down then up then down then up, then scary A road where we were nearly killed everytime a car went past, then finally, after what felt like a day of cycling (hang on – it was a day of cycling) we saw the sign – Ilfracolme 3 miles. Navigated had promised it was downhill from here – and you know what – it actually blumming well was…
Got to our lodgings, and stored the bikes – nice place (The Olive Branch), quick shower and off to see the delights of Ilfracolme. There were dodgy people and a massive statue of a pregnant woman will half her skin carved off (Damion Hurst – obviously) but then we found the poop deck @ The Pier, and drank alcohol in the sun, outside, with a great view of the sea. This is what the cycle trips are all about. We chuckled at Brend as he told us of his “plumbing” issues. It seems that Brend does not have hot water in his bath or shower, so he has connected a feed from the hot water that works to the bath. I assumed via a hose pipe, or at least some type of pipe – but no, ever the inventor he used the packaging the curtain rails came in. For the last year. One in a million.
After beer we found a decent Indian, ate, drank a cobra and went to bed.
Night wasn’t great, my roll-a-blind banged, and at 5 the sodding seagulls shouted at each other..
Next and final morning we congregated in the pub garden and as we waited for Dave we sang 32,546 bottles of beer on the wall then all set we headed off for Maccy D’s, by this time the seat was getting a little uncomfortable, but we knew it was the final 35 miles or so, so fully fuelled we headed over to St Albans.
As GD was to navigate himself to Paddington that afternoon, we let him lead the way – that lasted for approx. 45 seconds before he missed the turning and Marrsy was back in charge. A run around the North West of the M25 and back down to Windsor was a tranquil if hilly day. Any hill on the last day is bigger and badder than the rest, but today was quite up and down, and a couple, especially one, was a real grinder. When we arrived at the hill, there was a bloke in front on a tandem, on his own, legs pumping to get it up this steep incline, his partner walking up and only just making it. It seemed really steep, but it was only 13% according to Strava – I annihilated Dave on this hill (well Strava tells me I was 3 seconds quicker!)
Before we knew it we were just outside of Windsor and stopped in a little pub for a beverage and a bag of roast ox, it was nice.
And that was it, Nick Marr left us here to catch his train from Maidenhead and we continued the four mile to Windsor – at one point we discovered that Dave is shit scared of cows, but other than that we were back into the town and GD left for his 40 mile jaunt into Paddington (and he made it – well done him) and Dave went back to the hotel to collect his bike, and I met Sian and Kate in the Royal Oak where we pretty much started this years escapades.
In all another great cycle trip, I will need to make notes next year as I just cannot remember most of the cycling, but a huge thanks to Marrsy for being the navigator, the map creator, the tool chest, the mechanic and the voice of reason, Dave for giving us time to relax before we set off anywhere and GD for giving us time to relax after every hill.
Next morning, and we had the Premier Breaky – we were supposed to meet up, but for a change GD was late – he had a room on his own, and we were a little concerned, but bacon, sausage, omelette and juice soon put pay to that. Marrsy did need to know what was happening, as we had text GD a number of times – Marrsy found him waiting for us in the lobby – 20 mins later than agreed, with no phone (he keeps it switch off) and also no room key. He had breakfast.
After finally getting back into his room, which was booked in the name of Brend – which GD didn’t realise, we assembled for day two. Whilst waiting for Dave we re-wrote the London tube map in a novel and exciting way to represent not only the actual course of the lines, but also their relationship to shops that sell loom bands. He arrived, we departed.
We used Boris’ super cycle highway to get out of London, which was quite good, other than we are a little thick, and once we finally got to the edge of town Dave had a breakage. We spent quite a lot of time trying to fix his chain, well, when I say we, I mean Marrsy did, Dave did highlight his annoyance that as he was still he was only getting a tan on one side, and after some time we thought about how we could get to a shop for a new chain. Then Marrsy mentioned that he had one in his magic bags. So after another couple of minutes we were on our way. Behind schedule we zoomed from the town and into the countryside, pausing occasionally to admire the view and allow poor old Mr Triathlete to catch up on his mountain bike, and before we knew it we were in a little place, called something I cannot remember (Faceache says Havering Att Bower?) for grub. Nice beer and a great beef sarnie – then before we knew it we were on our way again. The day ending up being about 65 miles which was a surprise but it was mostly flat (I think) and it all blurs into one. A couple of times I thought I would try to save Marrsys legs and took the front, every time I had to slow down because the route changed, or even at one point I had a puncture (first one in three years) – so in total I probably managed about 5 mins.
At one point during the trip we passed some children on bikes, up a slight incline, only one of the team managed to make it, as we were about to congratulate him, he stopped to wait for his mates, and instead of putting his feet down on the road he slowly tipped over towards the verge – only the verge was actually a big dip by the side of the road and he did a comedy fall into the brambles, branches and nettles – one shouldn’t laugh, but one did ;o) Dave did stop to help but he was okay, other than some nettle rash and a slight dent to his pride, it must have been tiredness but I couldn’t stop chuckling at the muppet. Although God paid me back by giving me the puncture a little later. We also went passed a long road of very exclusive houses in Brookmans Park – some very decent places there…
Then we were in Hatfield – checked in and I sat in the gardens waiting for the team to get themselves sorted – which they did – then Dave came along after we solved that all nontrivial zeros of the analytical continuation of the Riemann zeta function have a real part of 1/2 – on half a dozen beer mats, which unfortunately we forgot to collect when we left, then into Hatfield proper. Hatfield is a hole. The only bar we dared go to was inside the Mall, so after a couple we headed over to the Indian, where Dave introduced me to an African Beer which was nice, and although the Vinderloo had a health warning from the server, it was mild – but quite tasty. A little walk back and it was time for bed again.
Here we are again, another year in, another 6 pounds heavier and another year on the old and weary legs. Cycle 2014 had been arranged as usual many months in advance, and yet with a week remaining we were unsure who would attend. Dave had a great excuse (well one that was better than the other) in that he was looking to move house just about when we set off, but Big Bad Brend had only just realised that he alone thought we were going on a completely different week to the rest of us. How the hell does he survive? So Brend decided that he would prefer to mooch around North Wales with his new bird, and spend time with her family than to take on the might of the M25 cycle – he chickened out basically. Dave however found that he could skip off whilst the packing was being done, and still be home for the opening ceremony of his new house.
So on Thurs, 24th July, and a little earlier than usual I needed to get off the work phone early and head up to Windsor. GD had sorted out a train up to Magor, so I had sent him directions and was expecting him around 11:00 – some time aft this he appeared at the door, looking slightly more windswept than I would have expected given the three or so mile short cycle to my house. I then found out he had been on the road for about ten miles, so the forensic examination of how in gods name he managed that began. The route was easy – come out of the station, hit the main road, go left pass some things like the green shack and turn into our street. I just could not understand what had happened – so we looked at his map – odd, no Severn Tunnel Junction. Then I realised, the numpty had actually gotten off at Newport station and then followed my instructions from Severn Tunnel – no wonder he couldn’t find the Green Shack… How he managed to get here with no instructions I have no idea, but he did – well done him.
After close down and a quick toastie, we spent three hours trying to get the bikes onto the bike rack – with a watching Tesco delivery driver chuckling to himself – by the time it was sorted I already had a sweat on, and was glad to get into the car. The journey began……..
An eventless couple of hours saw us arrive in Windsor, although, as if to set the scene, GD did take over navigation for all of one minute and directed me to a road off a round-about which didn’t exist, even though I think that he still believes it was there, but before we knew it we were at the Holiday Inn in Windsor. Got the car in the underground car park, booked in a couple of rooms and waited for the team. Not long after we arrived we had the surprise guest of Phil “Lippy” John, who came down for the night to ease himself into the possibility of one day getting on a bike. We had a beer.
Marrsy then arrived a very short time later, after taking a refreshing sweat shower as he had to cycle forty miles on everyone elses day of rest. He came down from somewhere else and looked a little warm. Oh yeah it was actually a nice day, which makes a dramatic change from our normal cycles. We tried to contact Dave, we couldn’t.
Once showered and unpacked we headed into Windsor proper, and after a pleasant stroll we made our way to an absolutely amazing pub (even if I say so myself, which I had to because they didn’t like it – it was “too hot” for Phil and too expensive for the rest of us) down by the river where we had a couple of tasty beverages. We managed to contact Dave, and he would be late (a little more foreshadowing of things to come) so we wondered off for more beverages. At this point people were being a little sensible, pints of water were had along with the alcohol, food was being mentioned, but we managed to steer the conversations to another pub as we waited for Dave. Next pub, up a little alley saw more unusual lagers, GD was still on the cider though at this point, and we grabbed a table in the evening warmth and drank some more. Dave finally arrived about <sometime later> and as we can’t decide on anything we had food in the same pub. Dave was quite annoyed with the fact he couldn’t have a chicken burger because me and Phil had double chicken burgers and there was no more chicken – which was odd, what was odder was that we even offered to split one double to two singles – but they don’t work like that in Windsor for some reason. Another pint, and sat nav to get home – that didn’t bode well for 180 miles of navigation with no signs.
The Night Before
UP early doors, ready for a get away of 9:00 prompt, and Dave and GD were late – Greg didn’t look too clever, and he had discovered that Aspall Cider doesn’t really agree with him, and he was a little tender. Did’nt stop him getting a hearty breakfast down his neck.
9:00 and we were all assembled, well when I say all I mean everyone bar Dave. We waited for a while, then a while longer, then he appeared – woo hoo we can leave, oh Dave hasn’t got his bike out yet. So we waited. Then at some time after 9:00 we were ready. Then Dave disappeared again, then we had a photo, then Phil left and we began – it wasn’t raining.
Just before we left
First part of the day was through Windsor and out towards Reigate and Box Hill, we were all raring to go, if a little hung over, but we had a load of bottles of H2O and we were doing it man. Marrsy was in the lead, which was a sign of things to come and we made good progress towards Box Hill. My memory not being as good as it was can’t remember anything about the trip other than it was mostly on roads and we only went wrong once – well, that was the only time navigator admitted it. We had a bit of a hill in this section, and descended nicely into Box HIll station and I stocked up on Fruit Pastels ready for the infamous Box Hill.
Box Hill (did I mention this place?) was something I was looking forward to with trepidation, I thought it would be a killer, it wasn’t. It was quite relentless, but not too steep and we motored at around 8 or 9 miles an hour, luckily I was just keeping onto Marrsies wheel and didn’t see anything other than his tire, the whole way up. After we were cycling for about 20 minutes I was getting a little pooped, but then amazingly we were at the top – easy peasy lemon squeezy. But Dave and GD were no where to be seen, so we paused in the shade and tried to contact them. After about ten minutes we finally got through and they had had a puncture about half way up, so had changed the tube and were on their way. After another ten minutes we were reunited, we were bored, so when the other two arrived we pretty much kicked on, unfortunately for them, but we figured they had their rest half way up.. ;o)
A few miles later and it was time for a lunch stop, we found a nice pub on the main road, and got some squash and Miguel in and ordered some nosh – the storm clouds were brewing. As we had our drinks, they said it was going to rain – I didn’t believe them, it couldn’t, the curse of the cycle was coming back to haunt us – and me being an idiot had forgotten my “wet” jacket. It rained. Alot.
Luckily we were awaiting food, so we sat inside in a warm and musky room whilst the weather went mental outside. Thunder and lightening and torrential rain, but we were cosy – for now. We mostly had some sandwiches, but loaded guy had a Prawn and Lobster Linguine – which looked pretty good I must admit. After tipping the waitress twenty quid Dave was almost prepared. So we filled out bottles and sat on our bikes in the rain, whilst Dave had a pedicure. I was a little wet and cold for the next few miles, but then we broke though the storm and the sun put his hat back on and it was nice again. The second half of the day was quite a lot of up hill – up to Crystal Palace, and a couple of confusing moments as we neared London. We managed to get a route to Tower Bridge from some exceedingly friendly Greek drunk and as we fought the traffic into London the rains came again – a lot, we were almost there, but by the time we made it to the Premier Inn we were soaked, again.
Great hotel, great shower, and they gave us complementary shower capes and we arranged to meet a little later for drinkies. We met up and whilst waiting for Dave we investigated whether we thought 78,557 was the lowest Sierpiński number and re-created the proof for the Binomial Theorum. But then he arrived – hurrah.
The rain had stopped and we managed about 200 yards before the lure of the pub was too much, so we gave in. Then we walked some more, and Dave and GD decided to go off for some sightseeing and to take some pictures of each other. They were frolicking like two Italian lovers. We used the super interweb to find another pub. We went there.
It was German, and they did Steins, I didn’t have one, which I will regret for the rest of my days, but we did have a nice drinky. Then we wondered over to Wagamamas which I had never been to before, it was quiet so great and the food was well received. Then the boys went to the pub, and GD scuttled back for an early night. Then bed – pretty knackered.
So here we are again, the Cardiff to Tenby cycle event, May 10th, Spring, must have been a lovely day?
Well not really – it rained again this year, and it was a little breezy, and it was just as hilly. Down the Cardiff stadium at 7:00 ready for checkin, Cardiff are building a new tier of seats for their stadium, a bit of a shame they have just been relegated – at least they finished in the highest position in the Premiership they ever have. So arrived and got the most important thing out of the way – the wee-wee – had to follow a trail of people making their way over to McDonalds to use the facilities. Once sort it was back to unpack, and get me shoes and gloves on. Then I hunted around for John and his team of nephews. Found him, and some of his crew had not turned up, so we waited for them, once arrived it appeared that they may not have been 100% prepared, one poor guy was on a *fixed* single sped bike. So not only did he only have one gear, he also could not ever freewheel – mental. Anyway, after all this faffing we eventually set off about 08:00.
Speed was slow on the first bit, there were quite a few in our pack, and the pace was around 10 mph, although its a long way, at that sort of speeed you are looking at over 10 hours just cycling – and that’s not fun man. So we got to Culver and the first hill and I watched as fixie went off, so I thought I would follow for a bit, caught him around St Nicholas but I just kept going assuming I would just meet them in Margam. At this point there were loads on the road, so it was easy to find a pack to stick with. This first part of the course is reasonably flat, there was no rain, and the wind was not too noticeable. Two hours and 30 miles later I was in Margam and ready for breakfast.
Margam looked very different to the last time – last time we set off first, and although quite a few had overtaken us, the breakfast queue was short and there were not too many people – not this time. I queued in the cold, and finally got by bap and tea and hung around like Billy No-Mates waiting for JB and the gang. I waited as long as I could, around 30 mins, but then was too cold so had to push on. Just as I was leaving I bumped into John, they had had a bit of a nightmare, they had “lost” one of the lads, another had a puncture and they had made stop start progress. So, not wanted to wait another half hour I had to decide to do the CarTen alone…
As cycling is pretty much a lonely sport anyway, other than those tossers who ride 2 and 3 abreast, so it didn’t make much of a difference. The main difference was standing on your jack jones having lunch, in the rain. The route to lunch was pretty good, from Margam across Swansea front wasn’t as bad as last year, and the ride up towards Gowerton was fine I even managed to overtake a few people. The run down to Llanelli was okay too, but the bridge across to near Bynea was a death trap. The winds were so strong over this bit that I was nearly pushed off, I had to lean to my left a significant amount just to keep going straight. I was a little scared. Then I was a little hacked off with the wind and rain down to the Llanelli front – it was crap last year and this year not so much, but it was still soooo windy, I spend my time overtaking people and swerving from one side of the pavement to another trying to tack slightly, it did seem to work a little as I overtook another load of muppets. Before I know it I was in Burry POrt, and after longer than I expected I found the pub. Filled my bottles with some french shit “Le Mon” which had a very stale citrus tatse, and some water, and got me a hot dog and chips for four quid. I stood alone outside in the drizzle and stuffed bmy dog and a few chips. Quick wee and I was away again, trying to find someone to tag along with.
The third part of the journey is the worse. Although one high point was seeing my uncle on route. Apparently he had been driving passed and just noticed me, then parked up and I just cycled passed him, so he overtook again, and this time I realised, so when he stopped for the second time I had just enough time to shout hello before I was away!! The run to Carmarthen isn’t too bad, but surprisingly up and down, as in you get surprised just how big some of the hills are, but once at Carmarthen you turn directly into the wind and cry. The run from Carmarthen is horrible, its windy and wet, and hilly and meanders all over the place and goes up hills, and has annoying motorists on small lanes, and its hilly and you know you are going out of your way to go back again and its hilly and its stupid. Once you are back on the main A48 you get off at St Clares and then head out somewhere up a hill, then you finally get onto the red roses climb. We didnt do this last year, but this year we had the pleasure. This is about 85 miles in, and its a three mile climb. Not steep but relentless, my under-carriage was hurting at this point. Finally made it to the top, where loads of people had paused, I didn’t straight to Tavernspite for me and the last stop. I was almost out of water, but when I got to tavernspite there did not seem to be a water station, so I kept on rolling. Although I did get a mouthful of Randoms which I nearly choked on as I puffed my way onwards.
Only 12 miles from here, but still hills to come, I followed a pack most of the way here, and stopped to prep the troops just before the decent into Tenby.
Into Tenby to a different end point, which was worse and finally to a stop. Got my polo shirt (Medium again – idiot) and a beer – then home for lots of nosh and a couple of 1664’s.
Sp 106 miles, according to Strava about 7:50 hrs on the bike ( http://www.strava.com/activities/140526370 ) – got in about 4:45 – Tidy.
Got to bed early, was ready for kip at 10:00, and I heard some snoring going on. Then when I turned the TV down I heard the TV through the wall, but I was knackered and couldn’t be bothered with moving, so just turned the TV up in my room and found the same channel as next doors – there was snoring the in the background. TV went off around 1:00, snoring didn’t. Woke up every 15 minutes, snorting still continuing. Woke at 6:00 and it was wet so tried to stay in bed. Snoring continued. Finally got out of bed at 6:45 – snoring stopped. That snore-jockey had snored continuously from 10:00 to 6:45 without missing a beat – or at least pretended everytime I came to in the night.
Breakie was excellent, full and English with well buttered toast and tea. After the last of 5 visits to the throne room, and after picking up my now, hardly damp, shorts and gloves we were untangling our bikes and getting sorted. We planed to be away at 9:00 – we were. Unfortunately after 4 seconds Span had another puncture, so we came back to repair it, and Span managed to get cat poo all over his hands, something of which I think he was determined to blame the landlady for. So 20 mins later we headed out – it wasn’t quite raining now.
After a slight picturesque detour, we head out of Hay and upwards. We climbed up top the Gospel Pass, and it was steep and long and steep and windswept and desolate, and steep, and cold, and windy and steep and long. I managed to just about get to the first “top”, and could just make out through the fog the rest of the team in the distance. I was sad, and tired, and hurting, and completely and utter sick to death of stupid bloody hills. This was around seven miles of pretty much continuous up, its heartbreaking – not to mention long and tiring and steep. But as with all things good, it came to an end, an end I thought wasn’t, as I was convinced we had more up to do. But we were there, the high point of the trip – ha ha. We were at 1,800 FT or about 550 meters, straight up – it was wet and cold and high and after a photo op – we started downhill.
What a downhill it was, although a little scary as I only had a front brake, we pretty much went down for 11 miles, amazing. There was a little up along that route, but at every corner I could not believe we were heading down even more, it was wonderful – but wet. We went slightly the wrong way again here, just before Abergavenny as Marrsy wanted to show us some “interesting” hills. Yep, they were interesting alright, and bastard steep.
We made it to Abergavenny in the rain, and I finally managed to get a pork roll from the shop there, which I had been after for 7 years – it was shit. We stopped only briefly here and The Brend munched on some dried fruit, everyone was keen to get home and attempt to catch the trains. We understood we only had maybe one more big hill out of Abergavenny and we would be home. We went wrong again, poor old navigator didn’t have the best of days!! But just before this, it really really rained. The sort of rain that is super impressive. The drops were the size of golfballs, and it was really wet – torrential. I really honestly had trouble breathing – it was raining that hard. Anyway after getting back on route after another visit to some more interesting hills, I realised that I had actually worn away my brake blocks completely, and it was down to the metal – so no more front braking for me…
We travel through some reasonably flat countryside down to Usk, and from here I knew the route as it was part of my training rides some 2.5 months ago. We followed the Usk down and avoiding the massive hill in Wentwood, we came out by the motorway, and a reasonably flat few miles back to Magor. Since the torrential downpour just outside Abergavenny, the rain had been pretty much at bay, until we just arrived at my house, when the hevens opened again. We met up with Paul, and he took two of the guys off to the station in Newport, and Marrsy put his massive sack on his back and set off for Severn Tunnel Jny, where he missed his train and had to wait for an hour in the rain.
So that was that, Lon Las, end to cycle of Wales./ Although the mileage on most days wasn’t horrific, the hills were at times. It was a great trip, and I think everyone enjoyed it. We saw some absolutely magnificent countryside, and it would have been great to have spent more time at some of it. But what a country to cycle through. It was wet, it was warm but most of all it was hilly.
Thank you very much to everyone who came this year – it wouldn’t be the same without you!!
Fourth day of cycling finished, we did around 55 miles today and a cumulative assent of about 4200ft. My track is available from:
Marrsy read for a bit – which was no problem, and I drifted into a light sleep, then he switched the light off, and at that exact moment the band from across the street started up. They were not good, but they had animal on the drums. He shut the window and even drew the blackout blinds to see if that helped – it didn’t. I stuck a pillow round both ears and after a long time drifted off. It is official that Marrsy does in fact snore, but in a very polite way. It woke me possibly – drums were still drumming, but now someone was strangling the compere – his snoring only lasted for 30 seconds, and assuming there was no more to come I slept a little again. Woke at 1:30 no noise, went for a wee-wee, then slept for a little longer. The Marrsy went for a very noisy toilet adventure, then I woke again after another hour to the sound of the shower on. I dragged myself out of bed, and the noise was the heavy rain causing a torrent to run past the skylight in the wet room. I got up at 6:00.
As usual I took a brisk stroll around Llanidloes, but the rain cut this short – we were in for a wet one.. One fantastic breakfast later, and we were watered and gps’d up and off we trotted. We had a horrible four mile of uphill immediately as we got on the bikes, at one point I figured it was harder than necessary and realised my back brake was playing up and locking on – this was where I started favoring the front brake. Once at the top and after seeing a little baby Severn – we cycled along some nice lanes in the light drizzle. Along the route we came to a farm, and then through his gate, and slightly up hill between the sheep and goats. It was raining a little more heavily now and the animals were wuite happy to sit in the road – until you got close. I was now sick of speaking to all the sheep I saw, so they got no conversations from me.
We skirted Rhayadar through some nice lanes and were almost run over by some fast mountain bikers, then turned off the cycle path back onto lanes. Here we crossed the River Elan, and met up with Paul for a photo op, and a wee. We left Paul thinking we would stop at Newbridge, and he sat and watch 150 tractors roll past, and we took off along some lovely rolling countryside, until we go to the “off road” bit.
Mountain goats would have refused to use it. I had only a front brake, and a slit in my tire and crappy spd clip on shoes. I struggled. Alot. The others disappeared into the distance – The Brend even tried to cycle it, but that lasted for 3 meters. I couldn’t walk it easily – it was a mountain bike track, and even with on e of those it would have been a challenge. I pushed for about half a mile, then gingerly got on the bike and gently gently cycled the rest. It went on for an age, but actually only a mile and a half. My arms and feet and hands were aching badly when we finally got back onto tarmac – hooray! It rained.
We got to Newbridge, and found nothing there other than intense, pouring rain. It was, to coin a phrase, biblical. We were damp. So, after skipping through, and me making Marrsy go back to a junction (sorry) we headed off into the torrent. Wet, but relatively easy few mile cycle took us into Builth Wells, where we dripped inside a Spar, and shivered outside in munching on crisps, steak bakes and jelly sweets. After waiting just long enough for The Brend to go blue, and with teeth chattering we set off for the final hack into Hay.
The trip from here was okay, there were a couple of up hills, but a lot of flatish, all together cycling. Good old Marrsy kept to the front of the pentalon, and took the majority of the wind, we tucked in behind and had a pretty good cycle – averaging around 19 mph in many sections and before we knew it, and soaking wet we arrived into Hay.
Paul had checked us in, and informed the landlady of our wetness. She put the fire on, and placed an airer for us to dump our wetness upon. Stripped in the dining room, we retired for warmth to our rooms. Not such a great place tonight, too old fashioned for my tastes, and the shower was completely useless, but soon, and quite early we headed out into Hay, for a game of “find a bookshop”. We all won that game.
By half four I was having a pint – now this is what its all about. After having a look around a camping shop (ohh, sailor) and deciding not to buy any sparkly hot pants from there, the rest joined us for beers, then beers and nibbles, then a beer and food. Marrsy made us go to the most expensive pub in Wales, but the steak was okay. Final pint was had and after being suitably relaxed we did have a great chuckle over The Brends opinion on improving the Natural History Museum – home early doors. Really looking forward to a nice sleep tonight, <Foreshadowing> Paul mentioned he sometimes leaves the TV on, loud, when he is in hotels <\Foreshadowing> My knee had started hurting properly now, and had some slight pains from every single muscle in my body.
Third day of cycling finished, we did around 55 miles today and a cumulative assent of about 3600ft. My track is available from:
Woke at 1:00 am to some kerfuffle from our shared toilet, once awake I needed to have a wee-wee, so stumbled out to the light where I saw Brend looking a little sheepish and mumbling something about a smell, at one o clock in the morning I wasn’t too bothered. Marrsy sleeps like a baby (or so I thought), so it was just the fact that there was commotion going on around which made me wake up every 13 seconds. By 6:30 I had enought and got myself dressed and out.
Took a stroll around Barmouth in the early morning – something I enjoy doing on these cycles. Even though I am generally tired I seem to get up early, and once up take a walk around the place we are at before most people are awake – that’s good. Luckily Co-op was open, so got another couple of lucozades and whilst enjoying one I strolled the town. Back in time to see the rest of the gang get up and after a large, if not 100% meat, breakfast we started preparing for the day ahead..
I faffed for an age to get my gps to work, and filled the bottles and made sure the landlord wasn’t ripping us off, but by around nine we headed out of Barmouth onto a 10 mile flat, with the wind behind us run. After the weird feeling wooden bridge (no toll man, so like the anarchists we are we just went straight over) we had the wind behind us and a great run ahead. Within 15 mins we had the first flat. Dave’s rear had packed in (and his wheel was flat), and whilst changing it they managed to knacker up the valve, break both the plastic things you use to remove the tire, and break Marrsys pump. And make me and Brend rather cold, hanging about. Span must have felt like he was pissing in the wind, and indeed once he changed the wheel he did. But we phoned the support crew to meet us and we were away.
Great cycle into Dolgellau, where we met Paul and restocked with inner tubes, pumps and water. Marrsy warned us that it was to get steep from here, for hjgdshjgsf miles. (little did we know that hjgdshjgsf miles was a lot). Just 10 yards from the stop we turned right, and this was the beginning of a week of up hill, there was a youngish lad in front of us, who looked scared – Marrsy chased him down, I just dreamt of down.
The hill was steep, as always and went up for three miles, the down for a mile – which was wonderful. The we crossed the busy road and Marrsy pointed us at a mountain – yep we are going up that. It didn’t even have a proper road, I lagged behind as the mentals raced away. It was at times so steep that the sheep were rolling down, only had to stand for a bit, but it was h-a-r-d. Photo’s at the top then a really scary downhill, this was real steep and you had to keep your brakes on , and even then you barely slowed down. The next 10 miles were mostly downhill, but with some sneaky ups, then we got to Corris, and hoped to meet the main road into Machynlleth. We got to the main road, and realised we had missed the cycle track. Assuming the cycle track is better than a normal road we re-traced our tracks and set off. It was bloody hilly again!!! We thought we were on the downhill to the next stop, but bloody hell we were not. I was swearing again around now. But we made it to the town, and everything was good with the world.
We stopped at a cafe, and as I picked up my bike to put it on the curb, my bloody back wheel fell off. So I had been down the steepest grads to date, running over humps and bumps at 20 odd mile an hour and my wheel wasnt connected properly. I was too knacked to care though, and threw a lovely ham omelette down me neck. Whilst we were here a bee tried to commit suicide. Now I hear that bee’s are under threat – well I am not surprised, it flew into a can of tango, and when it was finally removed it was orange! No not really, but he had a lot of sticky, orangey, really tasty drink all over his little wings. We left him on the floor to his fate.
After the stop I felt like a fat, green, sausage.
We left Machynlleth and turned right, there was a hill (and maybe a pattern). It was gentleish at first, for the first two miles, then it exploded. The rest buggered off, even though we had been waiting for The Brend, even he left me in a trance. You could see the hill before you, and looking on google maps it looks like nothing ( http://goo.gl/maps/b67YE ) but I shed a tear. It was massive, and there was three false summits, the guys waited for me until they could wait no more (I did catch them before they left). Then we had another push for the top. Looking at google I cannot believe I was such a shandy, but honestly it was steep – really?
On the other side they had gone, and it was steep. It was a proper, big road, but I knew by now I had a nasty split in my tires, I zoomed, but not enough. After a few hundred feet of speed I did think I might have gone the wrong way. we almost stropped at the pub, but it was closed so we descended, quick smart until we turned off for the national parklands.
We had a couple of ups after this, but the majority was down, and we had a great decent into Llanidloes, when the team left me again, at one point I thought The Brend had crashed into a fence, but it was just a village full of scarecrows. After arriving in Llanidloes we found our really excellent accommodation at the Coach and Horses. Everything was great here, massive room, double bed (for me!) and a wet room. I did feel like I was being filmed at all times though – so if you see a late night production called Lanidloes Chub Scene- avoid. Paul went and got us some water, and fair play he carried two gallon containers back from the Spar! I also realised that my knees hurt, and my back even more, also the bottoms of my legs, my feet, my arms (sunburn), my neck, my hands, wrist and teeth. After a short while we hit the delights of town. It rained.
The rains started today. I had sun burn on my arms after the last two days of slow uphill facing the sun, but tonight the weather broke. We had a few beers in a couple of places but decided in the end (thanks dreadlock guy) to hit the Bengal Brasserie. Needed to get our own beers, which sounds cool but isnt, and had some great red stuff with our popodons. Dave met his wife to pick up his train tickets, and me and The Brend had a hot off over the curries. There is no questions mine was both hotter and tastier, and my lips burned no where near as much as his did.
We saw some very weird people on the way home. And I was thankful for what I hoped would be a relaxing, restful night.
Second day of cycling finished, we did around 50 miles today and a cumulative assent of about 5500ft. My track is available from:
So here we are, day one and with a slight hangover I had a poor, but in the end best, nights sleeps and was up and about at 6:00. After a number of visits to the throne, I was outside Asda awaiting the doors to open at 7:55. The cashpoint had refused my card, and I was joined briefly by a weirdo (who actually probably thought the same of me as I was already cycle kitted up), doors were flung open and I was the first one in. Two lucozades for the price of one, one toothbrush and some smellies and I was all ready for action.
After check out we wheeled our trusty steeds out of the hotel rooms, and stocked up with the essentials – shoes – check, hat – check, gloves – check, water – check, tires – check, bike – check, czech- check – cheque. First port of call was breakfast. Luckily the MaccyD’s was right opposite, so after the first 5 minutes of cycling we were n the breakfast queue.. I thought I would be a little careful, so settled for a breakfast wrap and a bacon burger (only 1000 calories), Marrsy had some pancakes, Paul a Muffin and some coffee and The Brend had an egg and bacon and egg and sausage mcmuffin, then another. We thought we might have to wait a while for Dave, but magically he arrived at 9, weirdly his whole family went straight into the toilets, but we had spotted him.
After the obligatory photos, it was time to start. My GPS was playing up for some reason, but no time for that now, Marrsy lead the way (as always) and Lon Las had begun.
We decided to start at the start, which was a very good place to start, but even then the leader almost got it wrong, we rounded the port round-a-bout and found ourselves on the route. The first few miles out of Holyhead were great, and over the causeway into Anglesey proper was blowy, but spectacular. Before we new it we were off down te A5 to Wales. The general concencious was to follow the A5 route, which used to be the main artery into Holyhead, but now-a-days is more of a back road, it looked like it would be 10 miles shorter, and with a potential 80 mile day anything we could get back was good.
It was warm, but blowy, and unfortunately into our faces all the time, I was already beginning to rue the beers I had had the day before, I felt quite exhausted. After RAF Valley the pentalon stretched its legs and left me behind. They seemed to be bloody racing, already, 10 miles in, and they thought they were on the Tour de France or something – idiots!.
Anyway they waited for me, and I moaned (which is very unlike me) and now that they had their breath back they set off again, with me at the back and swearing softly in time to my gasping breaths. In short order we were at the famous long Welsh town – Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch and we paused for Brendon to buy a one bedroom apartment in London and to get my GPS to work (oh and some photos). Next we were off through a convoluted cycle path through to the Menai Bridge and into Wales proper.
We by-passed Bangor (Brend never did get his joke across properly) and stopped in Caernarfon. Looks great here and the pub was ace too – great looking fish dishes, but Marrsy told us we were not allowed and we should push on (I may have made that bit up). So we told Paul we would meet him at the next town and after a quick look at the sea front, we were on our way again. The next section was a killer. It was just a tiny incline, which went up some 300ft in 6 miles – something which was probably once a railway line – I was pooped. Not sure whether it was lack of fuel – I had not had one wiggly worm at this point, or just tiredness, but was I ready for a stop. Having looked for somewhere to eat we phoned Paul and agreed to meet him at a slightly scummy looking cafe on the high street.
The cafe was fab, it had a collection of unusual dishes such as Jerk Chicken, and Pirate Stew – I had the goat burger, and bloody good it was too. After a coke and an orange juice and a refill of the bottles we were on our way to the first “hill”. I made sure I stuffed a load of worms down my gob and off we went in search of new heights. After a decent run through to Pothmaddog we entered the highlight zone, the sign said 20%, my heart sank – Marrsy had disappeared up the road, up being the appropriate word here. Holy mother of Christ it was steep, just about doable standing and with all the force I could muster. The pedals were revolting, then as we went around the next corner, a black astra had stopped in the road. Span stopped right behind it, and I casually mentioned, like, watch out dude, and the car started rolling back. The driver did not really seem to be able to control his car. We waited for about 5 attempts then finally, as we all shouted “give her more revs” he was away. Unfortunately the road was so steep at this point it would have been impossible to get your feet into the clips and continue. So we pushed for a little way, then got back on, it’s quite amazing how fast The Brend can push his vehicle. This stretch was just the prelims though, after a while it leveled out a little, then the fun began, it was massive. We went though a gate – which was there to stop the land falling down I reckon, the next some miles were bloody awful. It was as steep as stairs in parts, I had to get off again for a short while as I had no traction with my wheels spinning in sheep poo. It was on and on and finally I came to a gate and found the rest of them. It was cold up here, and Brendon was crashed out panting on the floor. But I was at the top, Google maps provides it with no justice.
Once up, it was time to go down again, we had one slight incline left, then miles of fast downhill – it was fantastic. Really fast long straight roads you could really speed down, it was exhilarating. When we got to the end of the first section we looked for The Brend. He was no where, we decided that if he didn’t appear in the next 5 minutes we would leave him for dead, as there was no way on earth we were going back up this bloody hill for him. Luckily he appeared after a few minutes, moaning that his coat was acting like a parachute – we laughed at him for a little while and headed off to Barmouth.
Pretty good run down to the sea, although at one point The Brend “Bonked”, which in cycling terms is not as good as playground terms – I stuffed his face with wriggly worms and off we trotted to the luxurious accommodation in Barmouth.
Barmouth is like a cheap, more chavvy Blackpool, with no features at all. Its a little like Morcombe in that regard. The B+B was tired, but the owners were okay, we were on the top floor with a shared (mega tiny ) toilet/shower and a fire-escape for a window. The others had spacious, light and airy sea views with windows which opened to let the breeze in. After a shower, we hit the town, which at our age involves walking around and having a look at things, then a beer, then food. In our case to a Chinese called “Good Times”, which was a little misleading. The food sounded better (I had a sizzler) than it tasted, but the server was happy, and we stuffed some Chinese beers down our greedy necks. The Brend ate everything he could see, and I am sure some things that he couldn’t, and for twenty quid we left contented.
First day of cycling finished, we did around 75 miles today and a cumulative assent of about 4000ft. Neither of our gps’s tracked properly today, but mine is available from:
The trip was expected to be around 230 miles with a fair bit of up and hopefully a fair bit of down. This years trip was a four day cycle, with a 70 miler followed by 3 50 milers. Due to the sometimes remote locations and large spaces between towns, this was agreed to be the most sensible option. Also due to the amount of climbing and the remoteness we were joined by an able volunteer to run the support craft.
We set off on Thurs afternoon with Paul driving the support car, me, Marrsy and Brendan on board. Brend had actually managed to navigate himself across London, across England, and across Magor to get down there in good time, and we stocked up the support craft with our bikes and packs and managed a cheeky beer or two. We got to Severn Tunnel just after Nick had arrived, and after a quick pit stop to get his bike on the rack (and a beer for me), we were on our merry way – 220 miles to the destination.
Within 3 minutes we had a quick pit stop to stock up on cans , and coke for the driver – then we really were on the way. After a few beers and at least five wee stops for me we saw the landscape change from dual carriageways to remote mountain roads, picking our way through the small towns and villages which make up mid to North Wales. We had a mystery music session for a couple of hours, and I don’t really remember much else.
We stopped at Beddgelert for supper and had an okay sausage and mash, some lasagna and fish and chips. My side veg had a couple of flys being sick on, when The Brend pounced. He had finished his fish and chips and was looking for an opportunity to stock up, so he nabbed the veg and before I could tell him about the fly sick, all the veg was gone.
Next bit of the journey blurs into mountains, clouds and darkness, but before long we arrived at the Travelodge in Holyhead. After a quick check in, and a bike dismount we crashed for the night. It was now I realised I had left all my toiletries carefully packed in my bathroom at home.
Hotel was surprisingly nice, and had a decent nights sleep (little did I know how much I should have savored that) ready for the journey proper tomorrow.
Well, I had two weeks off after the tri, and did nothing at all. That is pretty rubbish.. Will be attempting the Lon Las route in a few weeks so really needed to get some training in, but didn’t really manage.
Went out last Friday for a three miler, which went okay, then three miles this morning.
Also tried the bike. Just 15 miles around the levels, went through Llanwern’s new road which is three miles and straight, but also windy – very. Started great, 18 miles and hour, but then the cross wind came, and boy was it cross, immediately I was down to 13 miles and hour and barely making it – unfortunately this was only half a mile in, so had a long way to go – and its rather exposed. Got through okay, and luckily this meant that the rest of the cycle was more with the wind than without, but 15 miles, my derriere hurt. Need more practice.
Also, just discovered that the cycle rack will not actually fit onto Paul’s car – this is a slight issue !!!
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.
Here we are on the last day – always the worse day as we had no challenge to complete. Last year we cycled across the country so the last day had some value, today we just cycled to Cheltenham. Up with the lark, and over to the on site pub for a big brekkie. Not bad nosh, got a few bacon sarnies down my neck. Then it was off around Oxford, then along the river and finally to the road that Marrsy took us on a picturesque jaunt yesterday. Problem today was the wind, and not the Brend, this was Westerly and right in our mushes. Well I took the head of the peloton and it was blumming hard going – don’t know how Marrsy manages it. Obviously after a couple of minutes he had to take the lead again, he cannot help it. Any time someone gets in front those calves tense and he is off back to the front. Anyway, we went past some really fabulous villages today. There was a lot of up and down, but it was a scenic route across the Cotswolds and it was very pleasant. Apart from my tush which, although Marrsy had lent me some padded pants (they *were* still in the pack), was still a little sore. At one point after flying through what seemed to be someones country estate we got to the junction and there was no sign of Greg and the Brend. After 5 mins Rescue Marr sped back to check their condition. Me and Span had a picnic on the side of the road, and a little doze. Marrsy came back red faced after fixing Gregs puncture and off he sped towards the lunch stop.
Just before lunch we had the wetting time, only about 15-20 mins but it really poured, but not bad considering – down we went into Bourton-on-the-water and time for lunch. Went in a pub and the miserable sod who was serving was a right miserable sod. I stood at the bar waiting for him, with a stupid cycle helmet on and a fluorescent yellow jacket and he just ignored me and served some bird who just stepped up to the bar. Luckily she said – “didn’t you see this prick, he was before me”, and I got served. Cross I was.
After lunch Greg asked a cycle tour gang if they would pump up his tires and off we went towards Cheltenham. We went up a massive hill and peddled for some time, then we went down and down and down into Cheltenham – epic. We had the end of tour photo, so I can keep tabs on the growth of my mobs, and we were whisked away to the four corners of the UK as the trip had completed.
Big thanks as usual to everyone who bothered to turn up for another year of cycling, its reasonably hard work, but not really too knackering. And most of all its a very enjoyable way to spend a couple of days. The most important point is that without the volunteers it would be a lonely cycle. So thanks Greg, Brend, Marrsy and Span – it wouldn’t be the same without you….. ;o)
Sunday, 29th July – Oxford Circus – (about 45 miles)
All too soon it was the morning, and we assembled in the lobby to fill up on water and for Marrsy to fix Spans bike a little – we set off to find the closest Maccy D’s. Again thanks to tech, this was simple to do and within a few mins we were ordering the breakfast menu. Very easy to get 1000 calories down your neck in this place for brekkie, so suitably fuelled we headed for the Magic Round-about. Last year I had brought padded shorts and pants, this year just the shorts and already I was suffering. Nothing too bad, just that uncomfortable feeling on sitting on a razor sharp saddle. Anyway after the delights of Swindon town – off we went towards Kingston Bagpuize.
Had a real steep hill just out of Swindon, but for the rest of the morning it was really fast undulating countryside. Once you got your legs spinning it was a really nice ride, not too hot, not too cold – we made great time. I was told we were off to the “White Horse”, imagine my disappointment when it was a big carving in the hillside and not an actual pub. And we didn’t actually get to see it, we just cycled next to it. Before we knew it we had got to a nice little pub by the river and although slightly early we stopped for refreshments. Lovely sausage and mash was just finished when the rain came down. We migrated into the bar and sat on the smallest table in the world, with our squashes waiting for the rain to stop. Wasn’t long and we set off back up the hill we had just come down to continue our journey.
We made it back up towards Kingston Bagpuize then East through Appleton and onward to Cumnor, as it was a easy day Marrsy thought it wise to take us for a fun downhill section in the opposite direction, then back along a busy road into Oxford – we appreciated that.. ;o) Got into Oxford and although I had booked the hotel I really thought Marrsy had gone mental when he took us in the complete opposite direction, I could not believe he had got it wrong – he hadn’t. Round the outskirts of Oxford and at the hotel nice and early.
Quick shower and change and we were looking for a way into town, no buses from the stop we looked at so we ordered a cab to get us into the historic city. Once debarked Brend took us for an interesting journey into time and space around the many impressive buildings, A few photo opportunities later and Marrsy led us down a back alley and to a quite wonderful little pub in the middle of buildings with no sign as to how to get there. They served lots of different ales, I had a San Miguel. We sat in the Sun and talked nonsense – this is what the cycle adventures are all about. A couple of pints later and we had decided on supper, so with the trusty tech directing us we set off to the next pub. Once in more ales and Miguel were quaffed, I thought I had bought a wonderful painting for a quid – it was actually a postcard – robbers. Then to the pizza place, big pizza, couple of beers then off home to dream of hills and peddles.
Have a different car at the moment because the last one has been written off, so the two bikes squeezed in with room to spare. Quick run up to Bristol Parkway, saw us at the entrance around 9:30 – waiting for the rest of the contingent to arrive. Mr Marr made an appearance next, and once Brend had finished his coffee in the cafe he appeared too. Then we paused for reflection as we awaited Dave. He came, we faffed, we took a photo op, Span nearly got run over, we left.
This year had little in the way of cycle paths so Marrsy had created the route and was, once again, the chief navigator. So forming a line of middle aged adventure scouts we trailed off into the unknown. First part of the journey was to get out of Bristol, which is never as easy as you would think. But we were soon passed the motorway, and into the country. Amazingly it had not actually rained yet, and it was if anything quite sunny.
We planned to eat at Calne, but as we rounded the corner by the canal we were met by a number of motorbikers and their steeds. Not just a couple, but 100’s all up the river bank. And lots and lots of leather. We meandered through the throng, seeing more and more bikes – it just happened we were there for the South West Motorcycle Meet. We had some funny looks as we pushed our bikes through the iron horses, but soon we were in the town itself. Everywhere you looked were bikes – it was amazing. Live music playing, thousands of peoples and lots of beards, bandanas, bike helmets and oil. We decided we didn’t really fit in, and all the pubs were packed, so on we rolled right through to Avebury. Coming out of Calne we took some tracks which really started to get a little cross country – luckily the weather held, and the route through to Avebury was gravelly, bumpy and bouncy but was really quite pleasant.
We cycled through the throngs in Avebury – very popular place, and very nice. We found a pub and thankfully got of those bikes and got some beer and food and a little relax in the sun. Lager was welcome, but had to have a glass of pop as well, and the burger was excellent. Plenty of noshing all round, although GD seemed to have just a small potato, the rest of us had platefuls.. So after the refuelling, we had a little look around the standing stones, and the weird freaks who live there (they may not actually live there). A beard, a staff and a stupid cloak and hey presto you are a druid – idiots. The stones were neat, maybe even better than Glastonbury – and its free. Little walk and a few photo’s and we were on our way.
Through Marlborough and then the worse part of the route, large A road with tons of traffic (and many Aston Martins and Ferraris) zooming past. The run was long, slightly windy and uphill – it was relentless. We split up a little at this point due to the continual traffic and peddling – Marrsy told us it was only 8 miles to Swindon, at the end of this 4 mile stretch of road we found the cycle route into Swindon – ah, only another 8 miles to go. I was knackered at this point and it was getting a little late and cold. But after only one minor up and down diversion we sped up and over the motorway on that bridge which has a windy path on either side (which I always thought was for cows, but it seems bikes can go on it too. We descended into Coate Water which was completely full of Indians (or there about), as we cycled though us five were the only white faces in the entire place – which seemed a little odd. Getting into Swindon was easy, getting to the hotel was a ball ache. I had google mapped it, and knew we wanted a turning called something like Kember, Marrsy was not convinced and we agreed after quite away up a road that we should turn – we turned one junction too early damn it!. We then spend 20 mins cycling around until technology was unleashed and Span guided us to the hotel.
Long day, and was glad of a shower – it was shite. Dribbling out – swine. So slightly washed we headed over the pub for a well deserved beverage. Using the latest technology we decided to just mooch down to the local Nepalese restaurant rather than get a bus or taxi into Swindon itself. So after a couple of pints we walked down through the rough neighbourhood and into the (empty) restaurant. Nepalese basically equals Indian but with more goat. Everyone went for something “different” except me who ordered a Vindaloo. Span decided that he would order a mild curry and add some chillies on the side – after seeing the picture of him in York on the last cycle trip he makes good faces when the going gets hot. Brend ordered a chick chilli affair, which had two chillies next to it on the menu – as the Vindaloo didn’t have any chillies (as everyone knows the temperature of normal curry) he jumped to the obvious conclusion that his was hotter… It wasn’t. (Although it might have been close). We were given a bronze tray each with the food and Marrsy immediately poured his rice into it – we all told him that this was just a plate warmer, and looking very sheepish he tried to spoon his rice back from the tray into his bowl. It loses something in translation but it was a little amusing seeing him look like a guilty child…
So I was supposed to be good. But I am not, and had a beer or two. You see I had a day off and the weather was surprisingly seasonal – so it would be particularly rude not too. GD decided to make the best of his day off too, and rolled up to Magor around 8:00 in the PM. Just in time for him to settle himself down with a cuppa and watch the Olympics. I have never watched an opening ceremony before and probably never will again. It was kind of interesting to start with, then 200 countries walked past. The most fun you can have is trying to guess the next country, and that is not fun. We watched it all, every last single second. Went to bed around one – tired.
Great British Breakfast, again. You know you can get sick of bacon, sausages, crumpets, toast, butter, eggs, marmite, tea and orange juice – but not today. The final day, the final leg of the Way of the Roses. Only sixty miles to go until we are finished – mostly flat and easy.
Managed to get out of York unscathed – although Mr Marr got scolded by a Mrs Plod for cycling up a one way street – naughty naughty – he was so surprised he even asked her if it was okay for him to push the bike the wrong way.. The effort (or beer) of the last few days was taking its toll – I was finding that every pedal round was getting more and more difficult. Span’s gears broke near the beginning, but after a quick pit stop we continued on, then mine went – leaving me with the choice of about 5 gears – and Marrsys bludy clicking went on and on.
About twenty miles in we came to the “Wolds”, which was the biggest hill of the day – it wound its way along and up some hills, it wasnt steep – but it was looong, about 5 miles or so. I was knackered by the top. Out of water I left the rag tag gang as they hung around for the Brend and headed down to HUggate on my Jack. About 10 minutes later Marrsy and Brend came up to me – seen Span they asked… We’ll Span had decided to take a little bit of the path without Marrsy to navigate, if you know Span you can guess what happened next – yep – wrong turning, even though we had signs to follow, Span decided he wanted to follow a different route. So we frantically try to contact him, Marrsy continues on his way (in case) whilst me and Brend wait in the cold as the storm clouds develop over head. A while later, whats that coming over the hill? Yep Dave is back with the living and we continue on our way. Cycle cycle cycle to Driffield and a garden center for lunch.
I really fancied a Yorkshire pudding with sausages and gravy, but Marrsy looked at me with disgust and said “how long do you think that will take” moan moan winge winge – so I ordered an omlette. He ordered the yorkshire pud the sly old dog.
Last leg to Brindlington – and it was mostly flat with one reasonable hill – it was wet, very at one stage, I belive the phrase is that it was pissing down. But on the final leg, the sky’s brightening and we saw the Bridlington sign – then it rained again. We stood in the shelter on the “promenade” in Bridlington and looked out into the rain as we knew our cycle had come to an end. Me and Marrsy had a paddle, Span did some work, Brend ran up and down the Prom looking for his girlfriend (she was actually there – so he tells us?!?).
I got in the car for the hour trip all the way back to York, and Span and Marrsy prepared for their mammoth trip back by train to their homes.. Cycle trip 2011 was over..
It was hard work at times, but very enjoyable. It does give you some warm glow of satisfaction to know you crossed the country with my fat gut, Marrsys navigational skills, spans bags and Brendons sparkly water we made it, reasonably unharmed.
My trip computer gave 178 miles, average 13 miles per hour and 38 miles an hour top speed – so around 13 hours in the saddle over the three days. It was great!
Big thanks to Nick Marr, Dave Allen and Brendan Thomas for making the trip bearable, without them it wouldn’t have happened. Here’s to Brittany next year ;o)
Fabulous breakfast in the guest house, and onward for the easy day. Marrsy had warned us that it wouldn’t be as easy as we hoped, but we set off with Marrsys wheel a creaking – off the couple of miles to a local bike shop which was luckily open on a Sunday. We arrived just as they were opening, and Marrsy stepped forth in enquire about a new wheel. Please he begged, I need a back wheel, cycling 100 miles I’m desperate – please. Something tells me they see him coming I thought. “Yes sir we have a wheel” (wink wink) “just the one mind” – “pleeease let me have it” – okay – thats £180 quid!!.. hardy har… Well poor old Marrsy had no choice but to cough up the readies – he even had to put the wheel on himself. He gave it a spin – ooohhh smooth he said, its soo much better. Then came the clicking. The horrible, relentless, very loud indeed clicking. Every time he free-wheeled its sang its clickity click song – nah that’s never going to pee you off is it? By the time we left the shop frontage it did.
So, shall we go back a couple of miles and join the route, or go up this slight incline instead. “Slight incline” we all chorused. We went, it wasn’t. It was possibly in parts as steep as yesterdays, but no way near as long. I kept the wheels spinning – Marrsy had told me the only reason I had failed the big hill yesterday was because of my mental toughness – well sod him, my brain was going to get me up this hill. It didn’t – but my legs/arms/back/feet/hands and neck did. We paused for a while drinking in the rain whilst Brend caught us, then off with a breeze in our hair along a wonderful stretch of up and down – but mostly down – we continued on. Through Ripon, which I cannot even remember – even though I have looked at street view on Google Earth, weird. And into Boroughbridge and the Black Bull public House. Beer for Marrs, squash and sparkly water for the girls and a quite wonderful sunday roast. With a massive Yorkshire Pud. Forgot we were in Yorkshire. Marrsy had the “Veggy” option which was sweet and sour vegatables, with a lump in. A big lump, a big soft Yorkshire pudding shaped lump. Yes Marrsy had the fun of the Yorkshire in his sweet and sour – cool.
It was pretty flat for the rest of the trip and I cannot remember anything about it at all. Then we were in York – woohoo.
We got there about 3 ish i think, checked in quickly, then down to the river for a pint or two. then to an interesting pub called the matlings. It had lots of strange, but wonderful, alcohol in it. Erdinger was about as weird as I went, but Marrsy had an interesting orange (in colour) cider which looked rank – but he pretended to like it. Where next – lets go buy a tie each… Evening Thai was nice, Marrsys was too hot for some reason he had the same chillies as me, only much much hotter.. Fully beered and slightly tied up we went to bed.
Here we are, the first proper day. So we made sure we got a good english brekkie down our necks, said good morning to the weird woman who spent the whole of yesterday sitting in a chair outside with a fag in her mouth saying “hioh”. Then it was time to start. Well, it was time to start sorting out everyone.Pump up tires, dust off Brendons breaks, attach Span’s panniers, attach spans multiple other bags – take some things out of Spans bags and put them in the car – wait for Brend to get his big camera out – but, eventually we cycled the half mile to the start… After a few obligatory pictures at the start point off we went…
10 mins and a couple of miles in it rained. It wasnt long before we came to our first grads just outside of Canton, going through a sort of park place – it was quite steep and i think this was a sign of things to come. At the top we noticed something – no Brend. What had happened to Mr Powerful, the awe inspiring Big Bad Brend, he was suffering on the grads!!! Oh dear. Thats what you get for spending the last year taking photo’s and doing no cycling… It starting raining more heavily. The rains came down, the Brend struggled, we went up and down until the leader of the pack suggested it might be an idea to pause for cookies at Canton. It was bucketing down. We unpacked and walked into a little empty cafe and were served by a simpleton. As we sat dripping into our tea Span went off to the toilets only to return looking quite perturbed. He notified us that there were 100’s of spiders in the toilet, and told the simpleton in no uncertain terms how silly this was. I dont like spiders, I would have liked a wee. The rain rained, heavily.
After tea and cakes we set off again, wet and cold – in search of the safety of Settle and some lunch.After leaving Clapham we took the main road to avoid the rubbish cycle path, and at Austwick we tried to re-find the cycle path. Marrsy as always led the way and we were worried. We dared to subtle question his navigation, but he was sure – positive in fact (and too be honest slightly dismissive) so we followed like the lambs were are. Up and up we went with no sign of a cycle route – we passed signed which told us lunch was only 5 miles away whilst we headed in the opposite direction. But what-u-know, Farmer Marrs was right finally, after a 237 mile diversion we were back on track – and looking for nosh.
Nosh came inside a little cafe, which had others cyclists in – who warned us about the “big *laugh* hill” just outside Settle. No probs we thought as we stuffed down our toasties. Fully refreshed and a little cold we started the famous climb out of Settle, the biggest hill on the route, and in fact the biggest hill in the world. It was steep, it was probably the steepest hill I had ever cycled up, but it was long too. Very long. Really very long, and steep. And long. I had gone up so far and then had to steer across the road to make the incline slightly less, each revolution of the pedals was harder and harder I just. could. not. pedal. around. again. As I had clips on, I had to try to get my feet out, at .012 miles an hour, I just manged, but then collapsed under the weight of my fat gut (and napsack) and literally slid a few feet down this hill. But pushing was almost harder. I pushed around 15 yards with Span then we managed to get back on board and way we went. The hill went on for ages, and had some other steep bits but the worst was behind us – it was uphill all the way. Once we got over this though we pretty much had down hill for miles, wonderful and the rain had stopped and all was well with the world. Then it started raining again and we got wet, within 34 seconds it went from a light smattering of water to a torrential downpour and we sheltered outside a chruch, under the cover they have on the gate. It really rained, it was cold.
Coming to the end of the day, we started the final climb. Well the first of a number of final climbs. Everyone was tired and cold and wet, and we knew it was a hill up, then a very quick drop into the night stop over. The hill went up and up and when we got to the top it went up some more, and more and more and then we were at the top, but no, it still went up and up – but finally we were at the top. Then we had to go up some more. Marrsys bike broke at this point – his “bearings” had gone – and he was the navigator!!! Anyway, we did finally get to the top and Span the fearless shot down the hill at 1000 miles an hour, I went down with my breaks on all the way and Marrsy went down s-l-o-w-l-y. But we were there, first day of cycling complete. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy.
Stayed in a place called Lyndale Guest House which was very good. Big rooms, great shower and 5 mins from the pub. Got sorted and escaped to the crown as soon as poss.. Had a coupl eof pints of Stella “4” which was nice, and got my head spinning nicely, so we needed good cycling grub so nipped down the road to the Indian – bring your own booze. To say it was slow would be a slight understatement, it took around an hour to get our order taken (lucky we brought our own beer), then another half hour or so for the nosh. But we were hungry by then, and the curry was top draw. Up to the “other” pub then for some more beers and a whisky for the navigator (and another Sparkly Water for Brend) and listened to some bloke singing songs which Brendon guessed before he started everytime. Then Bed.
So, here we are one year older and one year fatter to attempt the yearly cycle run. This year we lost one, and gained one, so the participants were: ‘Big Bad’ Brend, Marrsy, Dave ‘the bags’ Allen and me. We had decided to attempt a real cycle this year – the way of the Roses – which was a 170 mile journt across England from one side of the country to the other, from Morecombe to Bridlington.
The day started with a pickup in Bristol Parkway where I met up with Mr Marr, he had already been on the train for a couple of hours. So we tucked his bike in the car, topped up the oil and off we went. Bristol to Bridlington took a good few hours, but at around two o’clock we rolled into the sprawling seaside town of Morecambe. (Its a hole).
Checked into the guest house and met up with Brend, who had been there for a short while – he was splendidly kitted out in very tight lycra with a large man bag (which to be fair contained his sophisticated camera) and a very dusty bike. Brend doesnt bother himself with matter such as ensuring his bike is ready for a 170 mile trip – if its got air in its tyres and a seat, he’s happy.
So we walked down the front to a little caff, and sat in the very strong wind drinking tea and pop and Brendon eating a lot of food. After a visit with Mr Eric Bartholomews (later to be Morecambe) statue and a paddle for me, and a bracing swim for action man Marr we found ourselves having a little beer outside the Midland hotel – probably Morecambes only redeeming feature.
Span rolls into town at around 7, after making the 3 mile journey from Lancaster station to Morecambe, and in true Span tradition nearly kills himself on the first Morecambe round about as we watch. He has a couple of bags, saddle bags, nap sacks, little bike bags and i think they are full of stuff – he’s a one is our Span.
Evening comes and we have some food at Franky and Bennys and a final pint in the Midland where we use some very nice toilets! Then its home to the luxurious guest house for a slightly too warm night of broken sleep (pausing briefly to check the weather – it is going to rain)
So, to the final day. Just a quick jaunt north to Oxford today. No canal path, just quiet roads and great countryside. Started brilliantly with a trip to McDonalds. Double sausage McMuffin, bacon roll and tea. Put mine down on the table and the bacon roll, rolled over to Brendons side. Quick as a flash he’d picked it up and was about to eat it. I screamed like a 5 year old girl who had just seen some tall, posh sounding guy in skin tight black lycra, so tight that you know his religion, pick up their bacon roll and with some hesitation he put it back and went to buy some of his own stuff.
Onward and upwards – literally. Although me and Brend had experienced the grades before, GD had not. He had previously cycled from Pembs to Paris, but by the look of things it wasn’t just his kit he had put in the “support vehicle”. As I may have mentioned it might of been to do with the extra 2 stone he was lugging around – although his panniers probably weren’t helping either!!!…
Once we left Reading proper, we cycled through some very pleasant lanes, and at the top of one we created a remarkable facsimile of St Paul’s Cathedral out of matches we had fashioned from small twigs, whilst waiting for GD – and admired the view of Didcot Power station (it was better than it sounds). As soon as GD arrived we set off – as I found to my cost on the first cycle trip, once you catch up the guys who were waiting are now refreshed enough to continue, and we went yet again “downhill all the way” (it never is!) Brendon pointed out some red kites, Marsy some guinny fowl and ferrets and I showed them my chocolate assortment. Before we knew it we were as one, well two, well actually three as we cycled passed Didcot.
The previous evening I had told Sian that we might be stopping for lunch in a place beginning with A between Didcot and Oxford, and in one of those “what are the odds of that” moments, just as we cycled through Abingdon around 12 we literally bumped into them. After a refuelling of pints for the boys, orange and lemonade for the girls (;o) we set out on the final 10 miles to Oxford.
Mostly canal path for the final trek, Marsy let GD lead at one point, only to shout he’d gone the wrong way after about a mile. Gd turned round and came back to meet us, only for Marsy to decide that actually GD had gone the right way, so we passed him as he came to meet us, and I could detect the slightest “tut” from him as Marsy regained the head of the peloton and set the pace for Oxford.
Before we knew it we were at the “Head of the River” in Oxford and enjoying yet another pint. GD and Brend took the train to London, Marsy back home and I stayed in Oxford the night to go on to Portsmouth for a couple of days..
We were done, average speed of around 13 miles and hour, max for me of 35, 145 miles in around 11 hours of cycling over 3 days. As you can see all in all a very pleasant few days, easy(ish) cycling with time for a beer and good nosh – magic.
Up early, had a shower and took stroll around Devizes before the world was up – Weatherspoons was open from 7 for tea, but most other places were still asleep. I following an old guy who was obviously on his daily walk around the town, not for any weird reason – just to kill some time (!!), then got back for breakfast at 8:30.
Me and GD had pretty much finished brekky when the others came on down, Brendon had apparently slept the moment they got in the previous night, and hadn’t woken until 8:30 – we saw them at 8:37. We left them to it, and after a number of #2’s we were ready to leave. After some confusion with the thickest hotel bod in Devizes -who insisted on shouting your card details down the phone to Mombai – we were ready to go on.
About a third of the trip today was on the canal path, the rest, and most of the first 40 miles was on roads adjacent to the canal. This was a real pleasure instead on rough canal path we had smooth(ish) tarmac. Unfortunately when you are not on the canal you have a couple of ups and downs. GD with his entire house packed into his oversized panniers would begin to see the flaw in packing heavy, panniers are great – unless you go up..
We followed the cycle route which took us off the path, and although the map showed otherwise, we criss crossed the canal a number of times – it was becoming more and more apparent that GD really truly did not like the grads. We decided after around 25 miles that a stop was in order, so we happened upon the beam engine at Crompton ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crofton_Pumping_Station ) and stopped for a brew.
Once refreshed, and after a number of photo’s against a big chimney which Brend was after we were back on the road “downhill” to Newbury. By the time we got to Hungerford, we had navigated around 15 slight inclines, and we drafted a thesis on theology from Plato through to the 14th Century whilst we waited for GD to catch up. ( and not one person mentioned Michael Ryan, or giving Taxi drivers a tip at any point – honest.. !). From Hungerford we rallied down the canal to Newbury where we stopped for nosh.
Found a nice place a gain by the river, which unfortuanlty only had parking for bikes on the otherside of the river, which worried Brendon considerably. But we had a nice pint, and a burger. GD had whale and chips – the biggest battered fish I have ever seen. So big that GD only managed half, and the remaining half Brendon didn’t think he could finish – he did.
Back down the canal path, and Greg took the lead, 5 minutes later we crossed a bridge and he and Brend took off back down the path – Marsy looked worried, then looked at his map – hmm, they have gone the wrong way was the verdict. Unfortunately flush with their newly discovered independence they were off. I waited for them to return, Marsy set off in chase – in the end I followed. There was a reason the cycle path didn’t go over this part of the canal path – it was shit.
Travelling at 15 mile and hour over exposed tree roots on a road bike is not a good idea, especially if you are carrying a few too many pounds (;o) I crashed and smashed my way to catch them, and when I did I discovered that I had snapped a rear spoke, we were quite a way from anywhere, and it was Sunday. Luckily Marsy ripped it out, and utter those re-assuring words – “get your arse on the bike, it’ll be fine”. Well as Marsy is an engineer, who am i to argue. So after a tentative 10 minutes I was back in the groove.
We arrived into Reading after about 60 miles, and it was probably the worse part of the journey, really took us through the arse end of the place, but after a while we emerged at the “Oracle” and we were off to the hotel. I had heard some bad reviews about the travel lodge here, mostly around its location – it was fine in the day light, when dark I think it was probably a bit “gangsta” of an evening. Rooms were large, and it was cheap – but very warm. After a quick shower we walked the mile or so into town.
Marrsy had heard about this “hob-goblin” place, I was slightly worried – but by means of gentle persuasion (the best kind) we found ourselves outside it. It played rock music, it had served over 3000 guest ales, and had a single lager on tap. They quoffed ale, I drank a lager – it was nice. Had a Nandos and another pint back outside the ‘goblin then another bus (two in two days!!!) home to bed….
So, another year, another cycle trip. This year we decided to travel from Bristol Temple Meads through Devizes to Reading, then up to Oxford.
This year we had another new entrant, Greg “where did I put the map” Dow – who put himself through the pain and suffering along with me, Mr Marr and Big Brend..
The expected route would take us along the Kennet and Avon Canal route – Cycle route 4, and would be 145 miles long – and although we didn’t know at the time reasonably easy.
DAY 1. Bristol to Devizes – (40 miles)
GD had arranged to stay over with me in Magor on the Friday before, so although I tried to persuade him to take the train connection to Severn Tunnel we agreed that I would pick him up from Newport. So at 3 I set off on the 11 miles down to Newport station. As I took my bike from the garage it poured. A sign of things to come?
After meeting GD and cycling some miles back home, we “happened” upon a country pub – well it would be rude not to eh? GD did actually believe that I had actually stumbled upon this pub – but none the less to get into the spirit we knocked back a couple of three beers then set off for home.
After a nice hot ruby murry and a couple more beers we decided to play a couple of ends of wiff waff. GD used to be a champion at this, but time takes its toll and I wiped the floor with him ;o) Well until he got his eye in and started to take me to task (we had played 43 games by then so my excuse was my arms had seized up and I was now blind). Then to bed….
Got the bikes in the car, and by 9:30 we arrived at Temple Meads, to be met (thank god) by Brendon and Marrsy. I had been very worried that Brendon would have forgotten/taken the wrong train/got distracted but he was there in (very) skin tight cycling gear – at least he looked the part!!
So off we went, in the first stage of the journey. I had noticed it was very hard work to start with, then realised that Marrsy had deliberately put my front wheel on the wrong way round, so once that was sorted away we went.
We stopped for “coffee” at Browns in Bath – very civilised I must say. A couple of coffees that sound as expensive as they were, and a cup and saucer of tea (I asked for a mug and the waiter looked at me with a cup (and saucer) of disdain). After a photo opportunity we set off to the canal path.
Well, there are a lot of stigs that live on the river I can tell you. They all look the same, wool jumpers in green or orange, with at least 7 holes in, brown cords or jeans, dank slightly too long hair tied up (boys and girls) and smell of marijuana. They are all sanding their “homes”, and none of them pay any tax no doubt ;o) We cycled passed hundreds of them, we also saw some folk who were pretending to be “river folk”, by attempting to look like the real ones but spending a grand a week to do it – you could see them a mile away – they were the ones actually moving the boats along the canal.
After a fairly long run, and approx 20 miles in we stopped for lunch right by the canal side in the Lock Inn ( http://www.thelockinn.co.uk/breakfast/ ) where three of the gang had the “world famous.. as seen on TV…” Boatmans breakfast – two of them cheated slightly by having a vegetarian version (whats that about!! ;o), but The Brend had the full fat meat one. (I had a couple of faggots – but that’s another story). The breakfast was HUGE – Brendon had the extra black pudding, which was massive, it was about the size of two ice hockey pucks together, but without a blink he ate it, in 4 mouthfulls. He finished before everyone and even helped GD eat all his veggie “sausages”. After food and a pint we set off down the canal path once more towards Devizes.
As this was a short day of only around 40 miles, we arrived just outside of Devizes early afternoon, so we stopped at the bottom of the 16 locks at Caen Hill ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caen_Hill_Locks ) for a breather and watched one of the boats struggle up the hill. This was the biggest, in fact probably the only hill we had all day, as we were following the canal obviously there wasn’t much in the way of grads – but we did discover on this one, that GD and hills do not mix!!! We got to the top and spent a moment chatting about the locks whilst GD caught up. 10 minutes later we were in the hotel.
After some showers we were ready to hit the town, luckily it was still early evening around 4 so we set off to the canal path to find a “nice pub by the water”. We passed a 7 day river person, who we could tell was enjoying his holiday as he was on one end of his 50 ft boat and his wife was on the other, who regaled us with tales of pubs on the river some “half an hour” away – now as his boat travels around the speed of grass growing we thought it must be close. We set off. And walked. And walked. And walked for quite a long time. After about a day, I joked to Marrsy how terrible it would be if we got to the pub and it was on the other side of the river – ah how we laughed when it was!! There was no bridge in sight, but the pub was only around 15 ft away, we toyed with the idea of trying to make an “ant bridge”, but decided to continue walking instead.
After another half a mile we came to a bridge, but Marrsy suggested there was a great pub “just down river” and perhaps we should try that – we did, it was shut.
So instead of cutting our loses, we ventured on, through a cornfield to another village, where we spotted an open pub. We sat in the sun and had a couple of beers, it was nice. Brendon told us about the time he went husky racing somewhere cold, where the dogs looked like Corgis..
We had to head back to Devizes and we took – wait for it, a bus. Yep public transport, with other public people on it. But it was a double decker, and the three Hieneken’s had effected my cycle weary body, so on we went – it was fun.
We went for a ruby, then had a couple of beers – and went to bed surprisingly drunk and tired at about 11. Greg introduced me to the brilliance which is ear plugs, and although the world was noisy, I had a reasonably good night.
After approx 13 poo’s in the morning, we thanked Phil and Jess and headed out on the final journey. Sitting on the seatt this morning was pretty bludy painful, but Brend who had no padding was just fine (strange, but I wont comment). Anyway after a couple of pills and about 6 miles pain seemed to subside somewhat and this final day was actually quite pleasant. There was some up and there was some down, but quite a lot of flat. Everyone seemed in pretty good spirits and most of the day was in sunshine through the countryside and canals.
After a good couple o three hours we arrived at Tiverton, after asking in the info place about a pub, we set off to a small village for some food – it did rain then, but I knew this was the last stage of the journey for me so was enjoying it all.
We had food in the pub, which was where I was picked up, my journey had ended – approx 155 miles, average speed of around 12.5, top speed 35. The others had some journey left – Brend cycled to Tiverton then trained back to London, Marrsy followed Brend to Taunton and cycled another 35 miles home from there.
Just have to say a big thanks to Brend and Marrsy for coming on the journey this year, it was so, so, so much easier for me this year than last, so it goes to show just how much a pair of padding shorts makes the difference (oh and the training, and new bike, and the right gear etc etc). Much appreciation to Marrsy, who again took the navigation in his stride (and didn’t take any wrong roads) and acts like the father figure when me and Brend just couldn’t manage to do anything useful and sorting out all the issues we had during the three days…
We will be doing this again next year, with a route to be decided – so get your bikes out, get used to 40 – 50 mile jaunts and join us on the cycle trip 10.
Remember kids – cycling hurts (unless you are used to it…)
Up at 6:00, walking round Bath at 6:45 – the place was like the first scenes of 28 days later, not a soul around. Went back for toast and tea and waited for the others to arrive. Set off on a beautiful day towards Glastonbury, we met some other cyclists and Marrsy was determined to race them – luckily for me I got another puncture so we had to let them go, me and Brend were like Laurel and Hardy again, absolutely useless at everything, so we sat on the verge and had a little drink and bite to eat whilst we watched Marrsy swear at my wheel.
45 mins later another puncture – this time for Marrsy, we had run out of inner tubes (as I hadn’t brought any and Marrsy only had two), so he had to use an old one which was patched, again me and Brendan clowned around unable to do the simplest things, so sat down and watched Marrsy sort out his puncture – this had made us about 45 mins behind schedule… After pausing slightly for Brend to pull up his shorts we were off again..
Next area of cycling goodness was the “Mendips”. These are “some hills”, that we had to cross, well – they may be hills but yet the approach we made was long, long and steep. Marrsy led the way as always, me behind and Brendan keeping it real at the back, well we hit this hill and we saw from the amusement of the cyclists coming the other way it was going to be hard.
After about 7 hrs of climbing I heard some grunting coming from behind me, it was Brend – he was struggling Yeah, Yippee, WooHoo – obviously instead of giving encouragement I just told myself I don’t have to pretend its easy for much longer, he is going to fail!!! I kept on Marrsys wheel, my legs were burning, my knees where killing, I could hardly breath – but I wasn’t going to give up, no way – Brendan’s shouts of anguish were sweeter than honey, he’s going to stop – he is going to stop YES! he stopped. Brendan’s will had been broken, I had won – just got to make it to the top now, I did it!!!!.. However, once Brend put his feet down I heard a very quick and regular tap tap of his feet against the tarmac – he was pushing, but moving up the hill quicker than i could cycle – disaster, to be overtaken by a WALKER!!!!! SO with the last remaining energy I pushed for the top, and beat him by about 2.3 seconds. AT the top Marrsy changed the tyre again – my and Brend relaxed in the sunshine.
We got to Glastonbury around lunch time, and a decision had to me made, Yeovil or Taunton, after some debate we decided that although 35 miles away the trip to Taunton was flatter and Phil had agreed we could stay at his house so once Brend got his shorts in order off we went.
For me, this is where it got painful – I got brufen, had a few, but both my knees and derrière were pretty sore now, but the trip was pretty flat along the canal path, and we made pretty good time.
We arrived at Phils around 18:30, after a quick shower we headed out for a beer and a ruby murry. When we got back Phil showed us to our luxurious quarters for the night, well when I say luxurious what i really mean is shithole, unfortunately for us Phil was midway into decorating, the midway point being strip everything away and make it smell like plaster and death, he had kindly put two matteresses and two duvets down – obviously forgetting key stage one maths where 2 into 3 dont go (unless you like close male company of course) – we compromised and I slept on the floor leaving the other two to comfortable feather stuffed heaven sent mattresses (I didn’t mind…. ;o()
well we successfully completed the annual cycle trip (TM) last Monday, this year’s entrants were Mr Marr, me and the newcomer Brendan “the power” Thomas.
Started this year on a Saturday, and Brendan came on down from London to my house on the Friday afternoon – he had successfully navigated the 3 miles from the train station to my house, and after a couple of pints showed me just how well he can tuck away nosh. Fully fuelled we slept and dreamt of the journey to come.
SAT. 50 miles, Magor to Bath
Got up and at around 8:00, sorted out all the items i had not bothered to take last year, like cycle muscles, padded pants, padded shorts, padded gloves, decent jacket, tools, puncture repair stuff etc – looked out the window, it was grey – the horrors of last year came flooding back..
We were expecting to meet Marrsy at Chepstow as he had ridden to Bristol the night before and insisted he wanted to go from Bristol to Chepstow to enable him to cycle straight back to Bristol after looking at “the view” from the Bridge. So at 9:15, after ensuring Brendan’s trousers were sufficiently pulled up we left the safety of Magor and started our journey. First parts are always easy, and this was no different, 18 miles an hour trying to beat the rain to Chepstow, we slowed at Caldicot and Brendan was looking a little worried – “you’re not going to keep this speed up are you” he enquired, 50 yards and the first hill of the day answered that question!!.
As we strained up Chepstow hill the rain started.
We got to the Bridge and somehow had passed Marrsy so we waited on the Bridge. The exposed Bridge. The exposed cold Bridge. The exposed cold, wet Bridge. Then he came, it was like looking at a mirror image, he had copied my 09 cycling look, same bike, same jacket, same defined calves (well perhaps not) – with out stopping he whisked passed us yelling the rain is coming – we had noticed.
With the rain torrential, we paused for refreshments under some trees – it rained, hard.
Eventually we made it to Bristol, where we found a nice pub next to the canal and ordered food, and a pint – this was about 14:00. Pint finished and another started we waited for food – this was about 14:30. Pint finished and getting cold now we waited for food – this was about 15:00. Eventually after Marrsy went and spoke to them in the pub and eventually we had our food and set off again after losing about 2 hours.
We cycled through Bristol where there was a big event on – people everywhere, Marrsy led the way and managed to get his tyre stuck in the railway tracks a number of times much to the amusement of the 10,0000,00 people who were watching, then we emerged onto the main square. Now at this point Marrsy decided to cause an accident – my accident. We were only moving at .5 miles an hour, but as I went to stop myself from falling my magical laces had managed to attach themselves to my front wheel, so not having a spare leg to balance I fell over, fell over like an overweight tortoise, i managed to twist slightly and land on my knapsack unable to move i waggled my legs until some old lady helped me up.
Anyway 20 miles to Bath, high speed touring across the path until we got to Bath and I got a puncture, as always our navigated and chief bike mechanic fixed us all good and proper – Brendan managed to attract the admiring glances of an old codger on a bike, and after Brendan managed to persuade him he wasn’t interested in listening to some Jazz records, and just pausing for Brend to pull up his shorts we got to the YMCA.
As Phil didn’t bother coming I had a twin room to myself, well i did share it with two bikes, but non the less after a quick shower we went to paint the Bath town red. We had a pizza, one beer and were home at 10.
The night was awful, kids and grown men and women banging doors and screaming at each other.
So to the final 40 mile push, woke up – it was raining – bastard. I then found I had a flat – double bastard. Marrsy fixed it – he’s a dream isn’t he!!!…
Both knees and rear end very very hurty this morning – you get on that seat and its agony immediately, and you know you’ve got hours on this yet to go. Anyway decided to go down to pendine as that was a flatter route, except for the hill coming out of pendine, although you see that flat is a relative term, after two days of this shit gently undulating is like a maintain trail, anyway with the wind and rain in our faces we cycled to Pendine. Then I saw the hill, well its not really a hill is it? I managed to cycle about 20 meters up it, then had to walk, which in itself was a feat – it was ENORMOUS, massive, gigantic even the cars were struggling – I barely had the energy to push the bike up, marrsy was met at the top – looking at me with distain and looking as fresh as a daisy. So onward though the rain to Wisemans bridge. Had a quick stop here where Marrsy had a little capacino and I had CPR, through the tunnel to saundesfoot where a miracle happened – it was kind of sunny (the miracle didn’t cure my hurtyness tho). So from saundesfoot, up the worlds second largest hill to Tenby, though tenby to penally where we got slightly off track, but marrsy knew the route – he had deliberately taken me to see the “Worlds steepest Hill” (TM), and he informed my it was our pleasure to ride up it, i went up a little way then stopped and tried to breath, after a couple of minutes my lungs had acclimatised and I managed to continue upward, I met marrsy at the top where I overheard him speaking to his mother on the mobile (…yeah so he’s such a bludy wimp, and the slowest cyclist I have ever seen, so anyway I wont be back for lunch and at this rate I’m not sure I’ll make breakfast tomorrow…)
Over the ridgeweay to Pembroke/Pembroke dock/neyland and back though the new trail to johnston. A couple of mile later we split at under the hills and i took my final hill in one go to get to the top of Pembroke road and to the safety of a beer and my mothers.
All in all we were “active” for about 24 hrs, did around 170 miles and I think (marrsy can confirm) only achieved around a 10 mile per hour pace. For me it was the hardest thing I have ever done, both my knees hurt, the fronts of my feet, my shoulders and ofcourse the rear end.. Next time I would like four days, but at the very least it would be from west to east, heading into the wind for two days is no joke I can tell you…
Remember kids, cycling 15 miles a day does not get you ready for 40+ miles in the saddle – Cycling Hurts!
Glorious Saturday, another 60 – 70 miles in the height of Summer, what could be better. Woke up – it was pissing down, absolutely, totally, completely pissing down – and just slightly windy!!. We got our bikes out of the hotel at 09:00, by 09:01 we were soaked to the skin from the waist down, by 09:02 I realised that being in pain sitting on the bed was nothing compared to the agony of sitting on the razor seat on my bike, by 09:03 I realised that my knee pain was not imaginary and after the first revolution of my pedal I knew this was going to be a hard day…
I had to get brufen, and I figured a crepe bandage thing would be in order, closest shopping point – the quadrant, just over the bridge, well just over the bridge and 11 miles away in the driving wind and rain. I took to repeatedly banging my head on my brake lever to take my mind off the pain in my knee. As we motored on down the road into Swansea lorries were splashing us with massive waves of water, we didn’t even notice it was raining so hard. So pilled and strapped up we continued to the promenade. Now, on a summer morning this is a fabulous place to be, pretty flat with a great view over the sea – however when the wind is howling and the rain the pouring it is the biggest shithole in the known world. Lucky for me, and I’ll take this opportunity to thank him again, Mr Marr took the lead and I attempted to slip steam. This was a help, but as the wind was coming across us, not perfect, and added to the fact he cycles twice as fast as me it was still a struggle. We found the route and ascended up from Swansea to Gowerton and across to Llanelli.
We got to Burry port and I had a puncture – Marrsy the genius sorted it (after a trip to a very convenient cycle shop) and we were on our way.
Once here we took the path through the wildlife areas, and the “roadway” was actually made up of mostly sand, which of course was soaking, we were by the sea and had the pleasure of the sea breeze and bludy pouring rain – did I tell you it was wet? This was almost the hardest point of all, cycling against the wind, though this sand soaking and hurting was awful – as was seeing Marrsy pulling away like a man possessed in front. I hurt – a lot.
Got to Pembry, the road got better (slightly), but it was even hard work cycling slightly downhill, the weather was worse, at times you could barely see in front of you. We stopped in Kidwelly for a snack – then on to ferryside.
We got to ferryside and it was literally like being in a waterfall, we made a decision, we needed alternative transport….
We got to the train crossing, and a bloke shouted from the controller box – we went to investigate, he told us stories of long tubes full of people which could ferry you over land to other places, where you could be dry and relax without too much pain and the miles passed, he made us a brew, we sat in his signal box regaling each other with tales of yore, outside it rained.
We looked at he map, and decided that due to the circumstances it would be prudent to take the train to Whitland, and travel back to Laugharne from there – this probably saved us around 10 miles in total I think, but with the state of the weather at that time, and although I wanted to do every single bit, it was a choice we had to make. So we went to Whitland and got back on the cycles – soaked, covered in sand and thoroughly hurting I got back on that devil of a machine and started again, up and down to laugharne. The hills around here are the biggest and longest I have ever seen, it had been a long tiring day, and I was virtually in tears as we got closer to laugharne shouting and swearing at the sodding wind as it took great pleasure in really really really really pissing me off. But we arrived.
We got there and everything I possessed was soaked, even in my bag – my money, maps, clean clothes, everything – luckily our hosts took everything in and washed and dried it, although I did have the pleasure of borrowing some of marrsys attire as we waited in the BB for the drying to complete. So out we went, in soaking shoes to get some food – we went to a “tapas” place, and I ordered every one of the meat ones, and ate them – cycling makes me hungry!!! ;o)
We’ll myself and Mr Marr completed the run from Magor to Haverfordwest last Sunday after covering around 170 miles in the three days. Marrsy had cycled from Yoevil to Magor on the Thurs which added an extra 110 miles to his trip!!!!!!
We set off from Magor Friday morning around 9:45 fully fuelled from an Indian and a couple of beers the night before, it took all of 1.5 miles for me to get my first pain, as I realised that I had never used my “new” trainers on the bike before and my sole started hurting (sign of the wimpyness to come!).
Anyway, we made it at a quick pace down to the transporter bridge in Newport, only to find that it was completely shut – so one quick detour later we were back on the Cycle Route 4. Following the route through the scariest, most run-down areas of Newport (the trail always seems to take you through the dodgy areas of the towns) we emerged into Tredegar Park under the motorway and out towards Bassleg.
This was the first time we lost the trail.
After a little map reading, and gps’ing we found the trail again and continued up the first (of 143,000,000) hills on the route. After a time Marrsy insisted I had to drink something and also forced a tracker on me (yummy – forgot how nice trackers were) – so here I was with a bike, some fingerless gloves chewing viscously on a tracker bar – did I feel like an experienced cyclist or what!!!!…
The route got a little confused, but we found our way to Ponty via Caerphilly where we had a lunch stop. As we tucked into our energy food bars and glucose drinks Marrsy looked at the map and told me the “worst” was over for the day, and it would be a single hill, then downhill all the way to Port Talbot – the lying bastard…!
I was feeling OK, we had done approx 40 miles – more than twice the distance I had ever ridden in one go before, and ready for the easy decent into Port Talbot and a couple of beers in the bar. This is where the journey took a turn for the worst.
We left Ponty, and headed South West, which on a map looks like it should be downhill, oh no, we met a hill. Well I say a hill, it was the most enormous mountain track I have ever seen. Round by me is a steep hill, and it is quite steep – but this must have been a 1:1, I started spritely enough, passing cars that were abandoned due to the steepness of the hill, continued for about 7 minutes when I passed an elderly lady who was trudging up the hill with the groceries, “Hi I said – much further to go on the hill” – to which see replied with the devils glint in her eyes – “Yes, this ones a killer!!!!”… Arrggggghhh..
I managed to get into low gear, which is so easy to pedal a two year old could get up a hill, but I was going so slowly in this that the shape of Mr Marr had disappeared into the distance. After 6 hrs I got to the first bend in the road – we must be at the summit I thought, but no, as i wobbled around the bend I saw facsimile of the original hill in front of me – I did think about hanging myself with my cycle lock, but though I’d better leave that for the Bridgend route.
I continued for a short while, but then just had to stop, I was completely out of energy and thought I was melting. I stopped, drank a bottle of lucazade and ate two pounds of harabo’s and I was ready to continue. After another 4 hrs I joined Marrsy at “the top”. He was rested and out sunbathing on his (incredibly compact) towel. We’re here I gasped – oh no, we’re not at the top yet…
After a couple of other stupendously large hills, and numerous back tracks (one after climbing 20,000ft) we finally descended into Margam, which seemed to be from the map an easy freewheel into Port Talbot – it wasn’t.
We finally got to the hotel around 19:00 on the Friday night, I was sore and the most tired I had ever been, in fact if you had taken all of the tiredness I had ever been in my life and rolled it into one – I was more tired than that. We managed to get down for a couple of beers and some food then to bed around 10:30. I didn’t sleep much, my knee hurt quite a lot, and I really thought I would have to give up.
So, we have had a couple of cycling trips, one a year for the past two years and another one this year. I thought I would take the notes I made from them and add them to the blog –
