After weeks of anxiety and stress, it was almost a relief to be finally heading towards Wales in the car. Obviously I was a couple of hours behind schedule, due to plenty of procrastination, which meant I got caught in rush hour traffic on the M6 skirting Birmingham. That actually worked in my favour, as
The Wynnstay Arms Hotel, where I’d booked a room for the night, didn’t open till 19:00; so if I’d left around 13:00, I’d have been sitting in the car for a few hours waiting to get into the bar.
The Wynnstay Arms is decidedly old skool, I was going to say with faded grandeur, but I don’t think it was the kind of place that had any grandeur to start with. It was definitely faded though, and I wasn’t the only one that evening thinking about similarities to Fawlty Towers. The welcome, when Pauline the landlady (I assume) finally appeared behind the bar, was genuine and friendly though.
There were a few other patrons in the lounge bar, a few of whom looked like bikepackers. Another couple turned up shortly after me, and various conversations soon struck up. “Have you done this before?”, cue various stories of wild weather, horrific ground conditions and general all round suffering. Not the kind of stuff you want to be hearing the night before when you’ve spent the last few weeks fretting about that kind of stuff.
The conversations were broken up by intermittent attempts to order food and drink, most of which resulted in answers of
“I’m disappearing!”, or
“I’ve got someone waiting in the other bar.”, before Pauline disappeared for fifteen minutes. It turns out she was doing everything, all the cooking, bar service, the works; she looked older than my mother-in-law.
Stay while you can though, as Pauline said they’ve sold the pub to
“two gentlemen”. We’re assuming that next year, the food and drink will be slightly more expensive, and that it won't cost £10 for a room without breakfast.
I never sleep well the night before an event, too much anxiety about waking up with my alarm. Being deaf in one ear has it’s advantages at times, but not if my good ear is in the pillow when the alarm is going off. I’d set the alarm for 06:00, but was up at 05:15, so read my book for a bit to chill out. In the end, I was up, prepped, out and into the car, for the ultra-short drive from the public car park to the school for 07:00.
With the bike extracted from the car, all the bags attached, I was pretty much ready to go, well before my planned 08:00 departure. Looking around, it was interesting to see what kind of bikes people were on and how much gear they were taking. Thinking that someone looked a bit like Matt Page, I decided to wander over and have a chat, turns out it was
Dyffers, so we had a bit of a chat.
I waited until I thought it was light enough that I wouldn’t need to use any lights, and headed off to sign out. It would’ve been nice to say more than just,
nice to meet you at last, to Stu, but such is the way with these things. I was given 07:50 as my start time, and off I headed down the road.
I’d already told myself that I needed to make full use of the gravel bike on the tarmac sections to make up for the time I’d lose on the off-road bits. I’m not sure if it was youthful exuberance, or just stupidity, but I went off like a rocket. I was enjoying finally shedding all the stress and anxiety of the previous few weeks and just happy to be out and making easy progress. So easy in fact, that I blew straight past the turn for the first off road section and was a kilometre past it before I realised what I’d done.
Lesson number one, pay attention to the route.
By the time I’d backtracked, all the riders I’d passed on the road were now making their way up the first off-road climb of the day. I managed to get most of the way up, but with other slower riders all over the track, it was difficult to pick a good line and with my rear wheel slipping, my heart rate sky high, I was burning too many matches so I got off and pushed the last bit.
The grass felt really grippy and slow, and all the stopping to either open, or close, the umpteen gates broke up the flow of the riding. As expected, given my gear ratios, I was going uphill slightly faster than those around me, while they were all blasting past me on the downhills.
Alexinthepeaks went hooning it past me at one point, at a quite frankly scary rate of knots, as I slowly picked my way down a stony track.
Next on the agenda was Hafren Forest, but we had a few miles of tarmac to get there, so I got onto the drops and started thrashing it. By the time I’d got to the bunkhouse I was realising my mistake and backed off a bit. I was soon joined by
slarge and we rode together for a bit, until we both made some dubious route choices and were caught by a few others. I was trying to keep up, but realising this was a stupid tactic, tried to drop back a bit, but every time the road went up, I caught up again.
At one point, my GPS started flashing that I was off route, perplexed, I backtracked a bit, before realising it was just being a dick and I was indeed on the right track. Still not paying full attention, I blindly followed someone else, might have been
fatbikephil, down a steep off-road trail that saw me off and stumbling down it, right up whomever I'd followed came pushing back up saying they’d gone the wrong way.
Lesson number two,
pay attention to the route, not to where other riders are going.
Eventually there was a section I couldn’t ride, that was busy with others pushing their gravel bikes up it, so this gave me an excuse to get off and join in the hike-a-bike fun. Starting off again at the top, I soon noticed a new snapping, cracking, sound coming from the direction of the drivetrain. While I knew I’d buggered up the indexing when fitting a new cassette during the week, this sounded different to a chain issue.
Perplexed, I stopped a few times to waggle things and have a look. I discovered that my bottom bracket was a bit on the worn side, with quite a bit of play. By the time we left Hafren Forest, I was convinced that the noises were due to a failed bearing in the bottom bracket and started cursing my stupidity. All the stress and anxiety leading up to the event had been around things like gearing, finding spare brake pads, clothing choices, the ability to carry enough food and water, whether I should ride through the night or not, could I even manage all the climbing. It never once occurred to me to check the bottom bracket.
Lesson number three, check
everything on your bike prior to the ride, and do any maintenance with plenty of time to go for a decent test ride or two.
I’d been looking forward to visiting the SPAR in Llanidloes, after reading about it in various trip reports. I’d planned to buy some savoury stuff there, but either plenty of riders had already been through and cleared the place out, or they just didn’t have many veggie options. I didn’t want a crappy sandwich, so I just grabbed a Red Bull and a bit of caramel slice. I really should’ve bought more, but I hadn’t eaten a whole load by this point, so didn’t have a lot of room for more anyway.
I swung by the bike shop and enquired if they had any Ultegra bottom brackets, unsurprisingly they didn’t. So off I headed out of town and up the next climb, which apart from the odd snap and crunch from the bottom bracket, I quite enjoyed. So much so that I piled over the top and started flying down the other side. A glance at my GPS and it’s red flashing lights soon and me slamming on the brakes though and slowly climbing back up to the top; I obviously hadn’t learned lesson one yet. I found myself alone for the next off-road section, which gave me some head space and a chance to calm down and consider my options.
I was soon caught towards the end of that section though, and after a quick chat, I tried to drop back to be on my own again. I was conscious of the fact that I’d gone too hard too early, ending up in Llanidloes half an hour to an hour earlier than expected, as was trying to take it easy for a bit. But with a load of road and some short sharp climbs, I found myself yo-yoing with the riders who’d caught me and found myself going at a pace that wasn’t my own. I didn’t want to go steaming off in front and get back to being on my own again, as this would just burn more matches, so I pootled along just behind them. Thankfully they stopped to sort out some kit, so I was off on my own again, with just the sound of my disintegrating bottom bracket for company.
I was soon off and pushing again, as I just couldn’t get any traction with the rear wheel when standing up, and I didn’t quite have the gears to keep sitting down. I was soon soaked with sweat, as I’d decided to wear my Spring/Autumn weight cycling kit, as I knew it would be too cold during the night for my lightweight summer options. I stopped to mop my brow and the right leg fell off my glasses; I howled into the existential void.
The combination of wearing one legged glasses, while trying to ride downhill off-road, with tears in your eyes from the wind and attempting to look at the GPS on the bars was nigh on impossible. Anyway, that’s my excuse for the bad route choices that followed, with me totally missing a couple of turns, only to see them clearly as I backtracked up various tracks and paths
The
community cafe at Bwlch-y-sarnau was a welcome sight, and a chance to stop for a bit and assess choices. I partook of their BearBones packed lunch, eating half of it on the spot and somehow finding room for the rest of it in my bags. I had a quick chat with
fatbikephil and another chap who isn’t on the forum, amongst others who were turning up all the time. Rather than wait around and end up pushing off with others, I set off on my own again, hoping that the food wouldn’t come out again on the climb that followed.
I felt much better at this point, I’d slowed down enough that I’d recovered and I was off on my own, going at my own pace. Then we got to what I’m calling bushwhack corner, I have no idea what was going on here. There was no path, not even a hint of one, so why the GPS trace went into the trees at that point, rather than on the bridleway 100m or so further down the track, I have no idea. I eventually emerged on the other side, scraped, scratched and covered in pine needles.
We seemed to be following
Glyndwr's Way at this point, but the GPS trace looked like it was off the track in the trees, rather than on the obvious trail. There was another rider pushing in front of me, so if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. Again I nearly made it to the top, but the mental image of a box of matches kept appearing, so it was off and pushing the last bit.
The pushing continued and continued, I’m sure I could have ridden some of it, but there seemed little point, as there was always a bit every five to ten metres that I couldn’t ride, for whatever reason. I then heard someone calling my name, it turned out that
Dyffers had caught me up, but he was on a parallel path to the one I was on. So we had a bit of a chat as we pushed up the hill and then rode on together for a bit.
I’ve probably made it pretty clear that I’m not really one to ride with other people, but I really enjoyed those ten kilometres. I can’t really remember much of what we chatted about, most stuff goes in one ear and then straight back out it again. Having said that, a few nuggets have lodged themselves away for the future.
Lesson number four, listen to the experiences of others and take note of
why they’re doing things the way they’re doing them.
My bottom bracket had got a lot worse by this point and was making some alarming cracks and snaps, and the occasion zing for added enjoyment. Then shortly after making friends with a couple of horses, it jammed solid. Thankfully it was unjammed with a bit of wiggling, but at that point I knew my card was marked, my ride was over and I should head back to the car. It was a crushing disappointment.
I waved
Dyffers off at the public loos on the A438, and broke out my phone and tried to figure out the best way to get back to the car. Ignoring
Dyffers suggestion if ambling up the A road, I continued along the route for a bit, as I figured that I had a few more kilometres before I actually had to make the decision to head back. I was suddenly in amongst other riders again, having caught up with someone on the steep climb up from the road and having been finally caught by the two I’d ridden behind for a bit earlier in the day.
While I managed to nurse the bike up the steep road climbs that followed, it was obvious to all and sundry that my ride was over, what a racket. I chatted a bit with the two riders I’d been behind earlier, but marvelled at the chap who I’d caught up with, as he just didn’t stop and kept ploughing along at his own pace, almost oblivious to what the rest of us were doing. If someone rode alongside he chatted, but that was that, he did his own thing.
Lesson number five, do your own thing, don’t be swayed to ride faster or slower than you want. It’s not a social ride, it’s you versus the clock, do what
you need to do to get round.
While finally deciding to head back to the car was a massive disappointment, it was also cue for a whole new level of anxiety and worry. In addition to the myriad of noises coming from the bottom bracket bearings, it felt like I was pedalling squares on the ups, as the cranks were noticeably moving around. Every wince inducing crunch, crack, screech or snap came with the thought that this was it, this was the moment the bearings would sub standard the bed and the housing would collapse, ejecting my cranks.
As I don’t know the area, I’d decided to find a quiet back road that would take me North, where I could pick up the return leg of the route and follow it back. I knew there was a lengthy road section on that part of the route, so I wouldn’t be faced with any gnarly off-raod nonsense. So I slowly winched myself up a quiet back road onto a moor, the views were fantastic, the sun was out and I was at peace. I dropped down the other side and turned left back onto the route. I stopped riding anything steep after that though and got off and pushed, as the cranks were now jamming with alarming regularity. I soft pedalled on all the flat bits and just tried to take it easy, in the vain hope that everything would stay together and I’d make it back.
Llandinam eventually came and went, Trefeglwys came and went, and still I soft pedalled and pushed and cajoled and crossed my fingers. The push up the last road climb was brutal, all the more so, as I think I could’ve ridden most of it. Rather than bailing to Staylittle, I stayed on the route for the final gravel section, and I’m glad I did. Feeling like I was now pretty much home and dry, I gave it a bit of welly and briefly enjoyed just riding along.
Soon enough, we were heading down the road to Llanbrynmair, and it was with much relief that I swept back into the car park. Eleven hours after I’d set off, having covered one hundred and forty four kilometres, I’d made it safely back. The disappointment was palpable though, not just because I hadn’t completed the route, and also not because I wouldn’t be there on Sunday morning to swap stores, gain more knowledge and put more faces to names. The main disappointment was the realisation that I’m unlikely to see the combination of conditions and a seriously gravel bike friendly route again anytime soon.
Just like my first time riding through
The Chilterns while attempting The Icknield Way double, I’m chalking this one up under unfinished business.
https://www.strava.com/activities/6122639402
There are theories at the bottom of my jargon.
50 miles in and the farthest point was so near, yet so far. Pre-ride, most people that are as slow as me would have noted that food would be a problem. So I had about 2.5L of water/electrolytes (in the form of Zam Zam from the well in Mecca which IME gives a certain percentage of calories too), a couple of small pizzas and plenty other calories dotted around my person.
