I woke up early, as I tend to do these days, to the sound of the rain still hammering down on the tent. I ignored the bladder, turned over, and had another doze. By the sounds of things, it had stopped raining when I next regained consciousness, but as I lay there contemplating getting up to soaking wet trails, the rain started up again, so I turned over and had yet another doze. This was very out of character, but given the tech fail and lack of appropriate clothing, I figured my planned route (and alternates) were mostly out of the the window, so an extra couple of hours waiting for a gap in the weather wasn't the worst thing to do.
The bladder wouldn't wait forever though, so I did eventually emerge from the warmth of my quilt, get back into my damp lycra and venture out of the tent. It was noticeable when packing up, that there had been more than a few drops of water falling from the seems of the tent during the night, but nothing that was going to impact the performance of my sleeping gear. I'd have to stop and dry the tent at some point though, as it was soaking on the outside from the rain, and soaking inside from the condensation. I was still planning on a poke of chips in Aberystwyth, so figured if the weather cleared I'd be able to dry it on the promenade later in he day.
While it wasn't raining, the cloud level was somewhere down below, visibility was limited and noises muffled. I still didn't want to put on my full finger gloves, or Primaloft jacket, as I wanted to keep them dry for as long as possible, just in case. So I put the latex gloves on under my mitts, and headed off wearing pretty much everything else I had available. We were soon out of the forest and back climbing again, which just made me doubly glad I'd stopped when I did. I really would've been in trouble if I'd continued to my planned earliest stopping point at the sheering shed near Bugeilyn. A couple of riders appeared out of the cloud at this point, and cheery
mornings! were exchanged as they sped downhill and I slowly ground my way up.
The small reservoir eventually appeared out of the gloom, so I propped my bike up against a post and took a photo. I could swear that I heard the occasional voice, but I couldn't see anyone, and thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I rolled over the dam overflow and got off to push up the slope, when I realised that I had been hearing voices, and some fellow riders were all stood at the top watching me approach. So I stopped for a chat,
"where did you go yesterday?",
"where are you off to today?",
"are you enjoying yourselves?", etc, etc. I like the fact that these interactions are relatively short and sweet, I get the benefit of human interaction, of a shared but different experience, without having to spend too much time in other peoples company.
I was soon on my way, but only after having to explain what the shiny, shiny, orange bling Garbaruk stuff on my bike was. It might not have been working properly, but at least it was aid to conversation. I was still suffering a bit from the cold and wet, so was happy to be on my way, mostly if it was just try try and generate some warmth from the effort of the riding.
The sheering shed came and went, I think EscapeGoat's description from the pub was totally correct, it utterly reeked of sheep poor show. While I'd have been out of the weather, I'm not sure my olfactory system would've appreciated a night spent in there. With my tech woes meaning I was still having to get my phone out at junctions where I couldn't work out which way I needed to go, plus I was still in the cloud, the moment I saw a road appear on any of the maps, I was off in that direction. My route actually went the other way, but I only realised when I was speeding downhill on the road, and passed a sign for Dylife; at least I know knew where I was, and how to get to Llanidloes.
I had been planning on heading up into and around Hafren, but as it was shrouded in cloud, I made the decision to try and stay low, as I now knew my meagre clothing wasn't sufficient to be up high in that kind of weather. It seemed to take ages to get from the Bunkhouse to where we turned off on the BB200 last year, I remember cycling this bit with Steve Large so maybe chatting away made it go quicker that day. I passed a gaggle of bikepackers coming the other way, but I couldn't tell if they were doing the WRT or not, they were all like me though, on gravel bikes and wearing roadie clothes. Another gaggle of riders, this time on MTBs, were all preparing to head up into Hafren from the car park, so plenty of people were up and out, regardless go the crappy weather.
I rolled into Llanidloes and headed straight for the SPAR. Arms full of savoury and sweet edibles, water, a can of Red Bull and an coffee from the machine, I took stock outside as I packed my bags. One plan had been to head down to and along Claerwen reservoir, I ditched that idea based on the extra distance. Another plan had been to head up and around Cefn Croes wind farm, but with the cloud cover still low, I ditched that idea too. I remembered that if I followed my route to where I was going to head up into the wind farm, I could continue straight on, loop right and pick up where I would've come out. With a plan in place, I headed off again, passing another rider on their way into town, just as I was leaving.
I managed to get two thirds of the way to Llangurig, when I started to feel totally empty. I suddenly realised that the coffee from the SPAR had done nothing to warm me up and I wasn't just feeling cold because of the weather, I was in the middle of a bonk. thinking back, I'd had a small flapjack and a Kind bar since leaving my bivy, I'd been riding for nearly three hours, but with stops I'd been on the go for longer than that. Even though I'd just stopped for supplies, I hadn't actually eaten any of them, I really am my own worst enemy at times. Pondering on it since, I've come to the conclusion that the lack of eating, especially in the morning, is because I do intermittent fasting and don't eat till midday, as most of my riding is in the early morning before work, I don't eat; I may not eat for another three hours after finishing the ride. I'm just used to not eating while riding, which is the only explanation I can give for why I keep bonking, as I'm just not used to shoving food in as I ride.
I downed a gel, ate a bar and decided to stop at Llangurig for a sit down and something savoury. When I got there, everything was shut, and I couldn't see a bus stop, or anywhere else that would provide shelter, or a dry seat. So I pulled out a cheese and onion pasty, and ate it while spinning along the A44, waiting for my turn to, er, turn up. Once off the main road, I realised that I hadn't quite taken into account how steep the next section of riding would be. Strava think that I hit section of 17%, regardless of what it actually was, I was off and pushing and I had no desire to regurgitate the pasty. All the climbing took my back up over 500m and while not quite into the cloud, the temperature was lower and I started to get chilled again.
I also wasn't expecting the drop down to the bridge over Afon Diliw, and was absolutely frozen when I climbed off the bike to have a chat with Gethin (?; the chap who won the lightest bike weigh in). I think I must have been in a bit of a state, as he very kindly offered me a own brand fun sized Marathon. Given that he was wearing even less that I was at that point, my failure to eat and keep warm was driven home somewhat. The chap he was riding with was coming down the "
road" on the other side, so I took the opportunity to explain my situation and ask for the fastest way to Aberystwyth. I wasn't too keen on the answer, which was to go straight through the wind farm.
With various and sundry options discussed and discarded, I carried straight on and up the broken road on the other side. I'd been warned the descent down the the valley road was meaty, but wow, going to have to go back and ride that in the other direction at some point. I did stop at the side of the track a couple of times to let a pair of riders passed who were coming the other way; glad I wasn't them.
I hit the tarmac again, and as it was downhill, it was head down and arse up, in an attempt to get as far down as quickly as possibly. This was probably a mistake, as the Cwmystwyth Lead Mine Workings whizzed passed in a blur of wind tears. By the time the road flattened out, I felt like a block of ice, and was shivering away. I made the decision to just follow NCR81 for a bit, mainly as it looked like it was going in an Aberystwyth kind of direction. I stopped near the Hafod Walled Garden to eat some food, as I didn't feel able to eat while riding. I discovered the can of Red Bull I'd bought earlier and completely forgotten about, so I downed that too. There was a gorgeous Lilac bush in full flower on the other side of the road, so I wandered for to stick my nose into it, which cheered me up no end.
When I hit the B4343 my heart sank, the gradient signs made for grim reading, either super steep downhill, or not quite so steep, but still steep enough up hill. After consulting the phone maps again, I realised I should've paid attention to the sign for Devil's Bridge that I'd passed, as that's roughly where one of my planned routes passed, so up hill in that direction it was. About half way there, it was almost like someone had flicked a switch as I suddenly noticed the temperature had shot up a few degrees. While it had been raining again coming down the descent passed Cwmystwyth, and you could see more weather rolling in to the South of Hafod, it was noticeably brighter on the way to Devil's Bridge.
Just those few degrees were enough to ease my worried mind and I suddenly felt safe and out of immediate danger. While riding on an A road isn't generally high on my list of priorities, I turned left onto the A4120 and headed for Aberystwyth. I could see weather on both sides of me, and I was thankful that I seemed to be riding along in a bubble away from it all.
Not long after The Halfway Inn, I dropped down the side of the valley onto a quiet single track road along the bottom, near the railway. The only traffic I met was a massive tractor pulling a slurry tanker, which was so wide, I had to dive into the hedge to let it passed. After a few wrong turns in the industrial area on the outskirts, I flew passed the big Morrison's on the outskirts of town, thinking about where the SPARs were in the centre, I doubled back and restocked with everything I would need, bar water, to see me back to the start. Bags stuffed full, I made my way through the traffic to The Chip Box 4.
Poke of chips purchased, I made my way to a bench on the promenade, and got the tent and other damp stuff laid out to dry. I was there for about an hour, as a lack of any real wind or direct sunshine meant the moisture on the tent took a while to dry off. I got many strange looks, and I'm not surprised, I probably looked a bit of a sight. The chips hit the spot, and I think part of my woes earlier had been due to not putting any hot food into my face. I should definitely have microwaved a pasty in the Llanidloes SPAR...
One the tent was dry and packed away, I had the small matter of hauling myself up Primrose Hill. One thing I've neglected to mention up until this point, was the fact that I'd been having ever more frequent issues with the rear derailleur. I'd be happily cycling along, when the chain would just fall off the front chain ring. When I'd stop to put it back on, I'd notice that the jockey wheel cage was jammed in a forward position, which had slacked the chain allowing it to fall off. The cage would spring back easily enough, but it was starting to get on my nerves, as there was no pattern to it happening and it would fall off on the tarmac, as much as on the byways. I still couldn't use the 50t ring on the cassette either, as that was still skipping, again with no pattern to when it would happen or not.
The observant amongst you will have put two and two together and come to the conclusion that both of these issue were the same thing, and you'd be right. Once I'd hauled myself up Primrose Hill without stopping, I noticed the chain skipping in the 50t cog, but more importantly I noticed that it was cause by the same derailleur jamming, it just wasn't severe enough to slacken the chain enough to allow it to fall off. Rather than head off road, up hill, on a bridleway around Banc y Gwmryn, I continued out into the countryside on quiet back roads and resolved to stop at the trail centre and have a go at fixing it.
I didn't get quite as far as the trail centre before my patience had worn thin. I'd gone from dropping the chain once and hour to once every five minutes and trying to ride up steep inclines not knowing if the chain was about to fall off, had become seriously unfunny. The amount of chain slap I'd been experiencing was also concerning, as it's not something that I've had to deal with, as the GRX derailleur has a clutch. After descending some mind bendingly steep road down to Old Goginan, I stopped on the climb back up again and broke out the tools. Those who pay attention to the
What you done t' your bike today thread, will already know what was actually wrong, and that anything I did trail side could never have actually fixed the underlying problem. Loosening the captive nut that holds the cage to the main derailleur did stop it from jamming again though, at the cost of totally knackering the cage return spring. So even though the clutch wasn't working, I could now use all the cogs on the cassette, without any skipping or dropping the chain, it completely changed the riding experience for the rest of the weekend.
I'd been worried about the next bit of my route, as I was supposed to go down The Mark of Zorro trail, I needed have worried though, as it was all closed, due to forestry activities. This also meant that if I wanted to go via the visitor centre and continue following my route, I'd have to backtrack and go along the main road, or bushwhack my way down some other unknown trail. I decided not to bother, and took the diversion which plonked me onto a trail that would eventually lead me to Llyn Blaenmelindwr.
Chucking any remaining pretence at doing a previously researched and planned route was quite possibly the best decision I made all weekend. That's not to say that I didn't end up riding bits of my previously planned route, but I just stopped looking at my phone, looked at what was in front of me and thought, that looks like it's going in roughly the right direction and got on with it. The riding from then on was utterly fantastic, decent gravel roads, plenty of climbs, remote desolation, the works. I actually started to enjoy myself again and really appreciate where I was and what I was doing.
I had planned to spear off West to Bont Goch, before coming back East on a byway to pick up another grid reference. I did contemplate doing it, but I could see the cloud base was still hovering around where I'd end up riding, so doubled down on the track I was on and continued. I did pass some blokes in a 4x4, parked up at the side of the trail, their bonnet open, I said afternoon and skedaddled. Given the state of some of the landscape, I'd say they were there to rag the poor show out of their vehicle over whatever they could find.
Everything was grand at this point, even the fatigue from all the climbing couldn't dampen the mood. It wasn't exactly warm, but neither was I cold. I continued to eat and make good progress. Shortly before being spat out onto the road near Nant-y-Moch reservoir, I bumped into a couple of ladies out walking a dog. One of them asked in a really strange sing song way,
where does this go?; I couldn't tell if she was serious or not, so just blurted out some nonsense and headed off.
For some reason Angler's Retreat has fascinated me since I first heard about it on here a while back, so I decided to ride passed it and have a gander. When I got to the turn off the road and back onto the gravel, there was a car driving around looking lost, they went one way, then another way, then started following me along the gravel. I noticed they'd stopped to checkout some ruins, but unsure if that was a ruse, I ploughed straight on and down the hill as fast as I dared. I checked my phone once I was out of sight, only to discover that I should've turned left at the ruin, but no matter, there was a trail I could now take that would end up in pretty much the same place, so off we went.
I had to push for large sections of it, as it has mostly been washed away. All that was left was a serious of deep gullies where a gravel track once existed. After a while I realised that there was a faint trail a couple of metres off the ruined track, it was mostly ridable. Progress was slow, but it was still only early evening and I could easily have continued for another five hours or so, not that I wanted to. I was however, aware that the more I rode today, the less I would have for the final morning. Given that I was heading back up to 500m or so, I wanted to get over and back down the other side to bivy at a lower level, so we kept at it.
It's definitely and area I'd like to go back and ride again, as it's so different to anything I can do locally. I now found myself crossing over the track I'd cycled down the previous evening, I could see the sheering sheds, but given the stench of the one at Bugeilyn, I decided I wasn't quite that desperate. Instead, I continued on the bridleway, headed through all the sheep, round a corner next to a cliff and dropped over the other side. I really wish I'd been on a mountain bike, or had more confidence in whatever meagre ability I have, as that bit was ripe for hooning down like a total yob. Instead I picked my way down slowly with both brakes practically jammed on all the way.
It was still early, but the views were amazing and I decided that I'd like to wake up to one of them. So I slowed right down and kept stopping to checkout potential bivy spots. Either they weren't flat enough, or big enough for the tent, or the ground was too hard to get the pegs in, or it was too visible to distant habitation; all options were dismissed. I'd dropped further down the bridleway to the point where it split in all sorts of directions, so I chose one that hadn't been on any of my plans, this lead to even more views, so I picked the track that I though would provide the best and set off looking for a spot. After much searching nothing suitable presented itself, which is I suppose, the weak point of having a tent over a bivy bag.
In the end the track ran out and I had no option but to winch myself back up to where all the bridleways split. I took the next one, which dropped my down quickly, right above a farm. I had all my lights on by now, as I'd wasted a lot of time in the fruitless search. Imagine my horror when a powerful torch was shone at me from the farm, I suddenly started to question if I was actually on a right of way, or if an angry farmer was about to drive out an berate me. I have since checked and it
was a bridleway, disconcerting at the time none the less.
I headed down the road, as I was pretty sure there was a byway at the end of it. A byway duly appeared, but the it was blocked by a gate and some signage that was less than explicit about it being a right of way. I was just desperate to find somewhere out of the way, still worried that someone was coming to shout at me; it's a recurring theme. I backtracked to the road, partly as the byway seemed to track long the edge of a field and I couldn't tell if their was any livestock in there, and partly as I'd notice a good gravel road on the other side of a stream.
I headed up the gravel road, but no areas suitable for pitching a tent appeared. I noticed a small grassy track leading up into the trees, it wasn't well used, judging by all the small twigs and branches that littered the floor of it. I figured that I'd eventually come to a bit that was flat enough for the tent, and eventually I did, just big enough and no more. So up went the tent, and I sat down to some more food and a beer I'd picked up at the Morrison's earlier.
There are theories at the bottom of my jargon.
Once at the top, I still had no signal so I just kept following whichever track led upwards, until I heard my phone ping, which just so happened to be at some dead-end turning circle..
I stopped quite a few times on the way down the hill, not because I needed to, but I wanted to take in the view. I also stopped at that memorial circle thingie to that poet chap, as I'd seen it previous on here but didn't know where it was. I realised as I was mooching around it, that a byway I had been planning taking finished right next to it, so I was back on one of my planned routes. Except it turns out that that route was straight back up the hill and off down where the two ladies had headed. 
