The 'Toughest Push In Wales' or CLInt Hill as it's also been called, had led to a later than anticipated arrival at Penhros Isaf. In turn, that had resulted in a later than usual departure the following morning, which meant the food provided by the cafe was more late lunch than early breakfast. By the time each of us had taken our turn to say, "we'll just have one last brew", whatever light there was, had begun to disappear.
Something was wrong, my legs wouldn't work. They hadn't been overly compliant the previous day but I'd shrugged it off and assumed day two would see them return to their usual form - I was wrong. Insignificant inclines became monstrous hills and I found myself twiddling along in 22 / 32, while trying hard to formulate convincing excuses for Mike and Scott. My only hope was that tomorrow would be better.
Although gravel had given way to tarmac, the change in surface didn't herald the arrival of civilisation. The road pushed us deeper and deeper into the mountains but in doing so took us nearer to our destination. The map indicated a bridge, a left turn, a track and if luck was with us, somewhere to spend the night out of the incessant wind and rain. The deafening roar of water indicated that we'd crossed the ancient stone bridge and in accordance with the map, we found the start of a puddled, muddy track leading off into the blackness. In less than five minutes we would find out whether my hunch had been correct. If it was, then salvation and a haven for the night beckoned but if I was wrong, well, let's just say the evening could become very unpleasant, very quickly. We pedalled on, each of us secretly wishing, hoping and praying.
A kink in the track delivered us from evil. Lights picked out the dark silhouette of a structure just off to the right - we weren't home and dry but hopefully, we were home. The final tussocks of the day deposited us safely by the front door. I turned the broken remnants of the handle, nothing. I was unwilling to believe it was locked, so tried again with a little more force - bollocks. Mike was already making his way round the side looking for a chink in the building's armour - I stood staring at the locked door. I looked down at the floor hoping to see a piece of slate lent against the wall or a stone that looked out of place, anything that might indicate the location of a key. No stones and no slate, I lifted my head and looked up. Hammered into the door frame was a rusty screw, hanging from it was an even rustier strip of metal. For no real reason, I reached up and lifted the metal from the screw and beneath the bent strip of oxidising steel was a key. I walked inside and straight over to the window Mike was trying to get through. "How did you get in there?", "magic" I replied.
Inside was spacious, dry and just a little dusty. A brush was located and in full accordance with the 'leave no trace' ethos we set to. Five minutes later and you'd never have known the place had received any form of cleaning in the previous ten years. With our bedroom now sorted, we retired back down the wooden stairs to partake in the age old bikepacking ritual of eating, brewing up and talking rubbish. It was a friendly building, it almost felt lonely. Perched high out in the mountains waiting for the warmth and noise of human company, a reminder of its previous life. As we sat, sprawled out along the battered wooden benches, the building slowly drew the heat out of us. At first it was just our feet but the old stone and slates were hungry and within a couple of hours we were all starting to experience the tell tale shivers that indicate bed-time. We ascended the stairs once again and reacquainted ourselves with sleeping bags and mats.
I wanted to sleep but the more I wished for a speedy journey to the land of nod, the more unlikely it became. I lay there listening to Mike and Scott as they contended for first prize in the 'Worlds Noisiest Mat' competition. Scott's Neoair sounding very much like the often mentioned crisp packet and Mike's Exped producing a more worrying sound, a sound like someone rubbing a half inflated balloon between their arse cheeks. With the collar of my jacket stuffed firmly in my ears, I rolled onto my side and stared out of the low window that faced me and thought. I thought about my legs and whether a new day would see them rejuvenated. I wondered whether the rumbling noises from my stomach meant I was hungry or full. I tried to work out how I'd not seen Mike blow up a balloon while I'd been in the same room and I thought about the lights outside the window. I gave the glass an extra hard stare hoping that it might scare the approaching lights away but they just got brighter. I told myself there couldn't be lights, after all we were up a dead-end track in the middle of nowhere at midnight, why would there be lights? Unfortunately, the only answer I could muster was that, the lights and more importantly, whoever was in charge of them must be coming here.
I decided not to invoke panic until the moment I actually heard a car drew-up outside and its engine stop and its doors open, I quietly said, "there's someone here". Mike had obviously decided that a certain level of panic was called for in this instance and replied, "you're f*cking jokin'" but soon realised I wasn't as the beam of a torch rushed through the window and lit the entire room up. We waited for the noise of a door catch but it didn't come, we thought about all the things we'd left down stairs in plain view through the windows and regretted all the money we'd ever spent on high-viz this and reflective that. We could hear faint voices but couldn't make out any words, lights continued to flash across the building and through the windows but still no one came in. BANG, Scott had remained largely quiet until that point, "f**k me, is that a gun?" he said trying to be as quiet as you can be in such circumstances. I let out an imaginary sigh of relief, they weren't here for us, they were here for the foxes. Minutes turned to treacle and passed like hours but eventually the car was started once more and the lights faded.
Okay, close your eyes and go to sleep, I told myself but out on the hillside a second shot kept my eyes wide open. For another hour, I watched the lamps light up the sky in the distance. The noise of an engine was never out of ear shot but sadly it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of rustling crisp packets and someone rubbing a half inflated balloon between their arse cheeks.
