Tag Archives: Wales

Leg 64 – to Brean via the Severn Bridge

A good days ride covering approximately 85 miles, and getting back into England.

04 July 2013

All too quickly it was time to get up after a very comfy night in a proper bed again; nice not to have to pack up my tent though, and nice to have another set of clean clothes post my washing drying.

Rachel had to leave for work fairly early, so I bid her goodbye, however handily Ian works from home as a Games developer so I had time to ease into the day. After having a leisurely breakfast and a chat with Ian I packed up and was ready to hit the road. Thanks for the stopover guys!

The weather looked acceptable if a little overcast as I pedalled off. Ian and Rachel had recommended a bike shop just down the road in Whitchurch, Damian Harris Cycles, so I made that my first stop. Unfortunately it started drizzling on my way there, but I had faith conditions were going to improve.

Damian Harris Cycles is another great bike shop, with a friendly and helpful bunch of guys who were good to chat to. I bought a new rear tyre, another Schwalbe Marathon Plus, which they fitted for me. It was gratifying to see I’m not the only one who struggles to get these tyres over the wheel rim, they’re very tough but hard to fit as a result. I also picked up a few more spokes, non drive side, as I’d run out of spares. I compared notes with one of the lads in the shop on the west coast of Wales and its hills. He agreed they can be pretty tough, with steep gradients. I reckoned they were as tough as anything else I’d tackled to date, just because of their frequency and steepness.

With my bike all rejuvenated I set off through Cardiff, targeting the Severn Bridge to get back into England. I rode past the castle, and stopped at a Greggs in the main shopping area to load up with bakery goods to keep me going, plus a second breakfast of a pizza slice. Cardiff’s another nice city I need to go back and visit properly another time.

Cardiff in the rain

There followed a slightly convoluted route to get out of Cardiff, via Splott, a cool name for a suburb. I eventually made it on to the coast road, after a couple of wrong turns, and pedalled up the Welsh coast alongside the Severn Estuary. The road was being turned into a dual carriageway, with large sections coned off. It was great to cycle on, being light on traffic and lovely and flat, with new tarmac. A rare tailwind helped be along, through various industrial areas to begin with, then some nice countryside all the way to Newport.

The rain stopped as I rode over the bridge into Newport, but then got a bit turned around in a maze of roads and confusing signposts. I stopped at a greengrocers to buy a few bananas and apples, and checked my map with the store owner to make sure I was on track. Thankfully I was still going roughly the right way and was soon on the road to Magor, then on to Caldicot via Undy. All the towns had their names in Welsh on the entry signs as usual, but I still didn’t have a chance of pronouncing them correctly most of the time.

I’d been following route 4 (CTC) on and off all day, and pedalled to Pwllmeyric just before Chepstow, having to tackle a steep hill before turning south to cross the River Severn. I was going to cross using the old Severn Bridge over which the M48 passes, as it’s open to bikes. Using the cycle path over the bridge saved me a long track inland to Gloucester, and back down again. I passed a moped going the other way, so they obviously don’t mind small motorbikes using it either.

There was a team painting the bridge as I crossed, which must be a pretty much permanent task. The bridge was vibrating from all the traffic zooming over it, just yards from the cycle path, a weird sensation.

Severn Bridge cycle path

I stopped for a quick break on the bridge, looking back towards Wales and then south to England. The clouds were breaking up and the sun coming out. After having to endure bad weather for much of my time in Wales it was apt timing that conditions were improving just as I was leaving.

Break on the bridge in the sunshine

Back in England

After the bridge and village of Aust I tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to stick to the small roads and tracks next to the estuary – several were looking quite promising with helpful signposts. I passed through Severn Beach, but then ended up at a dead end and had to push my bike through a bit of a bush to get back to the road. This resulted in a few nettle stings but at least I was back on track, albeit with a few bits of vegetation sticking out from panniers. Either I’d missed a signpost or they’d done their usual trick of not being there when I really needed one. I blame Gremlins.

Promising track – resulted in a dead end

Severn Estuary – looking back to the bridge

Severn Estuary and Bridge again – takes a while to cycle across

The A403 and a couple of quieter side roads and cycle tracks took me down to Avonmouth. The riding wasn’t a lot of fun, with a lot of heavy traffic, factories, fumes and impatient drivers. The impatient folk weren’t the lorry drivers incidentally, more the car drivers, especially the smaller cars – small angry man syndrome most of the time. I definitely needed a wide load sign on the back of my bike.

Severn Estuary in the sunshine

I stopped in Avonmouth for a break and phoned Will, my brother, who was stuck up in Edinburgh waiting for a plane to be fixed. I sat in the sunshine chatting, eating a couple of bananas and a chocolate bar to replenish energy reserves, whilst watching a large number of heavily tattooed men and women go in and out of a shop. There isn’t a lot in Avonmouth, but body art seems to feature in a big way with the locals. A lot of it was pretty cool and got me wondering about a tattoo again, something I’ve been mulling over for a while. I’d quite like a small one of a similar design to the New Zealand green-stone necklace I wear, but think I’ll have to get a design done and put it up on my wall for 6 months to see if I get bored of it before making a final decision.

I had to ride towards and into the outskirts of Bristol next, to find a bridge over the River Avon. Thankfully most of the route was via cycle paths as the roads were very busy again.

Clifton Suspension Bridge

I pedalled up the A4 alongside the river, with cliffs on my left hand side at some points, and passed under the Clifton Suspension Bridge before crossing the Avon. The queues of traffic were pretty horrendous, but being on a bike I was able to keep to the cycle tracks and bypass them all for the most part.

Crossing the Avon

I took the B3128 back towards the coast and Clevedon, trying to avoid the busier roads, but encountering a big hill climb instead. It was lovely riding in the sunshine, which had stayed out since getting back into England. I could look back over the Severn Estuary into Wales and see a pall of clouds still hanging over the coastline there – that country does seem like a magnet for bad weather.

I quickly came to the conclusion that all the roads were going to be busy, so just got my head down and pedalled, yearning for the quieter trails of Scotland. There were quite a few other cyclists out to wave to, including a few tourers going the other way who had the tailwind at this stage.

After getting irritated by a succession of drivers coming too close to me in their haste to pass, I turned off the the B3128 and rode across to the A370, which although equally as busy was wider, and took me direct to Weston-super-Mare.

It took a long time to get into Weston-super-Mare from its outskirts, having crossed the town boundary several miles before I reached the town centre itself. The road just seemed to go on for ages but I eventually made it to the seafront, where a big biker rally was going on. They had a DJ playing some really classic tunes, including music from Therapy, The Cure, and even a bit of Type O Negative which I hadn’t listened to in ages.

Weston-super-Mare – biker rally

There were a lot of bikes and it looked like a lot of fun; I considered trying to sneak in with the Ridgeback but I’m not sure it would have measured up versus a Harley Davidson hog. Instead I paused on the promenade and had a cold can of fizzy pop from a stall that was just closing up for the evening, listening to the music and gazing out across the sands.

Weston-super-Mare pier

Weston-Super-Mare beach

Refreshed and buoyed by the music I pedalled along the promenade with the sun gradually getting lower in the clouds, watching a few kite surfers out for an evening session.

Weston-super-Mare – Kite Surfers 1

There was a stiff breeze so some of them were travelling along at quite a pace. I’m still not sure how they don’t decapitate one another with the lines to their kites. There were a few windsurfers out too, which seems like a safer option.

Weston-super-Mare – Kite Surfers 2

The on-shore wind they were enjoying was unfortunately whipping up a fair bit of sand and blowing it into my face and eyes, which stung a bit despite wearing sunglasses and pulling my buff up around my mouth.

Evening drawing on in Weston-super-Mare

I think that’s Steep Holm Island in the photo above, out in the Bristol Channel, although it might be Flat Holm Island.

Weston-super-Mare – Kite Surfers 3

Some rather wiggly roads came next as I made my way around to Brean and found a campsite, which turned out to be more of a holiday park, but only cost me £11. This was fine given it was now July and camping prices were going up.

I quickly pitched my tent which blew about a bit, due to the increasing westerly wind and exposed coastline, until I got it pegged down. Handily the Hilleburg Akto is easy to erect, having only one pole you need to slide in. I’d had lots of practice by now so it was up in five minutes, and I adjourned to the rather plush toilet block for a shower.

Plushest toilets of the tour!

Now I’m not in the habit of taking pictures in toilets, but the facilities at the Warren Farm Holiday Park were pretty impressive. I almost felt like I needed to have a wash before using them.

Me looking a but weather beaten in Brean

The Beachcomber Inn is just next door to the campsite, and part of the complex, doubling as the entertainment centre for the holiday park. With some trepidation I made my way there, deciding I’d eat out rather than cook something in the wind, but somewhat nervous about exactly what sort of entertainment they had lined up.

They were just finishing the bingo when I turned up. I ordered a surf and turf dinner, as a treat, to celebrate the good weather (despite the wind) and getting back into England. Then I settled down to write my journal and watch a few of the acts. An ex X -Factor singer there on holiday was called upon to do a couple of numbers, he wasn’t half a bad singer but I prefer real music with real musicians; pity he didn’t do a few of the songs being played down the road at the biker rally.

The highlight of the evening were a couple of comedians, one the straight guy, Tim, and the other the funny guy, Tony. Tony was impersonating an Albanian working at the holiday camp, ‘standing in’ for Tony who was ‘late’. They were really good and I genuinely laughed throughout the show, which also contained a few sing-alongs, and a bit of audience participation.

Tim and Tony Strange at the Warren Farm Holiday Park

All in all it was a great evening, and made me realise not all holiday camp cabaret experiences are awful. I also chatted to a few of the holiday makers there, including Pauline who kindly donated £10 to the Big C, thanks Pauline. She’d been coming to the holiday park since 1975 and told me a few tales, and got me a ‘shout out’ from the compère for my tour which was nice.

Post a rendition of ‘Oh Mandy’ and ‘That’s Amore’, and the Albanian worker upstaging Tony, the show was over and it was time to retreat back to my tent. It was my birthday tomorrow, so I had my fingers crossed for good weather, and was looking forward to meeting up with my parents who were travelling down from East Sussex to visit – fingers crossed for some free food!

I’ll leave you with a bit of Tim and Tony Strange via Youtube if you fancy a laugh, classic comedy:

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Leg 63 – to Cardiff

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03 July 2013

I woke up to quiet, this was significant, it wasn’t raining! I’d been dreading having to pack up in the rain when my kit was already wet. It also makes everything that little bit heavier, meaning more effort is required in the pedalling department. Most of my clothes had dried overnight, within the compact and cosy confines of my tent, however my shoes were still on the soggy side.

Caemawr Farm – weather significantly improved

The view this morning had significantly improved, mainly because I could see more that 10 metres in front of me. From the campsite I could look down over Llanelli and the River Loughor estuary, to the Gower Peninsula beyond.

After changing out my broken spoke followed by a bit of wheel straightening, I had quiche for breakfast. A tad on the unconventional side but I’d forgotten I’d bought it yesterday, and figured it was a bit like a breakfast omelette. I got ready to go whilst chatting to a caravaner about cycling. He used to cycle a lot but not so much these days, having let it gradually fall by the wayside. I hope he feels motivated to get back on two wheels now.

Whilst it wasn’t sunny it was nice to be cycling without any rain or spray. I left the campsite and rolled down the hill back to Llanelli, before crossing over the river to Gowerton. I thought about nipping into Llanelli to buy more spare spokes, but couldn’t find any promising bike shops on the Internet, so decided to restock in Cardiff instead.

I cycled around some of the Gower Peninsula but didn’t go right to the end, it being a dead end and thus acceptable to skip under my own rules. The countryside is pretty, as is the coastline, and there are several nature reserves to explore. The whole peninsula has been designated an Area if Outstanding Natural Beauty.

View back to Llanelli from near Three Crosses

From Bishopston I pedalled down the coast and past Swansea Airport, which is even smaller than Norwich airport, before tackling a couple of largish hills to reach Caswell Bay.

Swansea ‘Airport’

There was a lot of activity in Caswell, with surfers, kayakers, and general beach goers out enjoying the better weather. I always admire the enthusiasm of the British holidaymaker when it comes to braving our beaches, whatever the weather, and generally dressed as if it’s ten degrees warmer. Good on ’em.

Caswell Bay panorama

I contemplated buying a snack from the purveyor of finest hot dogs set up next to the beach, but managed to resist and had an apple instead, whilst watching a group head out for a surfing lesson. They were having enough trouble carrying their boards down to the sea so I wasn’t confident they’d cope too well when on the water. Maybe they’d be like seals, all clumsy and flopping along on land, but graceful and speedy in the sea. There wasn’t much in the way of surf today so they’d probably just end up floating about a bit.

There’s a big hill going east out of Caswell, which I was encouraged up by two elderly ladies who seemed to be making an easier job of walking up it than me on my bike. I was rewarded by a long downhill stretch to Swansea Bay and the Mumbles, the latter sounding like a place name Neil Gaiman should use in one of his books, with some kind of twist.

Swansea Bay

A long cycle track runs along the promenade past Swansea, and down through the docks and harbour, nicely avoiding the main road. I think it’s all part of the route 4 CTC cycle-way and there were certainly lots of cyclists using it, one of whom I ended up having a bit of an inadvertent race with. This wasn’t the fairest of competitions considering he didn’t have any panniers, but it was still fun, and we exchanged greetings before cycling our separate ways.

Cormorants preening in Swansea

I crossed over the River Tawe, after which it all got a bit busy and industrial. For the most part I was able to stick to the cycle path which runs parallel to the M4, however I took a wrong turning somewhere along the line, around Port Talbot, causing a slight detour.

Swansea Marina

With a favourable wind and mostly flat terrain I was making good time, and joined the A48 down to Pyle and Bridgend. I turned off the main road just before Bridgend, to Merthyr Mawr, and then on to Candleston. Candelston Castle is a dead end, but is somewhere I wanted to stop at having visited several times over the years for various events. It’s a lovely place, and fairly unique for the UK with forest and sand dunes.

Candleston Castle 1

Candleston Castle 2

The castle is actually classed as a fortified manor house, but looks like a castle to me, even if it’s mostly in ruins now. It was originally built in the 14th century, and has survived the encroaching sand dunes which have swallowed up other structures in the area.

Candleston Castle 3 – view from upstairs

The sand dunes near Merthyr Mawr are some of the biggest and tallest in Europe, which I can attest to having had to slog over them a few times in the past, once dressed as an Arabian explorer/CIA agent, and another time as an Orc, but those are stories for another day.

Sand dunes of Candleston

There was a pack of about of 12 dogs that turned up whilst I was eating another apple and a chocolate bar to recoup some energy. They all appeared from one van, that of a professional dog walker, and looked to be having an enormous amount of fun gallivanting around woods and dunes. However I wouldn’t have liked to have been the one to clean up after all those canines, that would be a lot of poop to scoop, if he even bothered. And what would you do if they all just decided they didn’t want to get back in the van?

After a lovely break in Candleston I backtracked to Merthyr Mawr and continued at-a-pace on B-roads round to St. Brides. In my second race of the day I took on a horse and trap, narrowly beating them thanks to a hill and a tailwind. Again it was an inadvertent race, and they started it, but it was good fun and I waved them goodbye as I sped off downhill.

Upon reaching Llantwit Major I suddenly felt very hungry, and realised I hadn’t really eaten anything substantial since my most excellent quiche breakfast. I found a Greggs bakery in town and had a sandwich, then visited a health food shop next door to see if they had a good alternative to Snickers Bars. I ended up buying a couple of pricey protein/carb ‘Bounce’ bars to try. They’re 100% ‘natural’, whatever that means. Aren’t most things natural really? I decided I’d give them a try anyway but didn’t think the Snickers or Ginger Nut market was in danger of collapse, given the price difference.

Continuing on the B4265 I cycled past the MOD base at St. Athan, and then on to Barry joining the A4266. The road grew steadily busier as I approached Cardiff, but the traffic wasn’t moving much faster than I was so was manageable. The sun even came out for a bit.

I passed Penarth and entered Cardiff via the docks, getting slightly turned around on the roads but making it to the city centre thanks to well signposted cycle paths.

Giant metal ball reflection

Cardiff is a great looking city, being compact like Norwich, with all the necessary shops and some good looking places to go out and eat/drink. Being on the coast it also has at least a couple of marinas for you yachting types. I paused at the Millennium Centre to check my route to Ian and Rachel’s, where I was staying the night.

Millenium Centre

I believe the inscription says ‘In these Stones Horizons Sing’, which was a song composed by Karl Jenkins for the opening of the Centre.

I rode past Cardiff Castle, at the very heart of the city, before making my way out to Whitchurch where Rachel and Ian live. I was a bit early due a quicker than anticipated day, so stopped for a pint at a local pub, before going round to meet up once they were back from work. Ah, that work thing, can’t say I’d been particularly missing it, but I only had one more month off.

After a conversation with a couple of tourists on their way back to Cornwall, about Bulldogs and how they can easily overheat – I sometimes have some bizarre conversations with random people – I met up with my hosts for the evening.

I hadn’t seen Rachel or Ian in a few years, and it was great to catch up, not to mention to get some washing done and dry out a few things. We went out for a nice bite to eat, and had a good froth about various things. They were also able to recommend a good local bike shop where I could pick up some new spokes, and perhaps a new rear tyre which was really starting to look bald now.

Still tired from the last few days, and having covered a rapid 80 miles today, I slept very well. With any luck I’d be back in England again tomorrow.

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Leg 62 – to Llanelli

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02 July 2013

I think today may have been wetter than the Campbeltown leg, and that’s saying something. The visibility was definitely worse, with low cloud hanging about for much of the day.

My tent was shaking when I woke up. The wind had changed direction in the night and was blasting the side, accompanied by the persistent drumming of rain. ‘Great,’ I thought, so much for the good weather of yesterday.

A grey morning at the Sandy Haven campsite

Determined to get a good leg in I breakfasted in my tent, then made a dash to the toilet block and showers. Thankfully the rain stopped whilst I packed up and I was on the road by 10.00. In hindsight I’m not really sure why I bothered with a shower.

From Herbranston I made my way to the town of Milford Haven, dodging through the traffic to join the B4325 to Honeyborough, where I knew there was a bike shop. There were some pretty big ships out on the water, Milford Haven having been used as a port since the Middle Ages.

Milford Haven

I stopped at Enterprise Cycles, a Ridgeback stockist, and bought some new brake pads (Aztecs). The shop staff were very helpful and obliging – they let me bring my bike in and change the pads in the shop, so I spent 10 minutes adjusting them to make sure they didn’t rub etc.

Enterprise Cycles, Honeyborough

I was doubly grateful when it started to throw it down outside, and prolonged my visit to have a good chat about my tour and cycling in general. The rain however didn’t look like it was going to stop, so I eventually bid Enterprise Cycles goodbye and pedalled off to the bridge over the Milford Haven.

Bridge over the Milford Haven – Pembroke Dock

The busy bridge crosses at Neyland over to Pembroke Dock, and thankfully there’s a cycle path that runs over it. There were a lot of heavy trucks out on the road and kicking up a lot of spray, something of a feature for the day, so I didn’t take that many photos.

Another view from the bridge – a very rainy day

Once over the bridge I stopped for lunch in Pembroke, next to the castle, wolfing down a coronation chicken baguette. Pembroke Castle is another that’s seen a lot of action, most recently in the English Civil War when Cromwell laid siege to it. Henry VII was also born there.

Pembroke Castle

Post lunch and a chat to my Dad to check on the weather forecast, which didn’t sound hopeful, I got under-way again. I’d intended to ride from Pembroke to Castlemartin, then back east, however due to a combination of poor visibility and bad map reading I took a more direct route to Stackpole. I wasn’t overly upset as I couldn’t see a great deal anyway, and the weather was deteriorating further as the day went on.

A succession of feisty hills, including a few 16%’ers, left my legs aching after yesterday’s efforts, however at least the roads were much quieter as I pedalled along the coast towards Tenby. It’s an interesting town, built on a hill, so I stopped for a quick look around.

Tenby Five Arches Gate

Tenby, which in Welsh means something like little fortress of the fish, is a walled town, the walls having been built to keep out a succession of Welsh attackers. It was originally a hill fort, which the Norman’s converted into a stone castle, with extensive town walls built in later centuries. The strong defensive position meant a busy seaport sprang up, and Henry Tudor had a brief stay there before sailing into exile in France, during the Wars of the Roses.

It was an impressive town despite the weather, with the harbour down below, and a nice old-town.

Tenby Harbour

I stopped for a coffee (decaf as usual, although I was sorely tempted with some caffeine today) at the Vista Cafe, which has great views across Camarthen Bay. Chatting to one of the guys serving I learnt he’d kayaked across Scotland, which is no mean feat given you have to do quite a bit of portaging. He did however manage to break his kayak in doing so, which was on loan from Uni, oops; now he absolutely has to finish writing up his experience as payback. I wonder if he’s finished yet. It’s amazing who you randomly meet, and how many people have had some pretty awesome adventures.

Tenby Beach, not many people sunbathing today

Post coffee I walked my bike around the last bit of Tenby in the rain, and heard a child say, ‘Look Mum it’s snowing.’ I almost wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been snowing given all the other weather Wales had been experiencing, but it was just lights from a car reflecting in the raindrops that made it look a bit like snow.

Next up was a long and pretty unremarkable stretch up to Carmarthen, via St. Clears to get over the River Taf, during which I benefited from a tailwind. I couldn’t see a lot and wanted to press on, so stuck to the main roads for a bit. With low visibility and lots of traffic I was getting a bit concerned about a lorry not seeing me, so I attached just about every light I had to the back of my bike, lighting it up like a Christmas Tree.

Grim riding on the A477

One high point was a lovely long descent from Red Roses that seemed to go on for miles. Despite my waterproof I was pretty drenched by this stage, from the rain, mist and spray, so was quite enjoying splashing through all the puddles at high speed; I couldn’t get any wetter! I love Ortlieb Panniers incidentally, they don’t leak.

Rather wet on the A477, with a wonky helmet

Ridgeback holding up in the wet

I managed to avoid most of the busy A40 by taking a minor road that ran almost parallel to it, and made it to Carmarthen where I stopped for a burger to refuel, before crossing the River Towy. I shared a moment or two with a motorcyclist at the services. We were both equally drenched, and got further drenched when water suddenly ran off roof onto our heads whilst we were parking our bikes up. It was just funny by this stage.

Crossing the River Towy, Carmarthen

Riding through low cloud and unrelenting rain I pedalled onwards down the A484, stopping to phone a campsite in Llanelli to let them know I was coming. I was doubtful they’d be filling up with enthusiastic campers but you never know, and didn’t want to have to find somewhere else.

I’ve been told the countryside and coastline is wonderful around this part of Wales, but I really couldn’t tell you if it was or not; there were certainly a few good hills and nice descents, but I couldn’t see a lot.

I passed by Kidwelly, and noticed a sign to ‘Pinged’. I don’t know if it was the village name that made me glance down at my rear wheel, or if I herd a ‘Ping’ at the same time, but in any case my back wheel had developed a buckle as another spoke had gone. It wasn’t too bad so I decided to leave off replacing it until I got to the campsite. It made me laugh though, and a strange coincidence – I might have been going a bit strange by this point in the day.

I pedalled on through Pembrey, and round to Burry Port, before arriving in Llanelli in a dry patch. I stopped to buy some biscuits, ginger nuts of course, as well as a few beers, dripping water on to the floor of the convenience store as I waited to pay. It was one of those moments when you’re in a hurry to get somewhere, but no-one else is. The person in front of me, who was slightly inebriated and irritating the shopkeeper, spent a good 5 minutes chatting and getting his change out to pay, whilst a puddle slowly formed around me. I tried to help and we got there eventually, the man staggering off with his trusty bottle of dubious cider (White Lightning I think) and a half dozen eggs; a good balanced diet.

Supplies successfully purchased, and with the convenience store’s floor inadvertently washed, I climbed out of Llanelli to Furnace, and to the Caemawr Farm Camping and Caravanning site. The farm dog, a springer spaniel, came out to great me enthusiastically and the owner showed me up through the mist to the camping field. It’s a nice site, I think, I couldn’t really tell, but the owner was very nice. There were a few other indistinct shapes in the mist which were either herds of vengeful sheep out to get me, or other campers, I hoped the latter.

I got my tent up quick, which was fortunate considering it hammered down with rain about 20 minutes later. It was only 21.00, but I retreated inside for the rest of the evening, the rain not showing any signs of stopping. Handily, and for the first time in ages, I could pick up a 3G signal so had entertainment for the evening thanks to my iPad, which I can hotspot to the Internet via my mobile phone.

Caemawr Campsite

Caemawr Campsite – you can just about see my tent

One issue of being in a small tent is that it’s quite tricky to dry stuff. Body heat is effective but uncomfortable, and I knew I’d be putting on wet stuff tomorrow. Still, the weather forecast looked like it was going to be a better day tomorrow, and I was aiming for Cardiff where I’d be staying with friends, so could dry stuff there.

I’d covered around 75 miles today, a respectable distance considering the conditions – I was still on schedule.

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Leg 60 – to somewhere near Penbryn, via Aberystwyth

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Although I’ve completed my tour now I’ve still got around 20 blog posts to write up from it, so if you’re enjoying it or finding it useful for planning your own tour please consider making a donation to the Big C, either directly or via my charity page:

http://www.virginmoneygiving.com/james

The following was one of the toughest days of the tour so far, just down to the conditions and hills, but satisfying to cover around 100 miles, and good to meet a few friendly folk.

30 June 2013

I was up in good time, keen to cover a good distance and get ahead of the game in my quest to get to Latitude by 18 July. Unfortunately it was another overcast and windy day, the prevailing south westerly having strengthened overnight which was going to prove tough. Why couldn’t there just be no wind for a day or two? Perhaps I’d angered those Norse gods again.

Post a check over the Ridgeback I received a bacon roll from my next door neighbours, a bonus I wasn’t going to turn down. It was their last day camping before driving back to the Midlands so they had food to use up, and I was perfectly placed to oblige in ensuring nothing went to waste! Perhaps some of those Norse gods were in fact on my side.

Suitably loaded with calories, and with my bike loaded with luggage, I was on the road by 09.30 pedalling off towards Harlech.

Bike loaded and read for another day’s riding

Harlech has an impressive castle, overlooking Tremadog Bay. Unsurprisingly it’s another castle that was originally built by Edward I, and was also the stronghold of Henry Tudor. The Welsh ruler Owain Glyndwr captured the castle, along with large parts of Wales during the revolt against the English which started in 1400, and lasted through to 1409 when he disappeared; the English never caught him though.

Harlech Castle 1

The castle lies atop a crag, about a half a mile from the sea, although when it was first built the coastline was a lot closer.

Harlech Castle 2

Pedalling on down the A496 I had the song ‘Men of Harlech’ going around my head for a good hour. It’s a good stirring tune, perfect for a grey day, and I was soon humming it quite loudly. I like it when they sing it in the film Zulu. The road follows the coast down to Barmouth, a once popular tourist destination, taking in several quite big hills on the way.

Hills above Harlech, looking back North toward the Lleyn Peninsula

A random picture of my leg, note tan line

A random accidental picture of my leg, note tan line.

I made it to Barmouth in good time, where the Great Western used to deliver droves of holiday makers for their once a year seaside break from up north. By the looks of it tourists are still visiting in significant numbers.

River (Afon) Mawddach, Barmouth

I was able to take the toll bridge over the Afon Mawddach, which is open to pedestrians and cyclists and saved me a long trek inland. As with the previous day’s toll bridge there was no-one to pay a toll to, so I happily trundled over the somewhat bumpy wooden boards across the river.

Toll bridge looking back towards Barmouth

There are rail tracks across the bridge, and I believe a train still runs across it, but it didn’t make an appearance whilst I was there.

Toll bridge looking towards opposite shore from Barmouth

On the other side I continued around to Rhoslefain, getting a bit blasted by the wind. I felt a bit better about it as at least there were more cyclists out today, getting equally blasted and thus sharing the pain. Greetings and mutterings about the weather were exchanged with several, and I was joined by one near Bryncrug. Eddy stayed with me until Tywyn, which was really nice as I was able to slipstream him slightly, taking the edge off the wind. I hadn’t ridden with anyone in a while and it was good to chat as we pedalled along. I think he’d recognised I was struggling slightly with my heavier load, and I certainly made better time for the next stretch.

We both stopped at a cafe in Tywyn, in need of sustenance. I opted for the full Sunday roast and Rhubard crumble, Eddy for just the crumble. I figured my bike was a lot heavier so I could justify the extra calories, plus I still had a long way to go. Eddy bought me a coffee which was nice, and it was good to chat over lunch with a fellow cyclist. Having had quite a hard morning with the weather and hills, riding with someone else, followed by a very decent lunch break, was a great morale boost. Eddy is from Worcester and regularly comes up to the Welsh coast to cycle. He’s a member of a road cycling club, but also gets in some mountain biking; sometimes it’s a case of never the twain will meet however I think it’s good to get in a bit of both. Speeding downhill on a mountain bike, almost expecting to be thrown off at some point, can be very exhilarating. It was good to share experiences, the good, bad and ugly, and my theory on hills being honest and the wind dishonest.

Thanks for the drink and for the slipstreaming Eddy, much appreciated, and good luck on your Lejog!

Eddy had to leave so I finished dessert, which had an ample amount of custard, and called my brother to say hello before getting going again.

It didn’t take me long to get to Aberdyfi, or Aberdovey, where the windsurfers were out in force, along with kite surfers a bit further up the coast. The beach was really busy and it was perfect conditions if you were using the wind to power your transit, rather than it being a pain in the proverbial.

Aberdyfi beach panorama

According to my brother, a keen windsurfer himself now he doesn’t spend most of the time in the sea rather than on the board, the coast around here is very popular with windsurfers. I could see why, and there seemed to be a competition or at least gathering of surfers going on.

Aberdyfi windsurfers 1

Several of them were ripping along, with good planes going, and some quick carve gybes that if I’d attempted would have resulted in being catapulted off the front of the board, and the sale mast landing on my head.

Boards on the beach

Aberdyfi windsurfers 2

I’m quite tempted to have a go again myself when I get back to Norfolk, perhaps going up to Hunstanton with Will (brother) at some point, although it’s been a few years so I’ll probably spend most of my time in the water.

Flags flying in Aberdyfi

Leaving the windsurfers behind there followed a long stint inland alongside the Afon Dyfi (River Dovey), which doesn’t have a handy toll bridge over it. It was nice to have a bit of a tailwind down to Machynlleth, but then I had to turn back south west towards Aberystwyth. I passed an Osprey centre just before Furnace, but couldn’t spot any of these great birds of prey as I rode along, through quite a bit of forest alongside the river.

There’s an old iron smelting site in Furnace, from whence the town’s name is derived. The building has a great waterwheel, and was obviously quite an important industrial spot from the 1750’s through to the 19th century.

Waterfall next to Furnace

Iron smelting building and waterwheel

Waterfall and enthusiastic springer spaniels

At Tre’r-Ddol I turned on to the B4353 to follow the coast, over some flatter terrain to Borth, although the lack of hills meant it was more exposed and I was getting knocked about by the wind again. Borth was a childhood holiday spot for my Mum, which was just a smattering of years ago of course, and she remembers it being just as windy when she used to visit.

A blustery day in Borth – big hill coming up

Borth beach – not too popular today

Borth beach – looking south

Out of Borth I had to tackle a very long and very steep hill climb, with a few 25% sections that really pushed the limits of my ascending ability. I had to stop to rest a couple of times, but made it up the hill without having to push which was pretty satisfying. I don’t think I could have done that when I’d started a couple of months back.

Top of the hill looking back towards Borth

The road continued to be challenging as I pedalled over to Aberystwyth, with lots of long, steep and continuous hills. Any cyclist up for a challenge should consider the B4572 from Borth to Aberystwyth, very satisfying once you’ve made it. Do it on a fully loaded touring bike for the extra challenge. A random passing car even gave me a cheer on the final ascent before the long downhill section into town, all encouragement was gratefully received.

I had a quick cycle around Aberystwyth, considered stopping for a quick pub break, but didn’t find anywhere inspiring so decided to push on.

Aberystwyth seafront

Aberystwyth University building

Aberystwyth Harbour – choppy sea

Cardigan Castle is another one built by Edward I, who replaced the original Norman built fortress. The castle was razed by parliamentary forces during the English Civil War, so is now mostly in ruins.

Aberystwyth Castle

With lots of miles to do but doubtful of reaching Cardigan, my original target for the day, I rode south from Aberystwyth, joining the A487. The next set of hills weren’t small, so I settled into a slow but steady pace, taking them one after the other and refusing to stop for a rest. Up, then down, and repeat. The constant hills were stopping me from getting into any real rhythm, and with the day drawing on I was beginning to think I’d be wild camping if I didn’t stumble upon a campsite. I stopped at a handy garage to buy a few snacks to keep me going – you can never go far wrong with an emergency pork pie break, bag of crisps to replace salt, and perhaps a bottle of chocolate milk.

I eventually made it to Aberaeron, pushing on past at least two campsites whilst I still had a few hours of daylight left. Despite being tired I was keen to get a few more miles done. Sometimes I just can’t decide when to stop, and defer making a decision for ‘just a few more miles’ to see what’s around the next corner.

The big hills continued as I pedalled to Llanarth, where I turned off the main road on to the B4342 to New Quay, not to be confused with the Newquay down in Cornwall. Earlier I’d checked the Internet on my phone and seen there were lots of campsites around New Quay, so thought it would be a good place to stop. Unfortunately despite being given directions by a helpful local, and following what I thought was a signpost to a campsite, I couldn’t find one, and didn’t have enough signal on my phone to check the web again. I have absolutely no doubt I passed with a few hundred metres of several, but one of my other flaws when cycling is I don’t like to turn around and retrace my route, so I just kept on going out of New Quay, tackling more hills, but enjoying the fine evening. Oh, and more snacks were duly consumed to keep up energy levels.

Verdant Welsh Countryside near Llangrannog

With the sun starting to get seriously low I followed the signposts to Llangrannog, sure I’d find a campsite somewhere. I didn’t, the road just continued to go up and down, but was very pretty. I passed through Nanternis, continuing to ride parallel to the coast as much as possible, and after wiggling around a bit made it to Llangrannog.

Llangrannog Beach

According to local legend one of the rocks sticking up in the bay is actually the tooth from a giant named Bica, who spat it out when he got toothache.

Llangrannog panorama

The village and beach looked beautiful with the sun going down, and there’s a nice looking pub, but no campsite I could find.

Llangrannog pub

I had to cycle up another steep hill to get out of the Llangrannog, something that was definitely becoming a feature of this part of the Wales with the road following the coastline and dipping down into all the valleys and coves.

Me looking a bit wild in Llangrannog

Llangrannog – silhouette of the statue of St Caranog

The statue definitely has a nice view.

St Caranog, Llangrannog

Llangrannog looking North

Llangrannog Village

I rode down country lanes continuing to look for a place to camp (on reflection I should have pitched up next to the saint). It was still light, vaguely, but very dark where the trees formed tunnels over the road, and I had to get my lights out. The road continued to be very pretty, but I was starting to get very tired due to the incessant hills, and I was passing lots of farms, with lots of sheep who were looking at me balefully as usual.

On one particularly wriggly bit of road I rounded a corner to come face-to-face with a frisky bullock. This wasn’t the first annoyed bovine I’d met on this tour, but it was definitely more aggressive than it’s Scottish cousin, having become a bit panicked by a car horn. It’s fine beeping your car horn to try and encourage a cow off the road when you’re safely ensconced within a metal body, however I didn’t have that luxury on my bike. Thankfully after about a minute of it pacing about, and me slowly backing off, the farmer turned up with a couple of helpers. Two of them did have to jump back into their Landrover at one point when the bullock charged them, but eventually they got it back into a field and I pedalled on unmolested.

My close encounters with Welsh farm animals continued as I rode through another farm, where three dogs bounded out to greet me, barking manically. I was a bit nervous they were going to bite me or my panniers, but they calmed down once I said hello and left me alone thankfully.

Finally, with the light almost gone and post more hills, I found a campsite somewhere between Morfa and Penbryn, near Sarnau, although I wasn’t really sure where I was by this stage, I just knew the coast wasn’t that far away. I arrived about 22.15 and checked in at the farmhouse, the farmer and his son looking a little surprised to have such a late visitor turn up on a bike. It cost me £12 but they were friendly, and a warm shower was most welcome after the hard day.

That was one of, if not the hardest day of the tour so far, due to the bad weather throughout most of it, and leg/lung busting hills. I was however very satisfied to have covered nearly dead on 100 miles, even if it had taken me about 12.5 hours; my average speed had dropped somewhat. I was a bit concerned as to what the state of my legs would be in the morning, and my morale had taken a bit of a beating at times, but thanks to lunch with Eddy, a phone call to my brother, and some nice Welsh countryside I was feeling alright again.

I got my tent up as darkness fell, and it wasn’t long before I was soundly asleep.

Edited with BlogPad Pro

Leg 57 – to Rhyl (Towyn) via the Wirral

3 Replies

Limited pics today due to inclement weather!

27 June 2013

After a solid night’s sleep at Matt and Jo’s I was reluctant to get up, but had a big day ahead of me so needed to get moving. Remembering the promise of the pie shop in the village was all it took to get me springing out of bed. My hosts had to leave for work but left me a key so I could let myself out and lock-up once I’d had breakfast and packed up. I was left alone in the company of three inquisitive cats who wanted to find out what I had in my panniers, or at least work out whether they were a suitable place to have a snooze.

I had a quick bowl of cornflakes, with one of the cats after the milk, then showered and packed up. It was nice not to have to pack up my tent and camping gear again, there’d be more than enough of that sort of activity over the next month! Glancing out of the window whilst I was getting ready to hit the road the weather looked suspicious. When you’re in a tent you can pretty much tell what the weather is going to be like before you get up, however in a house you’re cocooned away from it all. It looked sunny outside, but there were lots of clouds racing across the sky, and I feared the weather was destined to go rapidly downhill.

The key clunked down on to the doormat as I posted it back through the letter box, sealing me off from creature comforts once more. I mounted my trusty steed and coasted down the hill into Frodsham, stopping at the market and a few shops to buy supplies; pies featured prominently, as did fruit and chocolate.

I pedalled out of the delightful market town at about 10.30, post pie second breakfast, taking a rather convoluted route to Ellesmere Port, under and over a couple of motorways, and passing signs for Chester which would reoccur throughout the day. I have colleagues who live and/or work in and around Chester, and I’d visited several times on trips to MBNA which is based near the town. A day out at the Chester races is a lot of fun, but had somehow been omitted from my tour schedule.

It started raining in Ellesmere Port. Just a shower I hoped.

Paula lives in Ellesmere Port, and I could have stopped for tertiary breakfast, but I’d already had cornflakes, pie and a banana, and thought it would be gluttonous even by my standards, so pressed on through Bebington to Birkenhead via a slightly complicated route. I had to check where I was on my phone several times, to make sure I as going the right way. I hate it when you’re following a route, but the road signs either stop signposting where you were heading, or you miss one.

Birkenhead itself was pretty complicated. There are two tunnels over to Liverpool which I had to avoid getting funnelled to, lots of roundabouts, plenty of traffic to keep me distracted from reading signposts, and junctions to the motorway to avoid. Ignoring the Mersey tunnels I rode over the docks and down to the coast, arriving in New Brighton with the wind strengthening and rain continuing. Cycling along the promenade I was pretty much alone aside from a few determined fishermen crouching down behind the sea wall.

Grim day on the Mersey

I passed a couple of other cyclists who were attempting to ride the other way. At this point the wind had increased in strength and the rain was unrelenting. The two young ladies, on hired bikes, were berating the fact they’d chosen today to go out cycling. I guess it had been sunny when they’d set out, judging from their choice of clothing which was now thoroughly soaked. We looked at each other and just laughed. What else can you do?! I wished them good luck and advised they find a cafe, or better still a pub.

A very wet and empty promenade

In the wind and rain I rode along the promenade, on the Wirral Way cycle route around Wallasey, before going astray in a golf course and nature reserve, forcing me to loop inland slightly.

Wet and windy on the Wirral Way

I’m pretty sure you can stick to the coast all the way from New Brighton round to Neston, I just must have missed a sign. I didn’t however miss another activity evident in one of the lay-bys in the nature reserve. I’d stopped for an apple, and to drip dry a bit, when a car pulled up joining one already there, flashing its lights as it pulled up behind it. Funny I thought, is this a rendezvous for spies. They must have seen me standing there under a tree with my bike, but obviously judged me not to be a threat. In any event they turned out not to be engaged in espionage, but rather in dogging, and I saw rather more than I’d bargained for as I quickly made an exit stage left. Each to their own, however the two people in question could have had the decency to wait until I’d left, or conduct such activity inside somewhere. I thought that’s what motels are for, however evidently they were into exhibitionism. Urrrgh, thankfully secondary breakfast did not make a reappearance.

After getting a bit lost in an estate I rejoined the Wirral Way in Hoylake, following an old railway track down the side of the River Dee. The cycle track passes through West Kirby and the Wirral Country Park, and on a nicer day would have been a lovely ride, however it was really raining hard now.

The Wirral Way near West Kirby

I pedalled on, with mud being kicked up and my bike and parts of me turning a grey brown colour, past Heswall and on to Neston.

The Wirral Way – a pleasant route despite the weather

I stopped for a breather next to the coast near Heswall. I should have been able to see over to Wales easily, but the rain and low cloud were obscuring the coast opposite to a great extent, a sign of things to come perhaps.

Marshes near Heswall

The Wirral Way – I could just about see Wales

Feeling a bit cold and wet I stopped in Neston and had a bite to eat in a cafe. The bacon and egg roll was exceedingly welcome, and very tasty. It was also nice to chat with the shop keeper and get a few route tips, although to be honest my main motivation was avoiding the rain for a while.

Neston Food Hall – a welcome break from the weather

Somehow over the next hour I also managed to eat a whole bag of midget gems and three bananas. I was beginning to worry I might have worms due my un-abating appetite and sugar cravings.

Cycling ever onwards, and getting closer to North Wales which I was pretty excited about, I joined the A550. I’d been hoping to avoid this and link up with a cycle route, but I think Sustrans route 568 was/is still under construction. It will be nice when it’s finished, passing from Neston through an RSPB reserve and MOD range, and would have saved me a somewhat hazardous stretch on the main road. I’d checked the map but there really didn’t seem to be another way into Wales without cycling a long distance out of my way, via Chester. Having researched further I suspect there is a sneaky way in for cyclists, but I just couldn’t find it on the day.

I stopped on the slip road down onto the A494 to take a photo of the border, having had to join the very busy main road for the last stretch into Wales. I’d been able to cycle on a less busy road alongside the A494 for a bit, but unfortunately it doesn’t go all the way to Queensferry and Deeside, or didn’t as far as I could tell. Again I suspect there’s a route in if you know where to look.

Welcome to Wales! Croeso i Gymru

Whilst I was stopped a traffic cop pulled up to check I was alright, which was nice of him. Whilst it’s not illegal to cycle on a dual carriageway he was worried due to bad weather and traffic, advising that I stick to the hard shoulder. He didn’t know another way around either, and I wholeheartedly agreed with his advice.

The busy dual carriageway turned into three lanes at one point, and was a little dangerous with all the spray being kicked up by the heavy traffic. Thankfully I was safe on the hard shoulder, until it ran out!

There followed a fast, furious and adrenaline fuelled stretch to Queensferry, with traffic thundering by and me wishing I’d cycled the 50 or so miles out of my way. I think this was probably the scariest bit of road on the tour, and not one I wish to repeat, or would advise any cyclist to take unless it’s very early in the morning and nice weather. Thinking about it gives me the shivers and has resulted in a medicinal whisky as I write. It was also the only time on the tour I started thinking about the last time I spoke to friends or family, wondering if perhaps that had been the last time ever, and had I said all that I wanted to say? You get some strange thoughts running through your head at moments like this.

Thankfully I made it to Queensferry unscathed, with drivers being careful and considerate, where I got off that horrible road. The next 20 miles in Wales seemed to pass pretty quickly, especially with terrain still being pretty flat. I just got my head down and pedalled, ignoring the rain, and putting some distance between me and the dreaded A494. The wind had dropped which improved matters, but I couldn’t see much due to the weather, with low cloud and rain obscuring any nice scenery there might have been.

I rode up the other side of the River Dee, through Flint and Greenfield, and Ffynnongroyw which I didn’t try to pronounce. It was taking longer to read road signs as they’re in English and Welsh, and the Welsh names take some getting used to, however luckily my route was very straightforward so I didn’t really need my map.

The sands off Prestatyn

Prestatyn and Rhyl came and went, both fairly typical and dreary looking seaside towns with not a lot of people about due to the weather. Maybe I’m doing them a disservice and they’d have been a lot more attractive in nicer conditions, I suspect not. Unfortunately although once very popular tourist destinations, they’ve gone the way of a lot of other British seaside resorts and are now rather run down, with social and economic problems. They’ve still got nice long and clean beaches though, and plenty of cheap accommodation. They just need a bit of regeneration of the sort that has occurred in other parts of Britain, with better planning decisions being made, and efforts to keep antisocial behaviour under control or to address the root causes.

I pedalled on along the coast, past ranks of caravan parks, looking for a campsite to pitch up at. I knew there were several about after an earlier Internet search, but didn’t have enough reception to check again. I eventually found one at about 19.00, near Towyn. Henllys proved to be a friendly and well appointed campsite, with plenty of room to pitch my tent, there being only one other in the camping field. I had a quick chat with the owner before setting up, noticing people speaking Welsh for the first time. She’d speak English to me, and Welsh to her family in the room behind her.

The rain had just about stopped as I finished setting up. I thought it amazing that it was nearly July, but there was only one other tent in the field; the weather was really keeping people at home. I wandered over to say hello anyway, doing the normal British thing of talking about the weather. They were slightly jealous of how quickly I’d put up my tent, however they’d have struggled to fit two adults and two children inside it.

Feeling a bit cold post a wash I put on another layer then retreated around the corner to a pub I’d spotted earlier, grabbing a sandwich from a Spar on the way. The pub was very quiet, and somewhat sparse in its choice of beverages, but it gave me a place to warm up and dry off, and I joined the few locals and caravaners present in watching the football; the Confederations Cup was on – Italy versus Spain, Spain won.

It was also nice and cheap so I wasn’t complaining, and spent the evening watching some very entertaining football, as well as writing up my blog and planning the next few days as best I could without the Internet, or decent mobile reception. The barman reminded me a bit of Al Murray, ‘the Landlord’, and I kept expecting him to come out with quotes such as ‘If we had no rules where would we be? France!’, which I sometimes think has a ring of truth about it given we seem to stick to rules laid down by Brussels far more than they do; very sensible of them if you ask me.

Feeling a lot warmer I retreated back to my tent post a few pints, hoping that the weather improved by morning. I’d covered just over 82 miles, so a good days riding despite the conditions and unexpected encounters during the course of the day. I was on track for Latitude still.

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Bike Around Britain

Blog on cycling around the coast of Britain

Tag Archives: Wales

Leg 64 – to Brean via the Severn Bridge

Leg 63 – to Cardiff

Leg 62 – to Llanelli

Leg 60 – to somewhere near Penbryn, via Aberystwyth

Leg 57 – to Rhyl (Towyn) via the Wirral