After initial plans to camp in Bala from Friday were kyboshed by general work hassles, I set out relatively early to arrive at the closest control from home, Knighton, to get parked up in the long stay, use the trainspotting-esq facilities (at least they were open) and finally found a cash machine willing to give out receipts. I have noticed the lack of cash point workability is actually pretty high and I regularly have to attend two, or even three, to obtain a printed receipt.
It was already a blue-skied day and I was glad to be on the road and pedalling, although slightly more nervous than normal about things maybe not going according to plan. The bike rescue service (aka the better half) was heading North to some hidden hills outside of Bala with absolutely no phone signal. Still, at least there was a bailout option if it all got too much.
I had an inkling that it would be pretty much straight up and out of Knighton and I wasn’t far wrong. After a short jaunt on the main road, the pink line started to shift left and up into the first of many tiny little lanes. These are the staple of this ride (if you ride the ‘pure’ route). It wasn’t long before I was on the high farmland with the stunning views over Shropshire, Herefordshire and Powys. I had a real treat at the top, my first sighting of a hare on an Audax. They are huge creatures up that close, and surprisingly he was in no hurry to disappear off, probably realising that I was in no hurry to be getting anywhere either. A lovely cruising section followed, with buzzards sat on posts, voles scurrying across the road, distance kites calling and the sun really starting to warm up. I was glad I had packed the softshell and shower jacket into the dry bag, along with my extensive food stash (two hummus and falafel rolls, vanilla and strawberry flap jack, two vegan chorizo style sausage things, sweets, chocolate bar, two banana bars and a real time banana), plus 2x750 ml bottles of water. It was weighing me down somewhat no doubt, but better that than to come up short in the middle of nowhere.
With the exception of a very short stretch on the A438, it was mostly tranquillity complete all the way to Llanidloes. Looking back it was my favourite section. The gravel covered pot holed lanes made for hard going at times, but the friendly waves and hellos from farmers on quads, scenery and flower lined verges were worth every near-puncture. Before I knew it I was in Llanidloes, a wonderful wee town, chatting to the guy in the Spar and buying liquid to fill up the bottles. “Have you been far today” “Oh, not really, just about 30 miles so far I guess” “30 miles? I’d die if I rode that far”. I sat on the shop windowsill drinking cold squash and eating a sandwich in the blazing sunshine thinking life was just wonderful.
There was a black cloud on the horizon though, in the form of the Bwlch-y-Gros. I knew it was dominating somewhere between me and Bala, but I wasn’t sure where. I wish I had known as I spent the next 40 km worrying about it whilst working into the unusual Northerly wind. I kept telling myself to just enjoy the scenery, and ‘it is what it is’ ‘take it as it comes’ and luckily it is difficult not to with everything being so stunningly beautiful. However, a climb doesn’t get a reputation like the Bwlch without deserving it, so every time the road veered steeply upward (and it did, very steeply, on a few occasions) I was expecting it to begin, only to flatten back out and cruise for a bit. I had mistakenly expected it to be pretty much wooded, but there was no doubting the Bwlch’s identity when it appeared, open and lay out before me as a Ferrari overtook and disappeared upwards, seemingly halfway to Heaven.
It looked tough from the bottom, but so often climbs look worse in the distance than the reality. This was not the case with the Bwlch. It was every bit as bad as it looked, and then some. It may have admittedly coincided with a difficult, erm, time of the month for me, but I did struggle up it, no denying it. There were no spare gears. Thank goodness the sky had clouded over. Halfway up the visible slope my jelly legs were only just strong enough to turn the pedals at such a slow cadence whilst sat in the 34*32. I tried to spin faster but my lungs complained. The fatigue was already setting in and I would soon tire of spinning. I tried standing but the worn summer gloves were slippy on the hoods and I struggled for grip with blistering hands (note 1: get new gloves). The poorly distributed luggage was making the back of the bike heavy (note 2: get better luggage system). My knee kept knocking on my bonk-rations top tube bag that had been so valuable earlier in the ride for instant sugar supplies. I was struggling, but I could see a corner ‘that must be the top’. I looked at the GPS screen only to find the contours tighter and the climb continuing after it. There was nothing I could do other than keep my head down and keep working as steadily as possible without allowing the bike to stall. Eventually I saw a junction. ‘Just get to that’ I told myself, that’s an acceptable place to stop. Once there, though, it was just too close to the summit to fold, no matter how fatigued. I topped out the same time as a hiker, who made the predictable, but friendly, comment of “I thought I was mad”. “Still” she said “at least you must know it’s all back downhill from here”
Too right. After an obligatory photo at the top whilst waiting for the worked-hard-buzzing in my head to pass, it was payback time. Effortless cruising to Bala, although, even knowing I needed to be prudent with stopping, I couldn’t resist another couple of photos on the way.
Bala is another lovely little town, albeit typically North Wales touristy rather than Mid-Welsh local. I sat outside the shop, refilling, yet again, my bottles and eating a giant bag of crisps whilst four other riders were close by on a bench. One of the ladies came and spoke and asked where I had come from. When I explained I got a slight blank expression. I’m not sure she believed me. Either that or my poor Welsh pronunciation had her dumfounded.
I text the other half, pointlessly really, as he wouldn’t have had a signal, to say I was safely at Bala and had got through the hardest bit, was over halfway and should have a tailwind home. Incorrect on two of the three counts, it became apparent later. The wind changed direction and started to come from the East. How cruel! The hardest section (in riding terms) was definitely Bala to Newtown which was truly undulating, with small lanes and technical descents preventing good run in speeds to the next incline. There was also a long climb back up to Lake Vrnwy I hadn’t expected, but enjoyed thoroughly. Much nicer gradient than the Bwlch and I was glad to find my legs were still working just fine. I overtook a few ladies pushing hybrid bikes on this road, and felt a bit guilty when one said “I don’t know how you are doing that”. Then I thought about it, and realised it was 6 months of hard training and spending money on a decent road bike with good climbing gears. It is that simple.
It was also a very long section and I had to stop to refill those bottles, yet again, at a garage around 15 miles from Newtown. Although I had checked the GPX file over, I had missed two short ‘off-road’ sections including a forest road somewhere around Lake Vrwny, which I managed to avoid easily. After the garage stop though, the GPX sent me into a ‘no through road’ and I began to worry. The track began to deteriorate into an unsurfaced lane. Then I came to a ford, also bouldery and unsurfaced, but luckily with a little timber bridge. I scrolled out the GPX screen and my panic subsided, about a 100 meters or so and I’d rejoin the main road. It was quite fun in the end, riding up a proper bridleway on a vastly overpriced plastic bike……
Eventually Newtown came, but, for once, I didn’t need to refill the bottles, especially with just 32 km left until Knighton. I sat in the shade cooling off and finishing off the food supplies, and was most pleased with my efforts.
I knew there was a huge climb over to Knighton, but I was ready for it and feeling tired but ok. I hadn’t checked this bit of the GPX, just glanced at it to see it was on main road and mistakenly assumed it was sending me up the A438 and Dolfor. It was a pleasure to find this was not the case and I would instead, be on the very hilly Clun road (a real challenging drag at times with the new surface dressing) before finally reaching the wonderful little lanes again, my favourite Mid Welsh lanes with the knitted wire fencing, short wooden posts and views extending for miles. The sun was back out and the blue skies lit up the still-spring fresh vistas and roadside foxgloves as I rolled back to Knighton.
The Cambrian 2E - another grand day out.