GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
I wasn't expecting the railway station to be a building site but the ample scaffolding made a useful prop on which to rest my bike as I reattached my panniers and fitted my GPS before wheeling the bike out past a bunch of student types in fancy dress and body paint.
Out in the forecourt I turned the GPS on but, as always, found it near impossible to make head-nor-tail of the jumble of roads displayed on the map. Two in the morning maybe isn't the best time to dwell outside a city centre railway station, so I decided to zoom the map and set off in the hope of finding some hook to hang my route on. My sleep deprived brain suggested to me that "Mount Pleasant" was my exit route from town and I knew from looking at the elevation data earlier in the day that up up and away was the right way to go.
I twiddled my way along the near car-less streets with only the occassional taxi for company, there was a sign for Mount Pleasant via some cycle route or other but I decided, in the dark, to stick to the road. Turning right before a crowd of pavement drunks the road reared up in front of me. Yazoo's "The only way is up" immediately came on my mental stereo, and down I went through the gears cursing the amount of stuff stashed in my panniers. Cold stiff legs from the three hour train journey from London met Welsh hillside and there could only be one winner. I had to get out of town and this was the route I had foolishly programmed into my GPS. That's the nice thing about a night ride; no option but to ride.
On and up I went, a drunk on the other side of the street shouted encouragement, this in turn drew the attention of a young couple on my side of the road to me, and turning they began to shout "Come on then, put some effort in boy". Next thing I knew they were both alongside me in the road jogging, tour de france stylee, as I wound my way up the hill. "where you goin' love?" asked the girl. "Haverfordwest" I replied. "Bloody hell mun that's a six hour bike ride, are you nuts?" said her partner. "What's he sayin' Gav?" she asked, still keeping pace with me in the middle of the road. "He says he is goin' to Haverfordwest!" "Haverfordwest?" she shrieked "Have a nice rest, Have a clean vest, have a nice dress!" she screamed before collapsing in a fit of giggles.
Seeing my chance to escape I snicked up a couple of gears and stood on the pedals. The boyfriend, rather ungallantly I thought, left her behind and started to run harder to keep pace. "Are you really goin' to ride to Haverford?" he gasped "at this time of the mornin'?" "Well, yeah, that's the plan!" I hissed through gritted teeth "if I can get over this bloody hill first" I cursed as the burning in my lungs increased as a combination of muggy, unseasonable hot, air and the tail end of a chest infection began to bite, as tugging on the bars I increased my pace. "Good on ya, I'm gonna stop now cos I feel a bit sick" said my estwhile partner as I left him behind.
The road swept uphil and round to the left and I passed a sign saying Terrace Road. As I passed another pedestrian he asked me for directions but as soon as I opened my mouth he knew I wasn't a local. Up, up, up, I went. Then, in front of me, what seemed like a crest, a summit, and standing in the road, a woman. "areyouapolicecommunitysupportofficer?" she asked in rapid fire valleys speak laced with booze. "Sorry?" I said as I coasted to a halt, wary of the slope and slightly nervous of my surroundings but not wishing to run her down. "areyouacommunitypolicesupportpoliceofficer?" she barked machine gun fast. The penny dropped. Fat bloke on a bike at night in a fluorescent vest. PCSO. Of course. "No I'm not, sorry." I said, as empathetically as I could muster. "You're not? Well I really wish you was." she said plaintively before changing tack with "I don't suppose you've got any fags 'ave you?" which caught me off guard more than a little. "Err, no, I don't smoke, sorry" "Well you're f*ck all use to me then so f*ck off out of my way will you" she ordered. You know that thing you do when you paddle your way along up a slope with a loaded bike because you can't quite get enough momentum through the pedals? I did that thing round here. "Go on, f*ck off out of here" she shouted "never a f*ckin' copper when you want one."
I resolved not to come this way again.
The rest of the ride was rather lovely. I escaped Swansea the hard way, rolled along the blissful Pont-y-cob Road, across the Loughor Bridge, and picked up NCN4 in Llanelli, which is immeasurably posher than it was when I whent to the tech college there in the 80's. Following the sustrans route I twiddled in the pitch dark along the coast, startling one young couple who, in popular parlance, were getting-it-on in a car near Burry Port. At Kidwelly I decided to stick to the main road rather than go via Ferryside, a decision I sort of regretted as I climbed the 12% hill on the road to Carmarthen. Croesyceiliog beckoned and down I plunged, into the darkness off the valley only to realise I was going to have to winch myself up the other side before I got to Carmarthen.
By now I was wheezing like bellows and coughing like a smoker with a woodbine habit. Clearly my chest infection of the previous week was a gift that would keep on giving. I paused at the top of the climb and used my smartphone to see what time the next train west was. Oh the joy, there was one leaving for Pembroke Dock in just fifteen minutes. Like a two wheeled bat-from-hell I dropped towards town, desperately trying to recall 20-year-old memories of where the station is in Carmarthen. I ended up on a dual carriageway, which I don't think existed 20 years ago, and was relieved to see the Gorsaf sign at the round about. I hopped aboard the train with five minutes to spare bought a ticket and 90 minutes latter was sat in the Pembroke Dock MacDonalds eating porridge and watching France have a meltdown against Samoa.
A simply twiddle up and over the Cleddau Bridge northwards and I was at my sisters house, south of Haverford just in time for the 8:30 kick-off of the Scotland v England game.....
Out in the forecourt I turned the GPS on but, as always, found it near impossible to make head-nor-tail of the jumble of roads displayed on the map. Two in the morning maybe isn't the best time to dwell outside a city centre railway station, so I decided to zoom the map and set off in the hope of finding some hook to hang my route on. My sleep deprived brain suggested to me that "Mount Pleasant" was my exit route from town and I knew from looking at the elevation data earlier in the day that up up and away was the right way to go.
I twiddled my way along the near car-less streets with only the occassional taxi for company, there was a sign for Mount Pleasant via some cycle route or other but I decided, in the dark, to stick to the road. Turning right before a crowd of pavement drunks the road reared up in front of me. Yazoo's "The only way is up" immediately came on my mental stereo, and down I went through the gears cursing the amount of stuff stashed in my panniers. Cold stiff legs from the three hour train journey from London met Welsh hillside and there could only be one winner. I had to get out of town and this was the route I had foolishly programmed into my GPS. That's the nice thing about a night ride; no option but to ride.
On and up I went, a drunk on the other side of the street shouted encouragement, this in turn drew the attention of a young couple on my side of the road to me, and turning they began to shout "Come on then, put some effort in boy". Next thing I knew they were both alongside me in the road jogging, tour de france stylee, as I wound my way up the hill. "where you goin' love?" asked the girl. "Haverfordwest" I replied. "Bloody hell mun that's a six hour bike ride, are you nuts?" said her partner. "What's he sayin' Gav?" she asked, still keeping pace with me in the middle of the road. "He says he is goin' to Haverfordwest!" "Haverfordwest?" she shrieked "Have a nice rest, Have a clean vest, have a nice dress!" she screamed before collapsing in a fit of giggles.
Seeing my chance to escape I snicked up a couple of gears and stood on the pedals. The boyfriend, rather ungallantly I thought, left her behind and started to run harder to keep pace. "Are you really goin' to ride to Haverford?" he gasped "at this time of the mornin'?" "Well, yeah, that's the plan!" I hissed through gritted teeth "if I can get over this bloody hill first" I cursed as the burning in my lungs increased as a combination of muggy, unseasonable hot, air and the tail end of a chest infection began to bite, as tugging on the bars I increased my pace. "Good on ya, I'm gonna stop now cos I feel a bit sick" said my estwhile partner as I left him behind.
The road swept uphil and round to the left and I passed a sign saying Terrace Road. As I passed another pedestrian he asked me for directions but as soon as I opened my mouth he knew I wasn't a local. Up, up, up, I went. Then, in front of me, what seemed like a crest, a summit, and standing in the road, a woman. "areyouapolicecommunitysupportofficer?" she asked in rapid fire valleys speak laced with booze. "Sorry?" I said as I coasted to a halt, wary of the slope and slightly nervous of my surroundings but not wishing to run her down. "areyouacommunitypolicesupportpoliceofficer?" she barked machine gun fast. The penny dropped. Fat bloke on a bike at night in a fluorescent vest. PCSO. Of course. "No I'm not, sorry." I said, as empathetically as I could muster. "You're not? Well I really wish you was." she said plaintively before changing tack with "I don't suppose you've got any fags 'ave you?" which caught me off guard more than a little. "Err, no, I don't smoke, sorry" "Well you're f*ck all use to me then so f*ck off out of my way will you" she ordered. You know that thing you do when you paddle your way along up a slope with a loaded bike because you can't quite get enough momentum through the pedals? I did that thing round here. "Go on, f*ck off out of here" she shouted "never a f*ckin' copper when you want one."
I resolved not to come this way again.
The rest of the ride was rather lovely. I escaped Swansea the hard way, rolled along the blissful Pont-y-cob Road, across the Loughor Bridge, and picked up NCN4 in Llanelli, which is immeasurably posher than it was when I whent to the tech college there in the 80's. Following the sustrans route I twiddled in the pitch dark along the coast, startling one young couple who, in popular parlance, were getting-it-on in a car near Burry Port. At Kidwelly I decided to stick to the main road rather than go via Ferryside, a decision I sort of regretted as I climbed the 12% hill on the road to Carmarthen. Croesyceiliog beckoned and down I plunged, into the darkness off the valley only to realise I was going to have to winch myself up the other side before I got to Carmarthen.
By now I was wheezing like bellows and coughing like a smoker with a woodbine habit. Clearly my chest infection of the previous week was a gift that would keep on giving. I paused at the top of the climb and used my smartphone to see what time the next train west was. Oh the joy, there was one leaving for Pembroke Dock in just fifteen minutes. Like a two wheeled bat-from-hell I dropped towards town, desperately trying to recall 20-year-old memories of where the station is in Carmarthen. I ended up on a dual carriageway, which I don't think existed 20 years ago, and was relieved to see the Gorsaf sign at the round about. I hopped aboard the train with five minutes to spare bought a ticket and 90 minutes latter was sat in the Pembroke Dock MacDonalds eating porridge and watching France have a meltdown against Samoa.
A simply twiddle up and over the Cleddau Bridge northwards and I was at my sisters house, south of Haverford just in time for the 8:30 kick-off of the Scotland v England game.....
hope you get better soon
.
