GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
Cunningly having transferred to Mid-Wales by car from Cornwall it was time, a few days later, to execute part two of the "great big stupid holiday travel transport plan", the part that involved me in cycling from the land of the lovely Helen's fathers to home in dear old Sussex by the sea.
A detailed route from Wales to Albion had been plotted courtesy of the sustrans map of the southern half of the Lon Las Cymru. A delightful (hopefully) B&B had been booked. The bike was ruthlessly stripped of all unnecessary bits and pieces, the panniers were put in the car boot, the Camelbak was filled and the rucksack part crammed only with the 'needfu' as they say in India.
It dawned bright and cool with a milky gray white sky and the wind was set fair from France and other places to the east of my starting location. Llanidloes was gained in a matter of a few minutes, and the lovely market hall was left in my wake. The main road (A470) to Llangurig was hard going, much harder than I expected it to be. An earlier exploration of the coach road from Llangurig to Rhayader, on the west bank of the Wye, had convinced me that the main road south, still the A470 was going to be my best friend that morning. It was early, just after 7:00 am and the cars were few and far between as I headed south.
Rhayader was still asleep and I saw no reason to disturb her slumbers. Southwards again the official route, NCN8 if you care, was on the western bank but my legs preferred the eastern side and the better surface of the main road. Cunningly this also avoided the only unsurfaced stretch of NCN8 just north of Newbridge on Wye. Llandrindod Wells was ticked off, Builth Wells came and I paused for breath. Breakfast, the second of the day was beckoning but I needed to sort the front brake which was slightly binding and which had probably accounted for the challenging start to the day. No idea why my front disc had gone out of alignment but it had, but the application of a little gentle force and some tweaking of the adjusters soon had things back how I like them.
A brain wave. "2nd Breakfast at Llyswen" where a delightful cafe exists on the junction with the Brecon road. So Builth was disregarded and in a few pedal turns up came 10:00 am and with it the Wye-not-stop cafe.
"Going far?" asked the man behind the counter. I jumped when he dropped the cutlery as I answered "Just north of Bristol, actually". Whilst eating my lovely sausage in a bun and lovely toasted tea cake we established the likelihood of my being a masochist as I explained I intended to do Gospel Pass and do it the hard way via the Glasbury short cut.
guzzling food and coffee is always good fun but it doesn't get the miles in so back aboard the bike and off to Glasbury on the A4079 - a lovely stretch nearly all downhill too! Nearly missed the sign for the short cut and overshot the turn but a quick U-ey and way hay now the road is going up. The map is thoughtfully annotated. "Take care. Very Steep Section". My advice; listed to that nice Mr Sustrans. When he says steep he means steep. Up I climbed catching glimpses of Lord Hereford's Knob (Ooh Err Missus!) off to the left. Route 8 became route 42 at Llwynberried and the came "The Wall". now some of you may know the Kentish hill climb called the wall. That wall is not the wall. This wall is. Perched on the nose of my saddle, weight as far forwards as I could get it, almost kissing the stem - boy was I glad my granny ring was there - and the front wheel kept coming off of the tarmac and the stem kept consummating the kiss. Sweat dripped, legs span, wheels turned oh so slowly and at 5 kph I ground my way up the slope. It eased off a little as the worst was over. Except that now out of the sunken lane I had a clear view of the mountain side before me and could trace the road nearly all the way to the summit of Gospel Pass.
nothing for it, spin, grind, spin, grind, honk, grind spin, grind, spin. This is how we climb mountains my bike and me. We don't really have hill like this in Sussex you know. Tempting though it was to have an ice cream, and, no doubt, a little cry, in the car park under Hay Bluff that car park was not at the top and I was not stopping until the pass was reached. So on and up I went. Extraordinarily courteous car dirvers coming down off the tops made way for me, a cheeky sheep had the gaul to overtake me in her panic at one point and the walkers I passed looked at me as if I was an extra terrestrial fallen to earth. Great stuff. Cresting the pass I stopped to take a snap of the bike against the signpost and to put on an extra layer for the descent.
The drop to Capel-Y-FFin was most very excellent, very few cars on the way up, though I did give one poor chap a shock on one narrow stretch, as I was on my way down. Llananthony Priory whistled past before I even realised it was there. some miles north of Abergavenny route 42 takes a sharp left and starts climbing back up into the hills. I don't think I'd pedalled much for the last 30 minutes and didn't fancy the climb so I took a gamble on the A465, figuring the Sunday drivers wouldn't weant to kill or maim a cyclist. What drivers there were clearly supported my choice and intime Abergavenny was passed off to the right.
One big roundabout thingy and I'm on the B4598. I love this road. I am a founder membe rof the B4598 fan club. Hardly any traffic and clearly it was an earlier incarnation of the A40 that thunders along, thnakfully sight unseen, alongside it. What a lovely road. Nice gradients too, which is more than can be said for route 42 as it makes its way to Usk. So to the B road I stuck rejoining route 42 in Usk when our paths crossed.
With tiring legs the climb through Wentwood was purgatorial and Hilltop Farm was aptly if unimaginatively named. All this determined pursuit of miles had resulted in a missed lunch. I found a pub, but alas and alack, they had just closed the kitchen. Still one should never underestimate the reviving power of Radler (shandy) and a packet of duritos and a packet of cashews. With I smile on my face as I passed down Mynydd Bach (Little Mountain) I headed towards Chepstow feeling very smug that I was so far ahead of my loose schedule.
Ha Ha Ha. hidden in tiny detail on the map was one of sustrans "very steep bit" markers Yes Mounton I'm taking about you. An unpleasant surprise on tired legs but once I got to the top I could see the Severn Bridge. OK it was the wrong Severn Bridge being that which carries the M4 rather than the M48 but it was the Severn which I'd last seen, hours before, in Llanidloes where it goes by the name of Hafren. (In those parts when someone tries to con you you say "Do you think I came up the Severn on a bicycle" - Id' gone down the Wye and the Usk on one....)
Through the outskirts of Chepstow, a faintly depressing place on an early Sunday evening and onto route 4 for the Bridge and Bristol. The bridge crossing was strangely anti-climactic, I've no idea why but there you are I was underwhelmed. Up into Aust services for some cash, a quick espresso, and a Sunday paper to read in bed. Two out of three ain't bad is it. Queue for the coffee was too much for me. Found the place where route 4 is intersected by route 10 an followed 10 a short distance north to where my lovely, lovely lovely B&B (The Village Farm Elberton) awaited.
Shower, snooze, and off to The White Heart, a Youngs pub of all things, a mile or so away in Littleton-on-Severn for well earned beer, dinner (salmon and haddock fish cakes with a poached and French fries as you asked) another beer a coffee and a brandy. slept like a log.
Tomorrow was to be another day. Full of adventure and excitement in which our hero; is confused by the differences between the imperial and metric systems, is reminded of the 5 P's, negotiates the Brizzle rush hour and is accussed of melting a car and a retina, curses sustrans roundly and at length, stands in awe of Victorian engineers and has a near death experience. But that is another write up.....
A detailed route from Wales to Albion had been plotted courtesy of the sustrans map of the southern half of the Lon Las Cymru. A delightful (hopefully) B&B had been booked. The bike was ruthlessly stripped of all unnecessary bits and pieces, the panniers were put in the car boot, the Camelbak was filled and the rucksack part crammed only with the 'needfu' as they say in India.
It dawned bright and cool with a milky gray white sky and the wind was set fair from France and other places to the east of my starting location. Llanidloes was gained in a matter of a few minutes, and the lovely market hall was left in my wake. The main road (A470) to Llangurig was hard going, much harder than I expected it to be. An earlier exploration of the coach road from Llangurig to Rhayader, on the west bank of the Wye, had convinced me that the main road south, still the A470 was going to be my best friend that morning. It was early, just after 7:00 am and the cars were few and far between as I headed south.
Rhayader was still asleep and I saw no reason to disturb her slumbers. Southwards again the official route, NCN8 if you care, was on the western bank but my legs preferred the eastern side and the better surface of the main road. Cunningly this also avoided the only unsurfaced stretch of NCN8 just north of Newbridge on Wye. Llandrindod Wells was ticked off, Builth Wells came and I paused for breath. Breakfast, the second of the day was beckoning but I needed to sort the front brake which was slightly binding and which had probably accounted for the challenging start to the day. No idea why my front disc had gone out of alignment but it had, but the application of a little gentle force and some tweaking of the adjusters soon had things back how I like them.
A brain wave. "2nd Breakfast at Llyswen" where a delightful cafe exists on the junction with the Brecon road. So Builth was disregarded and in a few pedal turns up came 10:00 am and with it the Wye-not-stop cafe.
"Going far?" asked the man behind the counter. I jumped when he dropped the cutlery as I answered "Just north of Bristol, actually". Whilst eating my lovely sausage in a bun and lovely toasted tea cake we established the likelihood of my being a masochist as I explained I intended to do Gospel Pass and do it the hard way via the Glasbury short cut.
guzzling food and coffee is always good fun but it doesn't get the miles in so back aboard the bike and off to Glasbury on the A4079 - a lovely stretch nearly all downhill too! Nearly missed the sign for the short cut and overshot the turn but a quick U-ey and way hay now the road is going up. The map is thoughtfully annotated. "Take care. Very Steep Section". My advice; listed to that nice Mr Sustrans. When he says steep he means steep. Up I climbed catching glimpses of Lord Hereford's Knob (Ooh Err Missus!) off to the left. Route 8 became route 42 at Llwynberried and the came "The Wall". now some of you may know the Kentish hill climb called the wall. That wall is not the wall. This wall is. Perched on the nose of my saddle, weight as far forwards as I could get it, almost kissing the stem - boy was I glad my granny ring was there - and the front wheel kept coming off of the tarmac and the stem kept consummating the kiss. Sweat dripped, legs span, wheels turned oh so slowly and at 5 kph I ground my way up the slope. It eased off a little as the worst was over. Except that now out of the sunken lane I had a clear view of the mountain side before me and could trace the road nearly all the way to the summit of Gospel Pass.
nothing for it, spin, grind, spin, grind, honk, grind spin, grind, spin. This is how we climb mountains my bike and me. We don't really have hill like this in Sussex you know. Tempting though it was to have an ice cream, and, no doubt, a little cry, in the car park under Hay Bluff that car park was not at the top and I was not stopping until the pass was reached. So on and up I went. Extraordinarily courteous car dirvers coming down off the tops made way for me, a cheeky sheep had the gaul to overtake me in her panic at one point and the walkers I passed looked at me as if I was an extra terrestrial fallen to earth. Great stuff. Cresting the pass I stopped to take a snap of the bike against the signpost and to put on an extra layer for the descent.
The drop to Capel-Y-FFin was most very excellent, very few cars on the way up, though I did give one poor chap a shock on one narrow stretch, as I was on my way down. Llananthony Priory whistled past before I even realised it was there. some miles north of Abergavenny route 42 takes a sharp left and starts climbing back up into the hills. I don't think I'd pedalled much for the last 30 minutes and didn't fancy the climb so I took a gamble on the A465, figuring the Sunday drivers wouldn't weant to kill or maim a cyclist. What drivers there were clearly supported my choice and intime Abergavenny was passed off to the right.
One big roundabout thingy and I'm on the B4598. I love this road. I am a founder membe rof the B4598 fan club. Hardly any traffic and clearly it was an earlier incarnation of the A40 that thunders along, thnakfully sight unseen, alongside it. What a lovely road. Nice gradients too, which is more than can be said for route 42 as it makes its way to Usk. So to the B road I stuck rejoining route 42 in Usk when our paths crossed.
With tiring legs the climb through Wentwood was purgatorial and Hilltop Farm was aptly if unimaginatively named. All this determined pursuit of miles had resulted in a missed lunch. I found a pub, but alas and alack, they had just closed the kitchen. Still one should never underestimate the reviving power of Radler (shandy) and a packet of duritos and a packet of cashews. With I smile on my face as I passed down Mynydd Bach (Little Mountain) I headed towards Chepstow feeling very smug that I was so far ahead of my loose schedule.
Ha Ha Ha. hidden in tiny detail on the map was one of sustrans "very steep bit" markers Yes Mounton I'm taking about you. An unpleasant surprise on tired legs but once I got to the top I could see the Severn Bridge. OK it was the wrong Severn Bridge being that which carries the M4 rather than the M48 but it was the Severn which I'd last seen, hours before, in Llanidloes where it goes by the name of Hafren. (In those parts when someone tries to con you you say "Do you think I came up the Severn on a bicycle" - Id' gone down the Wye and the Usk on one....)
Through the outskirts of Chepstow, a faintly depressing place on an early Sunday evening and onto route 4 for the Bridge and Bristol. The bridge crossing was strangely anti-climactic, I've no idea why but there you are I was underwhelmed. Up into Aust services for some cash, a quick espresso, and a Sunday paper to read in bed. Two out of three ain't bad is it. Queue for the coffee was too much for me. Found the place where route 4 is intersected by route 10 an followed 10 a short distance north to where my lovely, lovely lovely B&B (The Village Farm Elberton) awaited.
Shower, snooze, and off to The White Heart, a Youngs pub of all things, a mile or so away in Littleton-on-Severn for well earned beer, dinner (salmon and haddock fish cakes with a poached and French fries as you asked) another beer a coffee and a brandy. slept like a log.
Tomorrow was to be another day. Full of adventure and excitement in which our hero; is confused by the differences between the imperial and metric systems, is reminded of the 5 P's, negotiates the Brizzle rush hour and is accussed of melting a car and a retina, curses sustrans roundly and at length, stands in awe of Victorian engineers and has a near death experience. But that is another write up.....
