With Miriam and Michael coming to stay for the weekend the opportunity not to go for a long ride was too good to resist. Moreover, as it only being one day I wanted it to be fairly tough so that we got some insight into what it may be like covering further distances. As such I felt a 52 mile ride from Brecon into the Black mountains would be appropriate.
Setting off to Crickhowell everything was going well with no untoward events. However, immediately leaving the pretty riverside town we hit the hills. Having studiously covered the route on the Ordnance Survey map the evening before these were hills with no contours, or rather due to there minimal height they did not cross the 20m margins with great frequency. Up and down, up and down we rode bordered on our right by Sugar Loaf Mountain before finally reaching the stunning Ewenny valley. Here at last I thought we would get some respite, but oh no, there was now just a progressive up hill slog, no large inclines just a gradual increase in altitude which just seemed to sap my strength and will. Michael acted as the trail blazer apparently unaware of the gorgeous surroundings, between gasps I pointed out a ruined castle which he seemed unable to spot. He then enquired how had I liked the design of the new house we had just passed, what new house I thought? With relief the ruined Llanthony Priory finally came into view and we collapsed into the bar set into the old cellars for a well deserved steak sandwich.
Any belief that this would revitalise me rapidly evaporated as we continued our slow ascent up the valley. I knew the climb proper did not start until the Youth Hostel and steepened at the cattle grid but boy, I was suffering. Vowing never to agree to another cycle trip again I continued as best as I could but I knew that my gear ratios were well below what I normally climbed with. I had no power left in me to cycle harder. We either missed the Youth Hostel or it no longer exists, as the route steepened and with Michael now out of view I started taking increasingly frequent breaks – lets get to that passing place, to the top of this steep bit, thank goodness there is a car coming I’ll have to pull over… Finally the sign for the grid came into view and round the corner was Michael now fully recovered and waiting to continue. “I think we must have done the worst of it now”, he confidently predicted but, misery inside, I knew the contours of the map gathered togethor at this point. As we restarted three girls descended Lord Hereford’s Knob to our gate and walked towards the car park at the pass summit. Determined not to push the bike one metre I continued. Requiring frequent breaks anxiety increased as I wondered whether I would be shamed by the three girls overtaking me. Fortunately the gradient slackened and I was able to cycle the rest of the way to the saddle (520m) between Lord Hereford’s Knob and Hay Bluff. The views ahead were stunning, the flat, patch work quilt of the Wye Valley with a silver streak of the actual river and the brooding black menace of more mountains on the horizon. I pointed all this out to my colleague who seemed to take it in for a millisecond before announcing, “Okay, let’s gets going”. How lucky Michael was that I didn’t realise that at that point we were only half a mile from the English Border otherwise there would have been a short foot scramble up Hay Bluff.
We started our descent down a wonderful straight lane over moorland, not too steep and with good visibility ahead before reaching the sight of an ancient stone circle. The rain and wind started but I was determined to investigate it (not quite sure how to take Michael’s “What’s a stone circle?” comment). There was only a couple of standing stones remaining so I soon rejoined Michael who was huddled by his bike wisely wanting to get off the mountain as quick as possible.
We descended straight into the wind with horizontal rain battering our faces and, despite going downhill, we still had to peddle. For the first time I was glad that I was on a bike and not walking. As we lost altitude the elements lessened and we were soon speeding down a farmer’s lane. Knowing that I descended faster than Michael I found a convenient turnoff into a field to wait for him and waited, and waited, and waited…doubt began to enter my mind , what if he had had a nasty accident? I don’t think I had the strength to cycle back up. A car came towards me and slowed to a stop, surely my worst fear wasn’t about to come true? “Your mate’s fine, but he says you can go down hill quicker than him because you have thicker tyres.” Thicker tyres! How I wish I had thought of that on the way up, “Your mate says that you can climb quicker because you have thinner tyres”.
It was about this time that Michael gave me one of his gel packs, I don’t know what was in it, I suspect they give them to American fighter pilots prior to going into combat, as within ten minutes all fatigue was gone. We were now off the mountain and in rolling farmland again but I was climbing the hills as well as I have ever done, wondering what difference the gel would have made on the way up to Gospel Pass.
The gel was beginning to lose its afterburner effect as we passed a farm approaching the top of yet another hill. Michael shot past, causing a small, brown, yappy dog with a black and white sheep dog following to appear just as I approached. A fourteen year old girl appeared who ineffectually tried to call them off and I decided to push past. At this point a silver hair wolf, (well okay, another sheep dog but coloured grey and black) arrived to see what the fuss was about and him and his friends decided to herd me in. I was more concerned about the small yappy dog as I knew the sheep dogs would be well trained, and forced my way slowly forward. Reaching a gate which I guessed was the end of their turf I took the decision to cycle properly off. The intensity of Old Grey’s barking increased in tempo and I felt a blow to the side of my bike. I turned half expecting to see some mangled remains of Old Grey on the road but he was stood there watching me and I was free. 20m later, there was a thud. I turned to see my pannier on the floor, Old Grey had ripped it form its mounting. I cycled after Michael but he was nowhere to be seen, up the hill, down, and up another before Michael was there waiting, looking pointedly at his watch and making comments about dusk.
We descended into the worsening light and with relief we passed a “Brecon 4” sign and with delight we freewheeled down a two mile hill before rejoining the canal for a flat two mile run in to Brecon. I entered the car park elated, we had done a tough days cycling and emotionally I was in much better spirits than I had been on the way up past the priory.
Reflection
- This was a tough route, our maximum altitude on the 2 Saints Ride is, I think, 320m which is 200m lower than Gospel Pass but it concerned me the amount of climbing that was not apparent on the map and how it drained my energy, leaving me not aching or with a stitch but just feeling that I could not go on.
- Having a map had been essential, on a few occasions we may have got lost had we not had one and on our trip we will need to consult it regularly.
- I had inwardly smirked when I had seen Michael’s super foods thinking that a good breakfast and lunch would do the trick. But, the feeling of running on empty had shocked me and I now believe we should stock up and regularly take them on hilly routes.
- As a group I had no concerns riding with Michael and we had no arguments or anything remotely like. I think however, we may need to remain tighter on ascents and descents in case of trouble.
- Overall, for both of us this was our first 50 mile ride and I think one big milestone on our training.
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