UK03: Burning
Cycling LEJOG Days 5-7, Cardiff to Ruthin, and some places in between.
When I set out on my tour of Japan last year, I thought the long hours on the bike would lead to some grand revelations about life. Truth be told, much of the time riding is spent very much in the present. Between filming, navigating new roads, and all the trials and travails of riding, there was nary an opportunity to drift into a state of deeper reverie. The same is true in the UK, and the following is a sample of my inner monologue of the past couple of days.
When will this hill stop? Should I wait to drink the last of my water? When will this hill stop? Is that niggle in my knee temporary, or is it the start of a pain-killer filled odyssey? How come lambs are both cute and tasty? Woah, that truck was close. Was I always this hungry, or is it because I saw that lamb? Why is the Welsh countryside on fire? Hang on, why is the countryside on fire?!
Day 5: Cardiff to Builth Wells, 123km
Enter new characters: Mum and Dad — keen adventurers, never to be left out of the fray. Mum is my OG riding partner, we’ve been riding since before Strava was a thing, and she discovered Rapha yonks before the yuppies of London. It was a great honour to have her along for the first half of Day 5, as we rode gently upward out of Cardiff along the Taff Trail.
I’ve ridden the Taff three times now, and it’s a great trail: A mostly segregated cycle path running the length of the Taff river, eventually joining with National Cycle Route 8, which runs South to North for the entire length of Wales. Mum joined me for about 50 kilometres to Merthyr Tydfil, and saw me off with my 40th sausage role since starting in Cornwall. It was lovely to share the morning with her, riding through the Valleys.
From Merthyr, the trail kicks up sharply into the Brecon Beacons, and if you figure out the correct branch to take, you end up riding across the Pontsarn Viaduct, a magnificent seven span stone bridge that once used to carry trains, but is now the domain of lucky cyclists and walkers.
Up and over the Brecons and you’re back down into the rolling valleys, skimming over the Brecon Canal before eventually criss-crossing the early sections of the River Wye. It was another long day, but with perfect conditions throughout, it was the kind of day that makes you fall in love with cycling all over again.
Five kilometres outside of Builth Wells, I spotted a familiar looking motorcyclist waiting by the side of the road: Dad. He’d driven out to meet me to spend the night, and took great glee in showing me how quickly his motorbike went up the remaining hills to Builth, before treating me to dinner in town. A perfect day of riding, bookended by the brilliant company of my parents.
Day 6: Builth Wells to Barmouth, 130km
The biggest day on paper of the entire trip, a formidable 130km crossing of the Cambrian Mountain range in central Wales.
The day started slowly. Dad and I tucked into a monster breakfast and then parted ways, him speeding back home, me turning slowly northward. Truly solo now.
Keen readers of this Substack might realise that the route I’m taking through Wales on this trip follows closely the route I took through Wales last summer, and so I kind of knew what I was getting myself into: Huge distance and elevation, and some of the most incredible scenery anywhere in the UK. The roads between Builth Wells and Barmouth were a big factor in deciding to ride through the mountains of Wales instead of the flats of the Midlands. As hilly as it might be, it’s an extraordinary bit of riding.
First challenge: get to Rhayader. Not that far, but 40kms of rolling hills, including three and a bit kilometres of ancient coach track (gravel and mud) to navigate. Second challenge: cross the first band of the Cambrians, to get to Machynlleth, the ancient Capital of Wales.
The politics of climate change.
It was somewhere during this second challenge, I noticed a huge plume of smoke rising in the distance, the same area my Garmin was pointing me towards. I realised I was approaching a wildfire, and not a small one. As I got closer and closer, I eventually flagged down a car going the opposite question, and asked something I never thought I’d have to ask in Wales in April: Is this road safe from the fire? I was assured by the driver that it was, but continued with a deep sense of unease. On the one hand I was riding the road I’d based this whole Welsh leg around, and conditions were perfect. On the other, famously rainy Wales was burning in April, a month once synonymous with rain showers. This was just one of the fires raging across the Cambrians over the past few days. A bigger one not too far away still hasn’t been put out.
Challenge three: Climb out of Machynlleth, through the old slate mining towns and to the final Cambrian range. Another lovely bit of riding, but I’d been so slow that the sun was setting by the time I got to the top of the final climb — 100km and 2,200m in the bag.
I donned my head torch and raced down the empty farm track for the final 30 kilometres to Barmouth. I’d hoped to reach the town for sunset, but it was long dark by the time I made the crossing of the historic wooden railway bridge.
I didn’t get to my hotel till almost 10pm. Dinner was cold curry from Co-Op, worth it for that strange and brilliant day of riding.
Day 7: Barmouth to Ruthin, 95km
I woke up, had breakfast, walked upstairs to pack and then fell straight back to sleep. I didn’t wake up again till almost 10am.
Today’s my last full day in Wales, mostly riding through the spectacular Snowdonia National Park, but the first 20 km or so along the magnificent northwest coast of Wales.
The climb through Snowdonia rivalled yesterday’s through the Cambrians, though frustratingly I had the theme song to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang looping round and round my head as I climbed. I’m not quite sure why? Maybe it was the first film I watched as a kid that made cars look fun, and in a similar way, the Snowdonia landscape I was climbing through made driving look like a helluva lot of fun. If I was to film an ad about the joys of driving, I’d do it here.
After a morning full of climbs, the day finished with a BFD (Big F’ing Downhill), to reach the old market town of Ruthin. I’m holed up in the town’s castle, making friends with the peacocks. Another beautiful evening.
In Other News…
In February, I went to Sierra Leone to film a documentary inside the neonatal unit at Bo Government Hospital, where hundreds of lives are being saved each year thanks to the installation of solar panels and batteries.
Most of the babies that go to the ward need fairly basic care (by UK standards at least), things like oxygen and warmth from incubators. Until the solar system was installed, the hospital had an incredibly erratic power supply, with near daily power cuts. Every time the power cut off, babies would die because the machines that were keeping them alive would also turn off. The documentary is all about the amazing medical team at the hospital, and the solar power that is enabling them to do their work. It’s out now, if you’re interested: