June 11, 2011
Lydney to Fan Nedd, Brecon Beacons
Day 1
I set my alarm early, and after the usual scrabbling around for missing stuff, was on my way to the station, missing only my cycling gloves. I had to stop at work to print out some maps, so it was a bit tight getting on the train to Didcot, but I made it with 4 minutes to go. My relief as I sat back and watched the train move off quickly turned to frustration when, just outside the station, we came to a halt and sat on the track for ten minutes. I shot off at Didcot and shoved my bike with undue force up and down the steps, but the Gloucester train had inevitably just departed. Cursing Great Western, and myself, I cast around for the next best train, and ended up on one to Bristol. As mentioned, changing trains with a bike can be a bit of a hassle - and taking unbooked trains can be a gamble. You can take bikes on trains without a reservation (and for free) for most journeys (only peak times to and from London are completely restricted, I think), but most trains can only take a finite number of bikes, and then it's luck of the draw whether yours will fit. The Bristol train was jam packed: there was only one bike space free, and there were five of us there wanting to get bikes on board. We did the very English thing and stood around looking awkward for a good minute as the conductor told us this - nobody wanted to put themselves forward. I suggested tossing a coin, but this just lead to more awkward shuffling. The conductor clearly just wanted one of us to get on so the train could move off, so I lept aboard with apologies to those we were leaving behind. I always feel a bit bad in these situations, but I had already missed a connection through no fault of my own and it seems we were just paralysed otherwise. Paralysis of etiquette!
So began a four train odyssey to Lydney. I ended up changing at Bristol, going to Cheltenam (as my bike hung, fully loaded, from its front wheel on one of the strange vertical bike storage compartments they have) where luckily I could take a train direct to Lydney without having to change a fourth time at Gloucester. All of this was quite exhausting, and required lots of quick thinking at stations to find the best train - when I eventually arrived I'd lost just under two hours, it now being past midday. Entertainingly, I never had any problem with the validity of my ticket - although it must have looked like a pretty strange route to take to Gloucester and Lydney.
Undaunted, I set off, and after a little difficulty finding the right road (or indeed the town itself) from the train station, was off through the Forest of Dean. The forest is surprisingly dense and rolls over low hills, making for some pleasant cycling, after a bit of a climb up from the basin of the Severn estuary. I made good pace to Monmouth, climbing up through the little villages of Bream and West Dean, past rhodadendron-filled woodlands. A little rain made me cover up my sleeping mat, but was no problem. Crossing the main road at memorably named village of Sling, I decended on country lanes to the Wye valley, where the eminently cyclable A486 took me north into Wales and Monmouth.
I bought some food in town and pressed on to Abergavenny. The route looked straightforward and was meant to not have to much climbing, but I almost immediately had navigation problems which always seemed to lead me to the hillier roads. I couldn't find the road out to Dingestow, so ended up on a road south of the A40 to Mitchell Troy. I cut through to Dingestow, passing over the dual-carriageway, but immediately went wrong again, heading to Tregare instead of Pen-Yr-Heol. The system of country lanes in this part of Wales seems to be very dense, and the only signs point to larger destinations (Raglan in particular haunted me on this stretch - I exclusively saw signs for this place, even on the tiniest lanes). This is a real problem because even with a map and compass, when you have many small unmarked turnings it becomes very difficult to pick the right one. I found myself choosing a turning, heading in roughly the right direction, and then only discovering my mistake when I actually arrived in the next village. From Tregare I headed up towards Penrhos, but missed the unmarked turning to the west (actually heading north) and ended up popping out on the B4233, only a few miles from Monmouth at Llantilio Crosseney. The main road is perfectly cyclable, but is also very rolling, something that I was finding quite exhausting with my heavy panniers. A particularly big hill lies just before Abergavenny, before a screechingly steep descent into the town.
Abergavenny is actually quite nice. I stopped at an off licence, where I was satisfied to hear good Welsh accents, and bought some beer and more water - Abergavenny is on the edge of the National park, and as I would be bypassing Brecon I suspected I might not get another chance to stock up on booze for camping. I was concerned about the time - it was now after 3 - so I had a very quick lunch by the church and pushed on.
It was with some trepadation that I entered the now single-carriageway A40 into the Beacons - I wasn't feeling like any more climbing over rolling terrain, and I was afraid the traffic would be fast and the cycling hard. But the gradients are very smooth, and the traffic reasonably sane. I reached Crickhowell without incident and transferred onto the cycle-perfect B4558 towards Llangynidr. This is a good, often almost single track road through slowly climbing terrain, and is a lovely way to cross the beacons. Before I knew it I was in Talybont-on-Usk, and was on my way to being in the environs of Brecon by 5pm, which was my original aim. The sun was shining, the mountains looked wonderful, and I pushed on to the little village of Pencelli.
| Heart | 0 | Comment | 0 | Link |
| Heart | 0 | Comment | 0 | Link |
Unfortunately the Welsh lanes were lying in wait! My plan was to cross through the network of lanes, heading west through the village of Llanfrynach to cut across to the A470 while bypassing Brecon. From here I could make my way west to the Black Mountain or the Fforest Fawr. I found the village (without the help of road signs), and continued plugging away to the west, using my compass to make a decision at every unsignposted junctions. I was making good progress to the west, and had travelled some distance, when I was forced back up to the north. I stopped and asked a local guy, dressed all in camo gear, if this was the road leading to the A470 - he looked a bit confused and said that yes, it lead to Brecon in a few hundred yards. I followed on and just as he said, I emerged on the roundabout on the outskirts of the town. Almost an hour of riding and I'd managed to divert to Brecon, which was only a few miles from Pencelli where I'd left the B road!
Cursing Powys council, I cut my losses and headed directly down the A road. It isn't great cycling - the traffic was curteous but very fast, and when the cars are bound by "no stopping" signs the cycling is pretty unrelenting too. I wouldn't say it's unsafe, but it definitely isn't the most pleasant route. After a fast 15 minutes I arrived at the place where I was meant to emerge, and thankfully exited the main road onto the tiny A4125. It was now getting rather late - I'd lost over an hour in the lanes, and I wanted to have a couple of hours of good daylight to wander onto the mountains and find a suitable place to camp. I figured if I set off before 7.30, that would give me plenty of time - but it was now past six and I had a feeling the terrain would become much hillier very quickly. I decided to play things safe and head for the nearer Afon Senni valley rather than attempt to get onto the Trecastle road through Black Mountain, as it would mean another (possible very steep) 10 miles. I spun myself up a long slope on the A road, and then descended into the valley to the tiny, pub-less hamlet of Heol Senni. From here there's just two options: back out the valley mouth to the north, or following it south between growing peaks. I wheeled leisurly past the isolated farms next to the road, and as I crossed a cattle grid and saw the open fell land I knew I was getting close to a good place to park up and take to the hills. An army truck passed (the mountains seem to be heavily used for training), and the squaddie driving gave me an unexpectedly friendly wave and beep of the horn - I took this to be a good omen, and parked up.
The road south along the valley bends sharply, then climbs very steeply to cross the heart of the beacons. I parked my bike just before the climb, and made busy transferring my assorted camping stuff from my back pannier to my little rucksack. Everything else was lashed to the back of the pack, my handlebar bag with valuables was slung over my shoulder, and only my tool kit and helmet was left in the pannier. I debated whether to lift my bike over a farmer's fence to hide it off the road, but figured the wrath of the farmer should he discover my bike had worse odds then the risk of theft in a remote valley, and just left it locked in plain sight (it looked quite surreal from the hilltop). I shouldered my pack, and slowly worked my way up the very steep slope towards the peak to the south - which I've subsequently worked out to be Fan Nedd.
The climbing was tough, and with my legs tired after the 70 miles (with diversions) of riding, I would stop every few minutes to "admire the view" while panting heavily. In my defence, the view was superb, with the sun beaming down on the valley below making it an almost luminous green. I plodded on up, crossing the switchbacks of the road, until I reached a little carpark. A middle-aged couple, hikers, had just packed up and were getting ready to leave - my timing was working out well. I crossed the stile and continued the steep, somewhat boggy climb up to a cairn I could see from far below. I was disturbed only by the unsheared sheep, bounding out of my way. Within 20 minutes I was at the summit, boggling at the view - you can see for miles over the mountains in all directions, and the visibility was superb. The fields and houses of the valley below looked miniscule, and apart from that I could see few signs of human habitation. A wild and remote place!
I set my tent up next to the cairn. I had some reservations about pitching on the summit - for one thing it certainly isn't very stealthy, as you can be seen against the horizon for miles around, and it is also very exposed to the elements. However, it was also the only properly flat ground I'd seen all the way up - the northern slopes are so steep they approach 45 degree angles. It was also dry, and devoid of the tussock grass which seemed to cover most of the rest of the ground. I pitched my tent within a few minutes, and listened to music as I watched the spectacular sunset over the Black Mountains to the west. It was getting extremely cold, so I retired to my tent to drink beer and eat pizza.
Today's ride: 70 miles (113 km)
Total: 70 miles (113 km)
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 1 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |