August 4, 1962
Nant-y-Dernol - Bala
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The rain was gone, the valley, though still clad in morning damp showed signs of better to come. In Llangurig, warming up now, I entered a shop for lemonade. The woman behind the counter and her customer, were speaking a strange, exotic tongue, Welsh that is. As a seven year-old, I had been taken on holiday, for a week, to Llandudno, on the North Wales coast. In between getting broiled on the beach, by the rays of a very un-Welsh sun, ,I had been taken on the odd day trip into the native-speaking hinterland. Nevertheless I have no memory of hearing the spoken language back then. This was the first time I had truly heard spoken Welsh. My curiosity was aroused.
We set off again towards Llanidloes. Today, it would not be too far-fetched to request visitors to Llanidloes to set their watches back 50 years. Whether or not this is connected with Llanidloes being close to the capital of the Laura Ashley empire in nearby Carno, I couldn’t say. Unspoilt covers it, if you have a yearning for the immediate post-war and on from that, blond girls, in floral frocks skipping across hay-strewn meadows, their features blurred by dappled sunlight, then this is the place for you. Or for that matter, if you are a blonde girl in a floral frock…..These days Laura Ashley garments* are made by dark-haired girls, who, if they have time for skipping, do so under a fiercer sun. The Welsh factories are no more. Back in 1962, to us teenaged cyclists, Llanidloes* looked undistinguished.
The older Dennis took charge of the route planning on this trip and we travelled on main roads almost everywhere. Back then, traffic was lighter and some cars needed a week’s notice in writing to reach 50mph. To be fair, Welsh back roads are often fiercely steep. At the next junction we turned left and westward to Cemmaes Road. Cemmaes Road is named for the railway or railroad as we also used to say. For a railway enthusiast, as I was at the time, Cemmaes Road scored very highly. Two shiny Great Western locomotives were simultaneously raising steam in the station, as their drivers exchanged tokens, specifically designated metal bars which used to convey the right of passage over a section of single-track line. After a more recent family trip from London to Machynlleth, we and our bikes passed through Cemmaes Road in a more prosaic if more practical diesel-powered train. The station is no more.
Here we ate our packed lunch, before heading at first North-east , then west on the A470, Wales’ backbone road, which runs South to North, from South coast to North coast, Cardiff to Llandudno; the Cambrian Route 66.. Near Dolgellau we turned North-east again towards Bala, its lake and the youth hostel, a former manor house [Welsh: Plas] a couple of miles to the east of the town near the village of Rhos-y-Gwaliau.. A short cut from Dinas Mawddwy to Llanuwchllyn [church at the head of the lake], we ignored. Again, in later years we’ve driven that road and it was a tough climb, even with automotive assistance.
We ate our Youth Hostel dinner, went to bed early, comfortably tired. I was on a top bunk and woke up an hour or so later, spectacularly puking over the side. I groggily dragged myself out of bed, vomited once more on the floor before eventually reaching the toilet. I remember the hostel management being distinctly unsympathetic. Understandably, perhaps, on account of the disseminated technicolour mess, but as I said above, it was the YHA who was feeding me.
*Since I first wrote this, the Laura Ashley organisation has been taken over by a Malaysian company, less interested in floral print, than home design.
*Llanidloes, evidently, is a mini San Francisco, home to the "counter-culture". I apologise for not noticing.
Today's ride: 106 km (66 miles)
Total: 563 km (350 miles)
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