May 27, 2022
Lincoln to Swansea & Llanelli
a detour to The Mumbles
I've a couple of days in Lincoln, hanging out with Ruby and doing this and that, including buying a train ticket down to Swansea, on the south coast of Wales.
It'll be a five-and a-half-hour journey, with two changes en route, but first I have the 5km ride along the familiar bicycle path to Lincoln to get the 9:35 departure. It's sunny with a clear sky, but it feels cool.
I change trains in Nottingham and the carriage becomes realy crowded just before it reaches the Welsh capitol - Cardiff: my birthplace. Ed Sheran is performing and his fans pack the train and the middleaged woman who sits next to me tells me she is working at the stadium. I lose sight of my bike that's leant against the other side of the carriage, only a few feet away.
The train gets delayed and I worry I'll miss my connection to Swansea, but as luck would have it that's also over 10 minutes late and I just manage to hop on before it pulls out of the station. I'm panicking because I want to visit the library in Swansea before it closes at 6:00, with this train is due to arrive at gone 4:00.
The plan is to park the bike in a hotel nearby so as it's not in danger of beng stolen and I reckon I'll have about an hour in the library to get some research done regarding my late dad's early football career.
He signed for Swansea Town FC in August, 1939, when he was 17, but the UK declared war a month later and he never got to play for the first team. I want to see if the local newspaper has any reports of any youth team matches he played in and I've emailed the library, so they're expecting me.
I ride south from Swansea Station down towards the sea front, where the library is located. There's also a row of B&Bs lining the street facing the sea and I pass each one but just see 'No Vacancies' signs hanging in each window. From the depressed state of the area, it looks like they're now catering to long-term resients - either immigrants or the homeless.
With the clock ticking, I pedal back past the library and try the swanky-looking Marriot, but it's full, so head into town and ask in the Premier Inn and Travelodge, which are both expensive (one quotes me 115 quid, without breakfast). Getting desparate, I try the one other hotel, but it's full and hoping to get a deal at the Premier Inn, I cruise back and ask the young woman behind the counter if there's a chance of a cheaper option than the 98 quid she asked for.
She's helpful and says booking online will save me about a tenner. My cheap Tesco phone isn't geared up for that, so she offers to do it on the hotel's computer and types in all my personal details. It takes forever before she tells me my bank will now call and give a code to use to authorise the payment. I point out the call will go to Taiwan, which is clearly not where I am right now, so that's doomed.
Exasperated, it seems best to just pay the full whack. She then asks for some photo ID, which I don't have with me. She then informs me that it's requires it to book me in. Jeez... this fiasco has seriously pissed me off and with the time now five, I give up and walk out.
It's a short ride to the library, where my bike gets locked up near the front doors. I go inside, up the stairs and do some research for the best part of an hour. Unfortunately I can't find any mention of my dad in the August newspaper - or Septmber - with the news being all about the war, with many football games cancelled.
My quest for a room continues. I ride along the pleasant sea front for about 10km to The Mumbles. It's a pictureque resort that's very popular. For some reason there are only a few places to stay. They're all full.
It seems the only thing to do now is get out of Swansea and I ride back to the train station and get a ticket to Llanelli, a seaside town about 30 minutes away. My plan had been to ride there, but not now.
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Once off in Llanelli, I ride into the town centre. It's quiet at this time.
The reception of Travelodge is up some stairs and once there the guy tells me they are full. This is not such a surprise now.
My last option is a Premier Inn on the eastern edge of town, at a busy intersection, and once there the woman and young man behind the glass seem eager to please. They do have one room left. It's not cheap, but by now I'm past caring. Relief washes over me.
The place is a copy of the one in Scunthorpe and there's a pub next door. It's called The Sandpiepr (Brewers Fayre) and is another purpose-built, soulless joint that I find depressing. Things have got to be better tomorrow.
Today's ride: 32 km (20 miles)
Total: 678 km (421 miles)
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