October is travel month in Cycling Weekly magazine, and in our fourth and final issue we're staying put in the UK and exploring it's magnificent coastline. This is a short excerpt from the main feature.
Everything started off according to plan: the weather was glorious, the roads smooth and the views phenomenal. Chattering goldfinch foraged in hedgerows beside me while the last swallows of the season bobbed and weaved scouting out a final feed in Welsh airspace before setting off on their 6,000-mile schlep back to South Africa – a tour to put mine to shame. My first feed stop was in Cardigan rather than Cape Town.
In the morning it was obvious from the outset that the imminent problem was not fuelling. I didn’t have to draw the curtains to check the weather because it woke me up. A shrieking 25mph southwesterly – exactly my direction of travel – served as a very effective alarm call.
Still, at least it wasn’t raining. Yet. To say the ride from Cardigan to St Davids was slow going would be to engage in wild understatement. I was pedalling downhill at over 400 watts and barely breaching single digits on the speedometer. I’d wanted a challenge, yes, but this was soul-destroying.
Cycling Weekly Call of the Coast podcast
A change of direction at St Davids, Britain's smallest city, would see me set sail on a wind-assisted eastward tack. But on the outskirts of St Davids, a fine powdery drizzle began to fill the air.
By the time I reached Solva, drizzle had become steady rain, which as I passed through Newgale became torrential. This was no passing deluge; it was set in. Reflecting on the fact I’d come to Wales for a physically taxing tour, I made a note to be careful what I wished for in future. Yes, I had a tailwind now but it was scant consolation.
After a further 50 miles, passing through Haverfordwest and Nabeth, I started to feel very unusual. Although I had very little energy, climbing had offered temporary respite from the cold. Descending, on the other hand, was an extremely distressing affair. I couldn’t generate any warmth at all, so when a sign for St Clears materialised I found myself with no other option than to stray from my Garmin’s route instructions, head into the town and beg for food.
It was here that the gent in the shop queue suggested I’d have been better off riding yesterday. Thanks, mate. Harrowingly aware that I had no means of payment, I took off my glasses and helmet, approached a member of staff and began the pitch I’d been working on in my head for the last two hours: “These glasses, I told her, are worth somewhere in the region of £250 – but they could be yours for as little as one Meal Deal.”
She looked at me nonplussed – as did everyone else in the shop. But then something amazing happened: my desperation elicited the true spirit of Welsh hospitality and kindness. “I’ll buy you a coffee,” said a woman just about to leave. “Oh, here’s 20 quid,” said another gent handing me over a crisp bank note. “Just pop it back in if you’re passing through.” I was moved to the point of tears.
I eventually arrived at our accommodation near The Mumbles just as the sky turned from ashen grey to impenetrable darkness. My photographer was waiting for me, relieved to see I was still alive. “Where have you been?” he asked
“I’ve been crying in St Clears, if you must know. How about you?”
“Well, aside from spending the last five hours driving around South Wales looking for you, I’ve managed to find a place for dinner.” He gestured towards a cosy hostelry overlooking the bay. It looked like the sort of place that sold cheeseburgers and lager.
“Wales never fails,” I replied. “Wales never fails.”
October is travel month in Cycling Weekly. In our first issue, we explored the cyclist's fascination with going uphill. Then we went off in search of new places to ride, exploring Slovenia and Albania, In week three we went off on our gravel bikes in search of adventure Julian Sayarer, while gravel racer Joe Laverick told us why he's never had so much fun on his bike.
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