Through the land of song – 2008

Caernarfon Castle

W hile my initial thoughts of completing my first long-distance cycling trip were positive, I couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of anxiety leading up to it. No doubt for proper cyclists, this relatively short distance would be more or less just a training exercise for them, to get their bodies into good shape, a distance familiar to them on a weekly basis. But for me, it was a whole new ball game, a big test of my physical and mental strength. There was no certainty that I even possessed any of the requirements needed to successfully complete this 322km unsupported trip. To me, this trip was a pedal rotation into the unknown.

Yet, through all of this uncertainty, a part of me kept saying that I was worrying too much. I knew that my bike was in good condition and well maintained. So, apart from the usual punctures, there shouldn’t be any fears in that department. Also, there were many suggestions and good advice from people who had ridden bikes (as well as advice from people who hadn’t), so I listened gracefully to all of them, allowing them their council. But, in reality, it would inevitably be left to me to choose the best options.

The local bike shop gave me the best advice for most things, stating that good, well-padded cycling shorts were a must-have item (whether a middle aged man in Lycra is a sight to behold, remains a point of discussion). They also suggested that a spare tyre, inner tubes, puncture repair kits, plus an array of small tools and spanners should also be on my list.

Although I would be cycling in some beautifully remote areas of Wales, you are never too far away from small local shops and cafes, so, apart from the odd snack bar secreted on my person, I knew I wouldn’t need to stock up with food for the day. However, securing accommodation for each night would mean me having to book ahead and I thought that this would put too much extra pressure on me to complete a certain daily mileage. So, I decided to carry a small one-man tent. This would enable me to either use one of the numerous campsites en route, or, as a last resort, I could go off-grid and find a quiet place to illegally wild camp.

However, with the addition of a tent come other items that I would need, e.g. sleeping bag, ground mat, hammer, etc. These would have to be the smallest and lightest I could source in order to keep the weight down to a bare minimum. Luckily, these extra items were easily found and together with casual clothing and wet weather gear stuffed unceremoniously into my two panniers, I was ready to go.

The eagerly awaited day finally arrived and after checking everything one last time, my wife, Sue, and our close friend, Liz, jumped into the car with me and we began the 2.5 hour journey up to the beautiful windswept island of Anglesey and its port of Holyhead (Sue would then drive the car back home).

I was confident that I had everything that I would need, but when we were approaching our destination, I realised that I had stupidly forgotten a very important item – my helmet! So, after waving Sue and Liz off, I turned my back on the number of cars making their way to the ferry port and sought out an outlet selling helmets. Luckily, a famous retail store was close by, where I bought the cheapest helmet available and with it securely strapped onto my head and facing south, my adventure began.

Cycling on the old A5 was a joy, with the road being only used by local traffic. The majority of the traffic I could hear was bombing along the A55 North Wales expressway. With adrenalin coursing through my body, it only took me an hour to re-cross the ancient island and reach the outskirts of Bangor, where I turned right on to the National Cycle route 8 and headed for the royal town and port of Caernarfon.

For 13km of this road, I had, over my right shoulder, a fantastic view of the 25km narrow stretch of the Menai Straits, which separates the island of Anglesey from the mainland. These vistas certainly took my mind off my now protesting leg muscles.

It was with much relief when I cycled slowly past the impressive 14th century castle constructed by order of King Edward I and entered the main square in Caernarfon. There, I chose a small café where I had to put my far from perfect command of the Welsh language to good use. The waitress seemed to understand me, so I felt good as I tucked into a very tasty prawn salad.

My choice of destination for the first day was Porthmadog, a beautiful Welsh coastal town 88km away from Holyhead. Luckily, the cycle path from Caernarfon ran at times parallel to the main road and I made good progress on the road and sometimes on the path. I was conscious of the fact that cycling on a main road is not always as safe as you would like it to be, so I thought it prudent to take a small detour up and away from the main road. Unfortunately, my decision didn’t take into account my increasing weariness and the pull up the side of the mountain was a real effort on my now protesting body.

Needless to say, I eventually arrived fatigued in the beautiful town of Porthmadog. After enquiring at the local information centre, I found a beautiful campsite half a mile out of the town. Now, because my backside resembled the Japanese national flag, I decided to walk the half mile back into town, thinking I would fi