Little did I know as I watched “An American Werewolf in London” back in 1982 as David & Jack jump out of the farmer’s sheep-filled Transit flat-bed and head off to East Proctor, that I’d be riding up to that very road junction 39 years later, staying on the road and keeping clear of the moors and thinking of Brian Glover telling a joke about a crashing aeroplane. (see footnote)

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Thursday before your Saturday event was really not the best time to find out that you weren’t on the entry list. For some reason, mentioning no names, I had applied for a refund for the event a year previously when it had first been postponed. What with my poor memory, and having entered so many events and either had them deferred, postponed, cancelled, refunded or simply projected into a parallel universe, I can be somewhat excused for not knowing everything all the time.
So, I got carried away with the event planning and build up completely oblivious to my actual lack of entry and my approaching non-participation.

It wasn’t even me; it was friends that alerted me to my missing name on the official start list.

A quick email to the organisers about my absent name and their reply soon informed me of my earlier refund and official status now as a ‘non-competitor’ – whoops.

Things were not looking pretty.

Reading the Wales in a Day Facebook page soon made my position crystal clear. There were various posts from people saying they had to drop out and other posts from people saying, “can I have your place?” These posts were swiftly followed up with replies from the organisers saying, no transfers, entries are closed, go away, you had your chance, and so on – often in capital letters.

Things were not looking pretty at all.

So, I decided to “jump on the back” as it were. I’d wait for my team-mates to start and then join them on the road without a number and use public opportunities to find fuel and water on the route, skipping the official fuel stations, forgoing a medal, support, insurance and so forth, in fact, I’d just made a very tough event even tougher.

Things were starting to feel self-conscious about how not pretty they were.

On the Friday morning, a missed call from the organisers then a follow up email said, “do you still want to ride this event?” Talk about a last-minute reprieve. Of course I did, the van was already loaded and ready to go. I whipped out my credit card, re-entered the event and could now get back to worrying about officially riding a 300km event rather than worrying about jumping on the back of a 300km event.

As I mentioned earlier, a group of us from Caerphilly Cycling Club had entered this event for 2020 but it had been postponed to 2021. Now, as the start finally approached, there were three of the GreenMachine heading north to ride Wales in a Day and the forecast was hot – hotter than Lucifer’s armpit apparently…

Jane and I took the mystery machine full of bikes, Shane, Scott and Billy jumped in Shane’s jeep and we all headed north for an exciting rendezvous at the Premier Inn, Bangor.

We stopped briefly in Caernarfon to register, pick up our trackers and maps and, in my case, heap gushing thanks on the organisers for allowing my last-minute entry.

Start time was between 4.00 and 6.00 on the Saturday morning in Caernarfon. So, after an early night, a fitful, sticky sleep and a ridiculously early alarm call we were up, on the road and stood outside Caernarfon Castle ready for our self-appointed 5.00am start.

The happy riders outside Caernarfon Castle.

I must say now, before this post just turns into a description of evil climb after evil climb, that the organisation of this event was wonderfully slick. The route marking was superb from start to finish and I can’t remember a single time when we wondered whether we were still on the correct route. Ok, some people got lost but if you follow a black arrow on a yellow background instead of a yellow arrow on a black background then you’re asking for trouble. Quite frankly, if we were climbing a massively steep hill, we just knew we were on the right route…

To Conwy Fall and bacon rolls.

As the starting time was between 4.00 and 6.00 the start was quite busy. Consequently, we left Caernarfon in a substantial peloton that remained somewhat intact all the way to the first feed station at Conwy Falls, 42km in. The first climb, Lanberis pass, famed for the Yorkie advert was followed by the fast drop to Capel Curig, famed for the song by Half Man Half Biscuit.

He wasn’t really sure why he was doing it again as it had nearly destroyed him last time.

In the cool dawn with the sun just rising and a fine fog in the air the run down the valley was nothing short of ethereal.

It’s a good morning.

It appeared as though every T5 ever made was in North Wales and the lay-bys and car-parks were full of them, some proper campers and some just with tarpaulins over their screens. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until after Bala that I thought it prudent to take a few pictures to record our epic journey so you’ll just have to take my word for it. The fast run didn’t really abate until Betws y Coed (Betsy Co Ed as a small lad from Merseyside) and out onto the A5 and the shortish climb to Conwy Falls and the first feed station.

Queuing not queuing at Conwy Falls.

Despite the availability of bacon rolls and the smell of bacon and the animal desire for bacon, the proximity to the start meant that the queue was massive. Too massive in fact. We settled on just water and set off to Bala, dreaming of bacon or even bacon flavoured water.

To Bala and beyond.

As we left, we caught up a group of riders and I chatted at length with one of them who was wearing the official shirt from the last event. Finding someone doing the event for at least a second time has the potential to be told that it’s not too bad, easier than you think and don’t believe what you’ve read. This chap said it was hard, really hard, and he wasn’t really sure why he was doing it again as it had nearly destroyed him last time. He was clearly a masochist. He was weirdly happy, almost delirious in that close to breaking point way, yet had only just left the first feed stop. I thought it wise to abandon his company lest some of his cheerfulness rub off on me. I could still detect his faint, manic giggling as I took off after the GreenMachine.

We were soon on our way again, chasing Billy in every sense except actually.

There was a theme of the day gaining traction and it started once we left Conwy Falls, rounded a few wiggly bends and then started to climb a flippin’ huge hill – in this instance, Carrog Terrace climb. Billy became a small green speck in the distance as his featherweight bicycle and massive talent came into effect. We ended up on the 500m contour and an undulating route over the picturesque moors (but sticking to the roads) until we finally dropped into Bala and feed station number two. Billy was just wiping the quiche crumbs from his mouth as we turned up and was soon off on his merry way.

We would not see him again; I hoped he would not be set upon by wolves.

Bala was busy but in some ways more organised. A box of quiche, crisps and flapjack was taken from a huge stack and calmly devoured without stressful queuing and clock-watching. Bidons were filled, tailwind added and we were soon on our way again, chasing Billy in every sense except actually.

To Tregynon and tiptops.

Leaving Bala we went up a huge hill. A competitor pushing his bike up the steep incline cast portents on the day to come. We dropped down to the valley bottom and meandered through its undulating beauty. Ahead a fork to the left climbed like a wall. As we approached the route arrow pointed to the right and my heart sang a little relieved song. As we passed the arrow I noticed how securely it was fixed to the telegraph pole. Inside I knew I wasn’t the only one who’d thought of stopping and twisting it to the left.

We rode on and up. It always seemed to be up. Finally we arrived at the foot of Hirnant Pass which was such a sight I simply had to stop and capture its awesomeness. The official photographer did a far better job mind.

Putting down the watts up Hirnant Pass.

It comes as no surprise that the pass has at least three false summits but, despite not hearing the dulcet tones of a corpulent woman, it was finally over and we dropped down to a forestry section that could easily have been Abertysswg and the last leg of trail run we’d done the previous week!

Spot the difference, Hirnant or Abertysswg?

Around Lake Vyrnwy we joined forces with another chap and shared the wind at a goodly pace until I just had to stop and take a photo of the dam. How cruel that I was caught going backwards on the course. The shame of it.

You’re going the wrong way!

By Tregynon we were 137km in and it was around eleven o’clock. The sun had absolutely got its hat on, hip hip hip hooray, was out to play and thoroughly roasting my chestnuts.

The nutrition plan had been pretty straightforward; carry two bidons each with two scoops of tailwind, carry additional tailwind powder, Veloforte bars for munching and top up at feed stations with whatever else I fancied. Scott found me a cheese roll and Drumstick tiptop and some shade near a portaloo – I gave him nothing but hot, sweaty grumpiness.

I left with an ice-cream brain freeze.

Filling bidons at Tregynon. Cool box under table is full of Drumstick tiptops!

To Hundred House

Unsurprisingly, we left Tregynon and rode straight up a hill.

By now it was getting to be obvious that the nutrition plan wasn’t working well. Tailwind just wasn’t cleansing the palate, but was leaving a claggy, sweet residue that, if anything, was making me even more thirsty and dry of the mouth.  Veloforte bars, despite being lovely, were taking far too long to chew to a swallowing consistency and were then being washed down with sweet Tailwind. The need to keep hydrated meant that I felt continually full and in no mood to chew and eat solid food.

We came through Newtown to cheers from our fabulous support crew who’d intercepted us and come for a good wave.

Knowing the route out of Newtown I was somewhat disappointed to see us take a left off the main road that meandered up the hillside and start up yet another steep hill that covered the same climb in about a fifth of the distance – oh well, here we go then.

“Let’s find a coffee shall we?” said Scott. Music to my ears. Of course, finding one was a different story.

Not long after we joined the main road to Llandrindod, Shane pulled up alongside us and enquired of any needs. “Plain water” was the response. He was well equipped and had a tray full in the back. We both downed a bottle and tucked another in the shirt for later. At least the Tailwind clagginess could now be offset by some clear water.

Just as we set off again we were casually overtaken by a small peloton of Wrekinsport and Desert Rats riders. Never ones to look a gift horse in the mouth we jumped on the back and were soon whizzing along towards Llandrindod. When Desert Rats took the wind the pace increased even further and we were flying. Unfortunately I just couldn’t hang on with the increase in pace.

My long-suffering lower back had just had enough and, despite the wonderful tow, I finally had to pull over and swallow some massive drugs to take the edge off.

“Let’s find a coffee shall we?” said Scott. Music to my ears. Of course, finding one was a different story.

At Crossgates, just north of Llandrindod Wells, we did a brief left onto the A44 and then a quick right into the wilderness once more. At Crossgates there was a diner and the diner was open and diners did coffee. The attached petrol station also did water and fizzy things – oh yes!

As luck would have it, Jane turned up to see what we were up to as our trackers had stopped moving. We found a bandana in the van to help with Scott’s surprisingly bright red head. It was no surprise that this had become an impromptu feed station – there were cyclists and ice-creams everywhere, hunting for what little shade there was.

The final run down to Hundred House was narrow and rural, went up, lots, came down, some, but “could have been worse.” In fairness, it could have been flat.

Waiting for a bus and drinking Coke at Hundred House.

There was some shade at Hundred House, ok it was the bus stop but none of us were that picky. The ham rolls were lovely and there was proper full-fat Coke in cool boxes to fill your bottles with. The hand-thrown pies looked amazing but we just guessed there was going to be yet another massive climb the moment we left and for once, we were absolutely right.

To Llanellen

I’m on a Highway to Hay…

We found our nemesis, it lives at ///laptop.belt.scrub and is an innocuous 28.8% section of hill to the south west of Rhulen, somewhere between Hundred House and Painscastle. It doesn’t really have a name but is effectively part of the overall Llanbedr Hill climb. As I rounded a slight right hander I don’t think I could see Scott ahead of me as I think he’d already taken the left turn at the top. The sun was high and the road steep and all the riders ahead looked as silhouettes – they did however all appear to be off their bicycles and that couldn’t possibly be one of us, surely? Eventually it was obvious that I’d ran out of both gears and legs. Now interestingly I’d never walked a climb before and was not au fait with the dismount procedure on such a steep grade. Applying my Engineer’s logic, I decided on two big pushes starting with the leading foot, unclip at the bottom of the stroke and let gravity bring the bike to a halt. It worked flawlessly and there I was, stood on a massive incline about to push my bicycle up a hill for the very first time. I hung my head in shame and hoped never to mention it, oblivious to the fact that it’s here in this very blog.

Rounding the corner there was Scott in the shade of a tree. He’d had to dismount too, hooray! I now felt less pathetic, or possibly equally pathetic – it matters not.

Dreadful news in later despatches from the finish line revealed a clean sweep of dismounts from the GreenMachine. I was in good company.

We completed the main climb, dropped steadily to Painscastle and beyond down to Clyro where another impromptu feed station appeared courtesy of a handy filling station. Many had the same idea. Coke and Calippos were the order of the day to fuel for the impending Gospel Pass.

Who doesn’t like a Calippo?

Clyro was a bittersweet moment. 216km in and heading for Abergavenny. It sort of felt like the home stretch was upon us but we had Gospel Pass to address first.

I’m not sure where Gospel Pass actually starts and finishes but the climbing started at 80m at the Wye in Hay and finished way up at 550m near an ice-cream van.

Scott had a bit of a meltdown and threw himself at the mercy of a couple of supporters who repeatedly doused him with water from what appeared to be their dog’s bowl.

Once we’d left the town we started up the 16% climb until we came across a convenient pull in for my companion to water a tree whilst I was attacked by horse flies, possibly every horse fly. I couldn’t persuade them to take a picture of us so I took one of Scott. I chose not to take one of the horse flies. At this point, expecting the worst, I cadged a happy gel just in case I needed a buzz later.

No flies on Scott.

From this point the climb levels out (a cycling term for keeps climbing) passing the sign to East Proctor and The Slaughtered Lamb before reaching the Ice-cream van. After that there’s a small rise to the summit where I stopped to take a photo and Scott stopped to look knackered. (Scott didn’t have a camera.)

Just taking in the views.

Once over the top it’s a long, gravelly, scary descent pretty much all the way to Abergavenny and Llanellen bar from some minor insignificant lumpiness at the end.

To Chepstow

Jane & Shane were at Llanellen. Whilst there was nothing I needed, I did now have the opportunity to unload all the excess baggage (except my rain jacket) that I’d carried through Wales. About 3kg of Veloforte bars, 500g of Tailwind, power-pack and anything else that wasn’t needed for the last 42km stretch. A bidon was filled with the most evil Cola ever created (which obviously tasted delicious), my stomach was filled with a piece of melon and then we set off for Usk.

For the first time in the event a feed station was not followed by a huge climb. I was thankful for this small mercy.

Fuelling at Llanellen.

The caffeine gel I’d taken on the Gospel Pass seemed to be doing its thing and other than for a grumbling left quad and general fatigue we were flying. Chain Bridge, Llancayo and then Usk was upon us in a moment, familiar roads helping us along and the knowledge of only one more climb of any mention.

Even the finish was on a hill.

Scott had a bit of a meltdown at the top of the Llangwm climb and threw himself at the mercy of a couple of supporters in yet another T5 who repeatedly doused him with water from what appeared to be their dog’s bowl. I can’t remember seeing a dog but I get the feeling it would have been a very happy dog nevertheless.

From the summit of Llangwm it’s almost downhill to Chepstow bar a little lump before the racecourse garage. On the twisties Scott was attacked by an idiot on a superbike who had decided that speed limits, double white lines and the highway code didn’t apply to them. On the downside we weren’t carrying a camera on this event but, on the flip side, judging by his riding skills he won’t be around for much longer to endanger others regardless.

Spotted at Chepstow.

Chepstow now beckoned. A quick climb to the south east of the town and then the long drop into the town centre. A cruel right turn, taking us up yet another hill before salvation and a left and back down to the river. At the lights we met a youngster doing laps of the town to get his distance past the 300km mark. Neat yes, but there are no prizes for the roundest number.

Unsurprisingly even the finish was on a hill.

Definitely the finish.

The final statistics look a bit like this;

296.07 km ridden	4 litres of Tailwind	3 Veloforte bars	1 slice of melon
4539 m of climbing	½ litre of coffee	1 Flap jack	1 Calippo (cola)
194 w average	1½ litres of water	1 piece of quiche	1 Drumstick tip top
12:47 moving time.	1½ litres of Coke	1 cheese roll
128 bpm average heart rate.	1 porridge bar	1 ham roll

Special thanks to Scott & Billy for sharing the pain and Jane, Shane & Emma our wonderful support crew.

Until I did this I thought that Ironman was hard.

Oh, and don’t forget…

“See you next Wednesday!”

In case you haven’t seen the film:
There was this airplane over the Atlantic on its way to New York. It was full of men from the United Nations. So halfway over the ocean the engines run low on petrol so they have to lighten the plane. So they heave out all the baggage, but it’s still too heavy. So they chuck out the seats, but it’s still too heavy! Finally this Froggy steps up and shouts “Viva la France” and leaps out. Then an Englishman steps up and shouts ‘God save the Queen!’ and leaps out. But the plane is still too heavy. So the Yank delegate from Texas steps up, shouts, ‘Remember the Alamo!’ and chucks out the Mexican.

Where we went.