High Level Cycle Touring on the Welsh Border

What are the ingredients of a good adventure? I'm sure there are many different variables, but today's combination of companionship; a journey; an unknown outcome; exploration; good fortune, certainly provided a high-quality experience. And of course, throw into the mix a little bit of physical hardship and some endorphin releasing euphoric relief and you get a feeling that's hard to beat. Something that you can live off for a while, through mental replays and shared stories. Whatever the ingredients of adventure are, a solid breakfast is usually a good starting block - as was the case this morning.

It was a curious start to the day. Our chatty Bulgarian host had us recounting and reliving stories of our adventurous exploratory rock climbing expedition to his country back in 2010. A guidebook to one of the climbing areas has recently been published, so a return visit may be in order, but at the time of our visit, our memories were of a real 'wild-west' country. While we were enjoying our bacon and eggs, outside, a long queue of people had formed down the main street and was still there when we checked out (as well as later that evening when we passed by again!). We were informed that a new dentist was opening today and people were lining up to get registered! It was like something from tales of the great war, where rations were being issued!

Anyhow, well fed and thankfully already registered with a dentist, we set off up the brutally steep hill out of Llangollen. Our chosen 'high level' route, looked to be a good one, once we had reached a 'high level'. Up until then, hard, uphill work was guaranteed. 

Setting off at a steady pace, I tried not to look too far ahead as it was clearly going to be a steep start. After having stopped for a breather, I became aware of an alarming noise coming from my wheels. Looking down, I was surprised to find that my back wheel was rubbing on the mudguard and moving in a very uncircular way. It took a little while to register what was going on, but I eventually realised that my back wheel had worked loose and had basically fallen off! The 'quick release' mechanism had somehow been released, and the wheel had bounced out of its housing. Luckily for me, I was travelling very slowly uphill, rather than discovering this on a steep (fast) downhill section. Things appeared to be undamaged, so after some rapid mechanical checks, we continued onwards up the impossibly steep tarmac; sometimes peddling, sometimes pushing.

Stripped down to shorts and t-shirt in the cool November sunlight, the panorama began to open up as we gained height.

Having mainly cycled in Denmark, Sweden and Finland, (i.e very flat countries), we have not experienced hill climbs such as this and have little desire to seek out many more, but there was a fair sense of accomplishment on reaching the brow of the hill, some 300m above the valley floor.

We had now reached our 'magenta line' that we had downloaded onto the GPS, and which we hoped would provide the high-level circuit back to the waiting van in Chirk.

As well as wide open views, we were delighted to find a cycle route sign, indicating that we were heading on a recognised cycle route. Things were looking up (and considerably flatter for a while).

We enjoyed some much more horizontal and more enjoyable terrain above the Ceiriog Valley, before stopping at a track junction. Our GPS track covered the actual map, so we couldn't see what the terrain should be like on the map. A lady on a horse, who passing by and sensing our indecision, advised against taking the steep track to the valley on account of it being very rough and churned up by dirt bikes. We took her advice and stayed on the tarmac down a long and steep hill to a small village called Pandy. The downhill was tremendous and the kilometres flew by with ease, but the windchill that our speed created had tears streaming down my face and hot aches in my braking fingers.

Following the river valley in a south-west direction, we continued up to the village of Llanarmon Dyffryn Ceiriog, to what appeared on the GPS, to be the end of the road? It was a beautiful and wild valley, that culminated at the small village. Despite its size, it still sported two fine looking pubs which were the source of much temptation to two cold and tired cycle tourers. However, the team consensus was, that if we were to get nestled by the warmth of the fireside with hot soup, we might never get going again, so found instead, outside the church, a bench in the sunlight that had been placed to celebrate the life of one of the villagers - Uncle Ted's - 100th birthday. We made full use and were sure he would have approved of our decision.

Fuelled by peanuts and sandwiches (not hot soup from the pub!), we continued to follow the 'magenta line' on the GPS, despite not being able to see any roads ahead on our other map. (Perhaps it hadn't downloaded properly?). Unknown to us, further adventures awaited as the tarmac ended and the trail continued on an old dirt track. To return the way we had come would have been too far (and a bit disappointing), so we pressed on - onwards and upwards on the ever deteriorating track.

A steep rocky section, lined with gorse bushes had us pushing again for a while.

Then we emerged out onto the tops of wide open moorland, without any trace of habitation, just occasionally a few muddy ruts in the field to indicate the general direction of the path. It was cycle touring, but not as we knew it! Where were we?!

Limited daylight hours and low temperatures kept us moving and despite the tour not being quite what we had anticipated, we could still revel in the views and crystal clear light. A heron flew overhead - surely a good omen. About ten minutes later, we discovered an old tarmac road and followed it at speed, downhill to the valley again, but not before stopping to tighten my handlebars which had started to work loose from the recent bumpy terrain.

We stopped for more layers and a bite to eat in 1976's best-kept village of Glyn Ceiriog. By the river, down in the valley, the low sun was no longer reaching the road, so we followed the main road with down jackets on to Chirk.

Following the river had the advantage of being a gently downhill gradient all the way to Chirk and the final ten kilometers passed by in a blur. When we arrived back at the canal, my knees were so cold I felt like my legs might just seise up.

The sun was setting as we walked down onto Chirk Aquaduc at the end of the trail. It had been a fabulous adventure and the only thing left to do was source some hot food. With the heaters on full blast in the van, we headed back north on the A5 in the dark, stopping for celebratory pizza in Betws-y-coed along the way. Great days indeed...