Trapped in Pentwyn

By: Georgina DuBern, C Group

… but first, the story behind it:

Sandy Ray and Georgina DuBern from C Group booked train + bike reservations from Tonbridge to Llandudno Junction to cycle North to South Wales, which is a 10-day trip sightseeing on the way, returning from Newport.
I used booking.com for the hotels. Sandy discovered by research that the middle of July had been a good time for sunny weather in Wales for the last few years so we plumped for 14 - 23 July. So much for global warming and hosepipe bans in Kent; just connect a pipe from Wales, and there will never be a water shortage. Friday was nice. 

Bodnant Gardens

Seasoned holiday cyclists, we packed our capsule wardrobes and set off to Euston, reached our destination and clogged up our pristine bikes with sand cutting along a path by a golf course near the beach. We stayed two nights at a hotel in Llandudno and cycled south to Bodnant Gardens near Tal-y-Cafn on day two - 80 acres on a hill, old mill, terraces, banks of blooms, gorgeous. Rode round a peninsula north called Great Ormes Head after lunch. Found the cliff railway to the peak but then found the perimeter toll road, which goes anti-clockwise from the pier. We climbed slowly to the opposite northwestern rim, and as the road headed back, a violent wind forced us off the bikes and to shelter against the cliff face. It was very difficult to stand upright. Sandy's visor blew off and was retrieved by a man up the road. I thought this wind was because we had changed directions, but no, a gale had sprung up. We waited until we could inch along the rocks, and once lower down, we could coast back to West Shore. We did not have to pedal back to town with the gale behind us. Found things strewn all over the place in the town. Dramatic. I have wanted to see Llandudno Town Hall because my great grandfather, architect W.F. Potter, says in an 1856 diary that he was working on plans for it as a young man. However this Town Hall was built around 50 years later, a larger replacement.

We travelled South the next day, passing under the towering walls of the magnificent Conwy Castle west of the River Conwy. Stopped at Dolgarrog. On the evening of 2 November 1925, a dam burst above the town. The water rushed down to a second reservoir, burst that dam, and then whooshed down the mountainside, hurtling ton weight boulders as it went. Ten adults and six children were killed, and more would have been, but they were in the cinema, away from the deluge. Aluminium smelting works had prompted the building of a hydroelectric plant there in 1907. This served the public from 1922 and still produces electricity for Llandudno, Colwyn Bay and Conwy. We talked to a well-informed lady visiting the memorial. Everybody was very friendly and wanted to talk on our journey. Cycled on to Betws-y-Coed for lunch. The river crashed over the rocks by the high stone bridge.

By the Swollow Waterfall

We went up the hill to Swallow Falls, where the man in the kiosk said," You won't be disappointed." He was right. The creamy water thundered down the cascades after recent heavy rain sent up spray clouds. We clambered up and down steps to take advantage of the viewpoints. Coasted back to Betws-y-Coed in pouring rain and made for Blaenau Ffestiniog, where we descended a slate mine for two hours, undergoing the Deep Mine Experience for £26. A little wizened old man with a long, straggly beard in a grubby sports jacket demonstrated how roofing slates are split. He said there was a 90% loss. He led us down, down uneven steps to caverns, stopping to tell us stories of the slate history, working conditions, how gunpowder was fused, never dynamite and his piece de resistance was suddenly climbing up the wall on a rope.

Hats on ready for our tour of Llechwedd Slate mine

Several from the group tried it, but all failed. Most slate mines have shut; we import much cheaper Chinese slate, which he said would not last like the Welsh slate that has roofed London for over 100 years. We emerged at 6.00, rigour mortis set in, the place deserted, and so we cycled on to Ffestiniog to our hotel. This was Sunday, and we fell right into the trap of arriving at our hotel and the kitchen was shut. We've done it before, and we'll do it again, I dare say. Had to raid the bar for crisps and snacks.

Llanfyllin Workhouse

We came to Bala for lunch on Monday by the lake and a long chat with the owner of an antique shop in the old English Church. Over the Berwyns to Llangynog on the Tanat for the night. Surely, that must be the longest descent to a town. We saw where the lead mines and granite quarries used to be. The next morning, we were riding past Llanfyllin on our way to Welshpool when we came across a huge workhouse open to the public. It was built after the Poor Laws of 1832 came into effect. This massive stone structure, square with dividing walls within four square areas, was built to house up to 250 from 23 parishes. The enclosed squares were for boys, girls, men and women. The master and his wife (and he had to have a wife) had a house in the central cross. Men and boys broke stones, women pulled oakum, and the girls were prepared for service. There was a school. It closed as an old people's home in 1982. It now has accommodation for activities and is used for community events. Battled on in the rain. We visited Powis Castle on Tuesday at lunchtime and drove through the showrooms. We took the Montgomery Canal to Newtown in the afternoon as an alternative to a busy road, but this path was poor, narrow, and overgrown, and the canal choked with reeds and Himalayan balsam. Strange why boatmen have not used the canal since its renovation. Blood poured down my lower calves below my ¾ trousers, where thorns ripped at the skin. Now, this scarecrow was not only soaked but bloody, too. Funny how we enjoy all this. Arrived like the wreck of the Hesperus at Newtown for the night in a spacious Georgian guesthouse near the River Severn. Our long room had an area with armchairs and TV which led to another room converted to a huge bathroom. This had an elegant stand-alone slipper bath. Devised a plug for it out of a spent teabag and clingfilm. Breakfast was in a large, airy entrance reception room where twelve could sit at a square table covered with starched damask cloth.

Took the A483 over the mountain to Llandrindod Wells. A roadside plaque told of Quakers who went to America after they were persecuted. After Upper Chapel and Lower Chapel, the road was a dream. Enjoyed lunch at the cafe at The Lake. Unfortunately, the bicycle museum only opens on Mondays and Tuesdays, so we had to put up with displays of penny farthings and ordinary things in the window. Found the chalybeate spring and the park where Victorians would take the water. We visited the museum by the Town Hall, Carnegie's residence. The next morning, we rode to Builth Wells on the Wye, had lunch and looked around the town. We arrived at Brecon in good time to meet King Charles and Queen Camilla, but a policeman banned us at the Cathedral gate and asked us pertinent questions about where we had been. The King and Queen had come to Brecon for a Commemoration Service. The policeman refused to tell us what was happening, but we saw it on the Welsh news at 6.00. I suppose he thought we may have been a pair of aged thugs disguised in wet yellow cycling coats with splattered glasses on filthy bikes. We gave it a couple of hours and returned to the Cathedral, looked round inside and already a concert was being rehearsed for the evening. We walked through the High Street and dripped our way around the old Court Room and adjacent museum. The remains of an ancient castle joined our hotel. Rather smitten with Brecon.

Glory alleluia Friday was dry. The Taff Trail took us from Brecon to Cardiff over two days. First, we cycled alongside a decent path by the Brecon Canal, then took to the hills past Talybont and Pontsticill reservoirs. So far, we had not witnessed a pothole in Wales, but the 5-mile stony track between the reservoirs was diabolical, a real bone shaker. Trisha's cafe at Cejn-coed was welcome, but not the hawthorn in my rear tube. We followed signs for Taff Trail to Pontypridd, losing it here and there. Read the sad plaque about the Aberfan disaster of 21/10/66 which I remember well. Heavy with rain and spring water, a coal slag heap slid down, enveloping a school. 116 children and 28 adults suffocated in the sludge. The tips were removed. Stopped overnight in the centre of Pontypridd. Found a fascinating tall stepped stone footbridge over the Taff built by Williams Edwards in 1750 when the lower one was washed away in a storm.

TRAPPED IN PENTWYN

I cannot believe how wrong everything went on Saturday after such a terrific week. The constant rain had set in before we left Pontypridd and did not abate until after we were in bed. We had seen the weather forecast and thought we would cheat and take the train, but the train staff were on strike that day. We were doomed. We were so wet that it did not make any difference when lorries showered us with tidal waves from puddles as we approached Cardiff on the cycle pavement.

Leaving Pontypridd, we found the Taff Trail in a park and stuck to it to Cardiff, where we lost it and took another cycle path. How differently I would remember Cardiff if the sun had been shining and we had maybe enjoyed our lunch outside whilst chatting to locals advising us of the route. Found Cardiff docks and, at a roundabout, took a turning marked Newport. Big mistake. Lost the Rumney road near the coast. We were aiming for Tredegar Park for a visit. Our hotel was just past Newport. We found ourselves on the A48, dual carriageway, fast, dangerous, rain beating down, so we kept to a bus/cycle lane on the left, which came off at Pentwyn, a north-easterly suburb of Cardiff. That was at 1 o'clock. We kept asking the way from locals who would consult their phones, but they all drove cars and said they used the A48 or M4, which encapsulated the place. The only road signs said "through traffic" and led to the dual carriageway or motorway. Squelched our way to a Greggs by a small outlet centre and had lunch. We rode up and down the residential roads trying to find a way out, and at 3 o'clock, we found a young chap serving in the petrol station, and he explained a way to get north of the M4 into the lanes. We did not mind the steep hills and long detour; we had escaped Pentwyn. Missed Tredegar Park and arrived late and saturated at our hotel. We were in such a sorry state, so - hot drink - hot shower - dry clothes - curry - brandy and lemonade - good sleep - on your bike the next morning.

The train left Newport on time on Sunday. It was a great adventure. Roll on the next one—it's probably 307 miles.