COAST > COAST 2000

Charmouth to Barmouth

Hares:: CRABs' Misguided Tours Inc.

Hounds:

Crabbo
GoldFlinger
Schoolboy's Dream
Chuckpint
Boy named Siew
Beaver

CLICK here for index of Charmouth to Barmouth pix

Saturday 27th May - day one: Charmouth to Shapwick, 43mls - a day of beer.

Getting there had been a bit of an ordeal - shitty weather in London - waving to Rita from the train at Tisbury (see Yar to Char '99) except for Schoolboy's Dream who slept all the way as she was still recovering from some rather unpleasant tropical diseases. The climb up from Axminster was even wetter, but the Dorset road signs gave some amusement (five consecutive junctions reading "Charmouth 1½ miles!").

Out of Charmouth in the morning and into the hill-climbing immediately - Seaborough Hill gave us our first walk of the week. Route finding was a hit-and-miss affair, but we found Crewkerne eventually and soon after, our lunch stop. . .
. . . the Brewers Arms at South Petherton, which by a happy coincidence was hosting a beer festival that day - 14 different pints was a definite pissabolity! We made surprisingly good progress that afternoon in spite of a geographical uncertainty (O.K. we got lost!) in the fens of Somerset.
beer fest

Arriving at the Shapwick Hotel by 4.30 we poured ourselves a complementary sherry (Oh that all hotels were this civilised!), showered, and decided to go out on the town - well the next village actually! Boy named Siew refused to phone for the taxi on the grounds that his stateside drawl would mark him out as a tourist and we'd be charged double, and when GoldFlinger tried one company in Street he was told that Shapwick was a bit too far out for them (check the map - it must be all of five miles!)

Sunday 28th May - day two, Shapwick to Penarth, 31mls - a day of cheese

Somerset levels Windier but less rainy - we passed a hundred or so tandems and other weird and wonderful contraptions going in the opposite direction on the road to Cheddar.
Some gratuitous climbing up the Mendips, and mud bathing - Sooz had the first (and only) bail-out of the week. Had to wait for Schoolboy'sDream, who walked, not wanting to get her new bike wet. An early lunch at Rowberrow before we steamed into Clevedon in time for a pint or two before the ferry.
I was puzzled as to why we had to pay the 75p pier entrance fee in spite of the fact that we had pre-paid reservations for the boat - just how else were we supposed to get to the boat, swim out to it? Included in the service however, was a visit from the pier lady to tell us to drink our pints "bloody quick, the boat's coming. "
beer fest

Shapwick hotel What a splendid vessel is the Balmoral. Not only did her crew manage to dock the tiny thing in a tempest that threatened to blow us clean off the pier, but they helped the ladies up the gangplank with their bikes, and then served us an excellent pint of Guinness to quell any uneasiness we may have about the safety of our voyage to Penarth.
The similarities with Fawlty Towers were obvious from the moment we arrived at the Royal Hotel. It was six o'clock, and our rooms were not quite ready - would we mind waiting a half hour or so over a beer or two? We of course needed no second bidding. There followed a rollicking evening of beer, curry and Mantovani on the jukebox.

Monday 29th May - day three, Penarth to Gilwern, 57mls - a day of faults

Waking up the next morning in our far from faultless rooms to views of the council flats, we were well prepared for more Royal Hotel idiosyncrasies. We would not be disappointed as GoldFlinger spent breakfast time wrestling with a faulty window blind to no avail. The nutty sisters in charge of this establishment served us without doubt the finest "full English" (or should that be full Welsh?) of the week and we set off past the exotic birds of Penarth (some in cages and some on street corners), to find the start of the Taff Trail. It being a Bonk Holiday the tourist office didn't open till 10.30, so our favourite tourist (Boy Named Siew) threw a wobbly and was forced to set off without a personal copy of the trail map. Crabbo lent him his, but it was faulty.

Past the Millennium Stadium, and some of the less salubrious areas of Cardiff, the Taff Trail signs soon became harder to find. The first of many false trails was actually the prettiest part of the trip. Up a steeply wooded road to a hilltop overlooking Caerphilly, where a large group of mountain bikers stopped to pass the time of day and help us find our desired route. When we found it again, far from hurtling off at full pelt into the valleys, Sooz developed a fault of the puncture variety which no amount of pumping and green slime could seal. Much time was wasted changing the tube and protecting the new one from rim damage. No sooner had we found the Taff Trail again than Crabbo got what turned out to be the only other puncture of the week, caused by a three inch nail placed on the path no doubt by a Welsh saboteur. Lunch was taken early and a few pints of Hancock's in the Bunch of Grapes in Pontypridd soon put all faults right. After shopping in the adjacent Halfords for a birthday present for Schoolboy's Dream, we set off through the gypsy encampment for Merthyr Tydfyl, where Beaver had a repeat of the fault with her chain - it kept falling off. "Dam!" said Beaver. From here it was a gentle downhill on the main road to Gilwern - but then UPHILL again on several tiny little roads before we found our overnight accommodation - grrr!

On!On! Crabbo

Tuesday May 30th - day four - The Wenalt @ GILWERN to the Stonecroft Inn @ LLANWRTYD WELLS, 45mls

The day's riding started with a shockingly steep one in four, head-over-the-handlebars descent to the Monmouth to Brecon Canal towpath. It was sunny and bright as Crabbo spun us left and we set to the task of passing forty odd bridges, and some not odd bridges, on the way to our planned lunch destination of Brecon. Despite attempts at running repairs GoldFlinger's bike continued to squeak like a mouse and he was banished to the front of the pack to avoid annoying the shit out of everybody. Stating the blindingly obvious, canal towpaths are flat, which means that there are no hills, no down bits to rest on, which means that the cycling is unrelenting and which after a couple of hours led Checkpoint to suggest that a bit more of the Taff trail and its undulations would be top banana. So top banana it was and we left the enchantingly shaded tranquil 1800's world of canal towpaths until we rejoined it for the last few miles of the morning. Meanwhile Boy Named Siew vociferously remarked that he was not behaving anything like a Japanese tourist as he was engaged in recording the scenery in his mind rather than on celluloid, and any way he has a delightful wife who loves taking photographs.

For lunch in Brecon we repaired to the Clarence Inn downing a couple of well earned pints of beautifully kept draft Boddingtons and feasting on the scrumptious ham, eggs and chips daily special which included apple pie swamped with cream, ice-cream or custard. Miss Beaver spent five pence extra and lashed out on the a la carte menu.

It was a wrench to leave the old world charm of Brecon and we soon found out why the Beacons were so named. Miss Beaver and GoldFlinger egged each other up and down the big sky-long slopes of the Beacons occasionally catching the rest of the PACK for jelly baby stops and mis-directions.

Once, but not twice, in the Danger Zone of an MOD firing range and having not seen anybody else for an hour or so Miss Beaver decided to take a leak in a small hollow at the side of the road. It was exactly the right moment to moon a truck load of Squadies who had materialised out of nowhere. Shortly afterwards a girl and two boy Squadies told us they were going in to the woods to check things out which proves that conversation with Squadies is futile. Suddenly we were on a huge 40mph descent on a writhing country road in to Llangammarch Wells whilst we watched happily a huge storm circle us and hoorah, go away.

Late afternoon and we were stood by the side of the road chatting to our Llanwrtyd Wells guru . She told us yes, they still had the railway station with three trains a day at 11, 4 and 7 to Shrewsbury and Swansea, bog snorkelling was big 'ere, then there's the wobble, asked and was disappointed that we were not staying for man against horse this coming Saturday mind. Then added with some disdain that our destination was past the red house, you can't miss it!!!, past the red kite with the Drovers Inn on our left and Barclays on our right and then the Stonecroft Inn will be down yonder. Luckily "down yonder" was not a country mile but was less than a hundred yards.

Schoolboy's Dream greeted us with the first of many pints that evening to celebrate a wonderful day's riding. No excuses were needed as we stuffed the coffers of the other pubs in the smallest town in Britain.

On!On! GoldFlinger

Wednesday May 31st - a day of rest, 0mls!

Rain, shopping, washing (bikes, clothes and peolple), walking, resting, watching telly and drinking.

Thursday June 1st - day five, Llanwrtyd Wells to Ponterwyd, 40mls - a devil of a day.

Wet! Hangovers, hills, the Devil's Staircase, then mountains, fords and Devil's Bridge. Late lunch at the village shop (bikers welcome) in Pontrhydfendigaid - so unpronounceable that even the locals had to abbreviate it.

Friday June 2nd - day six, Ponterwyd to Barmouth, 48mls - a day of rain.

Copy awaited, but I'm told by the scribe that Schoolboy's Dream said Bollocks quite a lot! pics here

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Saturday 27th May - day one: Charmouth to Shapwick, 43mls - a day of beer.
Getting there had been a bit of an ordeal - shitty weather in London - waving to Rita from the train at Tisbury (see Yar to Char '99) except for Schoolboy's Dream who slept all the way as she was still recovering from some rather unpleasant tropical diseases. The climb up from Axminster was even wetter, but the Dorset road signs gave some amusement (five consecutive junctions reading "Charmouth 1½ miles!").
	Out of Charmouth in the morning and into the hill-climbing immediately - Seaborough Hill gave us our first walk of the week. Route finding was a hit-and-miss affair, but we found Crewkerne eventually and soon after, our lunch stop. . . . . . the Brewers Arms at South Petherton, which by a happy coincidence was hosting a beer festival that day - 14 different pints was a definite pissabolity! We made surprisingly good progress that afternoon in spite of a geographical uncertainty (O.K. we got lost!) in the fens of Somerset.
Arriving at the Shapwick Hotel by 4.30 we poured ourselves a complementary sherry (Oh that all hotels were this civilised!), showered, and decided to go out on the town - well the next village actually! Boy named Siew refused to phone for the taxi on the grounds that his stateside drawl would mark him out as a tourist and we'd be charged double, and when GoldFlinger tried one company in Street he was told that Shapwick was a bit too far out for them (check the map - it must be all of five miles!)

Sunday 28th May - day two, Shapwick to Penarth, 31mls - a day of cheese
	Windier but less rainy - we passed a hundred or so tandems and other weird and wonderful contraptions going in the opposite direction on the road to Cheddar. Some gratuitous climbing up the Mendips, and mud bathing - Sooz had the first (and only) bail-out of the week. Had to wait for Schoolboy'sDream, who walked, not wanting to get her new bike wet. An early lunch at Rowberrow before we steamed into Clevedon in time for a pint or two before the ferry. I was puzzled as to why we had to pay the 75p pier entrance fee in spite of the fact that we had pre-paid reservations for the boat - just how else were we supposed to get to the boat, swim out to it? Included in the service however, was a visit from the pier lady to tell us to drink our pints "bloody quick, the boat's coming. "
What a splendid vessel is the Balmoral. Not only did her crew manage to dock the tiny thing in a tempest that threatened to blow us clean off the pier, but they helped the ladies up the gangplank with their bikes, and then served us an excellent pint of Guinness to quell any uneasiness we may have about the safety of our voyage to Penarth. The similarities with Fawlty Towers were obvious from the moment we arrived at the Royal Hotel. It was six o'clock, and our rooms were not quite ready - would we mind waiting a half hour or so over a beer or two? We of course needed no second bidding. There followed a rollicking evening of beer, curry and Mantovani on the jukebox.

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Charmouth to Barmouth

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