Monday - Day 4 Into Wales

Total distance: 79.27 miles; total ascent 3383 feet; Ave Speed 10.mph; Maximum speed 39mph; total time in saddle 7 hours 54 minutes.


After a luxurious breakfast courtesy of our slightly ‘impatient’ Guest House owner, we set out around 9.30 from Burnham on Sea. It was distinctly overcast and quite chilly, I was surprised we didn’t see any rain, but once again, thankfully our day was rain-free.

First target was Weston Super Mare and after a comfort break at the largest Waitrose I’ve ever seen, Russ skillfully navigated us on cycle paths through the wastelands of WSM’s Council Estates. Once free of these scars, we continued to follow the cycle route effectively adjacent to the M5 until we eventually hit Avonmouth and the excitement of crossing the Avon bridge. This was a particularly novel experience. I hadn’t realized that cycle paths existed across these motorway bridges and it was quite surreal to stop in the middle of the bridge and take photos, whilst the traffic literally thundered past no more than 10 feet away and the bridge swayed beneath our feet.

The nation’s cycle network is a treasure that only some discover. Today I discovered. I was amazed as Russ’s meticulous planning took us through the Avonmouth metropolis, via heavy industry factories and across wasteland usually only ever mentioned when “bodies are discovered by dog walkers”. All these routes are clearly marked, the majority well made and, above all, a real delight to ride on and discover. We never once touch an A road or took our chances on busy junctions or roundabouts. I’m hooked!

Eventually we made the Severn Bridge an experience similar to it’s Avonmouth equivalent, albeit far more intimidating thanks to estuary winds strong enough to nearly knock over the modest Lycra clad cyclist. Once on the other side, we punched the air as we ticked off another landmark – our entry to Wales. However, what had been a previously flat 35 miles then turned nasty. A nastiness that sort of creeps up on you. Gentle slops become inclines, became hills, became mountains - well it certainly felt that way.

We stopped just outside Chepstow race course to call Ally to sort the night’s accommodation and for the first time I realised just how tired I was. As I rested my helmet clad head on the bars of a metal entrance gate to the race courses’ parking area, I contemplated the 25 odd miles we had yet to make to Monmouth – the point where we decided to make overnight stay decisions. I hadn’t hit ‘the wall’ but I certainly wasn’t feeling as spirited and agile as I had when we set out from Lands End. As we traversed the A448 to Monmouth, I marveled at how Russ held the lead and clearly had greater energy levels than myself. I found myself becoming insanely jealous at the fact that he stopped training 6 weeks ago because his knee was giving him jip – just at the time I was ramping up my training to what I had hoped would see my through this ludicrous challenge.

Nevertheless after a couple of banana, pine nut, Red Bull and chocolate Brazilnut stops we finally made Monmouth at which point Russ called Ally to find out what she had been able to sort for the night’s accommodation.

Our original plan had been to stop at Skimforth Castle, some 5 miles north of Monmouth, however I was sorely hoping that Ally had been able to find a wonderful 16th century Inn, with luxurious bedrooms, power showers and a restaurant that specialized in 16oz T-Bone steaks in the centre of town. Not quite. Accommodation awaited us at Grosmont some 10 miles further on, which would take our daily mileage consumption to nearly 80, probably 15 miles than either of us had hoped for.

At that exact moment, I received a call from my very good friend Stu Bayliss, who, by coincidence was on-route to Exeter for a business meeting in the morning and knowing that our possible end destination for the day was Monmouth, had parked up outside Pizza Express in the High Street and had expressed a desire to share a meal with the two cycling nutters. The time was around 6.45. I explained to Stu that accommodation was booked some 10 miles or so up the road and that by pedal that was 1 hour away. Because he is the top bloke he is, this phased him not one jot and we all effectively set off for Grosmont.

Russ was quick to point out to me that with a name like Grosmont, it was hardly likely to be at the foot of the valley and Stu, who had been kind enough to power his 520 BMW Tourer to the end point to check things out, quickly confirmed that after 70 miles, this was not a great place to finish our day. Monmouth to Grosmont added around 800 feet to our total daily ascent.

Ultimately this didn’t matter. The guest house where I’m typing this is utterly charming and run by a wonderful widow how has shown great kindness and hospitality. A huge house, overlooking the delightful Monmouthshire countryside, with more charm and character than Dickens’s finest. Stu has been kind enough to drive us to a pub some 6 miles away where we have been superbly fed and watered and we got our wish for some fresh vegetables – the first of the trip.

So there you have it. Another monstrous day. I’m still in awe of my own capacity to achieve what I have done so far. Tomorrow looks tough – very tough. Although as we are currently so remote, with no WiFi or mobile signal (hence a day late in posting this) we can’t test the altitude climbs for tomorrow via the website Bike Hike. Probably just as well, or I might have just decided to stay in Stu’s lovely warm, comfortable 5 Series and assist him with his business meeting instead…