Cyclokairos

I once went to a reading by Michael Rosen of the book of poetry he had just released. One poem concerned loving your children for who they are, not what you want them to be. The Black Bike, I’m talking to you.

Some years ago, while riding a predecessor of The Black Bike on a bridleway close to Kenilworth Castle, a jolt from the rough ground caused the rear derailleur to be sucked into the rear wheel. The wheel remained true, the derailleur was obliterated. The derailleur hanger wasn’t a replaceable one but rather part of the frame, and was twisted to such an extent that when bent back in position, the dropout and the hole the derailleur was screwed into were seriously misshapen. Misshapen beyond a state I could fix – a new frame then (yes, yes, I know a frame builder could have done a fix but I didn’t much care for the frameset). The frameset had the odd coupling of a thru axle front wheel and quick release rear wheel – with compatibility for both of these, enter a Surly Midnight Special frameset. At first running 700 x 35 tyres and, for me, a too high geared Shimano 105 drive train (50/34 chainset and a 32/11 cassette), over the years it has changed. A 650b randonneur I had in mind but with Surly tubing it was never going to have the liveliness of a Rene Herse. I chopped and changed, adding weight in the process, and became increasingly frustrated with riding it in the expectation of it being a sprightly French cyclotourer. It’s not that type of bike – I need to accept it for what it is. It has the full coverage mudguards, the front rack, the wide 650b tyres, the dynamo lighting of a randonneur but it is a touring, a slow touring, bike. I mean, it says so on the tin:

So a touring bike, and I tour how many times a year? An annual two day trundle around mid-Wales the record shows. Lake Vyrnwy to Hafren Forest and back last time out, this time, the middle bit of Elenydd. I used a Wizard Works saddlebag stuffed to the gills last year, with a Carradice bagman support. I ended up with this, ugly and top heavy:

Since the overnight stay was at a relatively basic hostel rather than a B&B, I had to carry food for dinner and breakfast this year. Panniers on a rear rack (Velo Orange’s Campeur rear rack and a set of small Ortlieb panniers) increased the carrying capacity and brought the extra weight lower. Being very much on trend, and as prone as any in the cycling industry of pursuing a genre within a genre within a genre, Ortlieb calls them gravel panniers. I’ll stick to small. A Midnight Special doesn’t have touring-bike-length chain stays so perhaps with large panniers there’s a danger of heel strike with my UK size 10s, but there is no issue with smaller panniers (each one holds 14.5 L). The rack is an elegant thing – silver, thin tubing – with the lower rail bringing the weight of the panniers earthwards and a platform higher up for further carrying capacity. The tangs have four holes but I removed two to get the rack lower. There’s braze ons to attach the rack to the mudguard, but with three points of attachment already the mudguard is stable enough. I did use the rear most braze on to attach the light that was previously attached to one of the rack mounting braze ons. The light has ended up with its charging socket facing left rather than down – a chance of water ingress? I put some tape over the cover for added protection.

The first day pretty much followed a route I had done in 2019 as part of Pannier.cc’s now defunct Desert of Wales tour – Rhayader to Dolgoch hostel in the Tywi valley. That tour started from the camping spot at Llanwrthwl. I started from the Dark Lane car park in Rhayader (you can park long stay, and if I could figure out the Pay-and-Display machine in a matter of minutes, you’ll have no problem) and instantly I had to retract my criticisms, The Black Bike found its place. Loaded and ridden slow, I could see the best of it, its purpose – a touring bike.

To begin, the gradual climb up the Elan Valley, and, Caban-coch Reservoir, the first of a series that supply Birmingham. The water gets there (70 miles or so away) by gravity, despite it only being 50 m lower. It takes two days to get there and I live close to Birmingham – if I got a move on, I could beat it. Crossing the Garreg-ddu dam, Claerwen Reservoir was next, and sealed roads gave way to dry gravel of all sizes and consistency. I encountered a single and a couple of tourers coming the other way, the usual exchanges: Where have you been? Where are you going? What kit are you using? They were more bikepacking in approach than my traditional touring leanings. My slick tyres drew interest – I find that on dry gravel, small or large, compact or loose, slicks work just fine. Plus, the trip involved a fair amount of sealed roads as well as unsealed tracks.

With the top of the valley reached, a choice at Teifi Pools, and the right one made. A bridleway south looked mtb-territory, later confirmed by the warden at the hostel, and instead a fast-descent-of-a-lane west down to Ffair-Rhos gave the legs a rest. The general store in Pontrhydfendigaid provided a caffeine fix and a sit down, before the last and biggest climb of the day into the northern end of Tywi Forest. Just past Strata Florida Abbey (a ruin since the dissolution of the monasteries half a millennium ago), I picked up a track and followed the course I had plotted on the Ordnance Survey app. Of course these apps don’t tell you conditions underfoot. They seemed far worse than when I came through here 6 years ago. Not wet, but bone dry and seriously rocky in places as I flipped between riding and bikewalking. Oh and steep – invariably when at its most rocky – but having been this way before and the route’s end close, morale was good. With the top reached, there was a rolling plateau of crisscrossing forestry tracks that would have easily led me astray in the absence of a plotted route. Giving lie to the severity of the storms the previous, the forest was littered with numerous prostrate trees. A thought – prostrate, there’s an idea, I’m tired. Well, I was almost at journey’s end. Soon the direction was down, the track spat me out onto a sealed lane, that lost height rapidly as it hair-pinned towards the turning for Dolgoch Hostel.

If you happen to stay at Dolgoch when Derek Payne is on duty, you won’t be disappointed. He proved to be a very hospitable and convivial host, and as a native Welsh speaking, there was opportunity for addressing my mangled pronunciations (as in every single word). There were five other guests, four touring by motorcycle, one a fellow cyclotourist. It was great way to finish the day – exchanged stories between travellers. Serge, the cyclotourist won the FKT (funnist known time) prize. Having recently taken voluntary redundancy, he was filling the gained freedom cycling from Land’s End to John o’ Groats, but not the on-road route, rather the one that ventures off-road in the guise of the GB Divide. Permission to be a pedant – doesn’t a divide denote a watershed? The route, in places, is miles away from the UK watersheds. Anyway, Serge was doing the route in his own inimitable way: two days on the bike, a day, sometimes more, off. And what to do during an off? Well, in Bristol he went to a rave.

Next morning, Serge and I walked the bikes up the silly steep lane I had come down the previous evening and he then took the turn into the forest I had exited – turns out I had been toiling on the GB Divide route. I carried on along the lane to Tregaron, two climbs, two descents, and at the well stocked Spar store topped up the calories and caffeine already consumed for breakfast at the hostel. After Tregaron, it was big-sky-pan-flat riding through Cors Caron nature reserve. Sadly, no birds, literally, not a dicky bird – a five minute sit in a hide yielded zero sightings (disappointing – I had even packed binoculars). This being Wales, flat is rare and ups and downs were the story of the rest of the day. From Ystradmeurig up to the river Ystwyth, and then following it towards its source at Carnbwlchcloddiau. Wooded lanes through Coed Craigyrogof, past Pont-Rhys-y-groes, and a track through Coed Hafod. 

Then the Vulcan landscape past Cwmystwyth and its abandoned lead mine – the head wind through the valley making my usual sedate touring pace close to glacial. Heading out of the valley, barren become verdant, as a ribbon of tarmac weaved through moorland.

Rhayader was now close but rather than keep on the same road, at the head of the Elan valley, a right turn and a completion of the full set of reservoirs – Craig Goch, Penygarreg, and Garreg-ddu added to the two from yesterday. At the Garreg-ddu dam, the welcome sight of an ice cream van. I was parched and water was primarily on my mind but I did indulge in something more calorific.

The Black Bike – reconciliation.