tinat cymru
words - Stefan Thomas
It was dark – just after midnight and in my occasional glances up I could see the outline in orange lights of (what I’d guessed to be) Barmouth across the estuary. I was very wearily descending the gravel track with Tudor’s red light 20 metres ahead, braking was near impossible on the slippery slate and I was gaining more speed than I was comfortable with getting quickly shaken to pieces. With no notice my front wheel slipped from under me and I managed to dismount quickly before I was thrown into the dirt and my bike skidded ahead. Tudor turns back to see me picking up a large piece of slate and throwing it off the track down the bank next to it while cursing loudly at the wretched path. He asks if I’m alright and I can see his smirk as he’s trying not to laugh at my Basil Fawlty moment. We were just under 200km in and about half way round the TINAT 400.
19 hours earlier, Tudor and I rolled slowly towards the meet up point at Llandrindod Wells. We’d stayed in a chalet a mile out of town. The weather was miserable, the sun had just risen but you couldn’t tell through the amount of clouds and drizzle. I was really hoping the weather would improve, I knew I didn’t have the clothing to deal with 30+ hours of rain, the thought of a cold night in wet clothes was not one bit appealing.
The meet up point was already full of people by the time we arrived, far more than I expected, although this was the start for several rides – 600, 400 BR and 400 BP (the slow one…this was us). Everyone seemed in high spirits and eager to start, crowding around Mark Rigby et al to collect their brevet cards. I noted how different everyone appeared: steel tourers, panniers, aero-road-bikes, fixies… I felt I’d gone a little overboard with 35c knobbly tyres as most were on 28c slicks. I did feel terribly out of my depth, packed with far too much gear and worried that I’d never ridden more than 160km before and was about to embark on more than double it, on new roads and potentially overnight.
The bunch set off and we hung back a little as I was keen to not try and keep to their pace – no way to know who was riding 600 or 400 and with what kind of targets. Before long we had lost sight of a lot of others, on quiet B roads we headed for the first major climb of over 8,000m ascent in total – the devils staircase. I can say that the books do it justice, it used every bit of resilience in me to not put a foot down as I knew I couldn’t get going again. I had left Tudor behind and had a little niggle that I was overdoing it already only 30km in. I waited at the top before we started the fast descent through scenic valleys to Tregaron. Our fuel stop was too long and probably not enough refuelling - the worst of both worlds – and a trend that would continue for a lot of the ride!
The next checkpoint was Llanidloes – this was more familiar territory now as a small group of us had tackled Lôn Las (Cardiff > Holyhead) earlier in the year. Machynlleth climb (and more importantly the descent) was up next and we were still in high spirits and confident. We stopped for a quick sandwich and chips, and bought 4 more bottles of Lucozade sport from the Spar – one thing I would say we were doing right was drinking enough on what had become a scorching day. We cruised through Hafren forest (no time for Osprey spotting this time) and onto Machynlleth. I’m no fan of descents but this one just seems so open and it was such a relief to coast nearly 8 miles from the top. The talk between us had turned to the plans for the road ahead, we were more behind than we’d planned but seemingly had no choice but to continue the next gravel section after Tywyn to make the next checkpoint before it closed at around 11pm. We got a takeaway pizza in Tywyn which was something I’d been thinking (and talking) about since 5am that morning, it was a relief to eat something other than a sandwich, aldi protein bar or sweets.
So, back to where this story started, we were even having doubts that the road was the right route as it seemed too rough even for this event! We eventually exited the rough track ending in Dolgellau with no sign of a check point, we came to the conclusion they’d already upped and left. Dolgellau was … interesting. It was Saturday night at pub closing time and anyone who saw us seemed intent on causing trouble –even a couple trying to chase us down. The rough road and the time of day had really taken it out of me and I really needed a little sleep or at least a sit down and a rest. Tudor had his next amusing moment as at one point I just lay down on a pavement in a cul-de-sac and asked him to keep watch while I slept. Quickly realising this was stupid, we made our way out of Dolgellau to near the Starbucks on the main road in, where we found a secluded spot and caught a few hours of much needed bivvy sleep.
I was already awake when my alarm went off at 2 hours, the midges had been unbearable to try and sleep with. I’d fully encased myself in the bivvy bag but the midges and flies were buzzing around my ears and on my face. Tudor had woken covered in raised insect bites which had presented from the day before and I felt maybe I didn’t have it so bad after all. Back on the road the next challenge ahead was the infamous Bwlch-y-groes. Things didn’t bode well for us as it was 5am in the morning, we were approaching the climb with no breakfast, minimal food and perhaps a bidon each of water. Despite my protests of not wanting to walk any climbs, I barely made it a third of the way up before dismounting and trudged up this menacing hill in the dawn light.
I knew Lake Vyrnwy well - being only 20 miles from my home and this was where we were descending to next, we also knew the shop at Vyrnwy was open 24 hours for this event serving hot food so this was something to look forward to. On the ride beside the lake we rode alongside 600 rider with an Essex accent (sorry can’t remember your name) which was a relief to see someone else from the ride, we hadn’t seen anyone since Tywyn. He broke up the monotony as we made the 5 miles around the lake, he was full of cheer despite having 200 more km under his belt than us, riding all the way up to Caernarfon whilst we were hopelessly sleeping next to a Starbucks. The Vyrnwy shop was full of “600” riders having breakfast baps and burgers. No one else there was a “400”, we were fairly sure we were the last ones left. The hot food was again a great relief after being so hungry since waking up, except I burnt my mouth terribly and this was added discomfort I could really do without.
The next section to Newtown was either really uneventful or I was just so out of it I don’t remember. The lanes became repetitive and any time you came in sight of a flat road ahead the route would harshly turn you off towards the nearest 12% gradient nearby, only to seemingly rejoin the flat road again further on. We ate lunch in Wetherspoons, which was fairly surreal as it was full of people enjoying a sunny summers Sunday afternoon having a Sunday lunch and a pint. I could barely stomach any food despite being so hungry again. I learned on this ride how hard it is to keep eating enough, even for someone likes me who relishes the thought of being able to eat whatever I want after a while staring at a menu of junk food or counter of sweets in the shop everything appears unappetising. This was definitely a moment where I at least was considering getting on the quickest road back to Llandrindod.
Tudor was full of encouragement all the time – we’ve discussed it at length afterwards that he was the mentally strong one on the ride and without this, even all the leg strength wouldn’t have got me to the finish line. His words of support followed by pouring a large bottle of water in my helmet, down my back and chest woke me up for the final leg. What we anticipated to be the “flattest” section turned out to be some of the most challenging. The earlier described profile of meandering and undulating 25km routes between villages only 10km apart was a common theme. We passed Knighton, Presteigne (was desperate to know how this is pronounced) and Kington. Every hill we met we were sure would be the last major climb, as the km ticked up to 370, 380, 390…
We rolled into the hotel 40 hours later, everyone applauded as we dismounted. It was something I wasn’t expecting that made it feel quite surreal. We were greeted by the rest of the group we’d travelled with (they’d tackled the 100km route on the Saturday) who were full of congratulations. Hannah bought us a beer each and it felt hard to drink after eating and drinking so much over the last 40 hours or so. We dealt with the admin – Brevet cards stamped and signed – before getting our complimentary burger. I called my wife and probably had the most normal call of the ride, I’d imagined she’d put up with a lot of either excited talk of what was ahead, becoming slowly more disheartened. I wish she had been there at the finish, and I felt a little sad that I wouldn’t even get to see her until the day after. I really thought we’d want to carry on drinking at the pub but we decided we really just needed some rest and an early night.
I sat later on in the dark in the hot tub at the chalet (our friends doing the 100km really were the sensible ones) I felt proud of what we’d achieved and although this was a ride with more emotional ups and downs than the elevation profile I would definitely be signing up again next year.
