"Pitter patter" went the raindrops. "Pitter-patter
pitter-patter."
“Oh no” said Kerry Froud, “ I can’t stand this” but she got up
and packed up anyway.
The weather was frightful. True mountain drizzly miserable
weather. Time to dig out my serious cycle leggings. Think 70’s purple spandex.
Unfortunately I never got to get a photo of these beauties before they found
themselves in the Oxfam charity bin. To top of the look I wore Tesco’s medium
size ziplock bags inside my shoes. No gear, all the idea.
As I drew ever closer to the challenging mountain-ness of
the mountain pass, a Welsh white van man grabbed my attention.
“you been yer before?” he questioned
“nope, first time”
“ you know it goes up like this?” gestures with his hands, indicating
a very very very steep hill. Maybe slightly exaggerated.
“I can see from my map, but it’s ok…It’s downhill all the
way after that!”
They look at me like I've lost the plot (But then a 26 year
old wearing purple spandex and plastic bag footwear in 2013 is hardly sane). I
jest, but inside quiver with dread. I’m about to cycle up a mountain pass with
what feels like a small herd of elephants on my pannier rack.
As I began the descent I realised that I must have made it
past Gospel Pass. With all the rain and mist I didn't have the opportunity to
appreciate it in all its glory. Despite the weather I thoroughly enjoyed
myself, and was elated at the fact that I had managed to cycle up a mountain
pass!
Descending into Hay on Wye (second-hand book shop capital of
the world) the skies brightened and I began to get a little warm in my purple
leggings and fluorescent yellow jersey.
Here I met Andrew, a keen biker who was
hoping to someday carry out his own long distance bike adventure. He stopped
me to pick at my brains as I was obviously now and expert in the art of cycle
touring. I offered my expertise and to give him an idea of how much weight
I was carrying with me, I suggested he lift the rear of my bike. He tried, then
exclaimed “I had my arm in the wrong gear...Let me try again…My God that’s
heavy!” or something along those lines. Of course if I really was an
expert in cycle touring, I probably
wouldn't be carrying quite so much crap. He later found my justgiving website
and kindly left a donation. What a lovely chap.
‘Food for free’, a mini copy of H.G Wells ‘The time machine,' yoghurt coated raisins (my new addiction) nuts, oats, chocolate, peanut butter
and bread purchased, and it was time for me and
my spandex to bust a groove.
I had a lovely ‘antique’ map for the next stage of the
journey. It was a bit of a risk taking such and outdated map with me, but at
just 99p
from Oxfam, I was willing to take the risk. Perplexed expressions greeted
me whenever I asked folk to clarify directions for me. Looking at the map they
must have wondered how I ever got as far as Wales.
Showery weather provided some dramatic skies looming over
golden fields and quaint black and white cottages.
Hopped into a bush to change
cycle shorts. Saddle sore inducing purple leggings have no place in my life.
Good riddance to bad spandex.
Utterly exhausted from the unrelenting undulating
terrain of Shropshire, I reached my campsite in Bucknell where I had barely dumped my gear
before heading sharpish to the shower. Re-emerging from the dripping excuse for
a shower, transformed into a clean and squeaky muscular goddess…Ahem… I was
presented with a scene of utter carnage next to my panniers. A pile of pasta
and a scattering of oats trailing away towards a scarpering dog with it’s owner
in hot pursuit exclaiming “bad boy! Bad boy!”
But who could be mad at lovely Welsh Roy from Shrewsbury and
his wee dog? Not me. Roy has been visiting this campsite for years. He used to
holiday here with his wife and had such happy memories. But sadly she lost the
battle to cancer two years previously. He still visits the place to come
to her grave and to remember happy times. A wonderful man to chat to, and as we
said our goodbyes he placed £3 in my hand to go towards my sponsorship.
Daily total: 45 miles
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