Lon las Cymru: Day 1

Well, it was finally here. The day we'd been counting down to for over a year and a bike ride, that we'd been dreaming up for over three years was about to commence.

The panniers had been packed for weeks. Regardless, I spent the previous night checking everything was in place and re-packed it all ready for the early departure.

I was wide awake on the first alarm as the apprehension of what was about to begin consumed me. All the training aside, today would be the furthest I have ever rode and I would have to follow it up with four to five equally long rides for the days to follow. The thought of not seeing my boy for almost a week, also hampered my excitement. He's been all for his dad lately and has just started nursery; a daunting journey in itself. As awesome and as capable as my wife is, the thought of me abandoning him for six days during such a new and confusing time of his short life, filled me with guilt.

I spent the couple of hours at home before leaving; being reassured by Vicky that I was doing a good thing and not to beat myself up about going. I gave Jack some super tight cuddles and tried to explain, as best as I could to a ten-month old, that I would be returning.

The ride to Flint train station took about fifteen minutes and I arrived early to pick up the tickets and make sure the online reservation for bicycle storage was all good.

Chris and Ziggy were waiting on the concourse. I was greeted with the usual "Here he is, what time do you call this?"

We joked around on the platform, examining each others luggage set-up's, taking it in turns to lift each bike to see which one was heavier.

We loaded the bikes onto the back of the train, hanging them vertically on a clever, space-saving bicycle rack and took our seats close by.

My wife had bought me a GoPro for fathers day recently; so recent, that I hadn't even had chance to charge it up so I sat next to a plug socket and hoped for a good battery by the time I got to Holyhead in about an hours time. There was a sudden realisation that this could be the last bit of mains electricity that I use for almost a week. EEEK!

I love the North Wales coast and I'd never taken the train this far along it before so most of the journey was spent with my face pressed up against the window, picking out my favourite spots from a different point of view.

We'd picked our official starting point as the port of Holyhead, so as the train came to a stop we made our way to the ferry terminal in a buoyant mood, almost running a red light as we tried to stay together through the town. We set off just after 0800 and followed the first lot of blue National Cycle Network signs taking us away from the hustle and bustle of Holyhead, along the coastal path close to South Stack lighthouse.

The weather gods were with us as the sun beat down on the smooth, bike friendly tarmac of Anglesey's back lanes. One lane seemed to go on forever, taking us miles across the island. If the roads were like this all the way to Cardiff, we'd be there in no time!

We passed through Trearddur Bay, where we all holidayed as children. Anglesey is very nostalgic for me. It was a magical time when I was young staying in our rented caravan on the beach, listening to the seagulls running around on the roof and going for evening adventures, crabbing in the rockpools and jumping down sand dunes.

The quiet lane we'd been enjoying soon merged into a shared footpath and with the hedge rows disappearing, the most amazing view of the mountains of Snowdonia appeared in front of us. Two, white wild ponies stood at the side of a lake in the foreground. Without saying anything, we all simultaneously, stopped to take pictures.

We pedalled on, in the sunshine, into Newborough where we stopped for a fuel up at a tidy little place called the Red Squirrel cafe.

After putting away a breakfast each we visited nearby Bryn Celli Ddu burial chamber which was a small detour along a ride-able path. Anglesey is littered with ancient monuments and I have wrote about some others in previous blogs. This one was really impressive and there was a team in the next field undergoing an archaeological dig to boot!

This site is believed to be the Welsh Stonehenge, with its stones positioned in alignment with the Solstices. In the Neolithic times this would have been a communal place to lay the dead to rest with evidence of both cremation and burial. It would have been well looked after with decorations and cave art found on the original stones. A concrete replica of the 'Serpent stone' can be seen here with the zig zag markings just visible. The original stone, is in the Welsh history museum at our final destination of Cardiff. The site actually dates back to the Mesolithic period, although its purpose is a mystery.

The entrance to the chamber:

Sympathising with Indiana Jones & Co. digging in the neighbouring field, we jumped on the bikes to find some shade as the early afternoon sun began to take its toll.

We rode the short distance to the town with the second longest name in the world. Llanfairpwll to you and me. You can see the full name with English translation above the shop doorway:

After failing miserably in front of some American tourists to pronounce the name fluidly, we moved on over the Menai bridge and headed West along the Menai Strait towards Caernarfon.

The mood was still buoyant as we reached Caernarfon, shadowed by its grand castle as we rode along the quayside. The bike was running like a dream and I felt comfy in the saddle. A folk singer with his guitar entertained a sunglasses-clad audience outside a pub and families ate their fish and chips on the benches keeping a watchful eye on the greedy seagulls.

We had planned to stay in a mountain refuge (Bothy) for the night should we end up anywhere near it at the end of the day. With the afternoon coming to a close and us only being fifteen miles away from it we set out to locate the hillside hovel, which none of us knew the exact location of.

We were now heading away from the coast, climbing the Llyn peninsula towards a place called Dolbenmaen. We knew the bothy was above the village in the hills and if we asked someone then surely they would know what we meant.

The hills around this area became a drag. The steepness of them, an unwelcome sight after eight hours and sixty-eight miles in the saddle. The talking fizzled out the occasional grunt and everyone we asked had never heard of our magical hillside hotel.

Daylight began to fade and the distance between me, who was determined to stop and camp anywhere and Chris, who was determined to find the bothy, became greater and greater until I lost sight of them completely. Resigned to the fact that we weren't going to be finding any bothies as a three, never mind on my own I decided to scan some fields for somewhere to pitch up.

Before I could find anywhere, Chris and Ziggy appeared on the horizon at the end of the lane, looking dejected. We had overcooked it. Trying to find the bothy had zapped the last of our energy and in the process left us no daylight to set up a decent camp. The excitement and adrenaline had taken us a long way but it had wore off now and we struggled to look each other in the eye as we pitched our tents, each blaming each other in our heads for a poor end to what should have been our easiest day.

That night I slept uncomfortably on the hard ground. My mood combined with the lack of light meant I didn't fancy trying out the brand new inflatable ground mat. Any mishaps might have seen me puncture my new kit or lose some small part in the grass so I bit the bullet and slept in my sleeping bag in a saggy, half-hearted tent.

I spent the night having a few words with myself. It was going to get much harder than this. If I was going to see this thing out then I needed to man up and get on with it. I thought about what people would say if I gave up on day one and without too much thought I convinced myself I'd feel better in the morning...