Saturday 9th June

‘Fail to prepare, prepare to fail’, the mantra that I had successfully ignored over the past couple of months had become subtly embedded in my subconscious over the week preceding the Wiggle Dragonride in South Wales. This mental background muzak became ever more insistent as Adrian Lancaster negotiated the traffic on the M4 and on towards our hilly judgment day. We were joined on our adventure by a friend known to one and all as Big Dave. Big Dave had recently completed a West Coast to East Coast charity ride over the Pennines and as such exuded the air of a man completely relaxed with the notion of cycling 128 miles on one day over ten demanding climbs. Likewise Bomber also appeared to be wholly at ease with the challenge that lay before us.

In complete contrast I began to berate myself for all the weeks that I had planned to do a club run, and then go on a little further to build up vital endurance levels, only to find myself reclining in the comfortable surroundings of Caffe Nero supping a coffee along with everyone else, all the while promising myself that next week would be different. As we crossed over the Severn Bridge and on towards Port Talbot it was worryingly noticeable that the landscape either side of the motorway had become somewhat undulating and by the time we reached our destination it was positively mountainous. Payback time had nearly arrived.

Sunday 10th June

And so on the day of the ride, the three amigos got to the start point in plenty of time and we were waved through ahead of our allotted departure time with a group of riders from a Welsh cycling club. Based on the fact that these guys were Welsh and therefore must have local knowledge we spent the opening 5-10 miles trundling along at a reasonably sedate pace behind them until Big Dave got impatient and upped the speed a little to tag onto a slightly fitter looking bunch. The opening  miles passed by without any notable exertions and it would have been easy to feel that perhaps this wasn’t going to be so tough after all. However taking a sharp left turn at a set of traffic lights in the town of  Neath quickly laid that idea to rest.

The road suddenly reared up at an alarming angle, a bit like Everton hill but, at 1.25 miles, somewhat longer. This proved to be an early introduction to an increasingly familiar diet of sharp climb, descent, sharp climb, descent so when the first feed station came into view it was a welcome sight. After a brief food and drink top-up, we made our way on towards the Brecon Beacons and the first long haul of the day up the Black Mountain. It looked mighty impressive, but at 500 m it’s a baby compared to the Dolomite monsters that Ade and Tim climbed in Italy. Nevertheless the 3.4 mile climb tested the legs for a sustained period which was at least partly offset by the sight of riders snaking up the mountain road far ahead and then the spectacular view looking down into the valley and seeing plenty more of the 3000 plus participants just beginning their ascent. The landscape was simply stunning and once we reached the summit the panorama before us made the hard work more than worth the effort. Better still, all we could see on the descent was switchback after switchback on super smooth roads heading back down the mountain and onto the next valley.

The climb had gone better than expected but the descending certainly proved rather more demanding than anticipated. The speed combined with any number of bewildered Welsh sheep meandering around in between the rocks directly adjacent to the road meant that my descending skills were less Vincenzo Nibali and more Great Aunt Fanny. Bomber and Dave coped with the descents far better and on the occasions later in the ride when we came down together it was a case of follow their line and hope for the best.

The Black Mountain climb had split us so we each made our own way on towards the second feed station which was positioned at the top of another long climb of 2.5 miles with a maximum gradient of 13%.  As I crept my way up the ascent  it suddenly struck me that there was barely a noise to be heard apart from the occasional click, click, click of gears moving down to the bottom granny gear. I took my place in a long line of predominately middle aged men grinding away silently and trying desperately to suck up the pain. Finally we made it to the top and the blessed relief of bananas and cakes and the not so blessed relief of yet more gels and energy bars.

Worse was to come though. Bomber had suffered a fairly major mechanical as the two biggest sprockets on his cassette had completely distorted, and therefore he had effectively lost his two lowest gears, which in those mountainous circumstances was a disaster. A roadside mechanic tried to repair the damage but without the spares he needed it was a losing battle. Yet Bomber was not to be defeated, he decided to soldier on in typical fashion and so we set off once again with our biggest challenge fast approaching. The ‘Devil’s Elbow’ climb is relatively short at just under a mile but with an average gradient of 10% and a maximum of 20% (or 33% on the inside line of the hairpins apparently) it was going to be nasty. That particular climb claimed a good number of victims, I saw one guy rolling around on the side of the road clutching his cramped leg uttering every expletive he could think of, and another just ground to a halt and couldn’t get his cleats out of the pedals fast enough with the classic inevitable result. The road was clogged with ‘riders’ who had become walkers.

With that test thankfully out of the way it was a case of just counting down the miles to our final refreshment stop placed carrot-like at the top of Rhigos mountain which entailed another 3.6 mile climb where all one could try and do was find a good rhythm and enjoy the scenery. Bomber received further mechanical assistance at this stop which at least helped on the weary final leg of our journey. One last long ascent which seemed to go on forever and then the final 25 km all down hill to Port Talbot and the finish.

It had been a testing day, particularly for Bomber with his mechanical travails but I think if somebody had pinched his front wheel he would have carried on going with sparks shooting from his front forks on the road. We were all determined to finish the 3350 metres of climbing and so we did, the actual ride time for each of the three of us was roughly about 8hrs 20minutes but with extended food/maintenance stops to seek mechanical assistance our recorded times came in around the 9hrs 50 minutes bracket. It was a tremendous experience and as we left the car park en route to the McDonalds we had promised ourselves the riders were still streaming in towards the finish line. Overall it had been a good effort but it would be great to have another crack at it, maybe we could even get a group together from the club to tackle it next year?  Next time I’ll come ultra prepared - right then, when should I start those hill repeats...?

Adrian Bloxham