Builth Wells to Machynlleth

Builth Wells to Machynlleth
Statistics: 57 miles, Maximum speed 46mph, 4 beers

Breakfast wasn't bad but I still think the B&B was a bit weird. After some faffing around we eventually got away about 10am. Early cloud had burned off and was I happy? No, my bloody carts felt like they'd swelled to twice their normal size. I just had to sit down hard and try to forget about the pain. This exit from Builth Wells was a fairly long climb followed by some short rises and descents. The autumnal countryside on the back roads was fantastic. The mixed stands of trees looked like a tourist brochure for the New England fall. Sadly we had already sold our souls to the devil. At Rhayader (land of my fathers) we skipped lightly onto the A470. This large, wide 'A' Road must be minging with traffic on any week day morning but today it was quiet, wide, smooth and pleasant. I managed to settle into a rhythm and the trees passed serenely by. My reverie was rudely interrupted by the sudden appearance of a newly killed fox. Its magnificent russet fur was completely intact and the deathblow had been struck square in the face widening its jaws into a hideous Gerald Scarf gaping maw. We followed the road straight into Rhayader. There was a triathlon in progress and the traffic management looked likely to result in a fatality.

Having already pumped-up a slow flat earlier in the day I had to stop and re-inflate it again. We took advantage of the stop to snaffle down some horrible fizzy drinks and millionaire's shortbread. (Who are you looking at? We are expending 1000,000 calories a day here.) Leaving town we were back on the way of truth and light following the route along 'B' roads through undulating country towards Llanidloes. Some miles down the sunlit road we passed some merry rural types using one of those enormous electric shaver attachments on a JCB to trim hedges. "How charmingly bucolic" I thought (right up to the point where it became clear that the thhhh-duck thhhh-duck noise coming from my back wheel was caused by a large chunk of hawthorn branch attached to my tyre by two large vicious-looking thorns). A good deal of roadside cursing followed while I changed the tube.

I had already mentally prepared for lunch when we reached Llanagurig only to be legged-up by a five-mile on and off climb up to our destination. We stopped at the first pub in Llanidloes (looked OK). "Hello" I said, "do you have a menu?" The barman said they had a beef roast - that or nothing. We had beef roasts. Dave, being a man's man braved the sprouts. I being a glutton's man, ate everything including the pattern on the plate.

The centre of the town had a nice market centre corn exchange thing but we only looked briefly before heading back up that fuc*ing hill towards Machynlleth. We'd worked out that we had a sixteen-mile climb before the apex of the hill at Rhiw Fawr. SIXTEEN MILES! The country, which had offered lovely but limited views through gaps in the forest opened up to show the increasing altitude. Taking the B4518 for a mile and a half we prepared ourselves for half a dozen miles of hell. The actuality was less painful than we had imagined. Some of the sections were horribly steep but there were few false summits. Before we knew it we were shooting down the other side through clouds of midges. There were fabulous views down into the wide valley. I managed 46mph for the first time and (skin flapping) we entered Machynlleth. We stayed at the White Lion Hotel, which looked like a nice pub. I had to run the gauntlet of a lot of knob-ogling slappers as I checked in. While we ate there was a lot of alco-pop based celebration going on for the birth of young man's baby. He had become a big man to the local girls but he looked like a frightened 17 year old to me.