In the UK, there's a tradition of end-of-season hilly 'brevets populaires' (ie rides less than 200k). One altitude point means that Dave Lewis' Trefil Travail shouldn't be too demanding, except that tradition also dictates that these rides should be very wet, extremely windy and the roads covered in slime.
However, Dave failed us this year. He couldn't prevent the onset of a brief Indian summer which meant that many of us were ridiculously overdressed. The start featured many Audax notables grabbing the last few AAA points of the season. There was also a large contigent from local racing clubs.
The first bit of the ride could be thought of as a sort of pocket 'Best of British'; up out of Tongwynlais onto Caerphilly Mountain and down Wernddu, a narrow and potholed lane which hospitalised a rider on the British. On that ride, several plummeters had narrowly missed a white Transit van coming up the hill; as I reached the same point, a white Transit was coming up. There was some discussion later about whether it drives up and down Wernddu every weekend looking for cyclists to frighten, or whether Dave rings them up when he's organising a ride.
I met Rob from the Carmarthen Wheelers on the descent towards Lower Machen, and followed him up the hill to the top of Ochrwyth. Down the 1 in 4, hanging onto the brake levers, and then through Risca; I lent Rob my screwdriver to adjust his gears (not being able to reach the third ring is a slight handicap when you're approaching the steepest climb of the ride). As we pressed on there was a bellow from a side road; it was secret control Timm Frenzel on his BMW. There followed the climb up Blackvein Road to Mynydd Machen Common. I'd never done this climb, because my map tells me that the road is unsurfaced at the top.
Sun was shining through the trees as the road zigzagged up through the forest. Sandra Shaw, leading altitude championship contender, was taking her time, equipped with some of the lowest gears I've seen - a birthday present from boyfriend Mark Houlford, last year's champ. "That's not a gear, that's a winch" I said as I passed, trying not to slither too much on the slippery bits.
The descent was absolutely filthy: full of holes, mud, and slime; I passed Simon Blackburn and John Wilson at the side of the road. John was out on a road bike for the first time and hadn't pumped his tyres up hard enough, suffering snakebite punctures front and rear. At the control Dave Lewis was warning people not to tell Shawn Shaw about the road in case he added a diversion to one of the Wessex rides. On balance, I think my map was right.
A small group of us carried on. I had a close encounter with a diesel spill on one ascent which nearly dumped me in the road; Simon was suffering a bit with his silly big gears. We'd worked out earlier that his gears started where Sandra's left off - he had standard 52/42 road rings on the front, and hers were 40/30/20. She sped past asking if he wanted to borrow a chainring.
John was proving that mountain bikers go fast if you put them on road bikes, as he and Dave disappeared into the distance. I had to stop to take clothes off at the info control. This weather was silly; late October and I was wearing the same as I would in midsummer. Unfortunately, though it was warm, I had the autumn mucus problem: flying snot was probably why nobody spent long on my wheel that day. The next section was a steady climb over open moorland, followed by a long, fast descent into Tredegar: big gear time.
A quick ride up the valley to Trefil for a pub lunch, and I left just ahead of Dave and John. They soon passed me on the Dowlais road, a cue for a poem: "I stood in the ruins of Dowlais/and sighed for the lovers destroyed/and the landscapes of Gwalia stained for all time/by the bloody hand of Progress" (Idris Davies). The landscapes of Gwalia seemed to have recovered pretty well as I took the turning towards Fochrhiw. "Pig hill", it means in Welsh, and I can well imagine it as a pig of a hill in a gale. Fortunately the wind was moderate.
The route followed the ridge road for miles. I kept expecting to be caught by someone, but there was no-one to be seen for miles ahead or behind (Sandra and Simon were already out of sight ahead). Past the tourist attraction of Llancaiach Fawr manor and down into Nelson, and then a brief consultation with the map as I found the one error on the route sheet (a discrepancy in distances). Another long climb in the afternoon sun took me to the top of Mynydd Eglwysilan and a twisty descent down to the terraced streets and post-industrial dereliction of Senghenydd and Abertridwr.
Like the British, this ride repeatedly demonstrates the dramatic difference between the industrial valleys and the ridges: one moment you're riding along urban streets, one or two hundred metres or so of climbing will bring you out onto open, rural moorland.
Another ascent took me to the Rose and Crown at Eglwysilan, where several cyclists (including two Dave Lewises) were trying to recreate the atmosphere of a Cardiff Cycling Campaign or Byways clubrun. In other words, they were getting stuck into the beer.
The last bit of the ride was familiar - up to the woods and down to Tongwynlais. Mark had been first to finish, demonstrating the tortoise and the hare principle: ace Welsh woman racer Clare Greenwood had dropped him on the Blackvein climb, but the racers had spent more time in the controls.
I'll probably ride Trefil again the year after next: apparently the weather is atrocious every other year.
Tom Barrance