Sat in a small cafe in Machynlleth, dripping wet over a strong coffee and a fruit bun with no other customer in sight, does not offer the image of a destination to seek out. To their detriment,  indeed people do not.

My eldest son, Damien was driving down to St.David’s on the southern tip of  Wales to check on the cabbage he is growing there, returning the same day. The plan was to drop me off south of Wrexham from where I could cycle in a wide loop to meet back up with him on his return journey, at Llanidloes in mid Wales.

Nowhere in the UK draws me more than Wales. I have driven through it on numerous occasions, for various reasons, but never cycled it. So the promise of wind and rain did little to dull my excitement as I set off at 9am from Ruabon towards Llangollen in the Dee Valley. Crossing the bridge over the gushing river in Llangollen, folk were already scurrying around with umbrellas. There was a time when to ask a local in North Wales for directions risked finding oneself  deliberately misdirected back to England. With no such worry I asked my way to Corwen.

Llangollen river crossing

Corwen

My cycling legs, little used in recent weeks, were starting to find a rhythm, the sky brightened up a little and the beautiful unspoilt nature of the pastoral landscape drew me on in the direction of Bala Lake. Cars, optimistically carrying canoes and water boards on their roof  racks, were now becoming a regular sight. But by the time I reached there, the headwind had picked up and the rain was slanting across the lake. The pretty town of Bala was bustling, but the action was in the many little cafes as people waited for the rain to disperse. As I stood in the shelter of the Activities Centre to eat  my cheese buttie, I looked across the choppy lake and the little canoes and sailing boats waltzing on the water below me. On a fine day, the setting is very beautiful.

With an estimated meeting time of 3pm at Llandiloes,there was no time to lose. But as I cycled along the Mawddach Estuary I could not resist turning off at a sign indicating a miniature railway. Just down the road I came to Fairbourne village, from where a 15″ narrow gauge railway, built in 1895, runs along the edge of the sea to the ferry which crosses the estuary to Barmouth on the northern side. The village had its heyday in the 1960s/70s, now being a backwater of the Great British Getaway; the few amusements appear quite incongruous on a wet and windy day. the true beauty being in the setting.

Ticket office at toll bridge, Mawdacch estuary

Fairbourne station on miniature railway

View towards Barmouth and Mawdacch estuary

Now I was feeling the full force of the wind, winding along the coast, houses perched defiantly on the cliff edge. Cycling into Towyn, a family were walking along the pavement in shorts, carrying their shoes and fishing nets in their hands, clearly having a great time. Now I was nearing one of my all-time favourite places – Aberdovey. I fell in love with the place when we took our kids there, some 30 years ago. It appears not to have changed in all that time. I would dearly have loved to post photos of the town and the Dovey Estuary, but the mist and rain reduced visibility so much I would do no favours to this magnificent spot.

Ongoing problem in rural Wales

So it was that as I was able to pick up speed with some shelter from the wind, I arrived in Machynlleth at the head of the estuary. I rang Damien and he was only just leaving Fishguard so I had about 2 hours to get to Llanidloes, only 15 miles away over the mountain. I took the opportunity to slip into the cafe for my coffee and listen to the owner’s description of their worst year’s trading in their 6 years of tenure, cheerfully enough delivered.

Taking the mountain road I was delighted by the totally unspoilt landscape, with ever-wider vistas as the road took me up. As I gained height the wind held me back from the front or tried to blow me over from the side. The combination of a dangerously strong wind and some surprisingly steep climbs forced me to walk a little on three separate occasions, something I pride myself on never doing.

At the start of the climb

Reservoirs on descent from the top

By the time I met Damien and my grandson Cole in Llanidloes, it was nearly 6 o’clock and I was very tired though utterly content with the wonderful journey.

The cabbage are growing very well too!

Distance  123 miles

I have received the following report from Tia and Louise at Thamsanqa on how the money raised at the Gala in the Garden concert has been spent:

31 August 2011

Eric Olverson

Dearest Eric

FEEDBACK AND THANK YOU REPORT!! 

Buying casual clothes – the first time ever for some teenagers to buy clothes in a shop.

Eric, your donation from The Concert arrived at a time when we were in dire straits for money. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to receive your donation.The money has been used as follows:

1. School and recreational clothing. .R3,000.00
2. A great deal of the money was spent on food for the four houses. (We currently spend  R3000 per week on food.). R12,000.00
3. We have this wonderful girl-child empowerment programme. The programme is presented to the girls in our homes and to girls in the surrounding community.  We  train the girls  to have more self-confidence and empower them to be resilient and self-sufficient. The programme covers rights and vulnerabilities, education and many other issues that affect the girl-child in society today. Some of the money was spent to partly fund this programme.  R4,000.00
4. The electricity of the four houses was paid for two months. R3,000.00
5. Stipends for the foster mothers were paid for two months  R4,000.00.
6. R2,500 was used for taxi fare for the children, once-off pocket money for the boys and school fees for two children, Thandiwe and Ntombizanelle, so that they could enrol for high school.

Eric, the money was not used exactly as we had planned but  where the most need was at that moment.

Will you please again thank everybody who contributed in any way to such a very successful evening.

Warmest regards

Tia and Louise.

.

Unfortunately, the incredible cycling I refer to is not on my part as I have still not completely got rid of sciatica that has thwarted me now for several weeks. But if you click on 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShbC5yVqOdI

you will see something quite extraordinary.

In case you do not already know, please pardon my persistence if you do, the book I wrote about the trip through Africa is now on sale with the title “A Home to Head for”. It is available through bookstores, Amazon or Authorsonline.com

Leaving the Cherbourg-Rosslare ferry, we were stopped as we were driving out of the Irish port.

“Where are you coming from?” the man asked.

“From Spain, though we have driven through France,” I replied.

“Now there’s a musical lot,” he said. “They are naturally horny, they know their trumpet from their crumpet and they never miss the chance for a good fiddle.”

I was about to drive off when I suddenly had a thought. “Which side of the road do you drive on in Ireland?”

“Ahhh! We tend to keep more to the middle.”

More because of the torrential showers of the next few days than this man’s referral to Irish driving habits, my bike stayed in the car. Meanwhile……

Carole and Phil outside House of Storytelling

Our friends Peter and Phil took us one night to a little thatched cottage lost in the back roads of rural Wicklow.Passing through the  red door a log fire welcomed  us and took the chill off the small, beamed room. The room was quickly filling with young and old alike. Indeed anyone was welcome. Squeezed in together near us was a lady with a violin, a man with a banjo, another with a piano accordion and opposite them a man with a guitar. At 8pm we were welcomed with some sobriety by the caller and reminded of the importance of the practice of friendship. A well worn walking stick was passed round. When you held the stick you had the right to sing, recite or tell jokes, whatever you wanted, or you could just pass the stick on. Jokes there were many of, children played their flutes, an old farmer stood up and recited a long evocative poem from memory and with feeling. For two hours, broken only by a short interval when tea and cakes were passed round, the little cottage wrapped us in its warm embrace as we became part of an Irish tradition going back centuries. As the embers died down, a young boy of about seven came to the front, sat on a chair by the fire and sang to us, his eyes unblinking, the rest of us joining in the chorus.

Children playing outside during the interval.

A welome fire

Finally I got the bike out yesterday. We are now on the Northern Ireland coast, by the famous Glens of Antrim. From the little fishing village of  Clanlough, with the sea so quiet that you could imagine walking across it to the clearly visible Scottish Islands, I cycled along the coastal road which has to be one of the most scenic drives in the world. Opting to take the Torr Head minor road, I found some steep climbs as the road followed the hilly edge. Cows defied gravity on their steep pastures while whole hedges of wild red fuschia brightened the field margins.

View of Cullendun from Torr Head

View over to Scotland from near Ballycastle.

Arriving at Ballycastle I stopped for a coffee and home-made scone. This pretty village has a small passenger ferry to the Scottish mainland, while another offers passage to Rathlin Island nearby, where Robert Bruce, the defeated Scottish rebel, is said to have watched a spider finally reach its goal after repeated attempts and felt encouraged to try again himself.

Passing through picturesque but not spectacular countryside, I legged it towards Ballymoney along the quiet road before veering west again towards  Cloughmills and Broughshane. This led me in the direction of Glencoy, one of the nine Glens, and a pleasant descent into Clancough.

Time cycling: 5hrs 17mins

Distance: 125km

Average speed: 23.7kph