Cymru am Byth

The Dragon Ride is one of the major sportives in the UK with over three thousand entrants. The event starts (and finishes) at Pencoed near Bridgend then travels up the Rhondda valley across the Brecon Beacons and down to Neath. There is then an almost interminable climb to the high point of the event at about 1600 feet before descending back to Pencoed. The 190 km route involves a total of approaching 3000m of climbing. It also provides a final opportunity for me to practice what I hope to be doing on a daily basis at the end of next week.

The weather on the day was largely benign with none of the predicted showers actually landing on us. The brisk westerly wind was not quite the problem I had expected in the middle stages and provided welcome assistance towards the end. The organisation was excellent give or take a bit of queuing for the start. The three feed stations were well spaced and provided supplies of bananas, apple pies and crisps. It is not supposed to be a gourmet experience. The route was demanding but scenic. We passed through some remote Welsh villages which established to the satisfaction of those who suspected otherwise that few, if any, of the Welsh still live in caves. There were, of course many sheep mostly on the mountainside. I did spot one sheep grazing contentedly in the back garden of a suburban bungalow. There is no law against keeping pets.

It all went well for about seventy five miles. A group of eight set off together but it was soon apparent that the senior members could not hang on to the (relatively) younger element. Pete had a nasty wheel wobble on one of the fastest descents. Wheel wobble is an unpredictable phenomenon. It is hard to convey the sheer terror of speeding downhill on a bike at 45mph with your handlebars oscillating in your hands at an uncontrollable and ever increasing amplitude. Pete survived, pale but unharmed. I was next. My bike hit a pothole at the start of a steep descent and, seconds later, I was doing 40 mph with a punctured rear tyre. I managed to stop without losing control, changed the inner tube only for the valve on the new tube to shoot out as I took off the pump. I was deciding whether to reach for the puncture kit or to phone the emergency number when loyal friends dragged themselves back up the hill with a spare tube. (Thanks, Adey and Rich). The puncture and the ensuing confusion cost us at least half an hour. It also seemed to sap what little strength I had left, resulting in a slightly disappointing time of just over eight hours.

Congratulations must go to Tim for getting round in 6h 45, waiting patiently for nearly 1½ hours for the rest of us then being too polite or modest to tell us his time. Beer and blackened burgers were later consumed at the excellent Ty Tanglywyst farm. Plans were made, with the help of the beer, which will ensure that we all do much better next year. Jimmy the Snapper was also in attendance and delighted in running in and out of the sea whilst we toiled in the hills.