Just the place name is enough to justify visiting it. Eisteddfa Gurig is 17 miles from Aberystwyth on the A44, and is about 420 metres above sea level. Just about high enough to still have the random snow of Sunday morning unmelted by 3pm. I made a quick snowball (not quite as fun when there’s no-one to throw them at), and headed back.
But turn left towards Devil’s Bridge from the A44 and you quickly end up in the wild, hilly and bogglingly beautiful countryside. I’ve unicycled thousands of miles around in Mid-Wales and never been this way… why?! Once I got to Devil’s Bridge there was a hairpin bend left and a small road going steadily uphill. As the previous experiment worked out so well, I tried this new road too. It was a pretty enjoyable hill, and not quite too steep to be painful even with my short 102mm cranks (they’re best for going fast on flats or gentle hills, but I’m determined to make my legs accept them as a ‘go anywhere’ gear size).
At the top of this climb the rather modest reward is The Arch. A very Welsh monument - it seems to be a slate, erm, arch. Like the end of a barn which someone gave up on building when they realised that it is up a hill miles from anywhere. But now it has picnic benches and public toilets, appropriate to its fame.
This is the domain of the sheep. There are lots of little ones frolicking around, which is always nice. A farmer on a quadbike passed me with one of these lambs held under his arm. Quite touching, assuming that it really was a farmer… and not a (fairly unambitious) sheep-rustler.
Mostly downhill from here though. The weather also went downhill though. The snow which I had gone to find on a sunny, fine afternoon started driving into my ears and eyes. It is limited how much fun one can have when one can barely see the road and one’s face is numb. But it’s all good wholesome fresh air.
The sun did come out intermittently though, and I got back, legs a bit like jelly, and in time to not miss the whole evening service at church. 46 miles, 4 hours, 800M climbing. Nice afternoon.
I leave you with this little riddle near Pontrhydygroes. Eggs. Or No Eggs?
Thought for the day:
Even in a dark tunnel of fear, doubt and self-loathing; where the walls are damp and the shifting ground is uneven and hard; when the light at the end seems to be only a reflection in the darkened windows of your soul and the scratching noises all around make your skin crawl… it may still be that shouting “ping” can make quite a funny echo.
And here was Labour, his own bond-slave; Hope,
That never set the pains against the prize;
Idleness halting with his weary clog,
And poor misguided Shame, and witless Fear,
And simple Pleasure foraging for Death;
Honour misplaced, and Dignity astray;
Feuds, factions, flatteries, enmity, and guile,
Murmuring submission, and bald government,
(The idol weak as the idolater),
And Decency and Custom starving Truth,
And blind Authority beating with his staff
The child that might have led him; Emptiness
Followed as of good omen, and meek Worth
Left to herself unheard of and unknown.
The Prelude, Book Third: 630 - 643
I’m back in Aberystwyth, the sun is shining and I’m feeling pretentiously literate. I’ve had an old copy of some William W. in my bathroom for years to dip into while using the facilities (in a manner of speaking) - but this is the first bit that made me want to quote him. Nice. I can’t claim very much more literacy though.
The conspiring factors of having stupid amounts to do on final-year university work and my inability to make myself do it when I should are making me think more than usual about The Big One (my emphasis). How about this for a 20 000 mile jaunt: through Europe, Asia, Australasia, South America, Africa and Europe again to finish.
Popping in on Timbuktu along the way.
On a unicycle. Carrying all I need to survive.
All I need now is a good, wholesome, moral/ethical reason why taking over a year on an extended holiday jolly is somehow a self-sacrifice and does more good to the lives of others than not doing it. That and money, time and supportive people. Oh well. I’ll write a book about it, with pretty pictures - how’s that?
P.S. True connoisseurs of April Fool’s Day will know that pranks should not be made after noon. So this isn’t one. As on the previous 23 times in my life I didn’t manage to think of anything cunning to do today.
