Two falls, but no submissions.

A bleary eyed Saturday morning started with blue skies, and meeting up with Alan and Dave outside the spar dressed somewhat conspicuously and bike and bag in tow.

Having collected Steve, we headed down to Harlech to meet up with Jon. The first hour was spent trying to set the Sat Nav to go somewhere other than the Overson family home, and questioning why you would make a remote for it so removable and throw-able. A stop for a call of nature and sugary goods saw our illustrious leader set a course, and us head off in the direction we were pretty sure of anyway.

Coming down the hill from Ffestiniog we saw a few bunched riders venturing out. Managing to find the start point without too much ado we changed, packed, and generally made good.

The club fall guy got his duties out of the way nice and early; a dull clattering sound followed and a wave of abuse about new Look cleats - as we turned to find Dave pulling himself up from the floor no more than a bike's length from the car. Bravo, a new record.

At this point Dave is probably wondering whether I will skimp the tyre issue - no, I wouldnt think of it, my shame follows.

The first 20k were smooth, level, rising and falling gently and then the first hill. The kind of hill where even though you know its there it just keeps on coming - the climb back out to Llan Ffestiniog. 8 miles says this graph here, and thats about how far it felt too. Averaging around 10%, glad of the hill sheltering us from most of the breeze, and enjoying the weather as best you can while honking on the bars.

A stop at the first plateau we all caught up and took stock of the situation, Steve rather attached to his bike appeared to be consoling it in some way - but had apparently managed to get his gloves hooked onto the levers.

A rolling hilltop route through the zones where roadside barriers make for obvious scenery and grass goes shades of brown and generally sharp. Downhill and onwards to Bala.

Word went around of a bacon sarnie and a mug of tea at Bala - but with much longing looks no one took it upon themselves to vote with their feet, so the mug of tea lived on in our heads as we made our way down the the lengthy waterway, taking in the oddities of a canoe with a tiny sail, and a waterside path that went uphill.

Leaving Llanuwchllyn the road kicked up, and we were glad of not eating, as it went up, and up again, sharper, and sharper until we were getting shouted at (support) from Alan to stay on. As we collected some other riders along the way. I am left wondering what you put in those wide cotton duck saddle bags with the orange triangles on, and for conjuring that image I almost fell out with Dave for making me giggle while struggling to breath and spin the pedals.

We were joined by motorbikes, who seemed to finding things a lot easier than us, far less grunting, open mouths with dog like sagging tongues with expressions like the lungs wanted to get out and walk (needless to say there were obvious exclusions of Alan and Johnny from this description!). Stopping for food, map, call of nature, I discovered (as we were about to head off) that I had a flat tyre. Winner.

This alone was a hang head in shame moment. Why me. Then to find out I had failed to notice how scant the rubber on my tyres were getting, and to magnify this by Alan pumping up a tube I had with a flat in, and then a tube Johnny had with a flat in... and ... well... not flavour of the month. What can I say - sorry to everyone, except Steve, who headed on to enjoy more 'upness'.

We headed up through 1200 and 1600 feet to find surprisingly a superbly surfaced downhill stretch with some alarming cambers and twists in it, catching us out as we see each other leaning the opposite way to the way the road appears to go over the brow of the hill.

Question; why are cattle grids always after sharp corners on descents?

Catching up with Steve who was reclined on the bank catching a few rays we headed off into the woodland near Myndd Bach, and up to a sweeping descent into Dolgellau.

Johnny fell of his bike, no one laughed, least of all Johnny - but I think Dave felt a little better about it, and muttered something about Look cleats in his further defence. There was no 'kodak moment'.

Feeling the air warm a little as we weaved our way into the town, rain started to fall as we found the first serviceable looking cafe for two rounds of comment-worthily strewed tea, four cheese and ham toasties and a thermonuclear hot ogie for Dave that I am surprised didnt heart burn him into 'taxi for Lee' within the following hours ride.

I for one was thankful of the flat, while dull and monotonous it didnt hurt as much, and there is something very comforting about even grey sea side towns in the rain when you have been struggling to not get off and walk on the hill tops - even if you have to wind your focus back in and try to avoid the wheeled metal boxes as opposed to the four legged legged clouds of the big blue room.

A short climb up before the arrival in Harlech saw us have to wait for a road full of sheep to depart, and then teeter past some rather noisy bulls (they cannot have been - right - who leaves welsh blacks out on a path making cow noises loudly?) - maybe they just had small udders, or maybe the talk of Pamplona and its events made for 'dont stare, ride damnnit'.

Ahhh yes, and finally the climb up to Castell Harlech. 1:4 or maybe 25% sounds better. No? My computer has it down as between 15 and 30 - whatever it was, it was cambered corners, cars coming out of driveways and not the kind of thing you look forward to at the end of a ride - but elated to have done once you are up there.

What a view, as the weather front rolled in over the mountains across the bay we headed down a ludicrously steep back road (which Alan headed back to ride up - and steep enough for me to have to walk/teeter down), to return to the car to get into some dry clothes in enough time to get soaked to the skin.

In true VC Melyd celebrated athlete style we retired to a more local hostelry for a beer and home.

The only downer being it being so poorly supported, that was a shame. A worthy day out, and for me, the longest and highest I have ridden. We stayed on the bikes and conquered the Harlech Triathlon's 126km hard ride in aid of the Rhyl CC memorial fund.

Riders: Alan Overson, Steve Goddard, Dave Lee, Johnny Mainwaring, Anthony Hogbin

Gallery:http://www.vcmelyd.co.uk/gallery_vcm/v/Riding/Road/harlech

Route:
See attached PDF below.