The last ride of the Super Galaxy
There was a loud bang as my bike slithered down the icy lane that was beset by December fog in the failing afternoon light. We had left Hyssington in brilliant morning sunshine but, within minutes we had descended into a grey, numbingly cold, blanket of fog which had enveloped us all day.
Rosy cheeked and frozen toed we had paused in Newtown for a breakfast at Evans’ Cafe where the milky coffee warmed us up and the bacon buttee fueled us along the way. We were cycling on the tracks and lanes that form the SUSTRANS network and our aim was to dip our wheels in the sea at Aberystwyth to complete a winter crossing of Wales on our bikes.
My trustee Dawes Super Galaxy had been my pride and joy in the 80’s and had been my only set of wheels as a medical student. Sadly, since then it had dwelled in sheds and garages much loved but seriously neglected. Sally, on the other hand was sporting a brand new set of wafer thin wheels conjured up for a November Birthday. So racy were those rims and smooth tyres that every pothole along the way was a life threatening event.
In the thick fog we coaxed our dim old-fashioned bike lights into action and hoped that the faint glow would be spotted by the cars that hurtled past.
The long descent into Newtown had proved a challenge for my Galaxy and a test for my nerves. It seems that the brake pads had lost their grip as the decades had passed and, even with both brakes jammed on, the foggy descent was made more white knuckle than it should have been by the uncontrolled speed, the twists in the road and the uncomfortable fact that I couldn’t go slower than the cars!
At Caersws I had my first puncture and we paused on the Severn Bridge to fix it. It was then that I noticed the aneurysmal bulge in the wall of the tyre that threatened to derail our winter adventure. But we fixed the puncture, padded the bulge and pedalled on along the banks of the river climbing as we went. With the fog came the hoar frost and icy patches on the lanes which set the heart racing as the back wheel wandered off in a different direction from time to time.
We passed the old Victorian Workhouse at Llys Maldwyn which had finally closed it’s doors in the late 90’s to the institutionalised folk with learning difficulties that had spent their whole lives there. Listed, restored and converted it is now posh flats.
We climbed up into the Hafren Forest hills and, as we did so, the ominous bulge grew bigger and the swelling started to catch on the brake calliper. Quite literally a ticking time bomb!
As afternoon came we began the descent to Wales’ highest village, Llangerig. The damp cold was now penetrating our fleecy defences and we longed for the warmth of the pub. That’s when the aneurysm burst with a sickening bang followed by the instant grating of wheel rim on tarmac. I was lucky not to fall off as I had been swooping downhill ever so slightly out of control due to the dodgy brake pads and frequent patches of ice.
At the pub we used plastic from a milk bottle to contain the new inner tube within the disintegrating tyre. The bodged repair meant we could keep going along our way.
Our route now followed the river Wye but not on the smooth tarmac. Instead, it took the other bank which consisted of gated lanes, tracks and an abundance of potholes. By now our bike lights were all but dead and the afternoon gloom was turning into the early dusk of winter. We may as well have been cycling blindfold!
I am sure it was a lovely route but I saw nothing but fogged up spectacles and the odd car headlight on the other side of the river. Every now and then a gate blocked the road but often it was spotted too late for failing brakes!
By the time we crossed the river to regain the road on the outskirts of Rhayader it was pitch dark and freezing cold. Perfect, as it happens, for the winter fare that was on in town that night. We found a B&B and the owners let us in just as they were locking up on their way to the winter festivities. Being well brought up I slipped off my sodden, road grit impregnated trainers and left them in their veranda just as they locked the door. A hot bath warmed the peripheries and then our thoughts turned to supper.
The nearest restaurant was a Chinese a few minutes away but the walk was on frozen pavements and my only shoes were now safely under someone else’s lock and key. At this point Sally began a search for ‘borrowed’ shoes and returned with a pair of wellingtons she had found in a garden shed. It was the next morning when we discovered she had, inadvertently, pilfered them from a neighbours shed. Her burglary skill meant that we were fed well and avoided frostbite!
Rhayader had a bike shop but not one that sells tyres suitable for bikes of the early 80’s. Instead they sold us an inexhaustible supply of inner tubes which meant that I could enjoy repeatable blow outs on our descent of the Ystwyth Valley regardless of the risks to life and limb.
The next day was clear and cold and we pedalled our way along the frozen shores of the Elan Valley reservoirs until we finally reached the source of the Ystwyth river and the gorgeous descent to Cardigan Bay. It should all have been an exhilarating lunge down a narrow valley in winter sunshine but, as I pointed the handle bars towards the sea, my anxiety started to do overtime. The roads were icy, my front wheel had a proven tendency to explode as the bulge still gaped large and my brakes only had a modest influence on my speed no matter how hard I squeezed.
Sally, oblivious to my rising fears, was on her shiny new racer and had her university town in her sights. She wanted to show me her old student haunts and shot off like a blue rocket careering round corners and revelling in the slanting winter sunlight. Meanwhile my fingers cramped as I clutched the brakes and listened to the tyre wall rub the calliper every revolution. The time bomb was still ticking and another aneurysm grew threatening to pop and send me hurtling off the road or into the river.
Long before we reached the outskirts of the town I had decided that there would be no more bike epics on ageing machinery. A new stead was long over due.
