John and Barbara before the start

Barbara enjoys a Welsh vista

Coming back home from school one afternoon, I found John tapping away on Bikemagic, as usual. But instead of the usual grunt in reply to my cheery “Hello” I got, “How do you fancy a week’s mountain biking in Wales this summer?”. Our TransWales adventure had started. Never quite believing that we stood any chance of getting elected for the Bikemagic TransWales freebie, we put in our applications all the same and watched somewhat bemused as our votes went up and down and then, finally, up! Wales was on!

An already-planned trip back to the UK with Ryanair was promptly binned (couldn’t run the risk of getting our precious mountain bikes smashed luggage handlers, John decided that he actually needed three bikes for the trip – one for the Hathersage Triathlon he’d signed up for, one hardtail for touring (?) and the Viper for Wales). So the Channel Tunnel it was to be, with our Ducato van full to the gunwhales (amazing what junk suddenly becomes oh so essential).

Before TransWales we met up with some BM regulars to explore Swinley and the Clent Hills before a final but fateful blast through the Peak during which John fell off looking at the scenery – how else can you bin it on flat even ground? John insists that it wasn’t flat, nor even and that the rock his knee encountered was quite a large one. All well and good, but how the hell were we going to do TransWales with his knee the size of a football?

After two days in bed followed by three sessions spent seeing if he could cycle with just his left leg, John’s verdict was that he’d give the first day of TransWales a go and take it from there…

We must have looked a bit weird limping through registration, but we were there and very excited about it. Our ambitions had however radically altered. It was no longer a case of fighting for a podium finish but rather seeing how many days we would survive. It was great putting faces to the Bikemagic names of Mike and Dave. A couple of happy chappies.

Day 1

Gear choices that first morning included John putting an SPD on the left and a flat on the right as Mr FlatPedalsRule couldn’t get the cranks round with a flat on both sides. Never mind, we were getting used to the weird looks by now. The first day’s linking stage took us, and I believe a lot of others, by surprise. Despite Michael the organiser’s insistence that there was no point putting the hammer down because crossing the line hours before the cut off point at 4pm would count for nothing, it soon became evident that taking the stage at a nice steady pace, enjoying the scenery and even daring to stop and take a couple of pics was not going to let us get in in time. So a rolling lunch “stop” it was, stuffing a couple of rolls in as we pushed our bikes up past the dam. We just didn’t lift off for the rest of the afternoon and got in with 20 minutes to go – not bad considering John managed it pedalling mostly with his left leg and unable to get out of the saddle. Our feelings were however mixed – pleased to have been able come up with the goods and avoid any penalties but somewhat disturbed. Surely this was supposed to be a linking stage, with time to enjoy the views, take photos and so on. None of it. We’d had to put our heads down from about 10am onwards and had felt pretty stressed all the way. If this was what to expect from linking stages, what were the timed sections going to be like?

Day 2

The second morning dawned bright and we stuffed down a hearty breakfast. The food we must say was stupendous all week – many thanks to the caterers who kept us fed and watered in great style.

The very thought of the timed stage at Nant yr Arian frightened me to death. I was beginning to realise that the only thing the French singletrack we’re used to had in common with British singletrack was the name. All the rest – the twisty, turny, gravelly, rocky, slippy, muddy stuff – was more akin to our local downhill course, which I had been carefully avoiding. So much for the preparation…

The stage was a relay, with one rider doing the first half and the other the second. Given John’s handicap, I was faster uphill so tactical choices obviously involved me doing the hard physical sections and John doing the downhill bits. With two flat pedals and his roller-blade knee pads he was caught by his 30 second man whilst pushing up the slight rise away from the start. Sorry Bikemagic… However, he managed to pass a few on the downhill and handed over to me – although I did have to yell like crazy before John realised he had finished his bit. My half went OK – a couple of riders were able to overtake on corners and I was just beginning to enjoy myself on the roller coaster descent when a really aggressive rider started swearing at me rather than politely telling me which side he was going past on. His “passing on the inside” would have pushed me over the edge and was met with “Go on the left!” – I didn’t block him, I just left him the suicidal line…

By the end of the first special stage we were fifth – and nine minutes behind the leaders which kind of put it in perspective for us. We then determined to enjoy ourselves which was easy for the rest of the day with some super natural moorland trails just like the Pyrenean ‘montagne à vache’.

Day 3

The next day’s linking stage up past Barmouth was for me the highlight of the week. The weather was lovely, the riding great fun and the views just breathtaking. It all turned pear-shaped however. As we approached Coed y Brenin, it started to rain. I would have struggled with the rocky trails at the best of times, but with the rain they turned into a slippery nightmare. I was somewhat depressed to learn that the night stage would be taking us over that same rock garden trails. Running shoes and Shimano DXs it would have to be…

What followed must go down as one of my more memorable cock-ups. I’ve never really ridden in the dark before – I can’t see very well at night and my balance goes off. Combined with limited technical repertoire, you can imagine that I was absolutely petrified as I set off with John into the woods on our timed night stage. I had a Silva L1 light fixed to my helmet along with what appeared to be a couple of car headlamps tied to my bars, but this didn’t stop me from getting lost in the woods! Oh, the shame and embarrassment. How the hell did I miss that arrow? What’s more, I didn’t realise my error until I had descended right down to the chapel on the road, necessitating a granny-ring haul back on course.

John knew I’d got lost when riders who should have passed me hadn’t seen me. Still, all’s well that ends well and an extremely fraught me finally turned up – last.

It was at this time that I’d come to the conclusion that French mountain bikers were a totally different breed to their British counterparts. In France there are the Lycra bunch and the Big Air bunch. In the UK the Lycra bunch are into big air in the dark.

Day 4

The next morning dawned wet and we didn’t ride in the dry for more than a few minutes for the rest of the week. The Beast I thought beastly as did the man who catapulted over his bars just in front of me and landed face-first in the rocks. John went into his First Aid routine whilst I patted the man’s hand (not kidding either). Half an hour later we were back on the move, me pushing because I was well freaked out by now. What followed in the Dyfi Forest was later appropriately described by one of the younger competitors as being akin to “eating your own liver – pointless and painful”. Slippery, muddy, steep, straight descents and never-ending granny ring grinds. Still the shower was hot on arrival and the food as good as ever. And the chap we’d rescued at CyB turned up too, albeit with a large sticking plaster apparently holding his upper lip on…

Day 5

The next morning was the CliMachX of the week, with another special stage on that very trail. I got the non-technical climb with some fun, easy roller coaster bits in between whilst John got the BMX track of a descent. He came down grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Happy moments. The link stage was pleasant too that day, farm tracks through the Rheidol and Ystwyth valleys.

Day 6

By now the week was beginning to take its toll. John’s left leg was getting fed up with doing all the work. 15km into day six he sat down at the side of the fifth puddle that had just come over the wheels and claimed he’d had enough. A piece of fruit cake helped, then he began to shiver with cold and decided the best way to get warm was to just get on with it. Which is exactly what we did.

People say that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. We just seemed to go into autopilot, the same instinct that’s got us down off Pyrenean summits in a blizzard when ski-touring. It was just a case of ignoring the fact that each Tarmac road crossed led back to civilisation. Dare I quote Dave Arthur who with his usual dry wit announced later that day, “I used to enjoy riding my bike until I did TransWales”.

There’s not much in the Desert of Wales apart from moorland, conifers and a few sickly looking sheep. John used to work here and resigned one rainy February morning. There would be no quitting this time though. We splashed along the trails/rivers, no longer caring how wet or muddy we got. Feeling fresh on a dry day it would have been inspirational riding. But we were tired, it was wet and frankly after nearly 20 years spent in south-west France we just weren’t used to these climatic conditions any more.

The last stage was run in the evening from 6pm onwards – great if you’d finished the link stage at 3, but not so cool if, like us, you’d got in at around 5. Still, amazing what a cuppa and a shower can do. The system for the final stage was that only the fastest time counted. Most teams set out together with the second rider cruising round in case of mechanical problems. I cruised as John dug deep to find the resources to get himself up the hill in a fit enough state to stay lucid for the descent. By now his knee was allowing slightly more attack both up and downhill and the gap between us and the faster mixed teams was coming down.

Day 7

The final day was a grit your teeth and get on with it day. It rained hard from the start and just kept on raining hard. It was also pretty chilly. We were well dressed but felt sorry for those in shorts – but maybe they’re just harder than us and enjoy sitting at the side of the trail shivering and cursing.

The Builth Wells sign got us grinning again even if we did pick up a few penalty seconds. A warm shower and brew restored our spirits and we sat around drinking tea under portable heaters in the marquee and musing that while John had been the only bearded, limping rider in this marquee at the start of the week, he certainly wasn’t now…

On a more general front, the organisation was fantastic from start to finish. Catering, logistics, campsites and the volunteer team were brilliant. We felt satisfied to have completed every single km of the event but even two weeks later we still remember the slog more than the fun.

Will we be doing TransScotland in 2007? I’ve got the perfect excuse that French school holidays don’t tally with the dates and John doesn’t know if he’ll have dried out by then. But I reckon given a similarly fit Veteran rider to team up with, he’d be sorely tempted…

Thanks to Bikemagic, the TransWales team, the BM members who voted for us and all the cheery riders who turned what could have been misery into a memorable event.

(By the way – if any fellow girlie riders are reading, my ‘bits’ were happy all week on a Selle Italia Bio-Line Lady saddle and Stumpjumper hartdtail.)