Who have been the greatest ever cycling club? It's an illustrious title that bears some consideration. ACBB, the Athletic Club of Boulogne-Billancourt in the Paris suburbs who launched the careers of many great anglophone riders in continental Europe? Manchester Wheelers who dominated the domestic scene in the later half of the last century. Or maybe the likes of L39ION of Los Angeles or Bonga Cycling Academy in Cape Town doing so much to promote more diversity in our sport? But when you ask which club can boast a club run for road riders where you need to use an old pallet to traverse a drainage ditch so many otherwise shining stars fall by the wayside.
And so to a bright Sunday morning with a hint of Spring warmth where we gathered with some expectation of a perhaps quirky ride penned by the Audax King himself. Does riding hundreds of miles through the night really does cause the cerebral damage you’d assume it does? We would soon find out.
We started gently, Steven, Nige, Dave and myself. Rolling eastward to the first small fold in the profile at Pentyrch. Swinging left at Taffs Well we rode through Pontypridd until being rudely interrupted by an innocuous looking turn into a housing estate which turned out to be the 15%+ climb up to Llanwono.
We knew Bedlinog would provide the next challenge, but rather than follow the smooth, surfaced road routes that some tediously boring clubs (Wenvoe Wheelers) would choose, Dave had dropped a piece of limp spaghetti on his Rhondda Landranger and found an interesting collection of tree roots coated in a thin sheen of tarmac that without doubt would form the bumpiest section of any “road” ridden by any cyclist here, or in Northern France today.
New route up Bedlinog missing the fun bit through the village tamed the usual sting, but some people had skimped on a 5th Weetabix earlier and were beginning to dream of the promised Cheesecake Factory stop. More interesting paths and tracks, and naturally, stairs, grass and that pallet in a dried-up stream. Finally navigating the last couple of turns the only thought was chocolate, strawberry or forest fruits. Pity no one had thought to check the cheesecake shop was open. But not to worry, there’s a Greggs 50 yards down the road. Also closed. Down into Merthyr in search of sustenance, to find it looking like a scene from 28 Days Later. Well, even more so than usual, this time even with all the people gone too. And nothing open.
A suprisingly well-stocked Premier yielded sandwiches, Coke, and what Steven informs me was the worst coffee he’d tasted since 1975 (at his 30th birthday party). Then back home through Aberfan, Pontypridd and Llantrisant. Memorable for some long, powerful turns from Nigel after a day of notably strong climbing in what I can only think is the greatest miracle ever witnessed on Easter Sunday.
