TRAWS ERYRI

Cycling UK’s latest long-distance trail is a 200km epic across the mountains of North Wales. Sophie Gordon test rode it last September

Details

Where: North Wales

Start/finish: Machynlleth to Conwy

Distance: 201km

Fighting for breath, I concentrated on keeping my pedals moving over the rocky terrain, trying to maintain enough momentum to keep the front wheel in a vaguely straight line. I could see the bright daylight breaking through the trees ahead of me at the top of the climb. Just a little bit further…

To my relief, the climb eased as I emerged from the forest, and I paused to take in the view. Across the valley to my left were the Rhinogydd hills. The shining expanse of Llyn Trawsfynydd reservoir lay below me, with its hulking decommissioned nuclear power station looking out of place on the far side. Ahead, the gravel track of the Sarn Helen Roman road curved around the hillside, leading down towards the water. Not far to go now. One more photo, then I let my wheels start rolling downwards to enjoy the swooping descent into the valley.

That was one of those days on a cycling trip where by the time you reach your overnight stop, the morning feels a world away. We might have ridden fewer than 40 miles but the steep climbs, challenging terrain and contrasting landscapes made it feel like we’d travelled much further.

Five of us were test riding the Traws Eryri (Trans Snowdonia) trail, created by Cycling UK in partnership with Natural Resources Wales and launching at the end of August. Starting in Machynlleth, the trail wiggles its way through the spectacular mountains and forests of North Wales to finish at the sea beside Conwy Castle. While most of the route uses existing bridleways, forest tracks and cycle paths, a few sections required negotiating permissive access with landowners to be able to ride through amazing areas that would otherwise be unavailable to bikes.

We’d started the day in Machynlleth, at the southern end of Eryri (Snowdonia) National Park. A fairly gentle first few miles meandering beside the river eased us in for a steep zig-zag climb up into the forest. Then we were out into the open and it felt like the adventure had properly begun, as we headed through the hills on undulating gravel tracks skirting around the western bulk of Cadair Idris. Rounding a corner, we could see the sands of the Mawddach Estuary laid out below us. We dropped down to the beauty spot of Cregennan Lakes, where we encountered the first other people we had seen that day.

After looking down from high above, we were now gliding along the Mawddach Estuary Trail, smiling at kids wobbling along the path. The tide was low, and we lingered taking photos of the swirly patterns of silver water on sand. Eventually our rumbling stomachs prompted us to press on to Penmaenpool, where Phill from MTB Cymru was waiting with our lunch by the historic toll bridge. Normally I’m a bit of a purist about cycle trips: I like to know that I’m carrying all the gear I need – a tortoise with my house on the back. For this one I’ll admit I appreciated being supported by Phill. I’ve done several off-road trips but I’m not the most confident mountain biker, and being able to

TOM M C DONOUGH Journalist & Cycling UK member

When I saw the masked man checking out a second row of bikes I knew something was up. A theft was imminent, I thought, and it was my duty to do something about it. I’d noticed the same man a little earlier that evening while I’d been running laps around a local park. He’d been leaning against a bench, staring at the bicycles locked up outside a swimming pool. On each of my first three circuits, he’d been standing in the same place, his gaze unwavering.

In the gloom of the February evening, I’d just about been able to make out his eyes and some locks of long, black hair jutting out from under his Americanlorry-driver-style baseball cap. His apparent interest in the bikes and his donning of a face mask outdoors – at a time when Covid rules only required us to wear them in confined spaces – had made me suspicious of his intentions.

When I’d completed my fourth and final lap and seen he was no longer outside the pool, relief had washed over me. I’d been telling myself I’d have to take action if he was still there. His departure meant I could remain safely within my insular Londoner’s bubble. But now I was on my way home and here he was again, hovering around a bike rack in an alleyway behind a pub, about 800 metres away from where I’d first spotted him. My chest tightened and my head began swimming. I didn’t know what do to. I could talk to him, but what would I say? And what if it led to a fight? I could dial 999 but there was no emergency and no crime being committed yet either. Dialling 101 also felt wrong; it usually just refers you to a vreporting website.

In the end, I shadowed the man for some time, walking in repeated loops up the alleyway and around the surrounding streets until, finally, I spotted him working at someone’s wheel with a silver spanner. Now that a crime was actually taking place, a 999 call felt more justified. Less than two minutes after I’d dialled the number a police van came screaming past me.

Concerned they might arrest the wrong person, I doubled back again and saw my man in handcuffs. Satisfied, I ambled home, only to be called straight back to the scene by the police. If I gave a statement and showed up in court, they said, we’d have a watertight case. I’d witnessed the man starting to take the wheel off, they’d caught him with the removed wheel in his hand and, to top and tail it, the owner had shown up shortly after the arrest and confirmed he hadn’t asked anyone to dismantle his bike.

While giving my statement, I asked the police some questions that had been on my mind. Did the man have a knife on him? Should I have confronted him? Was 999 the right number to call? Might he hunt me down? No, they said, he hadn’t had a knife on him and nor was he the type who’d attack me later either; he was just looking for his next fix. And I’d done