The Devil Ride

It was good for a change to be not setting the alarm for some ridiculously early hour before doing a Sportive. For once, I felt quite rested when I woke up just before 7am and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with No.2 son and six other people staying at the B&B and riding the event. The bad weather didn't look as if it had quite cleared through, as promised, so there was quite a bit of excitement when a bit of blue sky was spotted just as the toast arrived. It looked like it was going to be a day of showers, which was fine. I don't mind the rain if I know it's not going to last for long.

I said goodbye to No.2 son just before 8am and set off for a gentle 6 mile spin down to Builth Wells for the start of the event. I rather like being able to begin the day straight-away on the bike, and it was fun to see that most of the cars overtaking me on a Sunday morning were fellow Devil Riders. I was actually glad to be on the bike rather than in a car. They were possibly thinking the opposite! Builth Wells was a hive of activity and arriving at the Sports Centre I started to feel that familiar thrill of anticipation I always experience before an event. It was really only last night that I had taken the time to look at the route to see exactly where we were going. It was going to be hard but also very beautiful (if the weather relented to allow us to see the views), and I was really looking forward to exploring some new roads.

Registration was extremely efficient and after my usual bit of faffing around I was on my way at around 8.50am, by which time it seemed that there weren't too many other riders left. The skies remained grey but at least it was dry, and it certainly wasn't cold. I was just wearing a short-sleeved shirt, knowing that the climbing started straight out of the town and I would very soon be warm. It was amazing to see how much in the way of gear many of the other riders were wearing! I have a personal adage that says if you are not feeling just a little chilly before the start of an event then you are wearing too much gear! We headed out due south on the road to Brecon, which was considerably bumpier than I had gleaned from a quick look at the map. It allowed for some spectacular sights in terms of the views to the west, and of the road ahead filled with a seemingly endless stream of riders. My only concern was possibly going a bit too quickly as I continued to catch and pass people. Actually, I did have another slight concern, and that was No.2 son who would be coming this same way in an hour or two. Perhaps I didn't prepare him sufficiently for all these hills. I was tempted to call him but then though better of it. He would be fine.

Turning back on ourselves to Garth, on an even more spectacular piece of road, we got hit by a squally shower, but it wasn't heavy enough to warrant stopping to put a jacket on. It didn't even spoil the ride even, for visibility remained good and somehow the views were even more spectacular for the incredibly dramatic skies. Although there were some very threatening clouds around, it still looked like a day where the rain would be spasmodic rather than persistent. And that's how it proved to be. The rain soon eased and I enjoyed an exhilarating descent back into the Irfon Valley, amidst the most incredibly picturesque hills. There is something very special about the countryside here. It's very different from Upper Wharfedale and Swaledale in my own backyard, the Yorkshire Dales, but has that same kind of unique quality that somehow lies beyond words. It simply has to be soaked up and enjoyed rather than described.

A few miles of respite along an A road to Beulah and then we turned west to head into the hills again, through the most beautifully secluded valley, steep-sided and forested, undulating up and down, this way and that, over a shoulder to Abergeswyn and then opening out when joining the Irfan Valley once more. The road hugged the east side of the valley in spectacular fashion, offering a great view of the Devil's Staircase dead ahead. I felt inspired rather than intimidated. I had to engage the lowest gear almost immediately as the gradient hits you as soon as you cross the river, but although certainly steep, it wasn't desperately hard. It find it impossible to rank these big climbs because so much depends on where they come in the ride. The very steepest of ascents can seem quite reasonable when you are fresh. It's a different matter altogether when you have lots of miles and climbing already in the legs.

The first feedstop was well placed at the top of the climb and, although I really didn't feel that thirsty or hungry, I forced myself to eat and take on water. It then decided to start raining again, heavier than before, so as I was stopped I made the decision to put my windproof on. It was bad timing really because I wasn't able to enjoy the following descent for barely being able to see. The shower didn't last long, though, nor the downhill, because we were soon climbing again. The next section was truly wild and I kept the jacket on in expectation of a long descent to Tregaron, but there was still more climbing to be done before then. I usually feel on these mountain rides that the descents are far longer than I have any right to expect, but this was a counter-example of where the descents seemed shorter than I would have expected based on all the climbing we seemed to be doing. I remember thinking that this ride is tougher than my local Dales events, the Etape du Dales and the White Rose Classic.

Eventually, on the lovely stretch down into Tregaron the sun came out and cued a stop to remove my top. It was never needed again. Turning again and heading north-east we picked up a bit of a tail wind and I really enjoyed a second bit of respite from the relentless climbing. I actually found myself in the unusual position of leading a small group, which gradually increased in size as we overtook lone riders ahead on the road and they latched on. Nobody else seemed inclined to come to the front but I was enjoying the buzz of being there myself too much to mind. Just I was getting to the point where I thought I might be pushing too hard and fancied some help, another group came by and I latched onto them for a fast tow along the rest of this flat section to Pontrhydfendigaid. From there we started climbing and it all broke up again, everyone into their own rhythm, a few quicker than me, a few slower, crossing from one valley into another, this time into the heavily wooded bottom of the Ystwyth at Pontrhydygroes, a beautiful sweeping descent before climbing yet again over into the next valley at Devil's Bridge.

Here, after miles and miles of very little traffic and very few people, we were suddenly squirted out into something of a honey-trap. We were close to civilisation again, only a few miles from Aberystwyth and there were lots of tourists around, presumably being delivered there by the steam railway, the unmistakable sounds of which could be heard from somewhere. I wasn't sure exactly from where for I passed through Devil's Bridge very quickly indeed, concentrating on keeping out of trouble, and then before there was any chance at all to take in the place, I was out the other side and climbing again. The legs were feeling weary now and I was beginning to view the sight of each hill ahead with more and more apprehension. The scenery was still inspiring, and this next section of climb was stunning, with the most dramatically positioned wind-farm I have ever seen. But I was beginning to hurt.

I was grateful to reach the top of the climb at The Arch and enjoy a great descent back into and down the valley of the Ystwyth, knowing that the next feedstation wasn't going to be far away now. I felt the need for food, and, having enjoyed a fair bit of sunshine in the last hour, also needed to top the water bottles up. On the last climb I had vowed I'd take my time over this feed-stop, but once I'd downed a bit of cake and a few crackers I felt the urge to get going again. There is a certain rhythm to these long distance events which somehow demands continuity. The short break had definitely served to energise me, though, and I was able to enjoy the next climb more than the previous one. This next section on the mountain road to Rhyader was every bit as wild and beautiful as I expected it to be. From the top of the climb at the head of the Elan Valley the next four miles was exhilarting, enjoying a tailwind and moving rapidly over one of the most remote stretches of road outside of Scotland.

However, that sense of exhilaration was relatively short-lived as I hit the next climb out of the Elan Valley and over the ridge towards Rhyader. Even with the tailwind I found this very hard. The legs just ran out of steam. I was in survival mode. I think I'd eaten well enough, so I suspect it was just a matter of conditioning and not having done enough quality miles in the previous four weeks. Out of Rhyader there was a lovely flattish section for a few miles before things ramped up again on what would normally be considered a delightful minor road over to Abbeycwmhir, but what in these circumstances could only be thought of as a brute of a climb. If this was at the start of the event, I'd have been up and over without a thought, but coming towards the end, this was tough indeed. I was only barely moving quicker than another rider ahead who was walking. It was only mildly reassuring to know that I wasn't the only one to be suffering.

It's an odd thing that, despite being hardly able to push a pedal on the climbs at this stage, it doesn't seem that hard to maintain a reasonable pace on the flat. Following the descent someone came up from behind and took a tow for a short while, before accelerating past. He had upped the speed considerably, but once on his wheel I was able to stay there for a few miles without too much trouble, before he decided he'd had enough and waved me through to the front again. I couldn't maintain quite the same speed, but I tried and he remained happy to stay on my wheel for a mile or so before accelerating past again - too fast for me to latch on this time, although as it turned out the final feedstop was only a short distance away.

It was actually quite a surprise to hear that there was only 16 miles to go at this point. It felt like it should be more. I couldn't stomach any food other than a few Ritz crackers, but it was probably too late for proper food to provide any real benefit. Beyond a certain point the body seems to turn away from sugary foods towards savoury ones. I'd have killed for a spicy vegetable pasty at that point! The going from there continued to be relatively easy and we soon picked up a "20K to go" sign. A look at the watch revealed that a Gold standard time was there for the taking, something I had given up on when suffering before Rhyader. Trying to remember the map it seemed to me that there couldn't be any more hills so it felt like just a matter of keeping the steady pace going and rolling back into Builth Wells with a big smile on my face.

I should have known there would be a sting in the tail. From Newbridge-on-Wye the route climbed one last time, not much more than 300 feet, but my legs had now gone completely and I was a sorry sight twiddling away in my granny gear, thinking that it would almost certainly be quicker to get off and walk, but knowing that I couldn't possibly suffer that ignominy. I wasn't smiling at this point and I'm not sure I'd have actually been capable of a smile here. A couple of riders came past only going marginally less slowly than me, using some choice language out aloud that I was using privately in my head! Perhaps it helps to give voice to such cursing!!

We eventually hit the turn on to the minor road which would take us back down to Builth Wells, but even this was bumpy with one short steep section to endure. I had not suffered this much in an event all year. But I had also not enjoyed a route more. I know that I did eventually have a huge smile on my face at the finish, getting the gold standard for my age group (6.52) , coming home in 6.43.18, grateful for having been given such a fantastic day out, rewarded with equal amounts joy, suffering and awe at the beauty of the Welsh countryside. The organisation couldn't be faulted. The signage was excellent, leaving no room for any kind of doubt anywhere on the course. A quite superb event from every perspective.

I'd been in touch with No.2 son at times on the mobile and I was very proud of him indeed for having got out a bit earlier than expected, cycling into Builth and doing the first section of the Devil Ride as intended. He had told me that he was on my route and was waiting for me so he could pace me into the finish. That would have been fun, trying to keep up with him over the last few miles, but unfortunately he was waiting on the finishing section of the Little Devil instead of my route, so we missed each other. He did soon join me at the Sports Centre, however, and we found a couple of the people who were staying at our B&B to share in some banter and wax lyrical with about the whole day's experience. It was then just a matter of cycling the 6 miles back to Howey to crash out after what had been a very satisfying day for both of us. My lad had thoroughly enjoyed his Rite of Passage today, and seemed totally full of confidence. Life felt very good that evening as we tucked into a hearty meal at a nearby pub. Days don't get much better than this.