Six of us decided to brave the Wye Walk – not on foot oh no that is too benign for the average YAC member- we chose to do it on two wheels. Thanks to the intrepid 'navigational' skills of Dan (my other half) we started out from three different directions only to be foiled by fences, gates and walls. Eventually we found our way on to the Wye Walk to start our adventure in search of Monmouth and cake. Along the way we encountered some lovely forests filled with dripping ferns and moss covered rocks, some hairy downhills with trails strewn with branches, brambles and nettles, many gutwrenching uphills and a number of fences and gates – it was like portaging but with mountain bikes. Along the way we stopped at the Boat Inn on the Wye, a lovely country pub nestled underneath a disused railway bridge – but be forewarned don't try to eat your sandwiches on their benches unless you want an earful from the surly landlord.
After downing our pints and gobbling our sarnies behind the cover of the bridge we headed uphill (AGAIN) towards Monmouth. Our intrepid leader took us through what appeared to be a hay field – he thankfully managed to collect most of the grass in his rear derailleur – then we went along a steep boulder (or they appeared to be boulders) strewn path at a steep angle to the river to another grassy field. We all opted for the road – suicidal motorcyclists and maniac mini-van drivers were more favourable to yet another slog through the grass.
Upon arrival in Monmouth we headed for Henry's Cafe for much needed cake and tea – cake is ALWAYS much needed if you've been sat on a bike for a number of hours. After consuming all the fat and sugar we could it was time to leave Monmouth – in the rain- for the backwoods. We found the trail – uphill again and climbed, climbed and climbed some more only to throw our bikes over some more fences before we took off downhill. At the bottom of the route Annie took off like a demon to get to her soiree, only to discover that she'd gone in the wrong direction! We sent John off to rescue her while Andrew & Dan sorted out our direction. We continued the rest of the way on the road to Brockweir and the mother of all hills.
I cannot add comment about the final climb as I'd been left behind at the local watering hole with an injured back. The landlady fed me paracetamol and told me to wash it down with a pint of cider – it worked a treat!
Tracy
No mention of Peter falling off, most unsual. I suppose cake was eaten though, so at least one tradition was preserved 🙂