Fear and Loathing on the Farteg Hill

I should have gone to Afan after all...

Only the other day Gareth and I were discussing that after 6 months of abusing our bikes on a variety of terrain, neither of us had suffered a puncture. 'It's only a matter of time' he wisely replied.

There's a mountain not far from where I live, and every time I pass I look up at the steepness and the maze of trails that criss-cross their way down, and promise myself that one day I would go exploring up there. Trail centres are brilliant but for me there's something exhilirating about getting up summits and finding new trails on the bike. And it's always nice to have some local loops to play around on.

It looked so promising on the map!

A spur of the moment decision today and I was off. The sun was shining as I left the house, after a brief scan of an OS Map of the area I dug out of the cupboard (circa 1995 but surely not that much could have changed?). A footpath which looked great on the map (they always do) soon degenerated into stream crossings and marshland.

Undeterred I carried on, eventually coming to a heavily padlocked gate with an imposing sign saying 'PRIVATE PROPERTY KEEP OUT'. Knowing from experience that trespass is a civil matter and I could happily wheelie through the land baron's living room and the police were powerless to do anything about it, I again pressed on. It wasn't the well surfaced trails of Afan I could have gone to, but I was enjoying nonetheless.

But half an hour in my enjoyment soon came to an end. The trail disappeared completely and I found myself standing in a steep, heavily wooded ravine, bike on shoulder, scrambling up a steep bank with stingy nettles ravaging my shins. Going back was not an option. After a bit of Ray Mears' bushcraft I hopped back on the bike to cross a stream, when I heard the unmistakable rapid hiss of air from my rear tyre. As I screamed an expletive into the air, I reflected on my decision for the first time ever not to pack a pump and spare tube, as 'I wasn't going to be going that far'. Karma is a bitch.

'GARRRRREEEEEEETTTHHHHH'  I shouted as loudly as I could, but it was to no avail. The 2-mile walk/push back to the car was a chance to remind myself never to make the same mistake again. I should have gone to Afan after all. Never mind, it was a great day for a walk through Ystradgynlais.

Quantocks - MBR Killer Loop - 10th August, 2012

Distance: 22.7m
Elevation: 3478ft

The Quantocks are located to the West of Bridgwater in Somerset, and on the map appear quite a compact range of hills. An opportunity to ride there presented itself during a 3-day road trip in early August, and the planning began. A search for potential routes on the web brought back dozens of options, but we eventually decided to make the most of our time there and go for the MBR Killer Loop, a 23-miler that claimed it featured the best that the Quantocks had to offer. 

We did briefly discuss exactly what  "killer loop" meant, but quickly dismissed it. "Those hills can't be as tough as the Welsh ones we're used to", I confidently uttered. "After all, they're hills, not mountains". And the ride guide said everything was '100% rideable'.

The sun was shining as we set off from the village of Holford and began our climb up onto Beacon Hill. It was a gradual spin up through the woods before opening up with great panoramic views of Exmoor and South Wales. 

One of the many stream crossings
on Smith's Combe

We soon arrived at the start of our first descent: Smith's Combe. Seats were dropped, and off we went. It started off as grassed doubletrack, which allowed us to accelerate to deceptively fast speeds, before hitting an enormous rock garden without a chance to scrub the speed off. Making it through in one piece, I marvelled (as I often do) at how much abuse these bikes can take. Still descending, the trail then narrowed into sublime natural singletrack that followed the valley down. It was fast, and around every corner was a stream crossing you could hit at speed. It was impossible not to smile, and the trail seemed to go on and on, although eventually it did level out and we turned left to begin the climb back up to regain the height we had just lost.

Now what we soon came to realise on the way back up is that the '100% rideable' tag was misleading. I wasn't able to check at the time, but I imagine the route guide was written by Lance Armstrong, as without his aerobic capacity and leg power some pushing is required. For the first time ever I even saw The Goat pushing his bike up. Forced to eat my words about the steepness of English hills, we stopped for a breather halfway up, exhausted. The sun was beating down on us and it was boiling hot. I checked my Garmin. It said we were only 5 miles in. Not good.

We soon found ourselves back on top and at the start of our second descent: Weacombe Combe. I was beginning to realise that 'combe' must be Somerset speak for 'awesome natural singletrack'. Seats dropped again, and off we went. This one had a different feel to Smith's Combe but was equally fun. Naturally rocky and windy but with good views ahead so you could really fly and hit the corners at speed, and again it seemed to go on forever.

Hike-a-bike was unavoidable at times!

Time to go back up again. 'It can't be as tough as that first climb', remarked The Goat. 'You're probably right', I lied, having just checked the map and seen how close the contours were. We headed back up Bicknoller Combe, a grassy track which consisted of short blasts of spinning, followed by pushing, then collapsing. We did meet some friendly locals on the way up, which provided a good opportunity for resting. These hills were humbling.

Back on top again we began a long traverse across the ridge towards Triscombe Stone and The Great Wood. I knew from looking at the map that if  we were going to take a wrong turn anywhere, it would be in this maze of trails.We caught up with 2 other riders, one of which was a tough looking Scotsman who when he learned where we were going, said 'I wouldna go doon there today if I were yoose, it'll be a swamp'. Nothing like a bit of friendly optimism to raise our flagging spirits.

The descent through the Great Wood was a bit muddy, but not as bad as expected, and nothing worse than we were used to. Tree roots and ruts provided good opportunities for bunny hopping and picking the best line down. At this point we were 15 miles in, and both feeling it, so we stopped for our lunch.  At this point we now had a full understanding of what a killer loop actually was.

What a view! (ignore the nuclear power plant)

Another lung bursting climb and we ended up in a creepy dense wood. Every few yards the trail split off into six directions. Tree cover was killing my GPS signal, and the map wasn't much use. I knew the next combe wasn't far away, but a wrong turn here would be costly. Our Camelbaks had run dry, we were knackered, and there was also the chance that we could be savaged at any moment by banjo-plucking yokels. I was beginning to wish I had packed my bow-and-arrow.

After half an hour of pedalling we found ourselves going in a complete circle and ending up back at another sixway junction of singletrack. A decision would have to be made. Instinctively I chose the most inviting looking descent and pedalled off, hoping it was Holford Combe. As we had come to expect by now, the descent was fast and and tree roots and rocks were everywhere. It was so much fun that I stopped caring whether it was the right direction or not.

At the bottom of the descent, thinking that it must have been Holford Combe, I stopped and checked the map. Amazingly, it seemed that we were just at the start of the combe, and the previous descent was a bit of unplanned genius. The real fun was still to come.

The Great Wood was aptly named

Holford Combe was one of the highlights for me. The trail followed a gently flowing river down the valley,  and had a bit of everything. It was technical, with loads of drop-offs, tree roots, stream crossings, and multiple trails that split off then converged again. And again it seemed to last far longer than expected, considering how fast we were riding it.

The climb back up to the top of the ridge was tough, and we took our time. I knew that once we were back on top, it was all downhill to the car park, via Somerton Combe and then Hodder's Combe. At this point we'd been going for over 6 hours, and with the thought of cold beer  and home-cooked dinner in our minds, we began the final descent.

The quality of singletrack had been high throughout, but they had definitely saved the best for last. The descent started in the open with natural rocky singletrack that weaved through the moorland, not dissimilar from Afan or Cwmcarn. Speed was picked up around every corner, and then the trail steepened and suddenly the trees closed in around us and we were flying through the woods. It was tree root time again, only even faster than before, all I could do was hang on and try and unweight the bike and let it soak up the pounding it was taking.

Suddenly up ahead through my tearing eyes I saw a large tree had fallen (or been placed?) across the path. As it rocketed towards me I saw that it was actually a drop-off of over 1 metre and unavoidable. Do or die time. I was going to fast to be able to scrub any speed off,  so I shouted a warning back to Gareth and found myself flying off the drop without braking. Somehow (more fluke than skill I imagine) I nailed the landing and stayed on. I was grinning wildly, but not for long, as I saw another one approaching. This one had a chicken run though so I bottled it and took the easier option (in the words of Dirty Harry a man's gotta know his limitations).

Over roots and through streams the trail went on and on. Multiple lines were everywhere, and Gareth found himself riding through the stream at one point, thinking it was the trail. Eventually we arrived back at the car park, tired and caked in mud but with that content feeling of satisfaction that comes from a good bike ride.

The Scotsman we met earlier happened to be arriving at the car park the same time as us. He had military written all over him. 'You should come here in the pouring rain instead.' he said. 'That's how I like it. It's much better. You get the hills to yourself then'.  'I should introduce you to my friend Stu' I replied, 'You two would get on.'

 The Quantocks contain some of the best natural singletrack I have ever ridden, and are well worth a trip. I  can't wait to return here again and piece together my own route with some of the descents down the combes that we rode. It was a memorable ride and my favourite so far this year, it really had it all, and beats the Doethie Valley for thrills. The hills are killers, but the descents make them worthwhile. The only part I would cut out next time is the Great Wood, as it seemed to be a lot of ascent with not much downhill.

Doethie Valley - 20th June, 2012

The Doethie Valley

The Doethie Valley has been held in high regard by mountain bikers for many years, and for good reason. For those who are not afraid to venture out from the trail centres Wales has become famous for, the route has all the makings of a classic all mountain ride: big hills, a remote setting, stunning scenery, and of course the 5 or so miles of continuous singletrack that carves down through the Doethie Valley itself.

I last rode the Doethie 10 years ago, during a glorious period of sunshine. I have fond memories of that ride, but in recent years I’d heard rumours that the trail had deteriorated due to it’s increasing popularity and overuse. Nearly every forum post I read recommended that it was best to wait for a long dry period before attempting it. Was this friendly advice, I wondered, or simply a way of deterring visitors and keeping secret one of the best trails in the country?

Living in Wales, the chances of a long dry period occurring is zero, so our hand was forced and after one of the wettest Junes on record we picked the driest looking day and decided to go for it.

The ride begins at Llyn Briane Dam near Rhandirmywn. The first several miles is on fireroad as you skirt around the reservoir gaining height. Not overly exciting, but a good warmup and there are some great views to take in.

Sometimes the trail surface was dry...

Eventually you exit the forest and after a brief descent find yourself at Soar-Y-Mynydd Chapel. On your left a rocky bridleway heads straight up and disappears over the horizon. The map said this is the way we were headed, so straight up we went.

We did our best to power up this section without any dabbing, and had a good go, but the traction on our tyres finally gave out due to the steepness and loose rocks. If you can make it to the top without stopping then kudos to you!

After a few lung-bursting false horizons the steep ascent finally levels off, but we were then confronted with our first water of the day…large murky pools of rainwater covered the width of the track, and it was impossible to see just how deep they were.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so straight through we went…and they were deep! At least now with soggy feet we wouldn’t fear getting any wetter as the ride progressed.

A fast, rocky descent then sees you losing the height you’ve just gained, but don’t go too fast or you’ll miss the wooden post on a sharp right-hand bend that signals the left turn onto the Doethie Valley. Now it was time for the legendary singletrack …

There was only one problem…Immediately the singletrack degenerated into a muddy swamp, and there appeared to be a herd of cows camping on the trail. After a mexican standoff and a few bovine taunts, they finally decided to get up and run off…But unfortunately for us, they decided they wanted to take the trail down the valley too. After a few minutes of  comedy cow chasing a gate finally appeared up ahead, and we were finally past them and through to the next section.

Singletrack Bliss

From here the trail consisted of (in no particular order): glorious ribbons of singletrack that weaved through the ferns, hard-packed gravel, stream crossings, hard mud, wet swampy mud, and grass.

It was mostly ridable, but inconsistent. One minute you were flowing along hard gravel, the next the trail dropped you without warning into a a patch of muddy swamp. It was difficult to tell the hard mud from the swampy stuff too, which made for some comical over-the-bars moments as our tyres got sucked into the sludge.

Despite the recent downpours, the trail flowed a lot better than I was expecting it to though. The setting and views also add to the experience and make the trail something special. The track itself is all singletrack, and rises and drops as it follows the river down an impressive steep-sided valley. There are also several sections that test your technical ability as you ride across streams and hop up and over rock slabs.

At one point towards the end a large ravine appears on the right hand side, combined with the off-camber surface of the trail care needs to be taken as a fall that way would need more than a few steri-strips! Thankfully a trip to A&E was not on the cards today.

And sometimes it wasn't!

After several miles of singletrack, you finally begin to pull away from the river, and the singletrack ends at Troed-rhiw-ruddwen farm. Don’t relax yet though as  you still need some gas in the tank for the long slog back up to the reservoir. Despite the whole ride being only 15 or so miles long, my legs were really feeling it at this point, and it took everything to keep my granny cog spinning up the rocky bridleway. After that it’s a fast blast back to the car park after rejoining the fireroad at the beginning.

So does the Doethie Valley live up to expectations? In my opinion, yes. There’s no doubt the constant torrential downpours and erosion haven’t been kind to the trail over the last decade. However, the singletrack is still immensely enjoyable and the feeling of being out in a remote location only adds to the enjoyment. Just remember to leave your CrudCatchers and mud tyres on, even if it’s the middle of summer. This is still Wales, after all.