Cadair Idris

When I did, finally, do a closer reading of the itinerary for this tour, I'd wondered if the details for each day were accurate. Because, if they were, I'd signed up for the most difficult hiking I've ever done.

Today would be calibration day. We were headed for a ridge touched by the clouds, taking the “easiest” route to the summit of Cadair Idris: the winsomely named Pony Path.

There were many other walkers on the trail, this being a weekend day. I was grateful for my hiking poles and boots, and was stunned to see many folks wearing casual footwear. On our way up, we crossed paths with a woman on her way down, shaking her head and muttering about this being quite not the way she'd wanted to celebrate her 50th birthday.

There were no signs along the trail; follow the path of rocks (and our leader). I'm sure the rocks are placed to combat erosion, but they're also hard on one's feet (and often command close attention).

By the time we met the clouds, I'd bundled up with all my layers: rain pants over hiking pants, fleece gloves, fleece vest under my insulated rain jacket, and neck gaiter pulled up over a fleece cap topped by my jacket's hood. When one of the women in our group mentioned that she was cold, our guide pulled a spare jacket out of her (enormous) backpack—our own Mary Poppins with a fresh take on that magical bottomless carpet bag!

Legend has it that if you spend the night on this mountain, you will find yourself either mad or a poet when you awaken. As I picked my way through fields of scree, I considered that I might have already gone mad.

Pay attention: Every. Step. Matters.

As the summit came into view, we learned that our guide has one important rule: Everyone gets there at the same time.

It was cold. It was windy. There was no view. We were proud of ourselves. And hungry.

One member of our group had chosen to huddle in a well-placed semi-circle of piled stones, rather than reach the summit. We joined her there to eat the bagged lunches we'd carried, sheltered from the wind.

Eager to drop below the clouds, we spread out across the scree. I surprised everyone (including myself) by apparently channeling my inner mountain goat and leading the way, while our guide hung back with one of our more tentative comrades.

Some trail segments seemed to have a softer, somewhat less rocky parallel path. I imagine we were meant to stay on the rocks, but it was hard not to seek a little respite now and then.

I did manage to find a spot of color near the end of our hike.

And yes,the details for this hike matched up with what I recorded: we traveled 5.7 miles, with some 2,300 feet of elevation gain overall. And since this was an up-and-back-down hike, that means we climbed 2,300 feet in half that distance. [Yikes!]

Tomorrow promises to be ... harder.

Precipice Walk (Llwybr Cynwch)

Our group would rendezvous at the train station in Chester this morning, and by the time our guide arrived we'd self-assembled and were happily chatting. I'd figured that it wouldn't be difficult to spot the others: backpack-wearing, luggage-toting folks loitering in the seating area. What I didn't expect was an all-woman group!

Cycling through Wales, eight years ago, I was introduced to a place I'd wished I could explore more. I just might have to come back here, I'd thought.

Then a message landed in my inbox last August: Explore the Myths and Mountains of Eryri (Snowdonia). [Sign. Me. Up.]

Our first “walk” (translation: hike) was the Precipice Walk. Now you can begin to see why I'd hoped to see more of Snowdonia ...

The tour's itinerary described this hike as “mellow;” evidently choosing to omit the trail's name (lest we be intimidated).

A native thistle offered a welcome pop of color on a gloomy day, while sheep hunkered down not far from a crumbling circle of stones that might once have provided shelter for shepherds.

In the distance, late-afternoon light reflected off the channel leading to the Irish Sea. Along the trail, gorse blooms spread a little sunshine.

Our group was getting on well: one Canadian, six Americans (including three sisters!), and our English guide. Our pace was comfortable over our 3.5-mile loop, but the remaining walks promise to be more challenging.

We're the inaugural group(!) for this tour—a fact I'd overlooked in that email message last year. All I'd needed to see, then, was “Snowdonia.” As the date for the trip grew closer and I studied the actual itinerary, I began to worry that I might be in over my head ...

Caernarfon

Day five, and I was ready for a rest day (but that's not today). I was feeling a little bit off, and we were slated to climb about 2,000 feet.

Faced with a steep (though short) climb before we'd even warmed up, several of us were quick to dismount (max grade today, 22%).

I wasn't expecting to be rained on. [You'd think I'd learn?] Luckily, it was only a short burst, not much wetness.

Ping!

Was that a hailstone that just bounced off my mirror? Ping! Another one hitched a ride on the lid of my bag until it melted.

We waved at a stream of cyclists passing in the opposite direction, members and supporters of the Gwernyfed rugby football club, on a two-day fundraising ride from the most northerly club in Wales to the most southerly.

There was talk of a steam train, and whether our timing would align to see it. I caught a glimpse through the trees. Evidently it's coal-powered—and a very sulfurous coal, at that. One of the Welsh Highland Railway's trains, I believe.

We stopped for our morning break at a pub in Beddgelert, which was fortuitous for me as the menu offered a ginger beer that helped settle my system. Shortly after we stepped inside, the rain came pouring down. It stopped by the time we were ready to roll out, and I was the only one who suited up in my rain gear. [Which meant, of course, that we would see no more rain.]

Regrettably, we didn't pay a visit to the local bike shop, but were surprised to find a wicker bicycle mounted above the stairs inside the pub.

We continued on our way through Snowdonia National Park, heading for the coast.

Looking at the map, and the roads not taken ... I just might have to come back here.

We had a schedule to keep today, as we would be crossing the Irish Sea (by ferry) to Dublin. We made good time, affording a chance to admire the nature reserve at Foryd Bay.

Our riding ended at Caernarfon, where we enjoyed lunch and a stroll around the town square near the Castle. Despite the weak start to my day, I felt pretty good at the end: 33 miles, 1,830 feet of climbing.

A local cyclist struck up a conversation, wanting to learn about our trip. “You weren't cycling on Monday?!” she exclaimed.

The scavenging gulls were a menace! You had to keep close watch on your food, and they'd dive at a table as soon as the diners departed, knocking plates and cups to shatter on the stone plaza. Before the trip, while I was languishing sick at home, I had binged on Hitchcock movies. Fittingly, the last one had been “The Birds.” Here, we laughed at a little boy chasing them down—he couldn't have been more than four years old. “Shoo, you bloody bird!” he cried, flailing his arms at one. [He hasn't seen the movie.]

To free us from the time pressure of biking across the Isle of Anglesey to reach the ferry at Holyhead, the group would get a tour up the Menai Strait on a speedy boat (45 knots, at one point).

We cruised under the Menai Suspension Bridge, regarded as the first modern suspension bridge (completed in 1826).

From St. George's Pier, the van carried us onto the ferry and the next phase of our adventure: Ireland, the third country of our Five Countries Tour.

Ffestiniog

To avoid a busy road, we started cycling on the outskirts of Oswestry and soon crossed the border into the second country of our Five Countries Tour: Wales.

Sunshine, albeit patchy, at last!

With luck, we'd leave the ominous clouds behind.

We enjoyed another lovely tea break in the town of Llangynog before our big climb started.

We have magical water bottles on this tour: Whenever I return to my bike after a tea break or lunch, my bottle is full. (If I pinch myself, will I wake up and find that this has all been a happy dream? Our guides are fabulous.) Though there is a slight downside to this, as the electrolyte mix that sustains me on long rides gets diluted.

The climb started right outside of town, as we would pass through the Berwyn Range.

It wasn't bad, gaining about 1,000 feet over three and a half miles. Somewhere, though, I met a 15% grade (must have been short); that's probably where my heart rate peaked at 184 bpm.

It wasn't long before I was way off the back, the rest of the group no longer in sight.

Which suited me just fine, because (at last!) I was eager to capture some photos of these peaks and valleys.

I've been feeling bad that people have to wait for me, though they're politely saying they don't mind. We were excited to snap photos at the summit, especially as we could see blue skies ahead.

A couple of our riders have been breezily passing me on the hills. They'd opted for hybrids instead of road bikes, and those were equipped with lower gearing (and disc brakes). I briefly wondered if I should have done the same, but even if I'd inquired about the groupset I know I still would have chosen the road bike. I wouldn't be comfortable at speed on the downhills, otherwise.

Oh, and about that. We crossed into Snowdonia National Park, with broad vistas and an enticing roadway—dry and smooth. Only because it leveled out a bit, and the park's logo was beautiful, did I stop [on a descent!].

We regrouped at the bottom, having reached an intersection. Our leader is mindful to keep track of us, although they're trying a new routing solution this year: each bike is outfitted with a Garmin. Every night our guides collect the units, load them up with the next day's route, and charge them. [More magic!]

Not being a Garmin aficionado, I'm leery of accidentally resetting the thing. After some teething pains the first couple of days, things began to run more smoothly. It's reassuring to get advance notice of turns and to see that you're on course, but some tricky bits (parallel roads, or cycle paths) can confuse it. And since the route is statically loaded, we need to be alert about being off-course whenever we do make a detour. The Garmins handle the miles vs. kilometers challenge nicely, as they can be set up either way.

We caught sight of Bala Lake on our way to lunch at a fun place, Gorwelion.

There was more climbing after lunch, but with the sunshine and the views, everyone was smiling.

Just look at that ribbon of road! [Okay, maybe I smiled more broadly than my companions.]

We did stop to admire a waterfall. And even though we climbed some 3,740 feet over 47 miles, we arrived at our hotel in Ffestiniog with time to enjoy the environs,

and a colorful post-dinner sunset for a beautiful close to the day.