The last time I checked the time on my phone, it was 2:25 a.m. I was in bed, running a fever, with waves of cold chills traveling down my back like a waterfall. A virus had hit me on my travels from Vancouver Island to Southern Snowdonia in Wales. I was staying at a BnB that my wife had found about 20 km outside of town. The owner was lovely, but there was no food or amenities of any sort—especially not for the sick. This was an unfortunate situation, as I was supposed to leave the next day on a 200 km mountain bikepacking route called The Traws Eryri, from Southern to Northern Snowdonia. I was already a day late from starting my trip, and here I was, holed up in bed, sick. Man, oh man, how did I get here?!
The first chapter of Tolkien's classic, The Hobbit, is called "An Unexpected Journey." As a teenager, I remember thinking this was a masterfully subtle choice of words. It doesn't imply what happens to Bilbo as good or bad; it's just unexpected, as life can be at times. Along the way, so many events happen to Bilbo that shape his journey, most of them seemingly random and proof of a cold, hard world outside his warm hobbit hole. It takes Bilbo the adventure of a lifetime and the slaying of a dragon to fully appreciate what happens to him. Similarly, my latest trip to Wales to ride the Traws Eryri was "unexpected," full of changes in terrain, unforeseen challenges, and, dare I say, personal growth.
About the Traws Eryri
The Traws Eryri is a 195 km mountain biking and bikepacking route in Snowdonia National Park, Wales, launched in August 2023. Developed through a collaboration between Natural Resources Wales and Cycling UK, the route aims to promote adventure cycling while highlighting Snowdonia's natural beauty. Starting in Machynlleth and ending in Conwy, the route traverses diverse landscapes, from coastal areas to mountainous terrains, and features significant elevation changes, with a total ascent of 3,245 meters. The path covers varied terrain, including mountain paths, forest trails, coastal tracks, and country lanes, offering riders a chance to experience areas rich in Welsh history and culture and opportunities to see diverse wildlife.
Let The Adventure Begin...
A series of events plagued me before I had even set out on the Traws Eryri, with my flu-like symptoms being just one item on a long list. Bilbo had travel partners, regardless of what he thought of them, which seemed to be his only comfort when setting out. Unfortunately, my ride partner, who had been planning the trip with me for the past six months, had to drop out due to unforeseen events. I received his message in the taxi on the way to the airport. This was a blow and changed the nature of my upcoming trip from one of camaraderie to solo questing. I wasn't sure if my setup was even doable or safe as a solo rider, but whatever—life happens, and I was determined to continue on my own. I had no choice. I would love to say that was my only challenge before starting out, but delayed flights, canceled trains, unexpected delays, and getting lost in the Welsh highlands all happened, leading to my getting sick and delaying my journey by a day.
After a crap sleep, I forced myself out of bed, determined to get the adventure underway. After saying goodbye and a huge thanks to my BnB host, I cycled down to the quaint town of Machynlleth—the start point of the Traws Eryri. I found a full-English breakfast of beans, toast, eggs, sausage, and bacon, and thank God I did. In the words of a good friend, “there isn't anything that a full-English breakfast won't cure.” Fully fed and having stocked up on some supplies, I was still feeling rough, but it was time to finally hit the dirt.
Machynlleth to Dolgellau
As I started pedaling my first large climb out of Machynlleth, the first 20 km of the day were on beautiful, country, single-wide paved roads. Some parts were pretty punchy in terms of short climbs, but I was feeling great. Being outside and getting some oxygen made me feel a bit better. Maybe my mind was focused on the stunning scenery of Wales and not as focused on my condition. Steep rolling hills as green as anything I had ever seen filled my views throughout the morning. The shade of green is different from what I am used to in BC, where our green tends to be a dark evergreen. Wales seems to be a bright, yellowish green that permeates every inch of everything. By lunch, I happened upon stunning Lake Mwngli, surrounded by cloud-misted mountains. It was amazing to simply be where I was, and thinking of Bilbo, you could almost imagine him and his crew tumbling through the overgrowth.
I stopped in a pub to load up the route into my Komoot app. Planning the trip was a bit of a challenge for me. I didn't really know what to expect in terms of connectivity and overall remoteness. Being from BC, I am accustomed to being offline and out of touch and had brought my Garmin InReach, which I am not sure I needed, to be honest, but I was always happy to have it on me.
After the pub stop and a quick lunch, the day's climb began. It was one of the largest climbs of the trip, bringing me from sea level to over 400 meters in one go. Down in the valley, peaks towered over me. After an hour of climbing, those same peaks became anthills in my view as I rose higher and higher. I spent about 3 km of a 9 km climb out of the saddle, pushing the bike as the grade was too much to pedal my loaded Krampus. During planning, I knew these huge climbs would be tough, so I opted for my “fastpacking” setup, emphasizing ultralight with my harness bag, two fork bags, my frame pack, and the super small Olliepack under my saddle. Even still, the bike felt like I was pushing a lazy cow up into the clouds. Looking back the way I had come from the West, I could make out the shores of Ireland on the horizon.
Finally reaching the top of the first climb, I was literally in the clouds and had to suit up for the mist and wet. The highland roads seemed ancient. Looking a little more closely, I could see that these were not your average gravel roads but roads that had been built by humans with what looked to be old cobblestones centuries old. This made for some tough cycling; cobblestones and huge rocks on the road don't allow for fast cycling going up or down, and I was checking myself quite often and erring on the side of safety. Even though there was not a sign of any humans anywhere, I was never alone. The highland sheep were a constant presence, staring at me and making their sounds of caution as my bike tumbled through their pastures. I found myself talking to them over the next 20 km.
Finally, the clouds broke open, and I had a descent that bombed the entire elevation I had climbed back down to sea level. This experience was the best of my trip. The grasslands were as emerald as can be, and the vistas opened up, allowing me to see huge distances through valley upon valley. In the grasslands, I started coming across standing stones, a common sight in many parts of the UK, but these ones were unexpected and furthered my suspicions that I was cycling through a fantasy novel.
I arrived at the village of Dolgellau (pronounced doh-geth-lee) mid-afternoon. I found a caravan camp spot and set up for the night. All in all, it was an amazing day and the height of my trip.
Dolgellau to Lake Trawsfynydd
Clouds had moved in, and it rained for a short but intense period overnight. The next morning was gray and cool as I quickly packed up and headed into town for some breakfast. However, nothing was open, and I had to hang out outside the local pub. I found an outlet and started charging some electronics for the day, but it seemed to get colder and colder as I waited for things to open. I could feel the sickness creeping back in, and overall, my mood was a bit gloomy.
But then, things started to look up, including the sky. After a quick breakfast in a restaurant that used to be the town's jail, I hit the road as the sun peeked through the clouds. A quaint bridge brought me to the north side of the valley, where I started another huge climb. This climb wasn't as high as the previous day's, but my worsening condition made it harder. An hour and a half later, I made the crest at 350 meters, struggling to appreciate the utter beauty that surrounded me. My mind was in a dark place, and I couldn't snap out of it. I tried eating a bar, drinking a ton of water, and getting as many electrolytes as I could.
By noon, I had made it to Coed y Brenin, a mountain bike park with great amenities and solid trails. I sat in the visitor center, chugging a can of coke and willing myself to continue. I must have looked a wreck to everyone around me, but the coke got me out of my seat and back on the bike, facing some of the toughest bikepacking conditions I have encountered to date. Past Coed y Brenin was another climb back up to 350 meters over some tricky terrain. Some of the track had turned into a running stream over loose and jagged shale, much of which I spent hiking for fear of shredding a tire on the sharp stone. As I passed through gate after gate, the terrain evened out, and I began to see sweeping vistas and stunning mountains. In the distance, I saw what looked like a huge castle on a lake. I thought I was dreaming, but what else could it be? Beorn's House?
As I started my descent toward the lake, I was greeted with more stunning grasslands and my new sheep friends everywhere. At one point, I came across a stone wall in the ground looking as if it was supporting the hill. I was seeing it, but my mind couldn't make sense of what it was. Getting off the bike, I explored closer to the wall and realized I was looking at a door that entered a cave-like structure into the hill. Here it was, Bilbo's house, just without the plush couches or fireplace. I learned later that this outdoor shelter is called a Bothy, made by shepherds and other outdoor enthusiasts as a means for shelter in harsh conditions. Apparently, Bothies are more common in Scotland but can be found throughout Wales as well.
I was stopping for the day, but I knew in my heart that this trip was over. The sickness was in me, and battling the even bigger climbs the next morning seemed all but impossible.
Continuing down, the rain started soaking me to the bone. I could feel my ills rising as my elevation lowered. I finally reached the stunning Lake Trawsfynydd and came across a group of people, asking for directions to the nearest campground. They laughed, saying there was one about 100 meters from where we stood. I checked in and set up camp as quickly as possible. Across the lake was the building I thought was a castle from higher up, turned out to be a discontinued nuclear reactor, the first of its kind in Wales. I was stopping for the day, but I knew in my heart that this trip was over. The sickness was in me, and battling the even bigger climbs the next morning seemed all but impossible. Over the course of the afternoon and evening, I struggled with my mind and ended up deciding that I would not continue with the Traws Eryri. I felt defeated mentally and physically, finding myself in tears in my tent in the middle of a field on a lake in remote Wales.
Wrapping Up
I guess I am not Bilbo after all. I didn't slay Smaug. There is a red dragon on the Welsh flag, so maybe I was slain by the dragon. Hah, I don't know, maybe I am losing my metaphor here, but one thing is true: the Traws Eryri is a tough ride, way tougher than I had expected. It has me rethinking my beloved Krampus—simply too heavy. But sick or not, the Traws Eryri is a serious challenge and one that I can hopefully revisit at some point in life.
This experience was the first time I had never completed a ride, something I am not accustomed to and have been reflecting on for the past couple of weeks. Trying to make sense of where it went wrong almost doesn't matter. There's a plethora of things I could blame, myself included. But what's the point of that? I was still able to be out there, just me, the sheep, the standing stones in the clouds. And that sure beats a couple of days sitting at a desk doing nonsense for money any day.
