NO PLACE LIKE HOME
HYWEL WILLIAMS HADN’T SO MUCH AS BEEN ON AN OVERNIGHTER WITH HIS BIKE BEFORE DECIDING TO THROW HIMSELF INTO A 2,500KM UNSUPPORTED BIKEPACKING ODYSSEY ACROSS THE UK…
For your first ride longer than 60km, why wouldn’t you spend two months bikepacking the length of Britain, taking in the gnarliest trails you can find? That’s the challenge ex-pat Hywel Williams set himself
Sat in my subterranean flat in Canada, I’m glued to my screen scouring the internet for articles, photographs, maps… My decision to embark on an off-road bikepacking trip through the UK has consumed me. I, like many expats I’ve met, left the UK in search of high peaks and good times, thinking it was a country devoid of wild places and adventure. But over the years, it’s become harder to ignore the whispers of this untruth. From beerfuelled rants to magazine articles glorifying the British Isles, I’ve heard tales of world-class rock climbing, mountain biking and remote rugged landscapes I knew little about. I’ve never cycletoured in any sense. Never done an overnight bike trip. Hell, I’ve never cycled more than 60km. Two months and 2,500km through Scotland, England and Wales might prove a challenge.
As I prepare to go ‘home’, numerous questions crop up, both from friends and from within. Why do I feel the need to test myself? Am I running away from responsibilities? Is it just for the sake of adventure? What am I looking for? I’m not expecting an epiphany, but a line from the ultrarunner Charlie Engle keeps coming to mind. “We risk our jobs, we risk our family, everything. And we have faith. That is faith. We have faith that when we finish, something important will happen.”
I’m due to set out on my trip from Dunnet Head, at the far northern tip of mainland Scotland, on the morning of the summer equinox. Finally the day dawns, accompanied by strong winds and pummelling rain. I’m filled with anticipation that even some last-minute preparations involving beer and Scottish folk music aren’t enough to overcome. Just 48 hours ago my GPS, and therefore my means of navigation, went kaput. Hours on the phone ensued trying to source a new one and, combined with the delays I’d had getting sleeping equipment and sourcing the right mech hanger for my bike, made me come to the realisation that nothing ever goes perfectly to plan. Once I’d accepted that, it eased my apprehension. And so, when I pedal out from Dunnet Head, with the whole of the UK before me, it’s with a smile on my face…