Mid-wales highlights
If you want almost every kind of scenery possible in a single ride, then mid-wales is for you, as Jim finds out
A taster of what Wales offers, from the hills to the sea
Mid-wales is a wonderful part of the country to ride a bike. it’s easily accessible and has a huge variety of geography, topography and styles of road. it doesn’t have the relentless imposing rocky mountains of snowdonia or the rolling hills and moors of the Valleys but it has a little bit of everything — a taster menu of what Wales has to offer, if you like.
i like it there; i like it a lot. i’ve spent a fair bit of time there over the years, in various guises, notably as part of the rally world, testing and competing. However, it’s aberystwyth in particular, halfway up the western coast of the irish sea on Cardigan Bay, that interests me — almost 11 years ago to the day that i and snapper simon are riding there, my son was born in the town’s Bronglais hospital. i’ve wanted to go back ever since but haven’t quite got round to it. However, i hatched a plan…
simon and i would head to Welshpool, the first town you come to over the border from shrewsbury, then head to aberystwyth, avoiding trunk routes as much as possible. We would head down the Mach loop valley, across to Tywyn, through aberdyfi to Machynlleth and then out to the coast to aberystwyth for tea.
Picking the right day would be crucial. It’s ‘only’ 85-odd miles from Welshpool to Aberystwyth via our route but much of it is on smaller roads that, in the wrong conditions, would be a nightmare. In fact, just five days before we went, several of the roads on our ride were closed thanks to snow…
As it transpired, our day was devoid of the yellowwarning rain that seemed to be battering the nation and after the kind of cooked breakfast that makes you want to go straight back to bed, we saddled up for the first leg of our ride to the sea.
Rolling out of Welshpool to the west, on the A458 toward Dolgellau, the mainly brick and occasional stone building eventually give way and almost as soon as we pass the first de-restricted speed limit sign, we find ourselves charging along a valley floor. There’s a stream to our left, further down the hill and rolling green fields rise to our right, as we thread our way between the low stone walls and immaculately manicured hedges. After a couple of bends, the road opens up and we can see at least a mile dead ahead; this isn’t an opportunity to wind the throttle open but relax a little and take in what will be the first of several types of scenery as we edge our way inevitably towards to the coast.
We carry on swinging through gently curving, smooth tarmac that winds its way leisurely past rolling hills, splattered with both close and distant white dots of sheep. I’m on my long-term BMW R1250R and it’s the perfect ride for these roads — leave it in fifth gear and surf the tsunami of torque from the twin 627cc cylinders. I love this part of the world and being immersed in it.
As we continue, the road swings closer to the stream and there’s a fence separating us from the ten-foot drop with occasional buildings squeezed between the road and the water. The road is damp as we’re in a tunnel of trees and the insipid sunlight has yet to reach this part of the world, so we take it easy on the glistening surface. A succession of double-white lines and speed camera signs, with the ever-present ‘ARAF’ (slow) painted on the road, means we stay the right side of the mainly black-stripe speed limits.
After a while, the topography starts to change and we catch glimpses of distant hills, some with craggy edges. The rolling hills open out into a brief spell of moorland before we reach the junction with the A470 and a chance to fuel the bikes.
We turn right and carry on heading west, starting to see white at the tops of the surrounding hills. It hasn’t actually rained since we arrived in Welshpool but nonetheless, snow confirms the end of autumn and the descent into winter, even if the BMW’S dash still reads 7°C. We start to climb to the first of the day’s ‘proper’ mountain passes, cut into the side of the hill and with the road stretching off into the distance. We’re only at 380m above sea level but it feels a long way up…
The next major junction is the left-hand turn onto the A487 at the Cross Foxes Inn, a perfect stop for a coffee and to warm up. Once the triple espresso is history, we saddle up again and continue towards the hills. After a few silky-smooth switchbacks, we crest a rise and the splendour of the
Mach Loop valley opens out before us. The RAF practices high-speed, low-level flying in this and other valleys in the area and if you get the timing right, you can climb the surrounding hills to look down on
Eurofighters approaching the speed of sound (not allowed over the mainland) or even C130 transporters threading their way through. It’s an impressive sight.
‘Snow confirms the end of autumn and the descent into winter’
At the bottom of the valley, we hang a right, off the main road and signed towards Tywyn. I know people out this way and it’s supposed to be delightful but first, we have to negotiate the only portion of bad road on the trip — two miles are being dug up and it’s covered in chunks of rock.
We continue past Llyn Mwyngil lake, the smooth tarmac winding its way literally on the edge of the lake in a blur of grass and water. The R isn’t upright for ages, swinging playfully from bend to bend, then we’re charging across a wide, flat valley floor towards the coast. The road narrows and opens again several times before we skirt the edge of Tywyn and turn south, on the A493 towards Aberdyfi.
We soon get our first view of the sea, far to our right but as the road swings that way, we have just the fairways of the Aberdyfi Golf Club between us and the sandy beaches. We round the head of the Dyfi river, below the imposing Treffedian Hotel and before we know it, we’re cruising into Aberdyfi itself, with the tide way out and the vast expanse of sand of the Dyfi river estuary exposed.
This seems the perfect time and place for lunch and there’s no shortage of options. We don’t stop for long though, as daylight is fast disappearing and just across the other side of the mouth of the Dyfi, we can see what looks like an amazing stretch of sand that we want to explore in daylight.
We follow the A493 towards Machynlleth, initially a tight and twisty switchback cut into the side of the hill and shrouded in trees before changing to a wider and faster section as it heads inland, away from the river. In Mach, we head south on the A487 and endure a dozen miles of trunk-road drudgery before we can turn right across the marshes towards Ynyslas and the beach.
This tiny road is a proper test of any bike’s suspension, with its continuous stream of low-speed undulations that try to fire you out of the saddle more often than not. In Ynyslas, we turn right on a single-track road and are faced with the remnants of the previous days’ rain — a
‘We plunge down the valley, imagining jets above our heads’
flood across the road. We tip-toe through it and find ourselves on a huge stretch of sand, a few hundred metres from Aberdyfi across the estuary but an hour by road and a lifetime in terms of development. There are a handful of cars and campers here with dogs being walked, tea being brewed and me and Simon, windblown and soggy but grinning at the staggering beauty of this place. It’s remoteness ensures everyone there had to put the effort in and that makes it all the more special. If only we could get a cuppa...
With the sun beginning to dip, we mount up and head south again, through Borth and follow the nadgery and frankly, sketchy at times, B4572 over the hills with the sea to our right. We pass farms, B&BS and holiday parks before emerging back into civilisation, for the final run down to the seafront in Aberystwyth.
Passing the Borglais hospital on the way down the hill into Aberystwyth, we arrive at the pier as the sun moves into the narrow strip between the clouds and the horizon. Attacking a bag of chips and a large coffee, we watch thousands of starlings begin their aerial dance, preparing to roost under the pier for the night.
It’s been a superb day; mid-wales has lived up to its promise of almost every kind of riding road. And, as I get ready to head home, I find myself in the local souvenir shop, just as I was 11 years ago, to grab souvenirs for my daughters and a pair of socks for my son, which proclaim; “Thank God I’m Welsh”. Indeed…
‘Mid-wales has lived up to its promise’