Cwncarn

It's been years since I have travelled to Wales for the mountain biking, so this Sunday in Cwncarn was tough. Six of us crossed the bridge & drove to Cwmcarn, only 40 minutes away from home.
High above the ruined grim valley streets, reeking of industrial decay & unemployment, the Forestry Commission has built a 10-mile trail a around hillside.

The cycling was tough. Well, it was for me. The first climb was slow and ponderous, with my lungs wheezing as I tried to haul my lardy arse and an eight-year-old bike over the roots & up the hill. In the cold autumn air, my forehead was frozen and painful, whilst my chest and back were running with sweat and my my thighs ached. And the descents were scary. There were damp roots to catch the knobbles on my tyres, and rocks to bounce me sideways. Still, we managed it. But some of the young gods on two wheels that passsed us were sublime. On downhill stretches which had me braking hard, they were accelerating and leaping into the air with every bump. On the uphills they pumped their way past me and my friends, bouncing upon their pedals. To our shame, they seemed to be lapping us towards the end of the circuit. [To be fair, one of the girls doing this was in the national development squad, so I guess she was quite good]

Coincidentally, I met my daughter's boyfriend there, who was riding with his mates. We watched them flying down a fast black run, without fear or imagination. Then they decided to do another circuit; we didn't.