Lôn Las Cymru Trip: Caernarfon to Holyhead
The next day I woke to bright sunshine again, ready to switch back into riding mode after my day off. Today I would pass the threshold of my longest tour to date, and I was excited to get going. I’d promised to say goodbye to the couple I’d spent the evening before with, but at the critical moment there was no sign of them. I wanted to stick around, to wish them well and repeat my gratitude for their generosity and warmth, but with no idea how long they might be I instead pedalled off, trying to ignore the guilty voice inside.
Once back at the coast I enjoyed the quiet of the traffic-free Lôn Las Menai for a few miles, until it gave way to a small road, then a bigger road, until I was next to an unpleasantly busy A road. Fortunately the oppressive noise only lasted a couple of miles, and as I sped downhill to a roundabout the Menai Bridge finally came into sight. This 193 year-old suspension bridge is the older of two routes spanning the Menai Strait. The waters below are a particularly dangerous section known as The Swellies – a lovely name to say with a Welsh accent – the narrow channel and rocks causing dangerous whirlpools when the tides change, and accounting for much loss of life before the bridge was constructed.
Looking North up the Menai Strait. Anglesey - Ynys Môn - is to the left, the mainland on the right.
I took the opportunity for some sunlit photos, having the foresight that it might not be quite so picturesque on the return leg. On the far side of the bridge I had to stop again and somewhat self-consciously take a grinning selfie with the Croeso i Ynys Môn – Welcome to Anglesey sign. Whatever happened from this point, I had ridden the entirety of the Welsh mainland to its North-western coast, and as a milestone that felt worthy enough to justify the somewhat clichéd picture.
A milestone moment right here!
Less than a mile onto the island, and the route eluded me through urban roads with poor signage. While backtracking I spotted another cycle tourer sporting a similar air of confusion. I stopped to say hi and compare notes, and discovering he was also heading for Holyhead we re-found the route and rode on together.
Nick was great company, and we shared the next 30 miles of mainly agricultural landscape together, chatting all manner of things. After the rain arrived we donned waterproofs and shared sweeties under a well-placed railway bridge, and I felt grateful for Nick’s presence as a distraction from the worsening conditions as we continued on. In mid-afternoon, just before the crossing to Holy Island where our destination lay, we detoured into the village of Valley, where a pub filled up our empty batteries and stomachs, and gave us some respite from the crap weather.
Sated, we embarked on the final 5 mile leg to Holyhead, past views of the Irish Sea to the North, through a pleasant woodland park, and then suburbs which gave way to the industrial landscape of the port where the signs ran out. Nick was happy to declare the ride done here, but as my map indicated the end of the route on the far side of town, we rode on to make certain we really did complete it.
A bedraggled but happy cyclist poses awkwardly in his natural environment.
This is Nick. Hi Nick!
Through the town centre we continued and at last arrived to find...nothing. No ceremonial marker of the route’s end, just the sea. On the official map it appears the route does actually end at the ferry terminal, with a sense of “This is it folks, nothing more worth seeing here!” We celebrated nonetheless, taking photos in the rain and grinning, pleased with our respective achievements and once again glad to be able to share the experience with someone.
Nick’s ride now complete he was to take the train back to the-place-with-a-ridiculously-long-name before returning home to South Wales tomorrow. Keen to ensure I had time to ride through the mountains of Snowdonia and still make the return trip home by bike, I decided to join him, and we basked in our soggy glory on the train contacting loved ones with news of success.
The longest railway station placard in the country. It was a point of honour to learn the pronunciation of it!
It felt strange when we parted ways. We’d spent only a few hours getting to know each other, but through the lows of unpleasant weather to the highs of reaching the end of the route, we’d shared a significant experience. Nearly two years on this still feels like a meaningful bond, and though we live too distant from each other for day-to-day riding, I would happily share further travels with Nick should the opportunity arise again, to form new experiences and reminisce about the old ones in that remote corner of Wales.
It was now dinner time though, and not really feeling like searching for a wild camping spot, I identified a campsite back on the mainland and headed over for a shower and food. I later climbed into bed, with a satisfied grin on my face and “I did it!” bouncing around my head.