The Secret Weapons do Wales!

December 18, 2017 Vicky Bikes

Locked, loaded and ready to roll! Antur Stiniog

How on earth do you condense three days of epic riding and belly-aching laughter into one blog? I don’t know exactly but I’m going to give it a go! If you want a concise version of the trip, stop reading now because you’ve just had it!

Following Damo and Joel through Snowdonia

After a biking odyssey through Wales in March with BenBikes, I’ve been itching to go back and ride in North Wales again. So, when the idea of a Secret Weapons Roadtrip began to germinate I was straight in there with my suggestions. Conveniently, North Wales is also the newly adopted home of former Kent Trails rider and honorary Secret Weapon, Dan and after eight months of Dan’s riding updates the guys didn’t take much persuading. Before long we had a date and a plan: Antur Stiniog for acclimatisation on day one, a possible double ascent of Snowdon and then either Penmachno, Marin or Llandegla on the last day. Swapping regular Secret Weapon, Darryl, for Geordie Phil, we were all in!

Will and me grinning like loons - we hadn't even got on a bike yet!

As Kent is so far from anywhere mountainous we broke the journey in Wrexham on the Friday night. Despite arriving very late (ok, Will and I might have had a minor argument with the satnav in Wrexham…), we were on our way again by 8am the following morning with Geordie Phil’s Big Brother style commentary ringing in our ears and Damo’s rocket-fuel-grade coffee buzzing in our veins!

Spencer in breakfast detention on the first morning!

When we arrived at Antur Stiniog it was living up to its windswept and rugged reputation: the double black run was closed until further notice and the repeated message was to ‘ride to the conditions’. From the shelter of the uplift bus in the car park, that seemed a bit overcautious but by the time we reached the trail heads and found snow and ice on the ground and felt the freezing wind lick our faces it was clear that they were right. The planned ascent of Snowdon the following day was definitely off the cards if this weather was to continue.

Bit nippy, Will?

Riding with the same guys once or twice a week means you know each other’s temperaments and riding styles inside out which makes days like this even more fun. We rode the first couple of runs as a group before scattering. From then on we simply slotted in and out of riding packs depending on who was at the top of the uplift at what point and which trails we fancied riding. After getting my eyes in on the Jymper (Blue) and bits of Draft (Red) Dan’s quiet confidence got me to abandon my cautious plan of another couple of blue runs in favour of Scrybadub (Red). Boy, am I glad he did! Fast, flowy and full of features it whet my appetite and made me want to push myself more. By mid-morning we’d all begun to find our favourite trails. Our jump and flow merchant, Will (aka Tigger), and his apprentice, Joel, were blissfully happy blending Wildcart, Scrybadub and a little bit of Bendy G while the rest of us focused on Black Powder with Dan and Damo also trying out The Black.

The groovy gang ready to shred!

I had forgotten quite how much I love riding on rock as opposed to endless amounts of mud and my happiness swelled with every run I did, improving my line choice and speed each time. It’s no surprise then that Bendy G held no interest for me. Described by Dan as “Blean [our regular trails] on the side of a mountain” it lived up to its reputation and after one run I sacked the near vertical mudfest in favour of stuff I couldn’t get at home!

When your mud-guard breaks, needs must!

The buses stopped for a 30-min break at 1pm and the café sprang into action, feeding burgers, coffee and cake to the horde of ravenous MTBers. Refuelled and reheated we were soon back out on the mountainside, determined to make the most of the remaining daylight. By then the snow had all but gone, replaced by hail showers, but nothing could dampen our spirits. North Wales riding was living up to expectations and we were buzzing. I couldn’t believe how capable my Roubion was. As she bent and flexed with the trail, I felt almost guilty at not doing this kind of riding all the time.

Troughing!

Arriving at our home for the next couple of nights was like being transported to the 1980s – deep pile carpets; salmon pink bath, basin, loo and bidet; lace curtains; pastel colours and wood laminate as far as the eye could see. But it was nothing compared to the natural spectacle that greeted us as we opened the curtains the next morning. Across the fields behind the house Gwydir Mawr (home of the Marin trail) rose up full of promise of exhilarating descents and lung busting climbs. You could almost hear the laughter echoing across the valley.

Gwydir Mawr

Having looked at the forecast we abandoned Snowdon and within an hour we were unpacking our bikes in the car park of the Moel Siabod café, safe in the knowledge that whatever happened on our ride there was steaming food and coffee waiting for us on our return. Another Kent Trails exile, ‘Evo Dan’, joined us for the ride and after a quick group photo and we were off, pedalling along a quiet lane on our way to the killer climb that would lead us on to the Marin trail. It’s a standing joke within the Secret Weapons that I have total trail blindness and frequently comment that we’ve never ridden a trail before, only to be told that we rode it last week…. But somehow Marin had been imprinted in my mind – we entered part way through and immediately I was taken back to riding it in March. Pretty soon we faced a series of technical climbs that tested our skills: with a combination of loam, wet tree roots and the odd rock for good measure it was a battle to maintain momentum and balance. Mission accomplished with only a small amount of hike-a-bike we joined a fire road and dropped down the other side of the ridge before stopping at the top of our first proper single-track descent.

Spencer meeting his canine counterpart ;-)

We’d come to North Wales to get steep runs that required all your concentration and nerve and that’s what we got. Riding down in a train, bunching and separating as we encountered steeper sections and roots, by the bottom we were grinning from ear to ear. The next descent was not a sanctioned trail but strewn with rocks and tight turns it was well worth the risk and we arrived at the bottom whooping and hollering. The amused walkers who had watched us flying down immediately challenged us to ride down the steps to the river bed. Of course, we were more than happy to oblige, ready to show off our skills and daring - especially as the walkers had no idea quite how easy it was compared to what we’d just ridden! We stopped at the river bed to play tourists before lifting our bikes and climbing the steps up the opposite bank.

Dan leading the way

At this point we were blissfully unaware of the technical climbs that awaited us. Spencer, Evo Dan, and I being the mountain goats in our group we relished in the challenge. Getting all the way up the first section we were full of bravado until Evo Dan turned back to the trail and with a voice heavy with foreboding muttered ‘look up…’ to which Will replied ‘oh, shit’. What we’d thought was a technical climb was nothing compared to what faced us now. Nope, we didn’t make it the entire way up this section but Dan’s potted history of mountain bike design and discussion of hubs distracted Joel and me so that we barely noticed the weight of the bikes on our shoulders as we trudged up the track.

Just a little walk with our bikes

Leaving the rocky hills behind the fire-road opened out onto moorland with a new challenge: bogs and deep puddles. A range of tactics were deployed: cut wide and power through the bog; ratchet pedal through the middle, praying that there is a higher point there between wheel ruts; and climb up on the high bank to one side and perilously wobble along risking a total soaking if the wheel slips. All options were explored with a lesser and greater degree of success much to the bemusement of the cows in the neighbouring field and to the amusement of ourselves.

Will abandoned the bog on the left...

By this point my heart was bursting with happiness, an epic ride with good mates in the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t want for more. Eventually we were back on local roads and found ourselves in Dolwyddelan. After a quick stop at the local Spar shop and the obligatory ‘having a go on each other’s bikes’ we began the final leg back towards Moel Siabod. Unbeknownst to us Spencer, our regular ride lead, had the route map on his phone and he and Geordie Phil raced on ahead while the rest of us meandered our way up the climb, alternating riding partners and making the most of the chance to chat! A brief roll across an exposed heath led us onto the most technical fire-road descent I’ve ever ridden. Rutted and more closely related to a riverbed than a road, it tested our shocks to the full and forced us to sit back, let the bike roll and enjoy the ride.

By the time we made it back to Moel Siabod for lunch it was nearly 2pm. We’d been planning to do a second smaller loop but with only another hour or so of daylight and no lights we decided to abandon that. Instead Dan took Will, Damo, Joel and me over to the nearby pump track and skills area behind Plas y Brenin where we played like a bunch of kids. Eventually, with the light fading and the temperature dropping we conceded that we ought to head back to the house and catch up with Spencer and Geordie Phil. Presented with the age-old MTB problem of what to do with filthy bikes Damo came up with the perfect solution – the river! So, we collected his brushes and pedalled back to the river bank and bathed our bikes till they gleamed in the fading light. The only downside was that we then had to carry them back to the car park to stop them getting muddy again! All in all, it was a pretty perfect way to end the day’s riding.

The final dilemma was what to do with our third day’s riding! After an uplift day at Antur and a long XC loop we decided that a day of easy trail centre fun at Llandegla was the answer. We packed up, checked out and made our way over, praying we’d stay ahead of the rain for long enough to ride. I’d forgotten how exposed the blue route at Llandegla is as it leads you over to the start of the black runs. But soon enough we were back in the shelter of the trees and enjoying the first black run. With tired legs and Spencer’s broken dropper post there was a fair bit of good-natured grumbling about the fact that there were meaty climbs hidden amongst the downhill runs, but it was all white noise to me. Llandegla was the first place that I had ridden in Wales with BenBikes and Dan back in March. I’d enjoyed it for sure, but I hadn’t had the technical skill or confidence to make the most of it, not to mention the record-breaking 7 punctures Dan and BenBikes had had over the day. Returning this time, I finally understood why people rate it so highly. A mix of manicured trails, north shore and more natural single track there was something for everyone. Features that had stumped me before barely even registered on my horizon this time. Racing along trails, knowing that your friends are buzzing behind you is such a great feeling. I loved the way my stomach jumped as the trail fell away below me, brakes off, mind in gear, making the most of every feature that appeared in front of me; only for my legs and lungs to kick in as I climbed the subsequent hill. I conquered the bastard hill that had left me walking and nearly killed myself laughing when I saw the drop off on the freeride trail that had flummoxed me last time – so much has changed in eight months.

Near pile up in the Christmas trees

Despite losing the feeling in our hands and feet Damo, Joel, Will and I returned to the skills area, pump track and freeride trail while Spencer and Geordie Phil called it a day and headed for Kent. We made a valiant effort to enjoy it all to the full but by the time we reached the end of the freeride trail we were so cold that our brains were no longer functioning. The effort it took to read and process the sign before the final drop-off on the trail meant that we all flopped over it, looking like we could barely ride at all! It was time to admit defeat and head home.

The end of a fantastic roadtrip - Wales, we'll be back!

It’s commonly accepted that it is impossible to ride a trail without discussing every metre of it afterwards. Sharing the thrills and frustrations, pointing out the best bits and consoling each other over the disappointments; it’s pointless trying to stop it. The beauty of riding with the same guys week in, week out is that you build your own family history. There is no doubt that this first Roadtrip will form the basis for future Secret Weapons legends – the first being that time when Spencer was so frustrated with his broken dropper post that he actually sat on the side of the trail mid-ride and sulked 😉!

Cheers guys – where are we going next?

A selection of our photos (taken by Spencer, Damo, Joel and me):

So we had to leave.... ;-)!