Resuming my trip between place names so long it may be quicker to ride it than say it, I set off from Porthmadog this grey morning after surviving a brush with Storm Lilian. A wet, and hairy, brush.
I enjoyed cycling across the Cob, a train/road/bike path causeway over marshland overlooked by hills. Then it was quiet-ish roads to Harlech as the sun gradually struggled to come out and light up the rugged castle – one of several built by Edward I in the 1280s.
For many, this is the highlight of Harlech. Not for me: the pen is mightier than the sword. A specific pen. Because I was here for Ffordd Pen Llech, the notorious ‘40%’ hill that’s signposted as the ‘steepest street in the world’.
Well, it isn’t. The title officially belongs to Baldwin St in Dunedin, New Zealand, never mind all the steeper streets round the less developed globe as yet unmeasured and submitted to Guinness.
It’s not even the steepest road or street in Britain (Bamford Clough in the Peaks, Vale St in Bristol, Church Lane in Whitby, and various reservoir access roads, can all claim to be more severe).
But Fford Pen Llech is (as far as I know) the only 40% gradient thus signposted on a public road in Britain, and it makes a startling experience to cycle down. (You can’t cycle up it; it’s one-way down, with No Entry signs at the bottom.)
It goes from the old main street of Harlech down past the castle to the bottom of the hillside, careering down 50m in three or four sharp bends, one of which has an inside that must be at least 50%. (Official gradient measurement, which goes along the middle of the road, rates Fford Pen Llech as a mere 37.5%.)
I descended gingerly, brakes full on – I had a bike loaded with camping gear, and runaway momentum was not something I wanted to risk.
Anyway, with that experience re-bagged (I did it in 2006 too), I carried on into the now sunny late morning along the main coast road.
The traffic was a bit busy, but not too bad; it was breezy and bright, and I was happy, especially after a short stop to buy a meat pie from a village store.
Barmouth’s promenade was being pummelled by an abnormally high tide. Every few second, breakers smashed against the sea-wall, throwing curtains of water and voiles of spray over holidaymaking families. The beach was busy, the pubs and cafes packed: an engagingly lively British bank-holiday weekend.
Another quirky-bike-experience came in the curious shape of Barmouth’s viaduct across the mouth of the Mawddach Estuary: a 150-year-old wooden bridge, first nailed up in the 1860s, that carries trains, bikes and pedestrians, but not cars.
I visited this in 2006 too for my book 50 Quirky Bike Rides and have been back several times since. It’s always fun to make the clanky crossing, and the bridge is still going strong, despite threats of banning pedestrians due to budget constraints, and periodic closures for maintenance.
Over on the south bank, I rode through the village of Fairbourne to the golf club, which sounds more Home Counties than North Wales.
Here, opposite the clubhouse and its public cafe is Golf Halt, a small stop on the Fairbourne Railway (an old narrow-gauge steam line, now a tourist attraction).
Circa 1986, as a PR stunt, they renamed Golf Halt as Gorsafawddachaidraigodanheddogleddollônpenrhynareurdraethceredigion. Archive pictures show the enormous sign this required on the platform. However, it never caught on, and such a big item required a lot of maintenance in the often pokey Welsh coastal weather. So, not long after, they reverted to the shorter, two-syllable, margin-friendly appellation.
But, thankfully, they did leave a modestly-sized version of the full-length name on the sign. Enough justification for me to make this the end of my ride, the longest possible day ride in Britain, perhaps the world.
There was one more potential curio. Just up from here, at the end of the peninsula, is a small passenger- and bike-ferry to Barmouth. However, on this busy bank holiday Saturday there was a long queue of discharged train passengers trying to cram on to the small boat, and I wouldn’t have fitted on with my heavy load.
Moreover, it would have been £6 for me and machine. Hmm. For that I could get a pint and a half of excellently-kept local cask ale in Myrddin’s Tap, the splendid micropub in Barmouth, half an hour’s pleasant cycle back over the bridge.
You can guess how I marked the completion of my ride.
Miles today: 26
Miles from LPG to Golf Halt: 65