The 1991 Easter Tour to Mid Wales was restricted to sixteen participants because of the size of some of the simple hostels involved.  It was hardly surprising that every place was taken, and so it was that the sixteen met at Bristol Parkway station for the beginning of an epic eight-day adventure.

Mark's father, who knew the area well, kindly led us through some flat, quiet lanes to Olveston, avoiding the busy main roads.  We then proceeded across the Severn bridge, slightly nervous about the strong sidewind that threatened to blow us over the edge.  When we reached the far side we were able to observe the part of the river that passed over the railway tunnel, through which we would be passing on our return journey at the end of the tour.

After a hasty lunch on a grassy verge near Chepstow we continued to the Wye Valley.  First stop here was the Eagle's Nest viewpoint.  We had to walk along a footpath from a car park, but there was a long delay because several of the leading riders had missed the turning, sailing on up the hill out of sight.  There then followed a short stop at Tintern Abbey for refreshments and minor repairs - nobody could afford to go into the abbey itself - before the long climb to St Briavels Castle hostel.

St Briavels is one of the most impressive hostels in England and Wales.  It is a Norman castle, used long ago by King John as a hunting lodge, situated in the centre of the quiet village.  Our dormitories were in the tower, but we didn't see any ghosts.

It had rained all night and showed no signs of abating as we waited behind the hostel's drawbridge.  Eventually we accepted that we were going to get wet and set off down the hill and along the easy valley road to Monmouth.

It was as we entered the town that Neil discovered that his rear rim was falling apart.  Closer inspection revealed that it would have to be replaced before he could ride the bike again, so Michael checked out the local cycle shop while the rest of the group purchased lunch from a nearby bakery.

The 'bike shop' seemed to have more lawnmowers on display than bikes, and they certainly had no alloy rims or Shimano cassette freewheels.  They suggested a shop in Abergavenny - which, whilst not particularly helpful, was at least in the right direction.  Since the weather had brightened up a bit, Michael decided to take Neil and the two bikes to Abergavenny in a taxi while Simon led the other members along the proposed route.

The good weather lasted only another thirty minutes.  When everyone met up again at Llanfihangel Crucorney, Simon's group were drenched to the skin - but at least Neil's bike was fully repaired.  We made the most of a local transport café before starting the long climb through the Black Mountains to the hostel.  The delightful scenery of the area was lost to us as the rain pelted down even harder than before.  When we finally arrived at the hostel, wet and miserable, the rain was beginning to ease, and by the time we had hung our wet clothes above the heater in the entrance hall the rain had stopped altogether - typical!

Sunshine greeted us this morning, so we decided to catch up with the schedule by climbing the heathery hill behind the hostel.  A few wet blankets couldn't manage anything remotely energetic and hung aimlessly around the hostel.  Those who proceeded, however, got some excellent photographs of the hostel nestling on the side of its remote mountainous valley, and of the numerous sheep that were dotted about on the mountainside.  There was also some free entertainment from Paul: first he spent fifteen minutes searching vainly for his camera, dropped carelessly during the descent; then he slipped over and landed squarely in the muddiest part of a bog.

Returning to the bikes we continued the climb past the hostel and were soon enjoying more panoramic views, this time from Gospel Pass.  A long and enjoyable descent brought us shortly to Hay-on-Wye where lunch, supper & breakfast were purchased.

Hay-on-Wye is famous for its second-hand book shops.  Indeed, there seemed to be several such shops in every street.  We found one near the centre, and were totally amazed by its size.  It was a three-storey town house that had every single room converted for the display of books - including the basement!  Never had we seen so many books crammed into one house.  We really needed several days to examine the contents, but time was pressing so we had to content ourselves with a cursory inspection of each room.  Some of the musty tomes in the attic rooms looked as if they might fall apart if we touched them!

The afternoon's ride through Painscastle (we couldn't find any way to get to the castle) and Bryngwyn was interrupted periodically by Michael's blow-outs, caused by a split in the side-wall of his rear tyre.  The weather was quite pleasant, however, and eventually we reached the simple hostel at Glascwm, a tiny hamlet where most of the inhabitants seemed to have four legs and woolly fleeces.

We awoke to the sound of heavy rain falling steadily on the flimsy roof of our dormitory.  It seemed foolish to rush out of bed if we weren't likely to leave for a while, so we enjoyed a lie-in and a leisurely breakfast, followed by a prolonged hostel-cleaning programme which did not cease until Michael was satisfied with the standard of work.  While all these activities proceeded the rain stopped, but it had started again by the time we left.

Riding to the first of our three Spa towns, Builth Wells, was not especially thrilling in view of the weather.  It was now lunchtime and nobody really fancied eating cold food in the rain, so we treated ourselves to hot meals in an excellent local café, even though we couldn't really afford the time.

When evening meals, breakfasts, 16 pints of milk and three loaves of bread had been purchased and stowed away in various panniers the afternoon was well advanced.  We proceeded through Llangammarch Wells  and various prolonged showers to Llanwrytd Wells, where tiredness and hunger forced us to stop briefly at the local Spar.  There then followed an unpleasant uphill section of the A483, made all the more miserable by strong headwinds and further spells of rain.  Sugar Loaf hill marked the beginning of the descent, but the worst climb was yet to come: under the viaduct and up the steep lanes to Hafod-y-Pant, the warden's farm.

When we had stamped our cards and negotiated the muddy half-mile track over the hill to the hostel, daylight had almost disappeared.  There were only two other hostellers booked in, and they were sitting in the semi-darkness waiting for someone to show them how to switch on the Calor gas - used for cooking, hot water and lighting in the absence of electricity.  After some fiddling with the cylinders outside Michael and Simon managed to get it working, and when a fire had been laid in the hostel felt very cosy indeed. 

It was almost dry as we left the hostel next morning, descending to the village shop at Rhandirmwyn for refreshments and lunch.  The rain soon began to set in, however, like some horrible nightmare.  By the time we had reached Llyn Brianne reservoir, just a few miles up the road, gale force winds and torrential rain made progress almost impossible.  The reservoir was impressive with its gigantic water fountain at the base - worth a few photographs despite the weather.

We found a modern toilet block near the reservoir's dam, which offered some small degree of shelter under its porches.  A few members then discovered the warm-air hand drier in the lavatory itself, and it wasn't long before sixteen wet cyclists were packed into the tiny area, enjoying the nearest thing to comfort that we were to experience that day.  When a gentleman arrived to use the convenience for its intended function we offered to leave, but he said he wasn't bothered and didn't blame us for sheltering.

It soon became obvious that the rain was not going to stop.  We had a long way to go, so we set off over the dam to 'enjoy' the track that runs around the reservoir.  In all my time as a cyclist I have never known such unpleasant conditions as we experienced a few minutes later, pushing into a gale-force headwind with torrential, icy-cold rain beating into our faces.  Fingers became blue as we were tested to the limits of our endurance: we would have given anything to be spared the misery of those few moments.

Somehow we managed to round the bend into the lea of the wind and continued along the forest path in improving conditions, taking only one wrong turning along the way.  Approaching the junction with the road, a sheep was discovered stuck in a cattle grid with its feet through the bars, completely helpless. Martyn helped it out and it trotted off, bleating joyfully.

Tyncornel is the most isolated hostel in England and Wales, situated in a remote valley on a rough track.  From our present position we could have taken the track short-cut over the hills (just a few miles).  Sadly, however, we hadn't purchased supper or breakfast at the shop, and there seemed little point in getting to the hostel with nothing to eat.  And besides, none of us had ever tried the short-cut, and it seemed from the map that we might end up pushing our heavy bikes for much of the way.  There was nothing for it but to take the road alternative adding 18 miles to our journey.

When we had ridden up the long drag to the telephone box, young Joseph was totally exhausted (hardly surprising really).  We allowed him a short rest and, after a puncture, arrived at Tregaron at 5.30, just seconds before the Spar closed its doors.

Michael's tyre was bulging in two places now, requiring constant attention to keep it from bursting.  He hobbled along behind while the rest set off up the long climb from Llanddewi Brefi to the hostel, but progress was still painfully slow: everyone was weary and hungry after so much bad weather.  When we reached the top and the road turned into a track we found ourselves riding in virtual darkness, wet, tired and hungry.  When the dark shape of the hostel loomed up ahead we were heartily thankful.

The rain began as we had breakfast, but we had already decided that we weren't going to cycle in the rain on this particular day.  Michael cycled off to a nearby farmhouse in order to make arrangements for the whole group to be transported to the next hostel in two vans.  Everyone in the group had agreed to share the cost equally.

Now this was all rather short notice, but we managed to find a van firm and a minibus firm who could help us for a reasonable charge.  We still got wet as we waited at the end of the tarmac road in the pouring rain at midday.  The minibus soon arrived, taking all the luggage and thirteen cyclists, the other three being offered coffee in the warmth of the farm house.  The bus driver dropped Michael at the Cèllan van firm and continued on to Llandeusant hostel via Lampeter, where Simon purchased a few essential items such as a new tyre for Michael and a new derailleur for Tim.

We hadn't heard the weather forecast, but our plans for Day 7 were based on the assumption that it would rain heavily all day.  We decided to leave early and proceed at top speed with the absolute minimum of stops.  This would get us to the hostel by lunch time so that we would have time to dry out and visit the waterfalls before supper.

It was dry but overcast as we left the hostel.  Perhaps we had been unduly pessimistic about the weather?  Four minutes into the ride, however, the first drops began to fall, and within ten minutes it had become continuous, steady rain.  As we stopped at Sennybridge for provisions the rain was heavy, but the weather gods saved their worst for the hairpin climb over Fforest Fawr.  Bitterly cold headwinds and torrential rain were taking their toll, and some of the younger members who had previously cycled bravely onwards through the worst of the weather were now beginning to give up.

Somehow Simon shepherded the stragglers to the top, ready for the welcome descent into the greener, sunnier & more pleasant lands of the Mellte valley.  This was a different world, but we were too dazed to appreciate it.

The hostel consists of two buildings, one on each side of the lane.  The warden kindly allowed us to use the common room in the annexe, where a stove radiated sufficient heat to dry most of our belongings while we ate lunch.  Several hours later most of the group cycled down the lane to see some of the most spectacular waterfalls in Britain - huge, deafening and magnificent.  At least the rain hadn't stopped us from enjoying this particular pleasure.

We were on the way home and the weather was beginning to break - just as we had predicted.  The route to Treherbert railway station was mainly downhill, but we were delayed when Christian discovered a broken rear axle - solid spindle of course.  His progress got slower and slower until we were in danger of missing the train.  Michael managed to arrange a taxi for him and Simon while the rest sped on up the hill from Hirwaun, making excellent progress in the dry weather.

Thankfully, everyone managed to get to the station on time.  Trains in South Wales are unable to carry more than two bikes at a time, so we had arranged for Interlink, the carrier firm, to meet us at the station with a large van.  We loaded all the bikes and then boarded the train to Bristol.  The van had already arrived.  When the non-Devon members had unloaded their bikes the van set off for Devon and we said our farewells.