Squelsh Squelsh Squelsh!

Who would have known it was summer? Still, that didn’t stop us from setting our sights on Mid Wales for the bank holiday weekend just past, to ride a chopped down and modified version of one of the Bear Bones 200 annual ‘sufferfests’… albeit spread out over 3 days, making it (I suspect, at least) far more of a pleasant and agreeable undertaking than an all-in-one affair.

Over the last decade or so, Llanbrynmair-based Stuart Wright has curated quite the archive of 200km routes in mid-Wales, shared on his Bear Bones Bikepacking website for the more gentle souls who prefer to tour them rather than race them. Speaking of which, I can’t imagine how tough the Bear Bones 200 must be as an event, especially as it’s held in October, which means a good chunk of the riding – and the navigation – will likely be in the pitch dark…

When I arrived back in the UK in July, I rode the 2017 iteration with Mike and Mike, a route that I’d written up previously for Bikepacking.com. When I messaged Stuart for a recommendation this time around, his reply summed up the essence of the Bear Bones 200, and the 2016 version specifically, in his typical dry and amusing fashion.

“It ventures across the border into England and I recall everyone was still talking to me at the end, so it must be okay.”

And, when we finished the ride…

Cass: “Well, we made it around, smiling most of the way, only cursing the gorse occasionally, and squelching through sheep shit contentedly. Thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, despite the unsummery weather. Felt like a classic Mid Wales extravaganza and hats off to anyone who rides it in one fell swoop.”

Stuart: “Smiling’s good but I would have settled for simply ‘alive’ ;o)”

As for the weather, well, it actually held out, though the conditions underfoot (or more specifically, under sandal) were distinctly squelchy, with a seasoning of sheep shit for good measure. Still, it was exactly the terrain that we’d come for. Exposed, rugged, and almost completely bereft of beings of a non-wooly kind. Just wind farms and Welsh cakes. And gates and gorse.

And we’re off! We joined the loop in St. Harman, a few miles away from Rhyader, where we started the Bear Bones Bash.

This is Chris! He and his wife Gail joined me on one of our India tours many eons ago, and we’ve been friends and riding companions ever since.

Despite a bleak forecast for Day 1, it turned out to be the sunniest stretch of the trip, treating us to classic, blustery Welsh skies and neon green fields.

The Little Bakery, in Llanidloes, comes highly recommended on Google. And I concur, as their Eccles cake was delightfully flaky and packed with currants.

Did I mention the sheep? And by default, the sheep shit?

Roads like these. Yes please!

Towards the end of our first day, we bumped into Beth and Andy, following the epic GB Divide, all the way from Scotland to Cornwall. I meant to ask them how they kept themselves and their gear so clean!

Perhaps it was thanks to my weather talisman – a bulky poncho I’d debated about bringing – but we were never actually rained on for more than a few moments…

As for navigation, we mostly used my Hammerhead Karoo 2. But it’s definitely worth having the OS Mapping App loaded onto your phone, to help pinpoint the rights of way across open tracts of land – especially with so many extended fencelines to figure out which side you want to be on. To be fair, it also helped that Chris is well-versed in map reading, having grown up on Dartmoor…

Then again, maybe knowing exactly where you are is overrated…

It wouldn’t be a Bear Bones 200 without some pushing. We had, after all, signed up on Stuart’s dotted line…

Despite the windy conditions, neither of us could resist building our mobile homes on the tip of a particularly exposed ridgeline. Besides, it was a good chance for me to test out the new Hyperlite tarp… and take some nice photos.

The following morning wasn’t the weather we were hoping for. But still, it wasn’t raining, and that’s a win in the Welsh Bikepackers’ Playbook.

Glory, glory, hallelujah. I see the light!

Notes so far: So many sheep. So much sheep shit.

Still, this was exactly the terrain that we’d come for. Exposed, rugged, and almost completely bereft of beings of a non-wooly kind.

Post coffee gorse-wacking. Now there’s a way to wake up!

Not that it’s all death-by-a-million-scratches. There were a few longish sections of asphalt that were invariably quiet and traffic-free.

And, as I’ve alluded to above, lots of sheep. And where there are sheep, there is sheep shit…

And where there are wind farms, there is wind…

And there were gates too. I lost track of how many we opened and closed. A billion? A trillion? A zillion? Some were well weighted, perfectly oiled, and a joy to operate. We appreciated them and thanked their makers. The more neglected ones, however, required an arm wrestle to open and three hands to close with a loaded bike. These ones, we admonished.

In the future, when SIM cards are implanted directly into our brains, telephone boxes will be unearthed in archaeological digs…

Note to self. Eat more greens.

I did, however, right my wrongs with a fine dinner on our second night: Tuscan stew from Dorset-based Firepot Foods. Restaurant-quality fare, albeit with better views.

“A mellow, feel-good stew straight from the Tuscan kitchen, with white beans, an abundance of fresh cavolo nero, and tasty sourdough bread to soak up all the slow-cooked flavours.” And did I mention the packaging is compostable?

Coffee and a Welsh cake for breakfast, although at this point, we were technically just across the border in England…

That’s me and my morning wrinkles!

Then we were back on the road, splish-splashing through puddles once more. I’d chosen Bedrock sandals for this ride, whilst Chris went for SPD shoes… Soggy socks throughout, or flecks of sheep shit between your toes. Which would you prefer?!

On our last day, we followed Offa’s Dyke for a brief stretch, an 8th Century earthwork that traces the border between England and Wales.

Never trust a robot… Onwards we rode, connecting field slogs with muddy drovers’ roads.

Rather than pedalling all the way to Knighton, we deviated away from the Bear Bones 200 route, surrendering ourselves to a calve-burning bike push that rejoined the Gwyndyr Way.

Then, we were cruising across open heathland for mile upon mile. We marvelled at the immaculately mown grassy hilltops, courtesy of our industrious friends the sheep. No wonder there’s so much shit!

Chris and his hotchpotch of loaner gear, including a Porcelain Rocket handlebar bag that dates back to my early days of bikepacking.

The farmer who owned these sheep guffawed at my choice of footwear.

Sesame Snaps! Score! Pretty sure these used to be 10p though…

Beyond the Glyndwr Way Community Cafe, we squelched across a particularly unpleasant quagmire of mud, runoff, and animal muck.

Thankfully, some whole bogtrotting soon followed, which doubled as a foot bath. Then, we were almost back from whence we came…

If you need to properly test components, come to Wales!

And yet, just when we thought the end was in sight, we chanced upon another quagmire to hopscotch our way through. Clearly, Stuart wasn’t letting us off the hook quite yet…

The Route

We did make a few changes to the original route. Mostly, we added in resupplies, shortened it a touch, and worked in an extra stretch on the Glyndyr Way.

It’s always fun following someone else’s route, especially when they’re local to the area, and they know all the options to pick from. Experiencing which ones they choose is akin to being privy to the inner workings of their mind!

Some Gear Talk

Because what blog post is worth its salt without some gear talk?

Chris’ tent. I’ve not come across the Nordisk and their 1010g Telemark 2.2 before. It’s a two-skin tent and the way the integrated pouch tent organises its short poles and handful of pegs into the roll is neat! The net result is a 41 x 13cm, bikepacking-friendly parcel, that works well on your handlebars. It seemed to deal with high winds well, too.

My Jones LWB, in all its muddy glory. I’m partial to the handsome Fabs Abs handlebar atop the truss fork, as it’s the perfect size for a full set of waterproofs and a generous picnic spread (think doorstop of mature cheddar, a box of oatcakes, some figs and a flapjack). Plus, it’s quick and easy to dip your hands into.

Rather than using panniers, as has been my preference recently, I borrowed a Tailfin Trunk Bag for this trip – I figured the route would likely involve a fair share of bike-pushing, which is less frustrating with a slim bike profile.

It was a joy to be running an AeroPack again, though technically, I was actually running the AP20 Trunk Bag – it’s the version that detaches from its rails, which makes it especially easy to remove and stash in the porch of a tent. The clasps worked well (no jettisoning of gear mid roughstuff descent), though I imagine the pins could be a little fiddly with cold hands, or if they get clogged up with mud and muck.

Unlike bikepacking seatbags, this style of top-loader is really easy to pack, and the internal frame means it can be filled with all kinds of oddly shaped items – in my case, that would be a potset, a sleeping bag, an electronics pouch, clothing, and food. When packed to the brim, it bag does run close to my saddle, but I can still garner a few inches of travel from my dropper post, which is all I generally after for a bikepacking route of this nature.

I like to pair the AeroPack with Austere Manufacturing’s cam straps as they feel smooth even when caked in dry Welsh mud – but it comes with its own webbing otherwise. In some ways, this Trunk Bag version is even more user-friendly and versatile than the AeroPack that I’m more familiar with – though I suspect it’s less intended for heavy-handed use, given the slender alloy rack and additional parts. The mind boggles at all the Tailfin options!

That’s it for now. Any questions, fire away. And thanks for reading!