spring sprung

The day started overcast cold and with a headwind blowing in from the East.  Not promising.

Easy to see why the Queen decided against a visit to Swansea, despite them winning their first major piece of footballing silverware in over 100 years, mere days earlier.  Always accepting, of course, that the Rumbelows Cup or whatever its current name, counts as “major”.  (And why is it Swansea and Cardiff can enter these things but Rangers and Celtic can’t?)

Officially the second day of Spring, one imagines the diary-planners at Buckingham Palace thought they’d be on reasonably safe ground with this one: a day trip to the South Wales coast.  Nonetheless, Elizabeth R decided against it, citing stomach problems, and at 10a.m. in Cardiff it was pretty easy to see why, and to reason that she had indeed with the wisdom of age made a wise decision indeed.  But you just never know.  Two hours later, after heading 32 miles west on the A48, the journey to, and the view at, the steelworks at Margam/Port Talbot was still making our Monarch’s choice look inspired, even if the sun was belatedly making a half-hearted effort to break through both cloud and pollution:

Another five miles westwards took me to within 3 miles of Swansea.

But then, like our glorious leader, I decided against it.  She needed alka-seltzer.  I needed some altitude, some hills, some fresher air.  So I turned back to Port Talbot, and once there, headed north and up.  Miraculously the sun brooke the cloud, and seemingly within moments the sky was clear and blue, the temperature 5 degrees warmer, spring suddenly WAS in the air!  The gloves came off – literally – and stayed off for the rest of the day.  The shoe covers, and the fleece hat beneath my cycling helmet, suddenly seemed overdone.  The next half hour became one of those euphoric episodes, when your body is working hard, but you know there’s plenty more in the tank, the scenery is fantastic, and the combination of cold air on exposed skin plus warmth under two layers of clothing, hit the perfect balance.   Climbing ever upwards, once again up the Afan Valley to the summit of Bwlch, with the cries of birds of prey circling overhead but not on my account, brought some great views, near and far.

Although anyone who thinks giant windmills (and these ones truly are giant, dwarfing the hills let alone the houses huddling below) add a certain beauty to the countryside, like one particular member of the cabinet of her Majesty’s government apparently believes, is oh so sorely wrong.  Meanwhile for others the long winter darkness had been well spent …. creating wooden replica motorbikes for the front garden.  Well, you just would, wouldn’t you, in that situation?  Oh.

Amazingly there were still large areas of ice on the hillsides near the summit.  But once over the top, the final confirmation, if confirmation were needed, that spring had sprung.  The ice cream van had reappeared in the lay-by overlooking Treorchy, for the first time this year.

The Queen would have been proud.

The day’s ride ended with 93 miles on the clock, in 4hrs 45 minutes, averaging 16.3 mph.  Of which, I was proud.