Today we crossed the border again into England, so it seems a fitting time to summarise Chasing Spring's adventures in Wales.
We spent an extra day in Cardiff resting, doing some more filming and being looked after by Matt's parents. With the help of my friend Gary, I also got to speak about the project on Radio Wales' drivetime programme (if someone can find it on iPlayer please post a link!). Waiting to be interviewed was nerve-wracking (I prefer to be on the other side of the table) and felt much like waiting for an extraction at the dentist but the presenters put me at my ease. Too much at ease, in fact, because as Matt has already pointed out, I did forget to actually plug the website.
Yesterday we got a last-minute interview with the city council's horticultural team and picking up our new mic took longer than expected, so the morning was pretty busy. Once we finally left Cardiff, we made our way back along the Lighthouse Road to Newport, picked up fragments of the NCN 42 (where it was actually signposted) toward Pontypool, crossed to Abergavenny and on until arriving, utterly exhausted, at a B&B near the village of Pandy. The landlady, Mary, made us very welcome in her home, to the extent of driving out to find us when we hadn't arrived yet, welcoming us with tea and sponge cake and showing me letters from her great-niece. I also spoke to her friend Olive on the phone - I think we'll be talk of the town for a little while to come. We forgot to bring cash to pay her, what with our hardened city ways, so she was kind enough to drive us down to Abergavenny to find a cash machine.
Leaving Pandy, we rode to Ross-on-Wye and then onto Ledbury. The mist was thick and cold today, dripping all the way down from the hills right into the valleys so there was no respite from the chill. The ride itself was mostly notable for the wide variety of roadkill on display, although I'm finding the physical side of the journey pretty demanding at the moment, so I'm not the most canny observer.
We're currently tucked into the attic of a bunkhouse (Berrow House) in a tiny village tucked in the Malvern Hills just past Ledbury, alongside a group of raucous teenagers and their teachers (who are having a few sneaky beers). The landlady here is also called Mary and is equally loquacious and welcoming. As with the previous night, it feels much like being enfolded into the pillowy layers of a giant bosom, made of grand-motherly affection, sloping ceilings and the rolling embrace of the hills. But what starts out comforting after a weary day of exercise soon starts to suffocate; I'm looking forward to the urban anonymity of the Travelodge in Redditch tomorrow.
Unfortunately we hadn't thought to bring food with us, and a two mile schlep to the nearest pub turned out to be fruitless as the place was closed (permanently it seems). However, we did acknowledge Earth Hour by not using any electricity for on the dark country roads, jumping at the barking of guard-dogs and the leathery wings of rooks in the trees. Bread and custard creams for dinner tonight.
Rolling with the punctures
As an aside, I keep getting punctures n my front tyre - we've had to change the inner tube four times in the past few days. Any idea what I'm doing wrong?
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