Dolgellau - Aberdyfi - Machynlleth - Bwlch Oerddrws - Dolgellau

Dolgellau was today's starting point, as Mark, Le Patron, Hughesy, Ronnie, Coppi (yes you read it right, I said Coppi) Lantern, Candle, Craig, Tudor and Robbo mounted their machines in anticipation of a great day ahead. Shortly beforehand Le Patron had enquired whether anyone had any bog paper, but on reflection he chose to decline the chance of an early morning al fresco latrine visit, opting instead for the "slow cooker". Needless to say the peloton gave Le Patron a wide berth as we trundled off in the general direction of Fairbourne, Tywyn and Aberdyfi. It felt good to be alive. The cool morning air tingled with the heady cocktail of Spring flowers, sea-salt, the Lantern's factor 500, Coppi's hair-oil and Le Patron's occasional leakages. The ride to the cafe at Aberdyfi was pretty steady and very enjoyable, and no-one was in too much of a rush to bypass the beautiful Cambrian coastline, as riders looked expectantly out to sea, hoping to catch sight of some porpoise. Except for Coppi that is, who seemed to have the boundless energy of a Springer Spaniel. Could he keep this pace up all day? Following a pleasant repast at the Aberdyfi cafe, the pace again continued at a leisurely rate until eventually picking up on the last few miles into Machynlleth. A quick look over the shoulder confirmed that Coppi had not managed to maintain his earlier work rate, also absent at this juncture was the Lantern, who would share the rest of the ride with brother Coppi. Hughesy (straight off a night shift, how does he do it?) opted to drop back to shepherd the two rear-gunners, whilst the rest of the group ploughed along the seemingly interminable road to Dinas Mawddwy. In Harry Potter it was the sorting hat, which shrewdly decided which house the new arrivals at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be allocated to, and so shape their destiny. The merry band of Crapiwheelers underwent a similar selection process today, as the 20% gradient warning sign of Bwlch Oerddrws hoved into view shortly after leaving Dinas. By this point, Ronnie, Tudor, Craig and Robbo were digging in for the challenge ahead - who would crack first? The more appropriate question should have been - who would attack first, and that was swiftly answered, as Tudor set off on a suicidal boys own adventure, closely followed by Ronnie and Craig. Robbo however chose to keep his powder dry, confident that a "slowly slowly catchy monkey" approach would reel in the escapees as they inevitably blew out of their arses, or so he hoped. The first to succumb to said tactics was Craig, as the 20% slope bit off his legs and spat them unceremoniously over the edge. After a couple more minutes Tudor realised he'd underestimated the gradient and length of the slope as lactic acid took its toll on his not inconsiderable leg muscles. Robbo contemplated passing on some words of advice to the over exuberant climber as he edged past him, but barely had the breath to get the words out. With the smell of possible victory flaring in his nostrils, Ronnie put in a hard dig and pulled strongly away from Robbo on the summit hairpin band. By the time Robbo had crested the Bwlch and got his breath back, Ronnie was a 50mph white blur, plummeting towards Dolgellau like a man possessed. Was there a Guinness sale on in town that I didn't know about? A game of cat and mouse then ensued, with the mouse always out of sight for the next few miles. Robbo's attempts at closing the gap were thwarted by a caravan which insisted doing 30mph all the way down the hill past the little chef. Fortune favours the brave, and sometimes the crafty bugger too, and Robbo realised his tactics had paid off as he eventually caught sight of lightweight Ronnie struggling against a headwind with about 2 miles to go. The chase was on. Ronnie glanced back and dug deeper. Robbo conjured dark thoughts about the solo breakaway rider who seemed to be holding him off. Eventually, bodyweight and sheer bloody mindedness brought Robbo up on the shoulder of the escapee, and both shook hands and called a truce, just 300 yards from the car park. The remaining riders rolled in over the next few minutes, and all agreed it had been a grand day out. Hey Al, "I've found that bog roll, do you still want it?" enquired Robbo. "Nah, it'll wait" replied Al, wincing as he squeezed out his final backside broadside of the day before climbing into his car. 58 miles 17mph ave