The Dragon Slayers
The Dragon Ride. Even the title springs fear and respect into the hearts of cyclists who know anything about the event. Cleverly, they offer varying grades of challenge. The South Wales hills are there to be tackled, but in four grades of severity. It is after all, an endurance event, not a race. How much can you endure?
Classic: The relatively easy option, if that word can be used with the event. 99km, 1324m climb.
Medio Fondo: Not exactly medium. Tough day out. 153km, 2332m climb.
Gran Fondo: Yes, it is big. Be afraid. 222km, 3583m climb.
Dragon Devil You’ve got to be joking. 298km, 4504m climb.
Personally, I deal in imperial numbers.
Medium was 95 miles and 7600 ft of climb
Grand was 138 miles and 10,000 ft of climb
Devil was 185 miles and 14700ft of climb
I considered my state of fitness with a reality check. Medio was in line with the biggest days I have ever done. Not a lot of spare either. Within the TTG crew we had:
Medio Fondo: Myself (John Holland the old guy), Alex Clark
Gran Fondo: Jon Murgatroyd, Adey Cole, Gavin Kruk
Dragon Devil: Jishnu Nandy, Pete Staples, Harry Ballinger*
Several others signed up, but pulled a sickie. In honesty, that’s another way of giving the course due respect. There’s no shame in honesty.
So, my story. I’m going to gloss over the pre-event mis-organisation errors, but I did eventually get a hotel room, and even got my car parking refunded from being sent to the wrong place. Weather was unusual, it was absolutely perfect. Nicely warm, but with a veil of cloud. A spray of suncream and a gilet in the pocket for any Typical Welsh Sunshine. At the start zone, it’s a bit less that efficiently organised, so I worked out that joining queue 1 was easy when the Hi Vis guy looked the other way. The starts at a few minute intervals were effective enough, but some riders were not comfortable in a group. It settled after a couple of miles. There was a fair bit of South Wales valley town riding before hills started, and this event was all about the hills.
Eventually, we reached The Bwlch. 7.9km at average 4.4%. The most beautiful of climbs. It went on for ever, but you could forgive that. The most photographed climb, with good reason.
Then we go through Treherbert, a place I used to visit a lot for work, so I knew the road and the seeping bends, and was excited to tackle Rhigos 6.4km at 4.9%. Actually, it’s probably better as a descent. Still, the sheep were pretty.
Feed Station 1. Absolute mayhem. Masses of bikes, people, queues for something. Oh look! A TTG top. I’d caught up with Jon, Gav and Adey. I didn’t need to waste the day in a queue, especially as there wasn’t a potato in sight. So, I tagged along to make a foursome across Penderyn Moor. Useful, that, as the complete lack of wind was definitely a headwind. Then Adey needed another coffee. They sent me on ahead.
Pen y Fan 13.9km at 2.2%. Or as they call it round these parts, a flat bit. Pretty as anything.
Devil’s Elbow. You’ve now got 90km on your legs, or 56 miles in old money. You’ve passed the sign welcoming you into Powys. You have been approaching the unmistakable bowl of the Brecon Beacons. The road has definitely taken a tendency upwards and those steep hills are growing, and growing, and growing. You can’t see an obvious way out and then they announce that the timed climb starts NOW. Yes, you’re going very, very much up the side of the mountain. I’m feeling good. Sit up and wind the pedals. Pass those pushing their bikes. The elbow itself needs a call so I can pass on the outside of the bend. I’m tracking a fit, thin Italian guy who was a fantastic descended down the last hill, but he’s not dropped me (yet). Steep bit at the top and I get out of the saddle, or sprint, as I like to believe.
The descent is down a narrow road (track), but this section was a closed road, thankfully. Then minor roads towards the next feed station.
Feed station 2. Another melee. I spot that the mechanic is free, and get my bottle cage tightened up. By this stage I’d worked out what the annoying rattle was.
Glynneath Hill 3.2km at 5.4% average. Nothing savage, just another 2 mile ascent with glorious scenery. It seemed like a reasonable thing to do to stop at the top and take a photo, but I had done a day’s cycling by this stage.
I had made a decisive note on my guide “ROUTE SPLITS”. I truly did not need to accidentally end up on the Gran Fondo.
Cimla Hill appeared to come 10km late as far as I was concerned. I think that I misread the chart. It also seemed to go on forever. In honestly, I spent a lot of time in the last 20 miles being in “countdown” mode. Clinging on to hope the Neath meant Port Talbot. Eventually I saw something that I recognised. The stacks and chimneys of Port Talbot Steelworks Blast Furnaces have never looked so beautiful. Oh yes. Nearly there. But that “nearly” didn’t half stretch on. Finally, 95 miles later, a finish line and a nice young lady to hand me a medal. And a beer. That was welcome. I did meet up with Alex at the end, but decided that I would go and find my car…..oh boy. That’s a whole different story.
