I'm somewhat lax in producing this blog. The events happened last week, but it's been a busy start to term 4 (Christmas/Easter Half Term, to you and me). It's now the weekend, so we'll see how much we can remember, shall we?
So, Chepstow. Don't look so surprised. It's in the title, look. Were you surprised when a Philosopher's Stone turned up in J K Rowling's book? No, because it was in the title and you were probably wondering all through the first few chapters, when will the Philosopher's Stone turn up- because it's in the title. A clue, you see.
As I was saying, before you gave me that look- Chepstow. The first or last English/Welsh town before you enter or leave Wales, depending on which way you're heading, and, indeed, which route you're taking. Not the soundest of claims to fame.
The plan, such as it was, was to cycle from just out of Blaenavon to Chepstow in one go. The Pride and Joy, that is. I still haven't got around to pumping my tyres up. Blaenavon to Chepstow can wait and wait for me.
This was the intended route- https://www.google.co.uk/…/data=!4m9!4m8!1m5!3m4!1m2!1d-2.8. 42 miles, estimated to take him three and a half hours, with a fair wind behind him. Right, thought the Other Half and myself. Time to explore. It's cold, but it's bright and dry. Watch out for anything interesting en route, and then a tea house in Chepstow, a nice cup of coffee and something tasty to eat.
We dropped the P&J in the middle of nowhere again, the same middle of nowhere near the imaginary pub as last time. It's up on the hills, and my God, that wind was bitter. There was snow left on some of the hills from last week's deluge. And into the teeth of that cutting breeze, off he went.
We stopped off in Brynmawr, frozen and desperate for something hot to drink. We found a cafe (there are quite a few) and had a non-descript coffee. The OH had a packet of Walkers Crisps. A red packet. So I pinched one, thinking they were ready salted. No. Tomato ketchup flavour. Vile.
I can't remember the name of the cafe, which is a pity, because though the coffee wasn't much to write home about, they appeared to serve some mega portions when it came to food, just what you might need if you're starting or ending a bike ride. If I recall it, I'll add a footnote. After all, the ketchup crisps aren't their fault.
On to Chepstow. We've been here a few times. It's famous for it's race course and its castle, the latter of which we visited last time we were here. Then, the P&J, being a less cynical and more joyous pre-teenager, spent a glorious couple of hours with First Nephew, running around the grounds, having sword fights and shooting arrows. Aahh! Happy days.
Without the P&J or, indeed, the FN, we explored the town more thoroughly, all the little cobbled roads and little shops. We went down to the river (the Wye) and discovered a lesser known gem, the Chepstow Railway Bridge, or the Great Tubular Bridge, built in 1852 to a design by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. It was a triumph of the application of a radical design to a specific problem and was constructed on site for Brunel by Edward Finch of Finch & Willey (Stop smirking! It's an Old English name, as well you know).
We found a teashop. We stopped at the Orange Crate Juice bar for coffee and food from an obliging staff. It's child and dog friendly.
Time was getting on, it was starting to get dark and we were starting to get worried. Surely he should be here by now. Then we got the 'phone call. The P&J had gone 10 miles in the wrong direction before realising his error. He would attempt Caerwent and we could pick him up from there.
Time went on again. Another 'phone call. He was spent. He could go no further. He was sat outside a chuch in either Magor or Undy. He didn't know which, but if he had to take a guess he would say it was Undy. I got my crystal ball out, slayed a pigeon* and examined its entrails, to no avail. The OH got out the sat nav and entered "Undy" and "church". It found him, thank goodness, sat against a wall, looking pale and sweaty and, frankly, knackered. It was late. It was dark.
We chucked him and his bike into the car. No, we weren't going back to Chepstow. No, we weren't going to stop for something to eat. The dog had already been left on her own too long and the cat would probably be getting panicky because she hadn't had her dinner.
As it was, we all needed the loo, so we stopped at the services and got him a rescue package of a Twirl, a packet of crisps and a coke. That kept him alive until we got home. Apparently he'd gone this way, instead of the above, doing an extra 6 miles, but failing to get to his destination.
The OH, as OH's do, lectured him on the need to be properly prepared, to know your route, etc, etc- a fair point, but not one you want to hear when, in the P&J's words, you've "just jumped on the pain train."
It is a lesson to be learned, but not until he's recovered. I leave you with the P&J's surprisingly articulate summary for a grunting teenager- "Defeat at Undy, South Wales...... Hungry, Tired, Cold and in pain, with just under 12 miles to go to my planned destination (Chepstow). I had been running on fumes for most of the last 20 miles. This music suits the last 5 miles to get there and my "Defeat" there https://play.spotify.com/search/Ruina%20Imperii
listening to
I apologise for his musical tastes. That's my fault.
*joke.
