Around the Edge of
Wales (8) . . Sant Briavell to Cardiff
Woke early to read in the vast castle lounge and got hooked
on the novel. I had to finish the book
and started off later than planned. But I wasn’t too bothered as I thought the
ride from here to Cardiff would be a breeze.
I was wrong.
The first part, along the B-road from St Briavell to
Chepstow and through areas of wooded common, was superb. From a distance the Severn
came into view, with the curved mudbanks at low tide looking like a huge
wishbone on a sheet of silver satin. I followed the end of Offa’s Dyke into
town and planned to follow the coast path as close as I could between Chepstow
and Cardiff.
But the rest of the day was agony, between the struggle to
find quiet cycling routes through
settlements that have merged into one and estates that have sprung up like
polyps with names that bear no relation to the landscape, and being forced to
cycle headlong into blustery westerlies. I was grateful for the gift of Kendal
Mint Cake and a bag of Black Jacks and Fruit salad from The Fudge Fairy, a lovely
old fashioned sweet shop at Magor that
kept me going for hours. I called in
briefly to have a look at Gwent Wildlife Trust’s reserve at Magor Marsh.
The lanes across the marshes towards Redbrook and Nash are
beautiful. I was glad to find I wasn’t the only one struggling to make headway.
A heron rose, mid-afternoon, from one of the reens and I watched it for a while
beating its wings steadily, going nowhere, until it decided to turn about and
was then suddenly whipped upwards like a huge oriental kite, its long legs
trailing awkwardly behind.
I was glad to hit the Celtic Cycle Path (Sustrans Route 4) which
led into Newport. But it was quite a challenge to follow the path through the
city, as it weaved through streets and estates, trying to spot the blue and
yellow coast path signs on lamp-posts. The
day was going downhill and the journey across the Wentloog flatlands didn’t help.
It was yet more cycling into the wind, but this time with a constant flow of
traffic by my side. The Wentloog landscape has a strange character - ornate gates, piebald horses, huddles of
sheds in field corners, and beautiful old Welsh names on farmhouses. The low
land, cold sea and light cliffs blend into thin horizontal layers of greys, blues, greens and browns against a
backdrop of wooded hills behind the M4.
Welcome to Cardiff .The cycle routes, footpaths and quiet
lanes fade away as I reach the estates that have splurged out of the city.
There is no tidy beginning or end to Cardiff. The edges are a hazy envelope of
traffic fumes and dust that dull the boundary between city and country. The torn
netting on the frames of the Dockland metal recycling plant hang like shreds of
torn skin and an hour after passing the ‘Welcome to Cardiff’ sign I’m still
cycling through soulless estates, having to sink into every pothole and drain
to avoid the cars that nudge my shoulder and the lorries that hang back, hissing in frustration as they wait for a
chance to pass. Half a mile from the city centre and an evening jogger on the
opposite pavement easily manages to stride past and keep ahead. I’ve had
enough.
I finally reach the station. The end of my cycling effort.
Just as well as the one functioning brake has been worn down to a state of
total ineffectiveness! I catch a train straight home to switch to my walking
gear, then I’m back down to start walking westwards along the Glamorganshire
coast to complete the circuit.
As I sit on the train, mulling over the journey, I can’t
help feeling that we definitely need a round Wales cycling route to complement our
walking trails, following quiet lanes and tracks. It would be more do-able in
the time that people can manage to take off work, more pleasant in many ways,
more manageable for more people. The recent consultation on the Active Travel
Bill might provide an opportunity to press for such a development.
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