May 31, 2022
Llandovery to Builth Wells
northeast
It wasn't my arm that was the problem last night, but a small, blue LED light on the TV that was bright. I kept me awake until I got out of bed and placed something over it.
It's nearly 8:30 now and the sky is mostly overcast. I have breakfast right where I enjoyed a couple of pints last night and hear the young waitress has an accent and conclude she's likely from Romania, too. Her and the two manager guys don't speak English when communicating with each other.
Two male guests in their 40s sat at a nearby tabele are dressing in Lycra cycling clothes.
I ride around the small town with its few streets and call in at the roomy Red Cross charity shop and buy a second-hand shirt for six quid and donate an OS map that I've been using that ends just west of here.
The charity shop is near the WWI memorial and I notice the names of those men who died are typically Welsh: Evans x 4, Davies x 2, Jones x 5 and Rees x 3.
Down the High Street is a shop that presumebaly got built when Queen Victoria celebrated 60 years on the throne. It's now an antique shop, with one half selling horsey gear and the woman inside chats about the stuff and tells me it's her thing, while the old furniture is her partner's. The prices for the antique tables are very reasonable, but there's no way I'm buying anything that big.
Across the road, just a door down from the Indian Lounge, is a small charity shop for Animals In Need. The woman there is just opening up and I pop in and rummage around at the back and end up with a tea towel for 50 pence. It'll be a gift for someone, or I may just keep it and use it in the kitchen to dry the dishes.
It's sunny now and I keep on riding out of town and eventually get to a Coop at its periphery. It seems like a good idea to buy a few provisions and I pop in and get a litre of fresh smoothie-juice, a box of four energy bars and a carton of fruit - blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. It'll make a picnic lunch.
It's a good job that I stopped, as when I ask a store clerk stocking shelves about heading to Builth, he points me back towards town and tells me where to turn right. This direction is the opposite one.
It's just a five-minute detour and as I head out of town, now going northeast, I spot a sizeable antique shop and decide to have a mooch - there's no real hurry to get to Builth Wells and it's quite a short day. The only think I buy is a pack of new tea towels that were designed by someone in Lincolnshire. Bizarre.
It's 11 o'clock already and the A road lasts for a few kilometres before reaching a spot my map names Cynghordy before I can turn off onto a small one that doesn't have any traffic. This lane climbs straight away and proves to be a test, and I know there won't be any villages as this meandering route is out-there.
It's sunny, but my red rain jacket stays on.
As it approaches lunch time, my eyes are on the lookout for somewhere to sit and take a break, but it's just spikey hawthorn hedges lining the sides of the narrow tarmac. A metal gate to a field seems like it's as good as it gets.
Luckily enough there are two lengths of 2" x 4" wood on the ground and I manage to securely prop one of them to form a bench - bridging from the metal gate over to the adjacent bank. It makes a decent place to sit. After scoffing the berries, the wood goes back under the gate before I leave. It's not clear to me what it's purpose is... perhaps keeping lambs from escasping through the narrow gap.
It's 1:30 when I ride up through woodland that's largely pine trees on a long climb and I have to walk some of it as it's fairly steep. My jacket comes off for a bit.
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The only people I see are a farmer and what looks like his young daughter of about 10. They first passed me while I was having my picnic - sat together in a chunky tractor - and they come past again near the peak, just as I'm taking a photo of some cattle standing on the nearby ridge. They probably think I'm a nutcase. Maybe they're not wrong. They don't give me a wave.
The drop down is really nice. It's a tree-shaded lane and bends gently and with it being so out-there, there's little danger from traffic. It's the quietness that allows me to hear a woman's voice shouting "Where I am?" My reply is "The same place as me."
She jogs towards me as I pack away my tripod after taking a self-timed shot in a shaded place. Her husband soon appears and while she's clearly concerned, he's more laid-back. They've been out hiking and have got lost and want to know how far it is back to Builth Wells.
My estimation is it's a few kilometres and it's obvious they don't have any backpacks, food or water. They're lucky the weather has stayed nice. Townies. I offer tham two snack bars that I bought in the Coop and they are very grateful and accept it'll likely take over an hour to trek back to their hotel. Not long after leaving them, there's an old cast iron sign saying it's three-quarters of a mile.
I look through the windows of The Geyhound, which is a pub-hotel, but it's all dark, so I ride through town and cross the old bridge spanning the River Wye. The hotel on the other side is closed and nobody answers the bell when I ring it, so I recross the river.
A big hotel near the Wye's bank is all boarded up and my guess Covid put it out of business, so I pedal back towards the Greyhound, going along what looks to be the town's main shopping street.
There's one B&B on the narrow road and I ask inside, but the manager says they're full. This is getting worrisome.
A church nearby is clearly an antique shop now, with stacks of junk piled outside. It also has a sign in big letters stating ANTIQUES. I park my bike and step inside and see piles of stuff and have a deja vu experience. The elderly owner seems very familar and it then dawns on me that I saw him and his place featured in a TV show called Slavage Hunters. Its host, Drew Pritchard, is based in Conwy, North Wales, and travels around buying things to sell on. It's an entertaining show and I recall him coming here once and buying a wonderful Arts and Crafts bench seat that was slightly damaged. I mention it to the onwer and it's not a happy memory and he doesn't really want to discuss it - he feels he sold it too cheap. This well may be incorrect, but I reckon Drew paid £800 and sold it for £3,000 to an American buyer. Howerver, that was after he had it expertly repaired.
Back at the Greyhound, a woman standing outside tells me the place should open soon and it does. The bar staff say there's a room available, which is a weight off my shoulders, and it's a raesonable £65. I just have to drag my bags up two flights of stairs. My legs are hurting.
My dinner (and beer) is in the bar, as there's not enough energy left to walk anywhere. This was suposed to be an easy day. Maybe it's my age.
You can watch Drew Pritard explore the antique shop and buy the seat on this YouTube clip...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5S-tfKW6zT4
Today's ride: 45 km (28 miles)
Total: 863 km (536 miles)
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I watched the clip you recommended. Thanks. Your experience with the antique dealer is about what I would have expected, especially when walking into his church-cum- shop. People like that don’t sell much because everything they own is overvalued in their own minds. I’ll bet his own house displays the same hoarding tendencies.
Liberty and Co. is the nec plus ultra for collectors of A &C . Not that I could afford the prices that it goes for. I have made my own furniture in the arts and crafts style, but mostly borrowing from American designers. Wood is cheaper than finished furniture, and I can adapt a design ( or make my own) to fit my needs or the space I have available. There’s a photo of my living room in Susan Carpenter’s journal, if your interested . To Dijon is the name of the page.
Have you found any interesting pots recently? Thinking about that hoarder’s shop, I’ll bet there’s at least one or two nice items in there if a: one could find them and b: get them for a reasonable price.
Drink another beer for me. I’ll pretend I’m tasting it!
Cheers,
Keith
1 year ago