Mountain Journal No.2 – Snowdon

If you missed the first instalment, here’s the basic plan:

“A simple theme was settled on: each month ride a different mountain. That simple and nothing more. A mountain a month, the rest would fall into place when the time came for each one… an adventure a month over 600 metres, to add up to a year of positive altitude. Summits are good where possible, but altitude and attitude are what really matters.”

It’s time for Mountain Journal round two! This time it’s Snowdon…

I suppose if I’d thought it through, it would have been immediately obvious that the first few months of the year would pose some challenges to the simple aim of a mountain a month. But reality has no place in planning bike shenanigans; if it did we’d never do anything good. As a result there’s a theme of weather dictated adventure creeping in early on, but I know that as the year progresses everything will fall into place.

There’s a pattern slowly developing that stretches out the positiveness of the plan. Scan maps, choose a mountain, plot a route, then nervously watch the weather and summit reports hoping for a break from low freeze levels and the accompanying snow lines. If all is looking promising, it’s all hands on deck for a pre-dawn raid in the van to get set up for the day ahead.

So we find ourselves in Pete’s Eats in Llanberis, the legendary outdoor cafe. It’s a place I used to practically live in during a previous, and fervent, slate head climbing phase, when long weekends were spent dossing and thrutching in the quarries above Llyn Padarn. Having been inspired by our previous trip, we’ve got #Calderfornia amigos Ed and Matt along for the ride too.

All good rides start with a tarmac slog right? The initial pull up out of Llanberis onto the hill doesn’t disappoint in that respect. Steady away, tap it out, warm up for the long climb to the summit, everyone finding their pace and in it for the long haul.

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There’s a pleasure to reaching the start of the off road climbing, a weird ease of pedalling effort, finally there’s no need to listen to the dispiriting ripping sound of sticky tyres on tarmac. There’s time for a quick regroup, and an opportunity to catch our breath before heading up once more.

Quite early on in the day it’s easy to pick up on the different vibe of this particular mountain, compared to our ascent the month before. Each mountain has its own character, and Snowdon’s flavour is partly down to the line of tourists heading up the mountain. There’s an array of barely equipped groups that seem to be prepared for a different summit experience to the one we know we’re heading into.

The steady climb to the summit is regularly broken by sections of steeper hike a bike; gradient and wet rock conspire with tiring legs to get us pushing or carrying bikes. It offers a chance to chat, instead of the laboured breathing that the pedalling sections inspire.

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The gusts of high wind that come roaring intermittently down the mountain add another challenge to the task of racking up the meters of vert, as we slowly winch to the top and our target of the Rangers Path beyond. You can hear them coming before they hit, which at least gives us time to brace for impact.

Slowly on upwards, sharing banter with the group of lads walking up the mountain. There’s a distinctive smell from the roll ups they’re smoking, everybody getting steadily higher in their favourite way. We’re surrounded by scousers and seagulls, both evidence of the easy accessibility of the mountain.

It’s not the day for views today; cloud embraces and engulfs the higher slopes. No chance of panoramas of mountains or sea. There’s an indication of the accompanying wind’s speed as it pours quickly in over the western ridge of the mountain and shuts us in.

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And, finally, we’re reduced to pushing by the combination of gusting wind speed and gradient. The temperature is dropping as the path keeps heading up and the windchill is getting noticeable. Optimism is still high though; it’s all looking promisingly snow free so far.

And then it’s bikes on backs, shuffling to find the sweet-spot of comfort in the virtual Venn diagram of shoulders, downtubes and packs. Find it and try to hold it there as you start the final slog up into the cloud.

The weather has shut down conversation. Everyone heads up, head down and getting the job done, lost in their own thoughts. Think positive, keep on up the steps and keep looking forward to the descent to come; trail optimism at its best.

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And then we hit the snowline; it’s deep, a mixture of hard packed snow and ice, and combined with the gusting wind dictates the need to rethink plans. We try to cut across to the Rangers Path without hitting the summit, but kicking steps over a guaranteed fall is the only way forward, and means it’s looking unlikely we’ll all safely reach the other side.

A group meeting in the group shelter, buffeted by the wind that’s threatening to rip it, or whip it out of our grip and off across the mountain into the valley below. A chance to warm up and grab a bite to eat (thanks to Emily for the tuna butties!), we’re isolated from the elements by a thin bit of material, a moment of calm while we talk through the options.

Decision made, with no way forward we start to head back down the way we’ve come up. Starting with the familiar bike surfing experience through the sugary snow as we drop down below the railway line.

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Shattered rock and a bit of speed after the hours of slow ascent. It’s wet, it’s slippy, the wind is gusting unpredictably, but we’re mates just hooning and enjoying the ride. We’re happy. It’s just like home. But higher.

The step sections are easily tackled with a combination of big bike, grippy tyres, and a familiarity that comes from growing up with Hebden trails. It’s not the descent we came here for, but with a bit of mates racing going on, it’s easy to compromise the plan and enjoy what’s on offer.

Once more we’ve had to adapt plans to suit the situation we’ve found ourselves in, but with the rest of the year before me we’re happy to roll with the blows and make the most of what options are available. Other mountains are available; other opportunities to ride are ready to be taken.

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It’s a sign of the friendship, trust, and experience of the group that everyone is happy with that too. No need for egos to clash, no need for bravado, no need to take risks, because we’ve nothing to prove to each other. Just the simple aim of having a good ride, wherever, however it happens.

Goggles on for the lower slopes, as everyone’s speed builds up and the competitive nature of mates on a ride comes to the fore. Fewer tourists and an empty path equals opening it up and letting the bikes rip. There’s some risky jump action going down; a gamble of where you’ll land if a gust of wind hits at just the wrong moment. We never have a tailwind; it’s always side on and unpredictable…

..which leads to the inevitable pinch flats, punctures and ripped tyres – with wind chill as an accompaniment encouraging fast fixes. Cold fingers add to the challenge of tyre removal and repairs. Fumbling not fettling – all haste, no speed.

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Despite this there’s no reining in of riding styles; everything is jumped that can be jumped and speeds don’t drop. It’s in the moment riding, shit or bust, and sod the consequences. We’re getting closer to the end, and every opportunity to squeeze a bit more fun out of the ride is taken.

Dropping down. Ride, jump, off the brakes and accelerate, hit the next jump and repeat. There’s no pressure, plenty of encouragement from walkers to pin each section, and an easy goal that drifts in and out of view as the cloud thins to reveal the town below.

The final plummet offers no real technical challenge, no need to keep speeds low, but there’s a need to finesse it, to try and avoid another puncture-induced stop. Rocks clattering, we drop into a bit of shelter as we head to the final gate before the quick spin back into town.

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The sign of a good ride is just making it back to the car park. Dan’s managed to pull it off despite a double puncture on the final descent, tentatively nursing his test bike back to the van along the road. Another visit to Pete’s is called for, a culinary punctuation to a good ride. It wasn’t the ride we had planned, but it’s been another good one. Another mountain ridden, another storm weathered, everybody happy, job done.

All Photos by Sim Mainey. Words by Dave

Previously on Mountain Journal…

Mountain Journal No.1 – Helvellyn