I met Will in a hostel in Udaipur, Rajasthan. I had been travelling alone through the region for a few weeks. I felt stressed, struggling with the chaos of India. That night I had gone to bed early, tired after a long coach journey from Jodhpur. As I started to doze off I overheard a group of Brits walk into the hostel room. I overheard them talking about London and more particularly Bethnal Green, an area I had lived in. That was my in. My loneliness outweighed my fatigue. I got changed and went upstairs to introduce myself.

It’s been three years and Will and I have become good friends. After my trip to India I moved back to London, and a few months later he eventually moved back as well. Will and I share a love for bikes. From frames to races, we rarely diverge from our favourite two-wheeled topic of conversation.

Having moved to two ends of London earlier in the year, Will and I weren’t seeing as much of each other as we used to. We took the matter into our own hands and planned a bit of an adventure—Wales, top to bottom, off road, over a weekend. 300km of riding.

We met after work at Euston to catch an evening train up to Bangor, the largest city of North Wales—a big name to live up to. A three-hour journey got us to the Traxx Hotel at around 8pm. We checked in to our seedy twin room and went out to stock up on fuel for the two days of riding to come: welsh cakes, chocolate and raisin, from the closest shop we could hobble to in our cycling shoes.

We set off in the early hours heading south on a railway cycle path leaving the Irish Sea and Bangor behind us. The riding was smooth, the air was crisp and the roads were empty. In hindsight, a very calm start to a big day out. We made it up to a viewpoint at around 10am where we got our first sights of Snowdon and Anglesey Island.

From there we descended into an abandoned slate quarry all the way. Dark rocky trails sinuating through rusty mineshafts and other mining equipment. Felt like we were on a cowboy film set, as if we’d turn a corner and witness a shootout.

We hit the valley floor, unscathed and free of tyre slashes, to start our climb toward Pen-y-Pass, the trailhead for hikers climbing Snowdon. The landscape went on for ages, reminding me of the Scottish Highlands: large monument-like windswept massifs, dark blue lakes and country pubs dotted around.

With more than 50km left to ride on the day we pressed on. Zooming through small villages with names I couldn’t even dare to pronounce: Betws-y-Coed, Capel Curig, Llanberis. Trust me.

The weather turned as we hit a technical gravel section on a plateau. Jackets and neck warmers on and we kept riding. The dark grey clouds on the rolling moorland was like something out of a movie. Almost dreamy, as if you had to experience North Wales on the rougher side. Both of us cheering each other on, hoping the wind would die down.

“Come on mate, seems like it’s clearing up.”

“The sun will be shining on the other side of the hill.”

The sun didn’t start shining, the weather didn’t get better and we didn’t get faster. With 20km left on the day we were pushing through the final stretch of gravel. The gravel turned to rocks and the drizzle turned to lashes; we were running our bikes across the Welsh moorland. With the sun setting and our patience lacking, panic started to creep in.

Just as we were thinking about the air ambulance, we caught the eye of an older couple out on the trail waiting for their sons, who had them as well been caught up in the storm. They didn’t think twice when they offered to drive us down the road to our hostel.

The Miners Arms. What a stay. As a foreigner living in the UK I’m always up for that deep cultural experience that reminds that I’m living away from home. This ticked that box. The pub turned hostel was run by Jan, a bossy yet loving Welsh lady. Her Welsh accent was so thick even Will had to double take on some of her sentences. She made us a huge chicken curry dinner and sent us to our room.

Jan’s blueberry pancakes and unlimited French press for breakfast and we were out the door early, wearing our damp clothes we didn’t manage to dry on the space heater overnight.

The air was colder but the sky was clear. We caught some incredible riding alongside the Claerwen Reservoir and then up the valley. We were even treated to a ‘testing’ two-kilometre long hike-a-bike through the moor. The ride slowly became smoother along larger forest road. More forest fire roads, single track and rolling gravel.

Around midday we arrived in Brecon, the midway point between the centre of Wales and Cardiff, our end destination. Despite being the northern gateway to the Brecon Beacons, Brecon didn’t have much going for itself apart from a few British high street classics: Superdrug, Betfred, Greggs.

We needed fuel and Greggs had it. Pack of doughnuts, pizza slice, vegan sausage roll and we were back on the saddle, bloated but well fed. The climb up to the final pass was not far from what we expected: rocky and steep. With food already gurgling up our throats we gave up easily and resorted to pushing our bikes most of the way.

From the pass we had views of Pen y Fan and the Bristol Channel far below. We could see the finish line. From this point onward we had little gravel left, only larger roads and cycle paths when lucky. The aim here was to ride hard to catch the earlier train we could get to London. Sharing the headwind, we made it to Cardiff only a few hours after riding down the Beacons.

We strolled into town and grabbed a beer and pizza, whilst waiting our the train home. A good weekend out!

For those interested in riding the route, check it out here.