Day 2: water water everywhere...

The next day that dawned was unremittingly wet. Having expected us to get up somewhat earlier than we actually did, I got some reading done this morning. However, having lain inactive during the (as I found out) only dry part of the morning, we got up to dress and pack up in a steady drizzle that didn't end until we went inside for breakfast. I'm ashamed to say that, being completely unused to camping and moving on, I was somewhat useless in terms of packing up.

Having returned from the shower to find that Dan had mostly packed up the tent and the tarp and put the panniers on the bike and done our dishes, I sheepishly went to put away the fire-tray and we left, soggy and a little the worse for the late night 'marshmallowing'.

We headed first into Brecon to get food (of which we ate much) and finally rolled out of Brecon at past 2pm: somewhat of a late start considering the distance we had to travel. During our meal, we left the bikes outside the cafe. Dan's bike was the subject of many stares, and we had a good giggle at how many people seemed to walk around it, hands on their chins, muttering.

We were heading for Llanidloes, which was a good-sized portion of our Wales distance and a not-too-ambitious ride. Soon enough though, it became evident that the rain with which we had begun the day was not going away.

We came to the highest point on the journey so far, Dan resolutely taking pictures of me following him up the 16% gradient hill preceding it.

 Me, heading up the hill. 

...and still heading up the hill. Sadly, the camera doesn't really show the steepness as much as I'd like. 

  
At the top of the climb, was mainly flat but very very windy. Dan's flag, as you can see, is fluttering madly. 

As I said, it was also very wet.

While stopping to take the above pictures, I donned my waterproof jacket to prevent the wind freezing me, and we began the descent. Dan didn't think I was going fast enough, I think. To me, a windy road on a steep downhill with no barriers nor windbreaks of any kind, warrants extra caution on the corners. He, on the other hand, silently overtakes me on the right-hand bends... 

We followed the cycle route down many obscure and winding lanes after this point, always looking out for the route 8 signs. The search reminds me somewhat of the novel, Kushiel's Dart, where following a Tsingani (traveller) route through the countryside involves such direction markers as bent twigs sticking out of grass verges. True to previously settled form, the signs were rarely more than a simple sticker of a red square with the number eight in it, pasted onto any convenient post, and rarely contained any more detail than that. We discovered the unforeseen issue with this slightly later in the trip. 

We had just (so we thought) got to around the middle of the maze of single-lane B-roads south of Rhayader when we came across the, now much talked of, 'Ancient Coach Road'. Little did we know that, although it began simply as a gate with a muddy track behind it (of course, labelled with simply an eight), it was set to be one of the most time-consuming and difficult portions of our whole journey. We soon found that, after having to jointly push Dan's bike up the hill because the mud was too deep for him to cycle it, the road was simply a set of three, often very deep, ruts which gave way intermittently to very bad, rocky road surface that happened to be periodically bisected by streams with steep, near foot-high banks on either side. 

This stretch of track could not have been much over four miles long, which is barely fifteen minutes of cycling for me on a road with good surface and no mountain. This stretch took us much longer than we had anticipated. Dan's panniers kept beaching on the grass either side of the ruts, and he was having quite a bit of trouble with the rocky terrain. I got off relatively easily, carrying less weight. It wasn't the most cheery of journeys, especially in the pouring rain. 

 It was so wet that we couldn't take clear photos, because Dan's camera lenses were steaming up. 

 We stopped at a couple of points along this stretch for snacks, and made liberal use of the biltong and marzipan.

We finally arrived at the end of the track, at close to 7pm. We had lost near two hours of our journey for want of a good road surface, and wisely determined to stop at the next accommodation that we came across, rather than travel on to Llanidloes at such a late hour to camp. We found one place on our route that advertised accommodation, but didn't actually provide it. Luckily, after another hour or so of cycling, we finally reached Rhayader and got a room at The Elan Hotel. It was still pouring with rain as we hauled ourselves indoors, apologetically covered in mud. 

Our stay there was perhaps the nicest part of our whole day. They were very friendly and accommodating, and offered a locked shed in their car park for the storing of our bicycles, and some very tasty food.

We, after a very quick wash and change, a good meal and a chance to dry off, went to bed in much more comfort than we had anticipated at any point during the day.