Great rides: E-biking from Machynlleth to London

On a bicycle, the journey is often more important than the destination. Anyone driving from Wales to London would likely head down the soulless M4. On my e-bike, I planned to use byways, riverbanks, canal towpaths and minor roads to create a peaceful route unencumbered with cars.

Since I was aiming for a relatively traffic-free route, I took advantage of some of the 12,739 miles of the National Cycle Network (NCN).

I live near Machynlleth, notionally the ancient capital of Wales and the seat of this country’s first parliament. It was formed at the start of the 15th century by Owain Glyndŵr, who led a 15-year revolt against English rule.

My hometown – where I often have a coffee in between Glyndŵr’s Parliament House and the chippy – was my start point. The end was England’s and the UK’s capital: London.

The Big Hill to Llanidloes

On a bicycle you carry as little as you need. You are decluttered and plugged into your surroundings. You hear the cooing pigeon, the rattle of wind against standing wheat, the church chimes and the bleat of sheep. It’s so peaceful.

The more you carry, the longer it takes to pack and unpack. You can lose hours on tour just taking things out of overstuffed bags, only to put them back in again.

I’m too random a character to be precise about my packing but I kept things simple: fairly minimal camping equipment; a few tools; a spare battery and charger for my e-bike; and some assorted bits of clothing that packed around my cameras. Then I was on my way.

Leaving town I headed for Machynlleth’s sister town, Llanidloes. This mountain road over the aptly named Rhiw Fawr (‘Big Hill’) is magnificent. A right turn off the B4518 took me onto on a tiny road that immersed me in the beautiful Hafren Forest, and I entered Llanidloes via a back road.

It was a hilly start to my ride but was easy on the e-bike, and the Wild Oak Café on Llanidloes high street will let you recharge if you buy coffee and cake. Around here, the NCN routes are numbered 8 and 81.

They’re well signed and take you along traffic-free farm roads, high on the tops of a range of local hills that form the northern front of the Cambrian Mountains. Rich green fields are lined by rows of conifers, a windbreak for scattered farm houses on a steep landscape dotted with sheep.

Down in the valley, the River Wye is shallow and narrow here but it grows wider every mile until you get to Builth Wells. I didn’t scroll through the Booking.com app for somewhere to stay but wild camped instead.

While the right to roam scarcely exists in England and Wales, I find that if you ask a farmer and leave no trace, you can generally pitch in a field without problems.

Into the Wye Valley

Builth Wells – specifically Georgie Porgies Coffee Stop – was a perfect spot for breakfast. I then rode back across the bridge and followed the B4567 south. On the north bank of the river, I stopped at the tearoom at what was Erwood Station until the Mid-Wales Railway was dismantled in 1962.

The tour was going well. Adventures like this are greater than the sum of their parts. They’re good for the soul. Humans are built to move around with muscle power, and those who do so seem calmer and more reflective than those who are sedentary.

Touring cyclists, not tramps or highwaymen, are the true gentlemen and women of the road.

At Hay-on-Wye, the Cosy Café was another that offered e-bike plug-ins for cyclists buying food. I sat thinking about how, after centuries of rural subsistence, people have had to adapt rapidly to an urban lifestyle and the tsunami of additional stimuli that entails.

Seeing my bicycle through the window was a reminder that we’re better equipped to handle slow travel where we can get lost in the moment. “Flat white,” said the waitress, “and don’t forget your battery. You’ll not get far without that, will you?”

I rode through Monmouth and on into the Wye Valley. It was getting dark and while there was plenty of accommodation in the town, it was expensive. An arc of trees created a dark corridor, so I found a spot by the river to set up my tent for the night.

Over the Severn

Early the next morning I rode along a very quiet A466. Before reaching Tintern, home to the abbey of that name, I took a left up Mill Hill to stop at the Brockweir community café, where I did what I always do: purchase something so I could charge my battery.

The owner told me how the abbey was deliberately built far away from cities, towns and “the conversation of men”, and how it fell into ruin after the dissolution of the monasteries in the 16th century.

Leaving Tintern, I continued uphill for while, passed by well-mannered traffic obeying the 40mph and speed-camera signs, then freewheeled downhill past the racecourse to the port of Chepstow. Passing under the restored 13th-century town gate, I immediately found another café.

The weather was sunny and fresh; it was turning into another good day. After crossing the Severn Road Bridge, I navigated urban landscapes until I reached the Bristol and Bath Railway Path, which starts near Temple Meads railway station. That night I camped again.

White horses

Up with the sun, I soon found myself in the main square of Devizes and then in an early-opened Greggs. Town houses here are reminders of a prosperous past, where merchants traded in corn and wool, and businesses included a bell foundry, booksellers, brewers, snuff-makers, milliners, grocers and silversmiths.

The Kennet and Avon Canal runs  through Devizes, and the towpath was part of my planed route. It proved too lumpy, so I broke away from its traffic-free roughness and took narrow, unclassified roads.

To the north I could see the Devizes White Horse at Roundway Hill. It’s the eighth and latest Wiltshire white horse, and at 45m long resembles the original Snobs Horse, which was cut by shoemakers from the town in 1845.

Opposite the long barrow near Bishops Cannings, the road and the fields were quiet. Wheat heads were heavy, waiting to be harvested.

Traffic was down to one car per minute. The peel of church bells led me towards a tall spire, barely visible behind taller trees.

At Honeystreet, near Alton Barnes (where there’s yet another white horse on the hillside above), I dropped in at the Crop Circle Visitor Centre. Here you can ruminate over whether it was indeed aliens who had left their artistic imprint on our crop fields.

Up the Downs, down the Thames I rode into Marlborough along a back road past its eponymous college. Further on, I passed by Ramsbury Manor. Designed by polymath Robert Hooke in the 17th century, it was described in a 1966 edition of the Guinness Book of Records as being the most expensive domestic building in Britain.

In the nearby village of Ramsbury, a woman approached me over the village green. “I know you,” she said. “I saw you in a cycling magazine.”

“It is a secret pleasure to have a journey recognised,” I said to this lady. “It’s the electric cycling. Everyone should give it a go.” We sat chatting amicably about e-cycling and riding around the world. I told her that cycling here was just as enjoyable as riding in the Himalayas.

At Hungerford, I had a choice: take the Kennet and Avon canal to Reading, via Newbury and Thatcham; or head north to join the Ridgeway, which would take me to Goring and the Thames Path. I took the northern option, climbing up to the chalk downs to enjoy expansive views and, incidentally, join King Alfred’s Way.

At Reading, it was easy to find the Thames Cycleway, NCN4, and the signs to Wargrave. I had coffee in Sonning, then took the utilitarian cycleway alongside the A4. From Knowl Hill I continued to Maidenhead on NCN4, which then took me to the delightful Braywick Nature Park.

Soon I was back beside the River Thames, where regular signs pointed me towards London. To my surprise, riding into the capital on a riverside route was as interesting as the start had been Wales.

Filtering through the lives of people living by water, I cycled past narrowboats, cheery pubs, businesses and houses getting increasingly grander. London at last! It was time for another coffee.