Involuntary Rough stuff on a Brompton - The Mongomery Canal
Since the Wales trip is on hold I had the wizard wheeze of getting a cheap train ticket to Newtown and cycling back home via the Montgomery canal towpath. I based this on my experience of my trip last year, where the towpath near Newtown was comarable to a good quality cycleway, and no worse than our local paths, easily rideable on my LWB recumbent. There is no way I could get that on a train, and since it is the end of the holiday season I didn’t want to risk not being able to get my diamond frame bike on a train as even if pre booked the small print states that Transport for Wales reserves discretion to turn away cycles if the train is full. There are only two cycle spaces available depending on type of train. I decided to road test the Brompton on its first decent trip anticipating a relatively smooth ride on the towpath. I tested it to see if I could get it into a bin bag and though not elegant, it enhanced its claim to be able to travel as “luggage”. Thus folded, I could get Mrs T to drop me off in Nantwich on her route to Stoke and cycle to the station.
Unfortunately the ideal train time wasn’t on the timetable. A train was available at 07:42 which was too early for her, there was nothing between 8 and 9 so I had to accept being dropped off just before 08:00. The next train was at 09:22. Since cycling time was getting tight I’d tried to get a ticket to Welshpool. I found the ticketing structure most peculiar. If I pre booked a ticket to Welshpool it would be around £25 yet a ticket to Newtown or even further into mid Wales would be £11.50. I decided to buy a ticket to Newtown but get off at Welshpool.
Getting There
I was dropped off at the entrance to Sainsburys car park and Mrs T departed. I unfolded the bike and went to wait near the main entrance. I had a drink, then established that if I partially folded the Brompton I could take it into the Gents’ with nobody batting an eyelid, even into a cubicle. Useful information for future use, particularly for a solitary cyclist used to worrying about the security of his bike while indoors doing the necessary. Eventually departure time grew near and I cycled across town to the station. Here I folded the bike again and wriggled it into the bin bag. A smartly dressed well spoken elderly chap engaged me in a conversation about trains past and present which I was happy to take part in a) because I like trains and b) I subsequently realised that he reminded me of my late father.
The train arrived, a single unit Class 153. I entered through the door with the cycle symbol and was relieved to find a luggage rack with space and a nearby vacant seat. For the ensuing journey to Shrewsbury I exhibited the train cyclist’s twitch, peering round from time to time to make sure it was OK, specially at stops.
We got into Shrewsbury on time, and after the announcer gave the info that the train for Aberystwyth was due at platform 3 I made my way there. A peculiarity of Shrewsbury station is that to get to some of the platforms you have to go down stairs, out of the building, then back in at another entrance then up some more stairs. Tickets checked. There I waited with a couple where the husband was in charge of a mountain of suitcases while the wife walked with a stick. With about five minutes to go the announcer stated that the train from Birmingham would now terminate here, and the train for Aberystwyth would depart from platform 5. So into the lift with the others, outside, having got our tickets checked again, then headed for the lift for platform five. This wasn’t responding, so the husband started to drag the cases up the stairs. Meanwhile a staff member with some kind of trolley appeared and the lift door opened. The lady with the stick got in followed by me with bag and bike. The husband had nearly got to the top of the stairs so he didn’t come back down. In the bay line at platform 5 there was a two car train waiting with a queue waiting to board. After that little drama it was a relief to get installed and on our way.
Welshpool was the first stop at 10:50. Off the train, unfold the bike, a quick look at the map. The original station building stands across the bypass in the style of a French Chateau with its platform face glassed in. The bypass follows the alignment of the original railway which was realigned when the bypass was built. The current station looks forlorn with the main feature being a wide footbridge which spans the tracks and the bypass. The current use for the old station building is for craft style shops and a restaurant.
The Long and Winding Waterway
I crossed over the bypass on the footbridge and came out at the North end of the old station building. I have seen the other side many times as I hurtled by on the road but I’ve not really seen it from the other side. Very conscious of time passing as I’d estimated an average of 10 mph including the road miles or about 6 hours to get back. I took some photos as best I could then pressed on West into the town centre expecting to get on to the Montgomery Canal in a short time. I came to a bridge with a turning to the left before it and there it was. Photo taken facing bridge 119 with an old wharf and canal buildings on the left which are now used as a museum. I took the photo then pressed on.
The towpath here is in very good condition which encouraged me to take a few photos as I thought I could make good time.
This canal has the unusual feature of being higher at each end than in the middle. It is more usual for canals to have their high point in the middle fed by a reservoir to make up for water lost through the use of the locks. The terminus in Newtown is built over. Parts of it are traceable as a grassy depression alongside the path with the odd isolated building. It becomes more identifiable as a canal, though shallow, from Newhouse Lock, a few miles outside Newtown. It can be used by canoeists though parts of it are either culverted under roads or under flattened bridges with little headroom. This state of affairs continues to Bridge 129 at Berriew, about 9 miles outside Newtown when it becomes a nominally navigable canal again. A lot of work took place in the 80s and 90s to reopen this stretch through Welspool in the expectation that it could be reconnected to the canal system sooner rather than later but this has not happened. Although there have been trip boats and hire boats based in Welshpool the canal has not had enough use to prevent it becoming silted and reedy. The towpath has been kept in very good condition, however.
The bridge numbers count down towards Ellesmere on the Llangollen Canal rather than to Frankton Junction which is where it joins the Llangollen Canal. Most of the mile posts are still in place with Lower Frankton on one side and Newtown on the other. Despite the good surface, I found the distance shrinking more slowly than I expected. There were parts where the pathside hedge had not been trimmed, forcing me to ride closer to the water than I would have liked. In others the surface material was of coarser gravel forcing me to slow down for the sake of the tyres.
The last lock descending was Bank Lock near bridge 109. Then followed the short lowest or sump level
After about 6 miles in an hour I photographed Burgedin Locks where the canal begins to climb again and stopped on a handy bench at about 12:15 to have a drink and a snack near Bridge 105.
The water level on the stretch above these locks was low, including the pound in between where the drying mud could be seen to be growing weeds.
The top lock was barriered off to stop people falling in. It was possible to see the horizontal sluice design used on this canal on the bottom below the circular winding wheel as there were stop boards upstream to hold the water back. Once I got going again in less than a quarter of a mile I came across the A483 crossing the canal on a flattened bridge.
Up to this point I would say you could ride a road bike on the towpath, from Newtown itself to this point near the village of Arddleen.The canal beyond was quite overgrown and I looked at the map and saw that it was either take my chances on the A483 to the next bridge with its fast and busy traffic or to possibly have to walk a lot of the towpath to that bridge. I waited for a gap in the traffic and pushed through the gate opposite. The towpath was no more than a footpath with a thick hedge to the right and tall water plants to the left. Although I rode where I could the path sloped to the left in many places and frequent tree roots caused the front wheel to veer off to the left. In the end I got off and walked. It was probably only about a mile and a quarter but it felt much further between bridges 103 and 102. I arrived at flattened Bridge 102 hot, sweaty and annoyed about the way time was flying by. The afternoon was warming up. Crossing the busy A483, at first I couldn’t find the access to the towpath again but when I did, found it was a decent gravel path. A diehard road rider mighr take on the A483 between these two bridges and continue along the towpath but on this fast stretch at this time of day the traffic was continuous. The hedge on the right was rather bushy but I could cope with that. It was becoming noticeable that some landowners kept their hedges trimmed while others did not. I plugged on, noticing again that there were a stretches of coarse surfacing where I had to slow down, then was able to speed up again. I continued in this manner and the gloomy mood left me. Reddish brown dragonflies were everywhere, with the occasional blue flash of a damselfly. There were many tiny birds darting about in the hedges and the reeds, possibly wrens. There were ducks, coots, and moorhens. Too much wildlife I thought, as a tiny fly got in my right ear, buzzing frantically as it tried to get out. I managed to dislodge it with my finger, luckily not pushing it further in or ending up in the canal. Water level still low, but no doubt plenty of mud.
The Offa’s Dyke Path uses this part of the towpath so it is in good condition. I came to the Vyrnwy Aqueduct which towers impressively over the landscape but the canal itself is contained within a pipe which carries the water over the River Vyrnwy. Then came the Carreghoffa Locks though with the water level being so low they weren’t in use. Next came another high aqueduct then just after bridge 93 the canal had its full depth of water again. At Bridge 92 came a “Welcome to England” sign which was ironic as in less than a mile the canal was no longer in water and the towpath deteriorated.
It was rideable to beyond bridge 90 where there are lime kilns which I stopped to take a picture of. The canal was a mass of brambles and weeds. How it could have become so spectacularly dry when a short distance away it was at its full level must be a sign of significant neglect, all the more so when one of the reasons for its existence stands reproachfully on the other side. This may be the stretch where a breach of the canal in 1936 gave the then LMS railway a reason to close the canal due to claiming that it was uneconomic to carry out the repairs.
I’d folded the rear wheel under so I could stand the bike up while I took the photo. When I flipped it out again I discovered that it had spat out the left rear brake block. I found it and slid it back in, making a mental note to glue or crimp it back in place when I got home. Meanwhile I’d have to keep an eye on it.
The towpath became a rough track through a wood with 100mm tree roots causing this cyclist at least to have to get off and push over them. The canal here looks more like an archeological than restoration project. Yet from time to time a mile post appeared which someone has been repainting.
To add to the misery, there are five motorcycle barriers with a stile. The first one has a narrow vertical slot which seems to have been designed by someone who might have known somebody who had once seen a picture of a bicycle. It was very narrow, and after removing the bag from the Brompton I was just able to to get it through with the bars at an uncomfortable angle. I then put the bag back on and continued. A small circular sign proclaimed “Shropshire Way Main Route”. There should have been another one with “Cyclists Not Welcome” on it.
There were another 4 of these, none of which had a slot so you had to take the bag off and lift the bike over. Even dogs got more consideration than cyclists as these had a lifting board so your pooch could walk through. There were no signs, and Pearson’s Canal Companion makes no mention of cyclists needing to take an alternative route, or offers any suggestions.
The last straw was a tall “kissing gate” after a bridge which wasn’t wide enough for a bike even on its back wheel. As I had no idea how many more barriers there might be after this I bumped up 5 steep steps to the road and followed my nose to where I thought the canal should be. What bliss to be on a smooth surface and flying along.
Fortunately I came across a canal bridge and went down a steep slope. There was some work going on between two bridges. The canal was drained, and had been worked on with the bottom being concreted then covered with some sort of paving material. The towpath was also being upgraded. I met a mountain biker who said he’d just come to have a look. He said the towpath was OK here, but I might struggle further on. I was willing to take that risk. The towpath was very good for quite a way, then was unmade with material in place but it hadn’t been tamped down. I got off and walked since I could see the next bridge. Another mountain biker came past and said “Hi” There was a dam of material in the waterway at the bridge and beyond that the water level was normal. The towpath was fine. A little later the first mountain biker passed me on his way back then turned off.
The towpath was much improved. I passed Crickheath then Maesbury where there were now boats. I felt more confident that the towpath would be good enough to make up some distance and time. Having got over what I thought was the worst, I sat on a bench and had a belated tea.
I carried on to Queens Head passing Aston Locks at a good pace but after bridge 76 I plunged into a path that was a thin brown line surrounded by vegetation.
This was becoming ridiculous again. I’m not George of the Jungle and I’m riding a folding bike, not a brushcutter. Pearson’s Canal Companion states that the towpath from here to Bridge 74 is “acceptable for cyclists”. Having already seen what this guide thinks is a route that doesn’t need any advisory notes but is almost impassable I turned off at the next bridge on to the road to Rednall then Lower Frankton in the hope that I would meet the canal before Frankton Junction. However I came out on the Llangollen Canal having travelled further than I thought and judging by the bridge numbers, close to Ellesmere. I cast about in the lanes as I was disappointed not to be able to see the junction but as I was nearly at Ellesmere I decided to carry on as I was way behind schedule. I’d intended to be home by now!
Confusingly, though I did not see a sign, the towpath crosses over to the other side at the point at which I turned off, (bridge 74) and my detour might have been unnecessary if it had left the undergrowth behind. Anyhow, hindsight is a wonderful thing but I was where I was so I continued to plod along. The towpath surface along the Llangollen Canal led to slow progress and I was beginning to wonder how long this was going to take when Ellesmere Yard appeared on the right. Soon afterwards there were moored boats and a high iron bridge appeared. The canal appeared to go straight on and a junction to the right seemed to be the way to the town centre. I was feeling a little disorientated but I climbed the steep ramp to the bridge only to meet an elderly chap on an electric mobility scooter coming the other way.
He stopped but seemed unable to get going again on the steep slope. I rode across the bridge, leaned the bike against the rail then went back to see if I could give him a push to get going. In the meantime he’d reversed back to the bottom of the slope to have another go. I apologised for stopping him and said I’d come back to give him a push. He said, “That’s OK, this just needs a run up to get up this slope.” I asked him if I was on the right route to the town centre and he said I was. He went on his way and I didn’t look at my map as I’d intended. I wanted to take the short canal spur to the town centre so I could take a photo of the bike with the well known building with “Shropshire Union Railways and Canal Company” painted on the brickwork. I’d last seen it maybe 20 years ago when I hired a day boat from Trevor basin for a family trip, and before that in 1978 when me and a mate had hired a boat to “do” the Llangollen Canal. Just to get a sense of history as it was probably still the same while I’d grown older. In fact I was heading East along the Llangollen Canal. I passed under a bridge which was signposted to the town centre and various attractions. So what he thought I meant wasn’t actually what I thought I said. I should have included “by canal”. As I passed under the bridge I still thought I was going in the right direction. As I came to a bridge over the entrance to a marina and climbed over I was beginning to have doubts. Then again, perhaps this was relatively new. Boats were tied up alongside the canal, people were cooking their tea or walking back to their boats with shopping and takeaways. Local cyclists came and went.
I was convinced that I’d come too far despite only having visited Ellesmere by narrowboat on previous occasions. I saw what could only be the entrance to Ellesmere Tunnel in the distance and had the lightbulb moment that I needed to go back. Someone was walking in the opposite direction who didn’t look like a tourist so I asked him if there was a short route to the town centre. Is the world coming to an end? Is the Apocalypse looming? This bloke asks for directions
twice in one day? Getting a bit Biblical.
And thus he spake. “Thou shouldst Go Back” saith he, “for verily, if thou dost not forsake thy present Way thou shalt come upon a Road which is Unpleasant for Cyclists. Thou canst reach the Town Centre thereby, but thou wilt not enjoy it. Much buttock clenching and perspiratory underpants are foreseen. So I entreat thee, go back, go back to the first bridge after the junction. There thou shalt see a Sign proclaiming many Wondrous Things, one of which is the Way to the Town Centre. Only believe, and the Way will be revealed, innit!” So I pondered on these Things which he had revealed to me, and found them Good. Thus I did Go Back.
And so it came to pass, having taken the advice of the mysterious stranger, that the Brompton and I arrived outside a chip shop in the town centre. The smell of frying chips was intoxicating. Seeing a couple at a table eating golden battered fish with plump chips which my imagination X rayed to reveal a crispy outer with perfect fluffy potato inside, I weakened. No! Must resist! I know how it will be. Delightful to eat, but in half an hour, struggling up some hill, it will be like lead on my stomach. I partially folded the bike, locked it and went inside. “Sorry mate, cash only” was the phrase which saved me from myself. I rummaged about in my pocket and came up with a pound coin and some change. I came out with a full fat Pepsi Cola. I usually drink diet but I’ve found when I’m running on empty energy wise the sugar and caffeine give me a temporary boost akin to Popeye the Sailorman and his spinach. I looked at my map. Since it was now gone 7 pm my original intention to cycle the full distance home after a leisurely ride up the Montgomery Canal had been torpedoed by the lurking submarine of reality, as time had leaked away more quickly than a leaky thing. So.
The nearest railway station was at Whitchurch which was fortunately on my planned route home. My mission was to get there before the last train to Nantwich left. Also to get as far as I could before it got dark. I packed up my stuff and gingerly turned on my hub dynamo lights which sprang into life. I unfolded the bike and the rear left brake shoe attempted to escape like an unruly caterpillar. I poked it back in with my finger. Friday night. Groups of chattering, giggling girls walked past, and smartly dressed youths. What was I still doing here? I should be on my settee at home by now, writing this up.
I set off looking for signs for the A 528. After a climb up a long shallow hill followed a long gradual freewheel, this was going well, maybe too well. I expected to see signs for Colemere Country Park. I kept on, hoping to see some signs to confirm my location. I was definitely on the A528. I eventually came to a cross roads but the signs made no sense. I got the map out. I turned it upside down and then it made sense. Yes, I was on the A 528 but instead of heading South I was heading North. Twit! Twit! Twit! Still, it wasn’t an unsalvageable situation. Whitchurch is North and East of Ellesmere. It occurred to me that my Garmin has a compass though you have to stop and select it but it didn’t occur to me to do that earlier. My planned route avoided the main roads, using the lanes to approach Whitchurch from the South. If I turned right here I would get to the A 539 near Penley and just follow the road to turn right on to the A 525 for Whitchurch, approaching from the west.
It was not a bad ride through the lanes to the junction with the A539. It was still light and there was very little traffic. Encouragingly, the sign gave distance to Whitchurch as 9 miles. Passing through Penley I noticed that there were few street lights, and it gradually grew darker. There were some big undulations on this road and although it was great freewheeling down them my weary legs found getting up the other side a challenge and I walked some of them, even with the lowered gearing. It was pitch dark by the time I reached the junction with the A525 and I had to ride up to the road sign to be positive that I turned in the right direction for Whitchurch. I hadn’t expected to be out after dark. A torch would have been handy.
Traffic was infrequent but the light from cars was like daylight compared with the bright concentrated beam from the bike headlight.
The absence of street lighting was very noticeable coming from Cheshire. I don’t know if this is a Shropshire thing or a sign of the times where local councils are cutting back to save on electricity costs. I came to some temporary traffic lights on the A 525 which were the brightest thing for miles. There was a layby not too far away and so I stopped for a Kit Kat and to rest my legs. A nice tall kerbstone would have been nice to sit on but I had to make do with leaning on the bike. The standlights on the Brompton system are pretty good and the light stayed lit for longer than I needed to stop. Getting going again I began to doubt whether I’d read the road sign correctly. In the dark with few reference points and unable to read my Garmin on an unfamiliar road it felt as if I’d covered more than 9 miles. Every time I crested a rise I expected to see lights reflected in the sky heralding the approach to the town.
An interesting psychological factor was that there was no way to see the crest of the hill you were climbing in the dark unless a car came by. It was a constant slog dependent on the feedback from your legs. Also bottom gear had started making a ticking sound under load -probably just a matter of fine tuning the adjustment after the vibration and battering the bike had undergone today but it made me reluctant to put too much load on it uphill. The other gears were fine. So combined with my weary legs I did more walking than I would have done normally. Fortunately the traffic, though more frequent than earlier, was still pretty sparse and they all gave this strange slow moving object with its low slung lights plenty of room.
At last I crested a hill and saw a large road sign with a roundabout on it. As I got closer I saw the name Whitchurch and a sign for the station. Even better, to the right, a 24 hour petrol station. My legs developed new energy as I sped down the slight slope on to the roundabout and then the forecourt. I partially folded the bike and took it into the shop. I had a craving for a fizzy drink and bought three ice cold cans and an ice cream as I was feeling rather hot. I sat outside and ate the ice cream followed by the first cold can. I considered that if I was too late for the last train I might need the other two later as it was going to be a long night. I ate the second half of a salami sandwich, unfolded the bike, rescued the escaping left rear brake pad and set off for the station.
Very little traffic to be seen while I negotiated the bypass, eventually heading for the town centre following the station signs. Arrived with time to spare for the last train which was at 00:20. Folded the bike, had a drink, bought the ticket and was all set to go when the train came. On the journey out tickets were inspected to the nth degree but on this trip the guard only asked for my destination, and I left the folded bike in the empty bike bay.
20 minutes later I got off at Nantwich. Unfolded the bike, rescued the errant brake block, loaded the bag and by the time I got going it was nearly 01:00.
Cycling stealthily through the silent streets of Nantwich was a novel experience. Nobody about, not even a car until I got on to the Chester/Wrexham road when one passed me. I turned right on to Wettenhall Lane. Normally in daylight it would take 35 -40 minutes to get home from here but in the dark maybe an hour. There were lights around Reaseheath College but beyond was only velvety darkness. The bright spot of light a metre or so ahead of the front wheel only exaggerated the surrounding darkness. The hedges were black, and trees were black looming shapes. The sky was a less intense black. No moon, no stars. The low slung front light turned the normal bad surface of this lane into a surreal rolling moonscape. With no traffic about I could use the width of the lane to avoid the larger craters. Although I was pretty weary by now this became one of the best parts of today’s trip as I rolled anonymously past sleeping farms and houses. From time to time I was lit by the lights from farmyards. The occasional empty barking of an early morning dog broke the silence, with distant replies from over the fields, or a roosting bird rustled and made irritated noises as I disturbed it in passing. I was forced to experience a familiar road through other senses than merely sight. My peripheral vision worked overtime. I flew down a dip at Wettenhall then stomped up the other side. I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to stop at the traffic lights at Darnhall bridge but just pedal through the dip and up the other side as I could see and hear anything coming from miles away. I could see the glow of the red traffic light from a good distance . It was all downhill to the bridge so I just stopped pedalling and let the bike gather speed. Faster and faster I went, hands off brakes, the red eye of the light demanding that I stop but just as I passed it, it turned green. I pedalled furiously down the dip and up the other side, top, second, bottom gear but my now-wobbly legs had given their best and I walked the last bit. Once I got going again the welcome lights of home were visible far ahead. I rode steadily along enjoying the streetlights. Eventually I came to my back gate and sorted myself out. It was 02:00. I had seen not a single vehicle since I turned off outside Nantwich. By the time I’d had a shower and was ready for bed I could hear rain rattling down outside. Good timing indeed. Needless to say, I had no trouble sleeping.
Conclusions
Well the biggie was obviously that I wouldn’t have been able to use the entire Montgomery Canal towpath as a traffic free cycle route for its whole 35 mile length as part of my original route to my previously planned Mid Wales break. Some parts of it are, quite frankly, just awful. The good bits are very good but none of it will allow a high average speed. After riding the excellent Southern section to Newtown last year I convinced myself that it would be mostly like that, and indeed the 18 odd mile stretch from Newtown via Welshpool to Arddleen is eminently useable as part of a link using lanes to connect.
It was a very interesting experience with some high points and some extremely low points. The main thing to be learnt is that whatever time you allow is never enough! Having ridden this route, a memory surfaced of the time I rode the Shropshire Union towpath between Nantwich and Audlem on a hardtail mountain bike when I found some of it a very slow and uncomfortable ride. It’s obvious that even towpaths on well used canals can be difficult.
Travelling by train on a Brompton is very do able even if most users only do a few miles at each end. Going into shops and toilets without worrying about leaving it outside is an excellent plus point when you are on your own. It rolls well with high pressure tyres despite its small wheels. Not the ideal candidate for roughstuff routes but it coped, and went well on the smoother surfaces. Much to my surprise it was very comfortable with the original saddle and set up, the only real changes were Shimano brake levers, foam grips and a Mirrycle mirror. The hub dynamo worked well though the front light resisted being adjusted for a longer distance beam due to coming up against the bottom of the front bag. Possibly the bracket needs some careful bending.
Max 28.7 average 7.2 distance 65.62 bicycle miles + the train miles. I made a point of turning off the Garmin when getting on a train as the average speed etc would otherwise have been quite amazing.
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