Port Eynon – Laugharne

A soft peach sky heralds another sunny day. Two in a row. How special is that. The sea is almost invisible – a shimmering haze. I feel a twinge – it’s too soon to be leaving for the hinterland. But the plan is to cycle to Gowerton and get the train north to Llandridno, in the centre of the country. I just need to check the train departure time. Hang on a minute – cancelled? No service at all today? No trip to Belan Bluebell Wood campsite, at Llan-unpronounceable, and two nights accommodation down the plughole? 

My brain jumps into gear: whither now? It’s a no-brainer: cross the Gower, as planned, and then peddle west round the coast until I run out of steam. I cycle up the hill, leaving Port Eynon behind me, wondering idly where I will be putting up my tent in the evening. Tent? Tent! Where is it?! Shoot. I picture it in the corner of the bike shed at the youth hostel. Back down the hill I go, happy to encounter the warden and tell him what a good stay I have had. And hoping that this is the last psychological jolt I receive today.

Even at 8 in the morning the roads are uncomfortably busy. But turning away from the coast they quieten down. My route hugs the edge of an extensive area of marshland on the north of the peninsula. Once again I enjoy the views of grazing equines. 

A little further along, at Crofty, I scoff half a 6-pack of Welshcakes. Outside the grocer, a well worn gent looks admiringly at my bike. We discuss the pros and cons of cycling and motorbiking and swap finger-arthritis stories. 

I have a second pit stop at Pen-clawd and then pick up Sustrans route 4 to cross the River Loughor. From there the fabulous Millennium Coastal Path takes me along the north shore of the R. Loughor, past post-industrial Machnys.

Carmarthenshire has a peculiar atmosphere. I’ve only been here a couple of times but, each trip, I am struck by how depressed it is. Farm buildings are semi-derelict, and – for the most part – the villages lack charm. There’s a “take me or leave me” vibe that speeds me onward. But what a pleasure to be cycling on quiet roads. 

The south Carmarthenshire coastline is incredibly indented, a series of river estuaries extending the coastal footpath, and roads, inland by many miles. By mid afternoon I am feeling the need of a leg up. Happily, there is a train from Ferryside to Carmarthen, which sits at the crossing point of the River Towy. Its two carriages are rammed full. 

At Carmarthen I have a choice: make a bid for the Pembroke train these folk are changing to, or go into uncharted territory – cycle to a campsite that I researched a couple of weeks ago, 17 miles south-west of Carmarthen. I opt for the latter and cross my fingers that there will be space. 

I have to say – those 17 miles are a slog. But hallelujah – the site is virtually empty. It is part of the Greener Camping Club, whose rules include having a maximum of 10 pitches. Nice. And – of course – it’s compost toilets, and solar-powered showers. And (checked in advance) the possibility of charging the bike. I am only pretending to be spontaneous. Sadly, this mode of travelling – an e-bike, satnav and route planning – means that I am completely technology dependent. 

The site is run by Michael who, until seven years ago, had a high-pressure job in Canary Wharf. He seems very comfortable with his huge lifestyle change.

It is satisfying to be putting up my tent after three days of wheeling it around. But I find I am not rushing to dive into it. And, after 53 miles of peddling it’s an effort to get on my bike again to forage for supper. So is cycle camping the way forward or is it just too hard? Hmm… 

And tomorrow? No plans!