Best bike trail ever?

The Mawddach trail follows the disused railway line from Dolgelau to Barmouth. It's nine miles long, for most of its length following the course of Afon Mawddach, a fast flowing mountain river at Dolgelau that changes after a couple of miles into a broad tidal estuary flanked by green mountains. 

The change of scenery is signalled by your arrival at the Penmaenpool Toll Bridge. Nearby, the George III hotel looked like a good place for a pub lunch, but we were determined to do the whole round trip of 18 miles, no stopping until Barmouth we had agreed.

We held a gate open for a couple of cyclists riding towards us. They looked to be in their late twenties, glowing with health, riding sleek road bikes. "Thank you!" they chorused, "This has to be the best bike trail ever!" they added as they sped away.

A big claim, but as wannabe dismantled railway cycling specialists we reckon we could make a fair assessment. Over the years we must have ridden more than two dozen, not just in the UK, but in Europe - Sweden, Spain and six or seven other countries in between, then there was the Otaga Trail in New Zealand, and two decades ago an old railway track in northern Quebec that we cycled as a family. Was the Mawddach trail really better than any of these?

We concluded you could argue the case. Admittedly, Wales can't really compete in terms of scale with New Zealand's South Island. Otaga trail.It is epic, taking at least two days to ride the whole thing. However sections of it are dead straight and the long steady climbs are tedious and exhausting. Closer to home there are great trails in Spain. In Andalucia  we loved the Via Verde de la Sierra which runs 30km from Olvera  to Serrano through a varied landscape of craggy outcrops and olive dotted hills. That's if you can catch a glimpse of them, the route also features many tunnels and steep-sided cuttings. In the north we spent a memorable day cycling through the Cantabrian Mountains on the Senda del Oso. It is magnificent,  the route follows an old mineral line through a wooded valley; it was a bright autumn day with sunlight glinting on the pale grey peaks, vultures  laconically spiralling above them. So far as a ride through mountains go can Snowdonia compete with that?

Maybe it's an unfair comparison. Mountains provide a spectacular backdrop to the Mawddach trail, but really it's a fluvial route, the river is its focus. However, here too we have had  grander riverside rides, such as the route along Meuse in the French Ardennes or the vine clad banks of the Moselle in Rhineland-Palatinate. So what exactly makes this modest trail along the banks of an obscure estuary in Wales exceptional?

Partly it's about scale, variety is a factor too, and more ineffably perhaps, charm. I remember reading somewhere of a Swiss alpinist visiting the Lake District towards the end of the nineteenth when mountaineering was first emerging as a popular pastime. Faced with the fist-like bulk of the Langdale Pikes he estimated that they were 7000' high and might take two days to climb. In fact they are a third of that height and their ascent is possible in an afternoon. What this reflects is the larger than life quality that  typifies many British landscapes; they manage the apparently impossible trick of seeming epic and intimate simultaneously. The rolling chalk lands of Suffolk are comely and pastoral but their cloudscapes  magnificent. 

The Mawddach trail is similarly heterogeneous, an amalgam of sublime  mountain backdrop, with sunlit woods full of wayside flowers and birdsong. The well surfaced  level track traces the river's journey from swift flowing mountain stream  to the quietude of the estuary, at ebb tide a glistening expanse of mud,  mirror-like on the return journey when the tide had turned.

It took little more than an hour to pedal from Dolgelau to Barmouth, but the variety of the scenery and the ever changing views of the mountains and the estuary made it feel expansive and absorbing. The couple's assessment of the trail was correct, it is not the most challenging or spectacular trail but it is truly satisfying and engaging. For us perhaps it's the most charming trail we have ridden, whether that makes it the best is a question personal predilection; if you are a thrill-seeker you will find it too tame, if you seek quietude and solace in nature, as we do, then you will love it.

You can see Barmouth on the opposite shore well before you reach it. A rickety old wooden bridge crosses the wide estuary. It still carries the railway that runs down the coast to Aberystwyth. To cross the river cyclists need to use the equally ramshackle footbridge that runs alongside it. It is privately owned and an honesty box requests a toll of £1.00 per person to help with the upkeep . Sadly we had no loose change, since Covid we've gone completely contactless, only carrying an emergency tenner, which was not  much help under the circumstances.

Barmouth is a typical small seaside resort. I know I have been very rude  about them, but maybe that is not entirely fair. What is true is that they have remained more or less unchanged since I was a child. Sunday outings in the early sixties to Seahouses on the Northumbrian coast might involve a visit to the Neptune fish bar or Coxons Ice Cream parlour and milk bar; not the amusement arcade though, that was regarded as uncouth. 

Six decades on in Barmouth it was the same proposition, only the names had changed. Though the delights of the British seaside may not be to our taste, nevertheless there is something admirable about these small resorts' longevity. In a world of virtual delights their charms are simple and palpable. They have no pretensions, they are as they are, and that is quite rare these days. We celebrated the fact by sharing a portion of cod and chips.

Next day we headed home. The weather had been mixed and the welcome somewhat chilly at times. That was not our final impression though. Last time we stayed in Dolgelau we visited an excellent traditional butchers. We were pleased to see that Robert"s Brothers was still in business and his range of traditional sausages as good as ever.

 I don't know which brother served Gill, but he was friendly and happy to have a chat. We learned that for the past 24 years he had been married to a strict vegetarian who had never tasted his beautiful sausages. I was left with the thought all marriages are unique and what makes them tick quite mysterious. 

Perhaps what been missing most from out lives during these strange times is not personal freedom or lack of contact with close family but the the mundane presence of strangers. Unplanned phatic exchanges, the occasional unexpected smile, odd conversations. Even introverts are sustained by those and the sense that the unfamiliar can be friendly, strangers are not so strange, and because all of us are always solitary in our heads counter intuitively this means we are not alone.