Pwllheli

Llanbedrog

Llanbedrog

Pwllheli was not what I expected at all.  After a good night's sleep I woke to a pleasing dry tent and washing. Easy ride to Pwllheli, which for some reason I thought would be like Llandudno, perhaps without the ski slope.  But it's not like a seaside resort at all - it's a nice town, which happens to have a big sandy bay next to it. But there is very little exploitation of the beach.  There's a long row of nice terraced houses along the sea front, but I didn't see a single B&B or guest house.

Pwllheli

Wetherspoons wasn't my first choice of breakfast venue, but I struggled to find anywhere else.  I couldn't decide between the bacon butty or the porridge with banana and honey, so had to have both.  It was gone noon before I left.

By the way, did you know Lloyd George knew my father?  No?  It goes like this (to the tune of Land of Hope and Glory): Lloyd George knew my father / Father knew Lloyd George / Lloyd George knew my father / Father knew Lloyd George. And so on, ad nauseam.  I mention this because six miles along a perfectly nice but boring A road,I came across the village of Llanydsumdwy, "Lloyd George village".  There's a museum hare, and also a rabbit farm (see what I did there?). I was intrigued and decided to visit, but unfortunately it was up a hill, so I went to the Lloyd George museum instead. At least  the outside of it.

Llanydsumdwy

Pwllheli marks the end of the Lleyn peninsula and the start of Cardigan Bay, I think.   The landscape is a bit different, more rocky.  I went through Criccieth, a potentially picturesque seaside village (if you could find the right vantage point) with a small Marine Crescent, a castle, and a decent sandy beach.  Then it was off to Morfa Bychan, made famous in the 1970s  song by Chris Spedding.

Criccieth castle

Unusually, my sat-nav showed a road right along the beach, and it was literally that: one of the few places where you're allowed to drive across the sand.  The very idea struck terror into my heart, bit I decided to try it.  It was about 3/4 miles of firm-ish damp sand, cling at your tyres and slipping and sliding every so often.  Near the end, I had to cross a stream running down the sand, and finally I had to drag my bike the last 100 yards through deep dry sand back to the road.  After cleaning my sand-covered chain, I set off, stomach still tied in knots.

Morfa  Bychan

The ford!