A birthday surprise

Shortly after starting a new job in late October, I went about doing the usual holiday dump – submitting all my previously booked and approved holidays with my new employer. Sweden, Christmas, Italy, Mallorca & more all got logged with little notes for myself and my boss. One submission note was left blank, as I didn’t know what I was booking it for! In early November, Pip told me to save the date of the 15th of December as she was working on booking me a little weekend away for my birthday.

My birthday soon rolled around – 30 years of age on the 7th of December. Amongst a mouth-watering collection of speciality Rave coffee, Percy pigs, and a new mug to enjoy it all in, Pip had written me a cute little card which included details of where we’d be going, and what we’d be doing on this mystery weekend;

2 nights in a gorgeously quaint shepherd’s hut and, not to bury the lede, we’d be doing the UK’s longest & fastest Zipline, in Penrhyn Quarry!

Friday 15th December

Just over a week later, our weekend away was upon us. I’d been on a work trip to Brighton on the Monday/Tuesday of the week, played catchup on the Wednesday, and my Thursday was technically my Friday. No sooner did I feel like I’d got into the working week, than was I frantically packing on the Friday morning. It’s not like me to be unprepared for a holiday, but for this trip, I was really on the back foot. I hadn’t created any run routes or hiking trails – I hadn’t researched any restaurants or coffee stops. I couldn’t even point out where we were going on a map, aside from “North Wales”. In hindsight, it was quite nice to be whisked along, driven around and told where to be and when.

We were both up at 7 for a coffee and orange (some things never change, holiday or no holiday). I planned to do a short Zwift ride but my Tablet refused to connect. I got a quick run-in, instead, before finishing off packing. It wasn’t the standard run-of-the-mill packing list, given that we’d be walking, self-catering, hot-tubbing, ziplining and more – the main things we made sure to remember were swim shorts, and warm waterproof clothing (Not that I have all too much of the latter).

Warm weather supplies

Check-in was entirely flexible, so we hit the road just after 11 – it was supposed to be around a 2-hour drive, but we broke it up with a stop-off in Runcorn. Why? It turns out that the TK Maxx in Runcorn provides the least amount of straying from the path for our journey. We’re both off to Sweden in the new year, and both equally panicking about not having any properly warm coats, walking pants, or suitably warm shoes.

‘Runcorn Shopping City’ was our saviour. Not just for Sweden, but this trip as well! Pip managed to find a lovely and colourful Lands End waterproof, and I found an enormously puffy Adidas jacket. The fact that the jacket is black is the only thing stopping me from looking like the Michelin Man’s long-lost Anglo brother. Luck was on my side today, too, as after having looked at nearly every rail in the men’s area of the shop, I spotted a pair of waterproof over pants right at the end next to the checkout on the clearance rack. They fit like a dream and got flopped onto the checkout along with a spur-of-the-moment pack of Bailey’s Fudge & a little brown beanie.

Whilst on a spending streak, we came out and J-turned straight into Sports Direct – I was after some new hiking boots, since breathable running shoes (No matter how good the grip) just aren’t suitable for snowy wintry conditions, and my eternally cold toes. I had a simple criteria – black and inconspicuous. Sports Direct understood the assignment, with plenty to choose from. I pestered a member of staff for a few different sizes of a black leather Karrimor and settled on a pair.

With the necessary evils out of the way, we embarked on the final leg of the journey – we passed through four seasons in a day, on the way down. Blustery winds, gorgeous autumn colours on the remaining leafed trees, drizzling rain and the resulting rainbows spanning across the Welsh valleys. Our attention was constantly darting between the stunning views and collection of potholes. There were so many that it became easier to accept that were driving in the potholes, and that we should be avoiding the sticky-up bits of the remaining road, instead. Pip kept her cool down the winding country lanes with 10-foot hedges and occasional 4×4 greeting us, and soon enough we arrived at the working farm that housed our Shepherds hut.

Siabod huts

After a bumpy final dozen miles, we arrived at Siabod huts – based on a working farm, as evidenced by the men loading sheep into a cattle container, border collies running around, and the instructions to ‘park next to the tractor’, which was still attached to a muck spreader. Our little Fiat 500 didn’t quite fit the vehicular mould.

We were greeted by Menna, presumably a Welsh version of Margaret, who showed us around our home for the next two nights with a lovely soft-spoken Welsh accent.

Across the road from the farm on its own plot of land, surrounded by rocky brush-laden and fluffy Welsh mountain sheep, were 3 wooden-clad huts. Each is about 5 meters wide by 2 metres deep, sitting atop 4 wheels, although I doubt they’d ever be moved.

1. One living quarters with a bed, log fire, 2 chairs and drop-down table and adjacent wood-fired hot tub
2. A utilities hut, with a built-in kitchen, dining table, standing shower and toilet room
3. A third sleeping-only hut, with two beds flanking the hut and a walkway down the middle

We were given a bit of a tour and explanation, which mostly consisted of how and when to light the fires for the hut and the hot tub, then left to our own devices. We started unpacking, only to realise there wasn’t anywhere to move our clothes to, so opted for the open-suitcase-pushed-under-the-bed tactic, only getting out a few essentials like charging cables, phones etc.

Into Betws-y-Coed

We’d normally walk to somewhere to eat, but we were far more remote than we initially realised. A quick look on Google Maps showed that there was literally nothing commercial within 4.8 miles of us. Given that it would be dark in the next hour, we didn’t quite fancy the idea of a 4-hour round trip to the nearest barely-reviewed pub, and so opted to drive down into Betws-y-Coed to see what it had to offer. We parked up in the first car park as you enter the village, across from the train station and a beautifully lit ‘Alpine village’. A sure sign of the poor reception was how long the parking ticket machine took to process our payment. We witnessed a chap park up, walk to collect a parcel, come back and drive off in the time it took for the machine to ticket over from ‘payment successful’ to ‘printing ticket’.

We did a whistle-stop tour of some of the local shops – one of which was a quaint little farm shop type place – and we saw a couple of people make the same “Feel the weight of this!” whilst holding a batch of handmade Bara Brith Cake. I couldn’t resist testing it for myself, and they weren’t joking. A hand-sized loaf weighed a hefty amount. I gave it the obligatory small throw-up and down and placed it back on the shelf. The rest of the shop was filled with artisanal produce – honey that had no right being as expensive as they were, cheeses, biscuits & butter that all seemed more like mantelpiece ornaments than edible food.

We headed into the adjacent shop, ‘Village Crafts’ – a gifts and crafts type deal – and had a quick wander around. Nothing took our fancy, although some children’s teddy bears and dolls that cost upwards of £250 took us back. We picked up a little Christmas bauble, which unlike other times could go straight on the tree once home!

Hangin’ Pizzeria

We’d picked out a pizza place to go for tea on the journey down – ‘Hangin’ Pizzeria’, which looked perfect. Inside it was a lovely mix of rustic and cosy – corrugated accents and long cushion-laden benches. We found a table near the back, sat ourselves down and ordered two large glasses of Shiraz. We went for our usual tactic with Pizza; order two, and share half each.

We put an order in for goat’s cheese, red onion and rocket as well as a Salami, crispy ham and pepperoni. We barely had time for our mouths to start watering before they arrived. You can’t beat the efficiency of homemade pizzas. They were delicious – so much so that we considered whether we should just come here tomorrow night as well.

I would never think to order pineapple on a pizza, but a sign above the kitchen made me laugh;

Pineapple Corkage; We do not serve pineapple on our pizzas but please feel free to bring your own! For a small 50p corkage charge we will add your pineapple to your pizza

Hangin’ Pizzeria

Pip went to take her jumper off in the restaurant, and I thought I’d be a helpful boyfriend and offer to hold her t-shirt down whilst she did so. She humbled me with her reply of “Darl, women take off jumpers differently to men” before elegantly removing her jumper without any fuss

40°

We headed back to our hut to indulge in the wood-fired hot tub and a fresh bottle of wine which Julian got me for my 30th Curious Parallel. The tub had been heating up throughout the evening, to the point where it was now 40 degrees, with the fire still burning. We spent a good 20 minutes in there, enjoying the absolute silence and near-pitch black, with only some faint twinkling Christmas lights from the farm across the road visible.

I think Pip could have lasted a little longer, but I was at my limit in the hot tub/Sauna.

We headed back inside and spent the rest of the night flicking between playing cards and watching 4g-streamed Netflix on our new MacBook, which came along for the trip.

Saturday 16th December

We enjoyed a bit of a lie in the next morning, compared to our usual get-up. We had ordered breakfast to be dropped off at our cabin at 0830 – Menna was reeling off the list of things we could have the night before, and we went for the easiest option of “Everything”. After getting up, grabbing a quick shower in the hut next door, and getting the fire going in the morning, we eventually found out what ‘everything’ meant. Sausage, bacon, egg, hash browns, slices of bread, tomato, mushroom, beans and a little pot of ketchup. Enough to keep up going!

We played a bit of cards over a pot of tea whilst our breakfast settled and chatted about the day ahead. We had about 40 minutes drive to do, past the foot of Mount Snowden, towards Penrhyn quarry. Most of the journey was spent under a drizzly rain cloud. Whatever rain had missed us on the way down from the cloud was kicked back up into the windscreen by a giant lorry we were following for most of it. It made for some fantastic rainbows, but were glad to suddenly emerge into glorious sunshine as we approached the Zipline centre. We passed the ‘Ugly House’ tearoom on the way, which was aptly named, but very cool nonetheless – huge slabs of rock sloppily stacked together to form an ironically quite small house.

We arrived at half 10, as instructed, only to be told to go for our induction at 1050 – just enough time to wander around the site and let the nerves set in, as we were absolutely buffeted by wind, whilst trying to look allllll the way up the quarry to the upper zipline station. Our eyes would track the Steel wires which got smaller and smaller, more and more feint, until all you could see was some strand-of-hair-sized wires connecting to what seemed to be a tiny hut atop a giant quarry wall, almost a mile away as the crow flies. (or the human’s zip).

Briefing

We headed towards the briefing and kit-up room, where a dozen or so others were sitting around waiting. Eventually, a 20-something instructor came to give us our debrief, which was pretty quick. In essence;

• If you need the toilet, go now
• We’ll size and kit you up, just cooperate
• We need to weigh you – don’t worry, we won’t shout it out.

One by one we stood on top of a giant steel plate with a crude black and yellow tape cross on it. The instructor would write the weight on our wrist tag and send us to get our kit. The long and short of it seemed to be that the aim was for everyone to go down the wire at roughly the same speed – tiny children at risk of stopping in the middle would be laden with weights, and bigger folk would be encumbered with increasingly sized flags based on their weight, to slow them down a touch. Gravity really takes charge when you’re let loose from the top of a cliff on a brake-less contraption.

We got ourselves kitted up – harness, hard hat, goggles. Checked over by a different member of staff, and sent on our way to the taster line. A smaller, slower and slightly less intimidating zipline, which is used to not only offer training for what to do, and a quick practice lap, but presumable to test the water and how we react to it. If someone has a blackout panic attack over a 20-second 30mph run, better to not pull the trigger on a 95mph 1-mile zip, right?

On the training line, they lie you down flat, chest down, on an articulating padded table. Whilst extending, you’re clipped onto the zipline carriage, and your feet are hooked into a bar to give you something to ‘push’ against and keep yourself taut. Once set, the articulating scissor lift table drops down, and you find yourself floating in mid-air, waiting for the countdown.

Un, dau, tri

Un, dau, tri (Welsh, for one, two, three – where ‘2’ is pronounced ‘Die’). That’s the last thing you hear from a cheery Welshman before there’s a mild jolt and you realise you’re floating off over the top of a quarry. I looked to my left to see Pip floating next to me, picking up speed. It only takes a few seconds to panic, acclimatise, realise you’re quite sturdy, and then start to enjoy the experience. It feels so fast, especially on the parts over land (Less so once your surroundings drop away from you). The views are pretty special – it’s birds-eye, in the truest form. As you near the end of the run, there’s a harsh braking system that catches you and brings you to a less-than-gentle stop next to an instructor at the bottom, who gives you all the necessary instructions to drop down from the wires, unclip and scuttle over to the waiting area, where we took a few pictures of our fellow group, whizzing down the hill like little levitating minecarts.

Behind us, a 5-tonne ex-military mining truck was waiting. It’s less than luxurious, with its huge 2-inch diameter roll cage, flat panel wooden benches and screaming diesel engine. After we’d all completed the mini-run, we were driven up to the upper zipline station – it was a 10-minute journey, up what seemed to be a continuous 6-10% gradient. The old mining truck kept shifting from 1st to second, never quite getting to third, as it bounced its way up the old quarry road, absolutely annihilating the rev limiter every time it took the inside of a bend.

We were told it would be 55 seconds to get back down.

We queued up behind two dozen or so people, and got ready for the big jump – you can constantly hear the team shouting “Un, dau, tri” over and over again as they sent groups of 2 and 3 down the line, before resetting.

Eventually, it was time for Pip & I to go down. We clambered on the beds, got strapped up with flags (or no flags, in pips case), and waited for the scissor bed to drop. The last thing I heard one of the instructors say, whilst standing around Pip, was “She feels a little loose” – this didn’t fill me with confidence, but before I could check in on her, we heard the countdown, were sent hurling down the hill at 95mph.

It felt incredibly fast at the start, whilst you’re flying over the terrain, but the fastest part was levelled off by how high up you were – you lost your context of speed and it was then that I took a moment to look around and soak in the views. Before you know it, just 55 seconds later, we were approaching the end and felt the clunk of the braking system catch us. Pip was so nervous at the top, but from the look of that gorgeous smile beaming across her face, I’m guessing she enjoyed it!

After de-kitting and making our way back to the car, we started our journey back towards Betws-y-Coed as we discussed the day together. The sky was covered with rainbows once again!

Caban y pair

We drove through Betws-y-Coed in the opposite direction to this morning, keeping our eyes peeled for Parking and Cafe, not necessarily in that order. We spotted a car park outside a church, paid for 4 hours, and headed into town.

We found Caffi Caban y Pair, went through the bell-laden door, sat down and ordered two cappuccinos, a biscoff flapjack, a rocky road slice and a bowl of chips. We’d decided to do a little walk to fill the rest of the day, and I’d found a little one of Strava called Swallow Trails, which takes you up along the river past a couple of scenic waterfalls. Hence the chips, give us a bit of fuel for the walk. It was a cute little café – our table had some hand-painted cherries on it, and the cups and saucers were all a mismatched collection of old-looking crockery.

We paid up and started the 4-mile walk, out of Betws-y-Coed – The first stop was a little post-box, that we snapped up so we could send to Pip’s sister. We pressed on through a pretty muddy trail, passing plenty of Christmas tree-esque trees and a gorgeous river accompanying us for the entirety of the trail. I got us a little lost at one post, but only by a few hundred feet, which isn’t bad for me. A bit of an off-the-beaten-path diversion up a steep slope and we were back on solid ground again.

Towards the start of the route, we clocked a few signs of different animals, most of which were without any other form of notation, aside from one. A picture of what looked be a chicken, next to the letter ‘D’. A friend of mine later commented on Instagram that in Arabic, chicken is ‘Dajaaja’, which sent me on a little Welsh rabbit hole and searching different names to see if it was a translation thing. After cycling through everything from Turkey to hen, cock and back to chicken (Which coincidentally is ‘cyw iâr’) I decided to let it be. Not everything needs to be solved – even the Dchicken.

The route was an out-and-back, which I usually try to avoid, but the views both ways were so beautiful I didn’t really care or notice the overlap. The mid-point of the walk was a gorgeous waterfall that was giving it beans, considering the time of year and the drizzling rain all day. We stopped for a couple of pictures, guesstimated the time we’d arrive back at the car and retraced our steps, this time taking in the beauty from the western side of the trees.

Alpine Village

We finished off our walk with a longer meander around the alpine village, that sits as the front for the train station. I don’t know if it’s always an alpine village, or if this is a Christmas decor, but it’s cute nonetheless. We strolled around a quaint little bookshop, whereas if straight out of a rom-com, Pip & I both reached in unison for a ‘Little Book of Love’. I had to sneak off and buy it, dorkily disguised amidst the purchase of another book that would make a nice little birthday present.

We glanced in some more hiking and mountaineering shops, but we’re a vinted, TK Maxx and charity shop couple through and through. The thought of paying full whack for name-brand mountaineering equipment in a specialist shop isn’t even on our radar. What was on our radar, however, was the inordinate amount of potholes we contented on our route back. We were mentally trying to remember where the worst of the bunch were, on the way back. “I’m sure we hit one just over the crest of this hill”, “Watch out on the right after this gate” & “You won’t be able to avoid this one” were being flung around. Our day started and ended with a rickety ride over broken paths, except one was up a quarry in a mining truck, the other in a 2019 Red Fiat.

Once back, we headed straight for the hot tub, but it wasn’t quiiiite warm enough for us. Somewhere between was it was, and the temperature last night would have been spot on. We ticked it off, regardless. Quick shower, a glass of wine poured, after eights unwrapped and the trusty pack of cards back out and we were settled in for a few hours before we had to get ready for our tea tonight.

The Old Ship

Our tea tonight came as a recommendation from Menna – one of half a dozen that we haphazardly picked out, called up, and booked. We didn’t need to book. Nestled in Trefiw (One of our closest towns, at just over 5 miles away), it had a giant car park and a plethora of rooms. We settled on one downstairs with a log fire and some cosy decor, that we thought would be cute and quiet. That was, until a couple rocked up next to us, and we spotted the foreshadowing sign of “Reserved for 5 people, 7 pm” on the table opposite.

There were old wine bottles all over the ceiling, a dancing Santa in the window, old ship memorabilia knocking around the place, a couple of craft ale posters and a rather suspicious poster of a waiter, whose two hands were occupied by trays of drinks, with a third tray floating rather conspicuously around his crotch.

I went to the bar and put our order in of 1 Welsh cask ale, 1 large red wine (Place your guesses), a cheesy garlic bread starter and two fish and chips. On the menu, they were advertised as Large and small – in reality, I would put them down as small and smaller, but we were satisfied so all well that ends well!

10 of Hearts

We whipped out our trusty P&O Ferries branded playing cards, which felt apt given the pub, and filled our time with a couple of games of solitaire. The waiter clocked us, and could hardly contain his excitement in telling us he knew a few magic tricks. He rushed off, presumable to take a couple of drinks or food to their designated tables, then came back, asked for the cards, and proceeded to have us pick a card unbeknownst to him, which went all around the houses, before presenting itself cleanly on the top of the deck. The 10 of Hearts. He seemed about as impressed as us when we nodded along to his “Is this your card?” pattern. I feel like it deserved a tip, but I’d already paid so a beaming smile and a handshake had to suffice.

We felt like locals again on the way back from the pub, as by this point we were confidently pointed out all the potholes we’d been hitting all weekend from memory and barely even glanced at the sat nav.

Sunday 17th December

The wind was absolutely ripping past our quaint little hut all night. Logically I wasn’t worried, since it’s a 2-tonne bottom-heavy brick, but viscerally I was very conscious that I was working out what would fall on us if it tipped over, and whether it would be a soft landing. The gusts kept waking us through the night, but we enjoyed a longer lie-in this morning, so no real harm was done.

We’d said no to a cooked breakfast this morning so we could sleep in. Checkout should have been set at 10 am, but Menna gave us the somewhat flexible package of ‘Whenever’ since there was nobody checked in until next weekend. We took that to heart, slept in until half 9, and gently got us, showered, made a couple of brews in the red whistling kettle, and used up the last of our milk on some complimentary cereal.

We packed up our stuff, which considering had never been formally ‘unpacked’ had somehow ended up strewn everywhere. Heading over to the farm, laden with suitcases, we were greeted by Menna and her trusty working dogs, which loved Pip. Who wouldn’t?

We said our goodbyes and started our journey back – broken up, once again, this time by a stop off at Delamere forest.

We must have stood out a mile away – every car we came across was a classic Defender, 4×4 Nissan, jeep etc – we were far from it. We’d tentatively pull over and let everyone squeeze past, and before we knew it we were on larger, faster, friendlier roads.

Our Delamere stop was short and sweet – a quick pootle around the Gruffalo trail, which took us around the lake back to the car park. A bit of fresh air.

Once home, pip met my neighbours for the first time – they’d just posted a card through our letterbox addressed to “Laurence & Girlfriend”. I made some introductions, to which Tony blurted out “Ah Charles Dickens”. I later learned that Pip was a character in one of his books; Great expectations. We’ll ignore the fact he was male.

We spent the rest of the evening slurping up a prawn linguine, sipping on another bottle of red from my birthday, and looking through our pictures from the weekend.