Bannau Brycheiniog Mini Tour
Southbound – The Spark of a Tour
The plan was loose—just the way we like it. Head south, carve through the heart of Wales, and let the road decide the rest.
We aimed for Newtown, letting the legendary A483 guide us through its sweeping curves toward Crossgates—a rider’s dream if ever there was one. We thought we might stop for breakfast, but time had other ideas. Still, a welcome cup of tea and a good leg-stretch at the Crossgates Café hit the spot.
And the ride there? Pure magic. Not a single car in front—21 miles of uninterrupted flow from the Newtown roundabout to the café. Just us, the curves, and the engine humming in perfect harmony with the hills.
From there, we pushed on through Llandrindod Wells, swapping the usual A470 for the far more dramatic B4520—a road less travelled, and all the better for it. It twisted and climbed, revealing the Bannau Brycheiniog in all their raw splendour. The land rolled away in greens and golds as we crested into the south.
At Merthyr, we veered southwest onto the A465, deliberately avoiding the monotony of the M4. Instead, we followed the winding ribbon of road that led us on to Llanelli, and eventually… Lamphey.
By then, the sun was dipping low. The air smelled of salt, sheep, and something ancient. Tired smiles, buzzing minds, and that familiar feeling settled in:
The beginning of something.
Because there’s always that moment—that look we all know—
The excited spark of a tour just begun.
Somewhere along the road between Brecon and Merthyr, hunger nudged us off the throttle. Just as the air cooled and the trees began to shift from upland wild to something more wooded and soft, we stumbled upon a roadside haven: the Nant Ddu Lodge Hotel.
No grand plan—just a hunch and a hunger. And it paid off.
Soup and chips, simple and spot on. Hot, hearty, and exactly what a ride like this calls for. The kind of meal that warms your fingers and your soul.
But it wasn’t just the food—it was the accent that caught us next. That unmistakable soft South Wales lilt, our first of the trip. Welcoming, musical, and woven with warmth. The kind of voice that makes you feel like you’ve been expected all along.
It was one of those gentle, unscheduled stops that don’t shout for attention but settle into your memory quietly, content to be remembered.
Then it was back to the road, bellies full, spirits lifted, and the journey still unfolding ahead of us.
Of course, no stop would be complete without the usual faffing around.
Mrs C wrestling with the gloves, as if they’ve suddenly become sentient. Toby, ever efficient, managing to lock the pink handbag into the back box (again)—the faithful little accessory now a legend in its own right. It’s practically part of the bike.
It’s a scene we know well. Coffee stops. Tea breaks. Wee detours. Leg stretches. Always the same dance: gloves on, gloves off, keys missing, box locked, box unlocked, pink handbag retrieved.
We might ride like a well-oiled machine, but at every stop, we’re delightfully human.
With lunch behind us and the road still calling, we made the final push south with barely a pause—a long, smooth ride all the way to Lamphey. The miles slipped by under an open sky, the late afternoon light casting everything in that golden, end-of-day glow.
And now here we are, safely booked into Lamphey Hall Hotel—a little gem tucked away just right. It’s got that blend of charm and comfort that hits differently after a day in the saddle.
The sun crept in quietly over Lamphey, brushing the hedgerows with gold and stirring us from the kind of deep sleep only a full day’s ride can earn.
We were greeted by a breakfast that was... well, let’s call it minimalist. A tad sparse, perhaps—just enough to keep the wolves at bay. But hey, toast was involved, and for £64 a night including a comfy bed, good grub the night before, and beers that didn’t break the bank, we weren't about to start grumbling. Fuelled just enough, it was time to hit the road again.
The plan for the day? A loop through Pembrokeshire, first heading west to the tiny city of St David’s—a place that always feels like the edge of the world, quiet and ancient, with that sea-soaked hush in the air.
From there, we’d ride north to New Quay for lunch at the usual spot—where the view is always right, the chips are always hot, and the seagulls always slightly too bold.
After that, the route would arc back south, hugging the coast and sliding inland toward Lamphey once more. But not before preparing for the next leg—the ride home via the legendary A4069 Black Mountain Pass.
The day was wide open, the sky was bright, and the road ahead looked like it had been laid just for us.
Have to be honest, it was actually a really great place to stop over for a couple of nights. Rooms were small but just what we needed - a bed! Had to suck the tummy in to get into the shower though.
Brilliant food, a tad expensive, but very very nice!
We rolled out of Lamphey Hall Hotel fairly early, eager to catch the coast before the day got away from us. Rather than taking the usual main roads, we’d plotted a more scenic route—country lanes and backroads that cut through the heart of rural Pembrokeshire.
It turned out to be a masterstroke.
Every turn revealed another patchwork field, another hidden hamlet, another stretch of undisturbed countryside. We loved every minute of it. Quiet, soulful riding—the kind where the bike feels like it’s gliding and the clock doesn’t matter.
Our first stop was the tiny cathedral city of St David’s. Peaceful as always, with its ancient stone and sea breeze. We stretched our legs, soaked in the quiet, and then pressed on along the coastal route.
And that’s when we found it—Broad Haven Beach.
The road in was glorious, winding gently down through the cliffs until the bay opened up like something from a postcard. Golden sand, pale blue water, and that soft hush of waves pulling at the edge of the day.
And then there was the lad—shirtless, coatless, absolutely fearless—fresh out of the sea like some kind of wild Welsh Neptune. It must’ve been minus ten, but there he stood in nothing but shorts, posing for photos with a grin like it was July. Said he was “fine.”
He looked anything but.
Still, we admired the spirit, had a chuckle, and watched the surf roll in while our engines cooled and our helmets steamed.
This was Pembrokeshire at its best—unpredictable, stunning, and a little bit bonkers.
Obvs, had to have a coffee in St David's; there were no people in the town, it was very quiet and our usual café was closed on Saturday and Sundays' - what's that all about? So we found this place just off the main square and appeared to be the only place open; ate croissants, and pain-au-chocolat, which were all very lovely!!! 🥐🍩🍪☕️☕️☕️
Toby had sugar for the first time in a few years!
The ride north up the coast had been beautiful, but nothing says “Welcome to New Quay” quite like the usual parking palaver.We should’ve known better—it’s always tight, always awkward, and always eventful. Sure enough, we rolled into our usual spot, only to be blocked in by some clueless delivery driver, engine running, van slap bang in the way like he’d parked on purpose just to wind us up.
Toby wasn’t having it. Straight in there, giving him both barrels with the classic “You can’t just stop there, mate!” while the rest of us shuffled the bikes around like a slow-motion dance troupe.
Just when we thought we were out, some numpty woman pulled out right in front of us on the incline—clearly hadn’t clocked the bikes at all. We gave her the benefit of the doubt (barely), but come on love, eyes on the road!
Still, we survived it. And the reward?
The drama of the parking faded fast once the chips hit the table. As always.🫖🫖☕️ 🍟🍟🍟🥪🥪🥪
In the evening we went back to Lamphey and ate at The Dial Inn, just over the road from our hotel, which was actually the initial place we were going to stay - glad we changed as it probably wouldn't have suited us. The picture isn't what it looks like at all, but inside was nice and the people very nice! We needed peace and quiet and that place was rocking!!🍝🍝🍝🍺🍺🍺🍷
The final day (Mothers Day actually), we're going ride up through the centre of Wales and then over to Aberystwyth, Aberdovery and Tywyn coastal road and back through Bala.
Bit peckish, so Mackie-D's calling! Very welcome, we were going to find a small cafe and have a full Welsh, but sorry can't beat a Mc breaky when starving!🍔🍔🍔
The plan was simple—ride north from Lamphey, cross the legendary Black Mountain Pass, and wind our way up to Llandovery, chasing the curves and views we’d been dreaming about since we first plotted the route.
But alas, Cindy Sat Nav had other ideas.
Somewhere along the way, a PC blip threw the whole plan sideways, and before we realised what had happened, we’d missed the turn at Gwaun-Cae-Gurwen, swinging north far too early. Turns out, skipping the waypoint before reaching it was the fatal mistake. Lesson well and truly learned: don’t second guess Cindy, and don’t give her the benefit of the doubt.
Even PC’s usually razor-sharp instinct didn’t kick in this time—rare, but it happens—and we sailed straight past the route we were most looking forward to.
But as bikers do, we rolled with it.
The ride up to Tregaron turned out to be brilliant—unexpected, flowing roads and gorgeous scenery. We patched together an altered route and headed for one of our usual go-to spots for a caffeine top-up: our favourite café at Devil’s Bridge.
We pulled up with that warm, “we made it” feeling—only to find it was closed. Proper closed. Shutters down, doors locked, dreams dashed.
What next?
Aberystwyth, of course.
We rolled down to the coast and found a sunny corner to recover over a pot of tea and a panini. Not the day we planned, but one we’ll remember all the same.
The roads didn’t fail us, just the tech.
And the tea?
Spot on.🫖🫖☕️ 🥪🥪🥪
Steffan, Wynne and Dyf also on a ride out and stopped at Aber - we didn't meet up as timing was off.
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