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  • A slinky trail through the woods, yes, this was what I was in search of. No traffic noise, just rustling leaves, creaking boughs, and a lively stream chattering its way down the clough. As I climbed out of the trees and onto the patchwork flanks of the hill, more Kites rode the thermals. It was a long way up to the Stiperstones, but passing hikers cheerily assured me I was earning a welcome descent. As I crested the ridge, an old hollow-way hinted at drovers of yore; I wondered if they had ever tired of the views from here. The first big panorama of the trip was magnificent, and any doubts I had in myself started to fade away.

    My slow intent meant I wasn't wearing myself out on the ups, and I gave myself space to savour the rolling downs. There are few greater pleasures than zipping downhill on the kind of terrain that's just on the easy side of the limits of your tyres. I crossed into Wales for the first time, and was greeted by road signs emblazoned with Red Kites.
    Montgomery turned out to be further along my route than I thought, and my concerns that I might be late for lunch turned out to be well founded. At the local café/Post Office, I saw first hand how hard COVID can make things for folks, the owner scurrying between the shop and the tables. My catering plans went further awry at Abermule, the pub having its weekly day off, so I cruised along another old canal and had a rethink in Newtown. It was only a few km to a pub & bunkhouse, so I chanced my arm and found myself a warm bed for the night (along with lasagne, a surfeit of chips and a pint or two). My body was feeling pretty good, and I looked forward to a good night's sleep. My mind was starting to unwind.

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