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@Bearlegged
It was hard work over the moors' deeply rutted, braided trails, trying to manage climbing, steering and avoiding pedal strike. But the terrain turned to gravel, and then tarmac again, and swoooooops! It had been a tough day; not huge distances, but plenty of climbing. I was excited and relieved when the map on my GPS started to show the turn off for Claerddu. As I left the road and joined the access track, I passed a couple of parked cars. Seemed I'd have company, but there were child seats in the cars, so I was hopeful it wouldn't be full of partyheads. As I reached the stream crossing, smoke was curling gently upwards from the chimney, and my knock on the door and call of, “Room for one more?” was met by some welcoming faces, both merry adult and inquisitive child. Morgan, Georgina, Elijah and Dahlia were rattling around, jumping in puddles, and swigging red wine from the bottle.
I made myself comfy on the downstairs sleeping platforms, and was even organised enough to remove the sachet of desiccant from my dried meal! My bottle of Gammel Dansk turned out to be possibly the most painful moment of the trip, but I washed away the pain with a few drams of Jura, while my kit dried in front of the fire. I left M & G in sole custody of the stove as I drifted off to sleep.