Ice-cold rain, a cape that billowed with the storm-lashed wind, and a lonely cyclist battling his way up the Ceiriog valley at midnight — yes, that we me, on my way to ‘the Nant’. On through darkened Llanarmon D.C. and then the gradual climb to the beginnings of the pass, with the rain still stinging my face. I was feeling a little wretched with it all, but cheered up somewhat when I looked down to the camp site, and saw the clustered tents. Yes, there was one with a guiding candle lit inside.