Despite the usual post–riding antics we get up to, most people were pretty shattered from the day, and gradually slunk off to their creatively–made beds. Alarms were set for early o’clock in the morning, with dreams turning to the summit of Wales’ biggest mountain…

Eight o’clock came and went (which IS early for students), and people began waking up. Today was the big one…Snowdon. Despite a lot of bravado the day before at Coed, the mood was fairly subdued, with people thinking about the challenge ahead – or maybe it was the night–before’s beers kicking in, we’ll never know. Despite this, everyone fuelled up on cereal bars, checked bikes and packed up their dry(ish) kit before heading out. The hall was even given a decent clean. Who says students aren’t responsible?

A short drive through some classically breath–taking Welsh valleys brought our convoy to the little village of Llanberis and suitably big empty car park. Everyone piled out and began the standard pre–ride ritual of checking things, chatting about the previous days antics and thinking about what lay ahead. The day was Remembrance Sunday however, and so just before leaving the whole club commemorated it with two minutes silence at eleven. After this sombre and respectful break in proceedings, everyone jumped on their bikes and began the long accent.

Heading up the Llanberis path on the way to the summit, you began to notice the differences between the bikes people had brought. There was everything…and then some. A few guys having taken full downhill rigs, all the way down to the less–than–a–hundred–quid–Halfords–specials. One poor guy had even managed to give his front wheel a serious going–over at CYB, leaving it buckled in several places. Despite this, he still couldn’t resist going up Snowdon and ‘having a crack’ at it. Stirring stuff indeed.

Another thing that you noticed the further up you went was how most of the rocks were looking pretty sharp and nasty (with a few people lucky enough to experience this first–hand later on in the day). The phrase “you’d have to be mental to ride down this kind of stuff” was bandied about a lot. What people were forgetting was that we’d be riding down that later on. For a portion of the group this was one of their first experiences of real mountainbiking beyond the Peak District.

After almost three hours of riding/pushing up what seemed the world’s longest path, we finally made it to the roof of Wales. The weather up top was almost unbelievable. Despite the mountains namesake it wasn’t snowing, but we got sideways–flying hail instead. This meant a quick turnaround, but still enough time for a group picture. Grimaces of triumph were the order of the day.

Our descent to the bottom took us down the Rangers Path – a three and a half mile descent with some absolutely jaw–dropping views of the surrounding mountains. The first section was some really nice, flowing trail through really loose little sharp rocks. The weather was still appalling though, with barely any visibility, so most people bombed through this and down out of the cloud cover – although the vain blokes pushed back up to have a few pictures taken of them in action!>>