exhilarating geography of Wales.
But the consequence of making natural beauty accessible? Tourism. Most of it is benign. But for
caravanners, immersion in some of Britain’s finest scenery seems to involve dragging around hundreds of
cubic feet of fixtures, fittings and fresh air, all contained in a box on wheels.
Such peripatetic paraphernalia might be suitable on an eight-lane interstate in Arizona. But in mid-Wales
when two caravans with a combined width slightly greater than a particularly narrow stretch of the A470
converge, life on the road gets slow and messy,
Normally, the hitchhiker takes it all in his or her chauffeur-driven stride. But yesterday I was a man with a
mission, which did not allow for towing-related snarl-ups. My Monday adventure was a race against the
train.
At 7.21am, the first end-to-end train across Wales departs Cardiff Central, destination Holyhead. I was
there to wave it off. Wales’s answer to the Trans-Siberian is the longest train ride in the country, and takes
an average of five hours.
Because of the way that the web of railways in Wales was reduced to a skeleton in the Sixties, the 7.21am
takes a preposterously long route – I calculate almost 250 miles, compared with under 200 miles for the
most direct road journey, using the A470.
Postcard pretty: the waterfront in Caernarfon,
with Anglesey in the background (Simon
Calder)The train is ignominiously obliged to visit England twice, meandering through parts of Herefordshire,
Shropshire and Cheshire. So even allowing for time spent by the roadside, I started the day with the belief I
was in with a chance of reaching the western tip of Anglesey faster than the train.
When you are thumbing, belief is worth nothing. You rely entirely on the kindness of strangers, and have
absolutely no control over your destiny (or, often, your destination). But you can try to boost your chances.
Rule one: invest to get clear of cities. Five minutes after I waved off the Trans-Wales Express, I hopped
aboard a train, too. But unlike the train from Cardiff to Holyhead, the walk-up fare for the 7.26am to
Merthyr Tydfil isn’t £93. It’s just £6 for a 25-mile flying start.
Merthyr Tydfil’s forlorn single platform, lost amidst a shopping centre, was not always the end of the line.
On the way up to the junction of the Heads of the Valleys road and the A470, you pass a grand sweep of
viaduct that has been bereft of trains for half a century.
You pass it very quickly too, if you happen to be in a fast, comfortable car. Many drivers understandably
regard their vehicle as their cocoon, providing splendid isolation from the world. Why would you ever let a
complete stranger intrude?
After decades of hitching I am still amazed that anyone stops. The motorist has a split-second to recognise
that, even in 2019, someone is actually hitchhiking; decide if the person thumbing would make a pleasant