The Swollen Taff eyes more riverbank.
At Gwaleod-Y-Garth, a small group of walkers chat animatedly. Wood smoke empties from chimneys.
The road to Treforest doesn’t match that description.
On the climb to the moor, a buzzard lands 30 ft from me; confident behind a farm fence.
Senghynnedd Moor; the aim, the prize, the reason.
Mist clouds the river. In the channel, Steepholm stands proud. Devon’s cliffs gaze across. The sky a deep blue.
The second climb. Caerphilly mountain. Temporary traffic lights an unwelcome sight. A grind proper.
An unexpected conversation; miles from home my brother yomps upward, legs pumping, hands clasping his Christmas present; walking poles. We talk briefly.
Fforest Fawr. Its road now a waterfall, torrents snaking toward the castle’s gates.
Taff Trail. Runners. Bikes. Families. Returning wanderers.
Pick any reason you like.
Bike wheel by me.