Pete Scullion takes a ride in Wales’ Dyfi forest in search of Arthurian legends, bike riding and a nice ice cream.

WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHY MYSTIC PETE SCULLION

Mention the word ‘Dyfi’ to any mountain biker and they’ll no doubt think of the bike park that bears the name, enduro racing and Hardline. Maybe even Wales Rally GB, Led Zeppelin or low-flying military aircraft at a push. (Few would realise). However, unless they’ve ventured into a slate tunnel on a strange semi-aquatic train above Corris into King Arthur’s Labyrinth... that the upper Dyfi Valley is the site where Arthurian legend is said to have played out.

The legends of King Arthur, first immortalised in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s 12th century tome, Historia regum Britanniae, are said to have been drawn from Welsh and Breton spoken tales. Those texts that followed, built on both fact and fiction to create myriad, often confusing and contradictory, while spectacular and heroic, tales of battling foes both from this world and others and a magical king of folklore even linked to the Welsh otherworld Annwn.

Straight outta Cadair

Anyone who recalls my article on Cadair Idris from these pages way back in 2012 will remember the belief that Gwyn ap Nudd and his white dogs with red-tipped ears (cwn ˆ annwn) would stalk the mountain looking to whisk people to the underworld. Anyone who heard the howl of these spectral beasts would see visions of death. It would seem then that Arthurian legend does indeed find its place within the realms of reality, even if they are a blend of real-life experience and Celtic tradition.

In the millennia and a half since the oft-debated rule of King Arthur ended with his journey to the mythical island of Avalon, Wales and this quiet corner of it has been through plenty, and the obvious signs of legendary events have been blurred by the scars of the countless slate quarries, sheep farms and plantation forests that are its hallmarks.

It’s in this typically Welsh landscape that I am greeted by Bike Corris main man, David Evans and two other young Corris locals, Fred and Nils, who I am assured can handle a bike. We meet at the suitably named Camlan Garden Centre on the promise that the coffee is of suitably quality, only to discover to our horror that it’s closed on a Tuesday. With the additional caffeine foregone, we head out to explore the valley and its hidden legendary history in earnest.