I didn’t make it to the first day of the Wales Real Food and Farming Conference in Lampeter. I arrived back home six hours after I’d set out, defeated by a combination of the twists, turns, and steep inclines of the A485 and a couple of centimetres of snow. When the snow starts to fall but before it begins to settle, you can convince yourself it’s all going to be fine. The snow’s going to stop. It wasn’t a massive miscalculation to have left home at all, honestly.
I fell to reflecting on how such a minor weather event would be treated in Scandinavia or in the mountains in France. To be fair though, the snow did fall quickly. And the early problems weren’t so much caused by cars getting stuck as by lorries – one stuck on a bend in Llanybydder in particular being the main obstacle to progress. This might all have been worrying, but then again, obstacles can be opportunities.
The story of the road
I turned and headed for Llandysul, a long dogleg to Lampeter. The snow responded by getting faster. The only other cars on that stretch of road were 4x4s. I pulled over and considered my options.
It was a feature of the day that those of us on the road heard news relayed from distant places. I found out early on that I’d been lucky I didn’t make it to Llandysul, as there’d been an accident there, and “Rhydowen’s on stop!” Snow still falling, on my way back towards New Inn I came to the first place I’d be stuck for a good while. A lorry was trapped on a tight sloping bend. Soon vehicles stretched back into the distance, drivers walking up the road in turn to investigate the hold-up and assess their chances.
I started chatting to a farmer, a chance to practice my Cymraeg, and she was nice enough to patiently help me along – with the language, that is. There wasn’t much she could do about the road.
We all speculated, picturing the drive down past the lorry, what kind of cars might make it, what kind certainly wouldn’t. For the stuck, the situation was unusual. But the road and those living along it keep a history of snow, of deep drifts, being cut-off. Those interruptions to traffic that ironically frame the story of their place in the world.
Gaining traction
I met an engineer who’d travelled from Swansea for a meeting. His rear-wheel drive car, a Mercedes, wasn’t made for snowy Carmarthenshire roads. A colleague of his was ahead of him on the road and they talked by phone. We watched the weather and inspected the surface, like cricket umpires anxious to resume play. The snow stopped and a pale sun shone through the clouds. A car went by and negotiated the bend. That decided it. My turn.
I didn’t slide on the bend and then it was straight downhill. When you’re going you have to keep going, steady on the accelerator and steering gently. But the A485 doesn’t stay straight or downhill for long. I didn’t give it enough juice on the way up the next hill. A momentary lapse and I was stuck again. A change of scenery and of company.
A farmer came out and we continued the story of the road. A couple of minutes later a small black car, no more powerful than mine, climbed towards us. I underestimated the gentleman at the wheel. As he passed us, unfaltering, I could only laugh. The farmer lent me a shovel and I scraped and dug until I could see a route, some 10 paces to open tarmac.
Then who should appear from a car a little higher up the slope but the colleague of the first engineer, as stuck as his mate, and with the same rear-wheel drive woes. I had nothing to lose. I returned the shovel and, without me asking them, the farmer and the engineer lined up to push. Low revs. Steady as she goes. You have to keep going when you go.
Solutions to snow
I couldn’t stop to say thanks, or even take a hand off the wheel to blow the horn. There’s a lovely feeling when you get traction, in getting out of the snow just as in life, but there’s a satisfaction and a sadness to leaving. Once again I was alone.
It wasn’t until New Inn that I came to a halt again. A long queue of vehicles lined the hill through the village. Right in front of me was the little black car.
New Inn, a promising name, has no pub, and not even a shop. My only provisions were some Fisherman’s Friends lozenges. I offered them around a trio of lads in overalls. They weren’t impressed, but talked cheerfully anyway. A group of local girls gathered to watch the fun. Multiple attempts were made to leave, both bold and foolish. You can learn a lot from watching a van driver putting his foot to the floor as a solution to snow.
I walked up the road with a bus driver, his Cymru beanie adorned with badges. He told me how to drive a bus in the snow, and about the people he knew from driving the route. It’s the west of Cymru, so on the way back of course I met people who had been headed to the same conference as me, and knew one from work down in Swansea.
I said hello to the guy in the little black car. He was Polish and had experience of driving in the snow.
Travelling companions
It could have been the slow thaw, or the slowly growing conviction among the community of the stranded that we could escape, but eventually the convoy started to move. We all pulled away together.
If one of us had faltered, everyone behind would have had to stop. The convoy pressed on into deeper snow. I carefully tracked my Polish mentor, trusting to his line and his speed. In my mirror I could see the bus making steady progress. In front and behind I could now put faces to every vehicle.
As we descended towards Carmarthen, the snow vanished. Our community drifted apart. In only moments, the other cars on the road were carrying strangers, and I was heading home at full speed as if it had never snowed at all.
Communities form quickly in adversity, and people easily take to helping one another. That day, on the A485, the norms of modern travel were broken. We all engaged with the places and people along the way. It was more than a journey from A to B, it was a shared adventure. For a short time, we became travelling companions.
I missed the first day of the conference, but had no regrets. When I got home I realised that what I experienced was worth any number of conference talks. I give thanks to the slowing of the snow, and the steepness of the hills.
