This is going to sound like one of those really bad end of relationship speeches, but it really isn't Gwydyr's fault.
By now Leigh is properly coma quality ruined after limping round the last of Penmachno on nothing but raw guts and gels.
Neil from Hope is finally feeling the effects of three days of riding in a row (remember he was brake testing in
Scotland the day before we started) on a 30lb Scott Ransom that he refuses to use the granny ring on.
Alex is feeling a bit more lively but that's in terms of counting sets of ten pedal revs rather than fighting each single pedal push on climbs.
With Leigh already fast asleep on a grassy bank in the sun he grabs the Anthem for a bit of extra speed anyway, and Russ decides to join us for the whole loop to boost morale.
Well it would if me and him hadn't started racing. Well you can't let someone with a 40lb camera bag beat you up climbs can you, and somehow there's a wormhole appeared in my psyche/physiology today that's letting me pedal and sprint as though every ride is the first one.
Turns out that I'll pay for it massively over the next week, but for now this combination of careful first day pacing and a stupidly light Scott Spark underneath me means I'm dancing deliriously round the trails like a proper XC tart.
By the top of the first long climb it's obvious I'm alone in my happy zone though. One of Neil’s eyes is alarmingly bloodshot and the other is so far beyond bloodshot it looks like a fried tomato. Alex is quite clearly in a world of his own, but at least that's sort of a smile on his face, so it seems rude to snap him out of it. Riding Gwydyr after all the others though there's a real sense of unfinished business here.
What singletrack sections there are, are great and the views into Snowdonia are absolutely incredible, but each is linked by long fireroad sections, which have a nasty tendency of being mostly upwards. I know our current jaded perspective is mostly to blame as I've ridden here lots in isolation and loved it, but my stomach genuinely churns with empathy for Neil and Alex as we round yet another corner to be faced with yet another wall of gravel. By halfway round it's actually so sick it's become funny, and we're giggling hysterically on the comically steep tarmac section we hit next. It's enough to fire Neil up for one last heroic moment as he hops, lurches, balances and trials skills his way up what looks a totally unclimbable section just past the footbridge, but as we break the silence with a disbelieving cheer it's obvious he's now totally spent.
More silent, head down climbing finally brings us out across the opening climb and the wonderfully natural feeling, loose loam drifting final descent. We scatter squirrels and sticks in a flurry or free speed past the carved heads and over the final tabletops before bursting back into the car park where Leigh is still spark out on the grass.
We know we're really running on borrowed time now in terms of light, energy and how long Coed Llandegla will stay open, so we chuck bikes into the back of the vans any old how and eastwards for the final ride as fast as home time traffic lets us.
The sun is already low in the sky in our mirrors as we pull off towards the forest carpeting the shoulder of the valley, and we're not even sure Llandegla will still be open. Russ skids to a stop at the gate though and next thing Alex is holding up a trailside sign reading "What Mountain Bike and MBWales.com WELCOME. Please report to the trail centre for coffee, cake and crazy locals". The effect is instant and electric. There's no way we're not going to make it round now, even with light starting to fade and legs twitching and fizzing from 180km of brutal trail riding in two days.
We stagger into the visitor centre and the hot coffee we've been fantasising about scorches throats stripped bare by too many energy gels.
The ever helpful Llandegla crew are still talking to customers and the guides are bringing back the last party though, so we head off up the trail, knowing they'll soon catch us up. The long shallow spin up to where the real fun starts is completed in jubilant mood as Leigh comes back from the dead to push the pace, and his complete disrespect for obvious exhaustion is infectious. We're actually cranking the big ring as we hit the top corner berm again and again for photo's and then it's a mad, whooping roller coaster run all the way. We're railing the berms hard and high as we can, boosting the jumps like juvenile BMXers and basically riding out of our skins considering how fried we all are. Somehow we all make it through totally unscathed although a double cramp attack finally cripples Neil as we stop for final photo's on a curving boardwalk section.
Russ gives the nod to go at 14 minutes to nine and all hell breaks loose as we sprint like maniacs trying to beat the clock back to the visitor centre. 37 hours is a totally random figure, and it's not like it matters anyway, but right now, keeping the big ring going or just blowing ourselves apart is the only point of reference in rabid riding heads.
Somehow we do it, with Leigh and I coughing and barking on all fours outside the door to the concerned surprise of late night customers. Russ, Alex and Neil have been caught by the Llandegla guiding boys, but refused to let them beat them home too, each of them finishing 200km of riding in an unbelievable big ring blur of giddy euphoria.
Staggering, disbelieving handshakes and hugs all round and then we totter unsteadily inside. Not only have the superstars at Llandegla stayed open late, but they've laid on a superb last supper for us. They quiz us about the last two days in between mouthfuls of shoveled down chilli, and with each part told it seems less plausible that we've really managed it.
That's been the great thing about it though - it is totally achievable by normal riders.
I'll be back with a few facts and figures about exactly what did and when etc. plus a few thoughts and tips on how to sort out your own epic later, but for now all you need to know is that you really, really do need to try something like this.