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The view is more stunning from a mountain bike than it ever could be through a car window. It makes that hellish ascent worthwhile. We continue down, through a pasture and onto a rock-strewn, pine-lined singletrack. I use my entire body as a shock absorber, standing in the saddle and bouncing down the hill. The last stretch is a dismantled railway. We slow to a crawl as we pass a woman on horseback, and then we emerge at the White Hart, a bed and breakfast in Talybont-on-Usk. Richy, however, is nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to meet us here in the parking lot.
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