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Braving Barmouth Bridge
Ride Date 1 Oct 2025
By Ren Withnell
There's a bridge. It's a railway bridge across the Afon Mawddach estuary at Barmouth. In a remarkable turn of innovative naming it's called "Barmouth Bridge". Barmouth Bridge is a railway bridge with a public footpath running alongside of the main railway line along the Welsh coast. Nothing unusual about that really.
Except motorcycles are allowed to ride the footpath too. Allegedly.
Seems like a handy shortcut.
I've seen this motorcycles on the footpath thing on numerous YouTube videos. It's been reported in magazines such as ABR. Great! Errr. What I cannot find on the interweb is anything SPECIFICALLY stating motorcycles can cross on the footpath from an actual believable AUTHORITY. It's all "well he said it's OK and they said it's OK so it's OK, right?"
I fear it could be Bill and Sue rode it 20 years ago, didn't get into trouble. They told Bob and Alice who told their friends and their friends and soon enough it becomes a "fact". Simon makes up a tale about special dispensations from British Railways and then that becomes a "fact". Enough people ride the path, no-one is hurt yet and it never comes to the attention of anyone who has authority.
Or it could be that for reasons unknown BR in their infinite wisdom said "Yeah bikes can use our bridge, oh and motorbikes too, why not." I'm tempted to risk it for no other reason than it's so rare to find such a situation.
Plus it's en route to Porthmadog, Borth-Y-Gest, and Criccieth - and that's where we're going today. Yesterday we were at Talyllyn which meant a lot to mother but I was too young to remember my visit(s) there. I have a lot of memories of where we are going today, we seemed to spend at least a long weekend if not a week there every year of my childhood.
With a middling forecast where rain seems possible but not inevitable Sharon decides today is a good day to ride. We're kitted up and ready to roll by 1100 after a slow and easy morning.
Having done my research watching videos and checking Street View - I know the southern end of the path is not far from Fairbourne but it looks a little fiddly to find. The other end at Barmouth comes out onto the main road but has a steep final ramp where it meets the road. Taking these ideas in mind I've decided we'll cross from the Barmouth end and either turn round and come back - or remake the loop around the mouth of the river.
The ride to Barmouth is actually quite pretty. There's views across the estuary, some fun corners to negotiate, and as we approach Barmouth the bridge in question looks impressive in a long, low, industrial manner. We park just before the path, I want to check for signage as well as how steep this ramp is. The signage mentions nothing of motorcycles, neither "crack on" or "get lost", the ramp is not insanely steep but yes, it is not insignificant by any means.
I talk with Sharon. Rightly she decides there's no need for her to risk damaging her shiny kwakker trying to get around the ramp and narrow access - anyhow she'd rather be on the back taking piccies than fretting about walkers and possibly slippery surfaces. She locks her bike up as I watch desperately to see if any other motorcycles are crossing. There are non, just walkers. I wish there were, I feel so guilty and I've not even started.
With Sharon on the back I find the ramp requires my focus and skill. We pass through the narrow now closed toll booth as walkers kindly wait, we wait for other walkers coming towards us. I'm expecting questions, dark scowls and angrily waved walking poles. Nope, the odd curious look, a few smiles, I thank them, they thank me. It's all rather civil yet It's still incredibly disconcerting.
Right - here we go!
Slow down, be polite, don't run anyone over - OK?
I'm trying to enjoy this rather than freaking out about getting arrested. The views from the middle of the estuary are unusual in that you don't get to see things from this perspective normally. The sand banks and water, the hills and mountains, all set against the railings and the clack clack clack of the wooden boards that form the path. I am nervous yes but it's worth it, just for the oddness of it all if nothing else.
Lovely, worth it for the views.
Back on terra firma we are still on path rather than road, but now it's tarmac. Then it happens, the scowl, the curse and the hard stare as we pass by. An elderly lady is doing the muttering as her husband looks sheepishly away. I laugh inside, nervously. No. No. We are allowed here (I think) stop fretting.
We stop. Rather than carry on around the estuary once more we'll turn around here and go back over the bridge. I wait a while in an effort to not be bothering the same collection of walkers, no matter if they were polite for the most part. We set off again.
The elderly lady shouts something unintelligible. There's a part of me screaming "Stop! Tell the old bat to shut up, she don't own the bridge and bikes ARE allowed!". The other side of me, the none confrontational side, the side that is still doubting the legality of this, does not want to get involved with an argument I cannot categorically back up with facts, nor wants to get into trouble. Much to my own surprise as I pass her by I let out a loud derisory laugh. Where the hell did that come from?
Clack clack clack we return. Again the odd look but mostly politeness from both sides ensues. As we're halfway along a BMW GS of some description appears behind us - I bet the old bat is apoplectic now. I was right - the final ramp is steep and difficult to negotiate, probably best Sharon didn't risk it.
We don't have to pay nowadays. Phew!
I am truly glad I did that. Not only because it was interesting but because I'm a bloody wimp and I still overcame my pathetic fears. I shall just wait nervously by the mail box for the next few weeks, expecting a summons of some kind.
Right. Relax. Breathe. Northbound once more along the coast. Through countryside and familiar places such as the turning for Shell Island and past the domineering Harlech Castle and the vast beach close by. You know you're almost in Porthmadog when you ride along the straight Britannia Terrace with the railway above you. We pass slowly through Porthmadog. I like Porthmadog but it's busy today, I want to get to Borth-y-Gest which is much quieter.
Borth-y-Gest is indeed quiet, although not devoid of life. We park up and have a little walk around. It's 1340 when Sharon asks what we're doing for lunch - because there's the best chippy ever in Criccieth. Ooooh my yes, chippy lunch sounds fabulous. The only problem is according to Google the chippy in Criccieth shuts at 1400 and by the time we've kitted up and ridden there it'll be shut - or at least shutting. Dagnammit!
Borth-Y-Gest.
While we are sulking Sharon is on Google. There's a chippy in Porthmadog that's open all day - but there's nowhere to sit. Hmmm. "Errr... why don't we ride there on your bike, get the chips, come back here and eat them here, it's only 5 minutes away". She's a genius that woman I tell ya. And that's what we do. Sitting on a bench overlooking the small harbour while eating chips is perfect. Heck it's not even raining...yet.
Criccieth (Crik) looks like it always has, just as I remember it from almost 50 years ago. Indeed the chippy is shut. One of the 2 hotels we always used when I were a lad is now a large holiday rental, the other hotel is still there and open for business. We park the bikes while I bore Sharon with tales of my youth, we take a walk down the steep steps to the beach, and enjoy the waves splashing against the groynes.
As a child I never once considered I'd be riding a motorcycle here some 50 years later.
Dad - what are them fence things for? I remember listening to the sound of the waves while falling asleep.
I'm not sad, I am thankful. Thankful for a collection of happy memories, thankful I got to have a mother until I was 53, thankful I can still ride here, and just thankful in general. Yeah I've done alright ain't I.
It's still not late, we'll take a detour to Blaenau Festiniog. As we climb away from the coast the skies are darkening and the air is cooling - this feels like rain. We stop to apply waterproofs and continue, ever upwards into ever darkening skies. The rains comes and hard as we approach Blaenau Festiniog, the town is as dark and menacing as any scene from a Scandi-Noir.
It doesn't help that Blaenau is very much a down-at-heel place. While the mountains are wonderous the vast mounds of slate spoils tell the tale of the once industrious town, and it's demise. Tourism cannot support everyone and the evidence is in the state of some areas. We take a bleak stop at the small Morrisons for supplies. Sharon asks "why did you bring me here?"
Blaenau Ffestiniog, imposing and impressive.
Once out of Blaenau the weather clears and the road is dry, it almost feels as though God himself has forsaken the town. We enjoy mountainous views once more and fast sweeping roads all the way back to the static.
A delightfully dramatic landscape on the A470 south of Ffestiniog.
It's teatime when we get back. We ponder the notion of using the pool in the complex Nah, can't be arsed. Let's get tea and let's settle in for the evening eh? Oh, Fred Dibnah is holding up the traffic again sweetie... do you want a hand with that?
Another successful day. I am glad I got the chance to ride across Barmouth Bridge in spite of myself. Criccieth, Borth-y-Gest and Porthmadog will forever have a special place in my soul. Now before you get all shirty about my Blaenau Festiniog comments - I'll not have a bad word said about the place. Blaenau is no longer in its heyday but I still have happy memories there too - talking to dad about the slate mines and the steam trains. One day Blaenau will find it's new place in the world and given it's surroundings it'll be blummin' lovely.
Oh! I seem to have none of my mother's ashes left. How odd. How convenient.
Advertise here - contact ren@bikesandtravels.com
The Excuse This Time Is 2 Deaths
They're off back to Wales. The reasons this time are unusual and some might say quite sad. Fear not, Ren's prudence will make a mockery out of respect.
Getting To The Static
There's the odd minor hiccup but the first day's ride to Llwyngwri (I have no idea how to say that...) is an easy one. Ren is struggling with parking.
Choo Choos And The Yorkie Disaster
Today is mostly steam powered with a little motorcycling to one side. Sharon experiences another personal loss, a terrible tragedy.
Braving Barmouth Bridge
Our brave and heroic editor is bravely and heroically doing something many many riders have easily done before. There's also a lot of reminiscing, oh and some chips.
Reader's Comments
Bogger said :-
Breaking the law! Upsetting AND laughing old women, talking about groins!
Oh deary me, we are on a downward trajectory aren't we.
Hells Angels can't hold a candle to rebel Ren.
Keep up the good work
Bogger
23/12/2025 08:49:52 UTC
Upt'North ¹ said :-
I think you've both been very naughty, but it's obviously your fault Ed.
It's a footpath.
Ahhhh, Blaenau you say, is that how you spell it.....who cares?
Yes, the most grey place in the world, god awful place. I can confirm it looked better on a driving course when passing through at breakneck speed, it was obviously raining and grey but at least it was blurred. If any Amrican viewers are checking in that's gray, pffffffftttttt.
Upt.
23/12/2025 12:15:25 UTC
Ren - The Ed¹ said :-
I'm such a webel and a wascal ain't I!
23/12/2025 20:56:57 UTC
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