In this blog post we follow the epic adventure of Paul Appleby who rode the entirety of the Via Beata in 9 days during July 2025.  He kept a detailed journal which we have journalistically summarised here!

When Paul Appleby wheeled his loaded gravel bike down a steep Welsh farm track and found himself facing a raging river, he wondered what on earth he was doing. Ahead lay an “impossible” ford; to the right, a rickety wooden structure swaying over the torrent. “It turned out that, to my great relief, this was actually a wooden suspension bridge, of the sort you might see in some far flung land in a documentary hosted by David Attenborough!” he recalls. With panniers ferried separately, Paul inched the bike across the planks. It was day three of his solo ride along the Via Beata — the “Way of Blessing” — and challenges like this would come to define his 500-mile odyssey.

The Way of Blessing

The Via Beata is a pilgrimage route stitched across Britain, beginning at St David’s on the western tip of Wales and ending at Lowestoft, the easternmost point of England. Way-stations — sculptures and plaques placed in churches, fields, even pub gardens — mark the path. Paul had tackled much of it once before with a friend in 2021, but “we had missed bits, including the section via Rhayader, due to awful weather and an over-ambitious schedule.” This time, in July 2025, he came alone. Nine days, bed-and-breakfasts booked, and a bike computer programmed to guide him, he set out to close the circle.

By the time he wheeled into Lowestoft, he had covered 501 miles and climbed 25,448 feet — nearly the height of Everest.

Baptism by Gradients

The opening days in Wales were a baptism not just of fire but of gradients. Day one alone saw him cover more than 60 miles and climb 5,600 feet, “with very little respite from the relentless and steep upward slopes.” He quickly discovered that his heavy panniers made even mounting the bike an awkward dance. At one point, he missed a turning and ended up at Porthclais harbour — lovely, but it meant grinding up a 12% hill back to St David’s. “Good practice for the days ahead,” he noted drily.

The weather smiled on him, unlike in 2021 when “the heavens emptied horizontally and John and I nearly got hypothermia!” This time, he pedalled through sunlit valleys, village shops and pubs offering sandwiches and refilled bottles, and the quiet company of rivers — the Teifi, the Wye, the Avon.

Encounters on the Road

Pilgrimages are as much about people as landscapes. In Ponthrydpendigaid, a chance lunch stop at the Black Lion turned into an unforgettable encounter. Spotting Paul’s Macmillan Cancer Support shirt, the owner refused payment for his meal and pressed a donation into his hand: she herself was living with leukaemia. “I did find myself welling up,” he admitted. Moments like this gave his ride an unexpected texture: generosity, humour, the quiet solidarity of strangers.

Elsewhere the encounters were less uplifting. A private landowner in Newcastle Emlyn told him “in no uncertain terms that cyclists were not welcome” — though, Paul adds, “no shotgun was involved.” At other times, help appeared just when it was needed. At Strensham, faced with the impossible task of getting his bike across lock gates on the River Avon, an “amazing young woman turned up and showed me how to do it by lifting my bike over her head!”

Rattled Bones and Revelry

Not every mile was smooth. The ten-mile stretch around Claerwen reservoir shook him to his bones. “More pothole than trail and very rocky in places,” he wrote, though the reward was a breathtaking descent to Rhayader. His arrival coincided with the town carnival: “lots of strangely dressed and mostly drunk and noisy youths everywhere!” The party carried on into the early hours outside his B&B window.

Even in quieter places, humour was close at hand. In Llangammarch Wells, he checked into a minimalist hotel called Serenity, which banned outdoor shoes, televisions, and even in-room kettles. “I gathered that the intended customer base is for people and groups looking for peace and tranquillity,” Paul observed. He spent the evening stretching in the garden, contemplating life, and, he admits, wishing he could watch the Tour de France.

The Long Middle

By day four, his legs were growing weary. The climbs out of Hay-on-Wye were punishing. One lane was signed at 25%, though his bike computer recorded “only” 16%. Pushing his loaded bike uphill, a kind stranger offered him water from an outdoor tap. The reward, as so often, came with the descents: “after crossing the Wye again… the downward rush combined with the beautiful countryside and early evening sunshine gave me one of those feelings of euphoria I get sometimes when cycling – magic!”

The miles stacked up: 72 on one day, nearly 67 on another. Some of the hardest stretches were along canal towpaths — bumpy, rutted, obstructed by foliage. At times he abandoned them for “a very strange road paved with large chunks of stone” that delivered him, delightfully, past a hidden church in open fields. Getting lost was a running theme: cafés closed, way-stations elusive, bike computers misbehaving. But as he says, “over the past 8 days I have found that I have felt increasingly like an explorer.”

Blessings in the Fens

The final stretch eastwards brought more encounters and a welcome companion. From Ely to Banham, Paul was joined by his friend Jonathan, who not only shared the road but lightened his load by taking a pannier home afterwards. Together they traversed Thetford Forest on a rollercoaster trail, missing one way-station but finding others tucked in gardens, monasteries, and hedgerows. At Banham they stayed at Lime Kiln Farm, a house with 11th-century roots and a landlady Paul described as “wonderful and mildly eccentric.” His room overlooked three imperious horses. It was, he wrote, “an enchanting and fascinating place to spend my last night on the road.”

The Final Push

On the ninth morning, clouds loomed but spirits were high. He nearly got lost in Banham looking for Rowancroft, the home of Via Beata founder Steve Eggleton, but found the way-station at last. Through familiar Norfolk lanes, he ticked off stops at Great Moulton, Emmaus at Belsey Bridge, and Ringsfield Hall. Rain set in, his bike computer fizzled, and Komoot tried to send him down an overgrown footpath. Yet he pressed on, reaching Kirkley church in Lowestoft before rolling the final yards to the seafront. There, beside the sculpture known as the Miraculous Catch, he completed his pilgrimage. “Cue selfie and the rain coming down in stair rods!” he wrote.

The plan had been to cycle back to Norwich, but with the heavens open and his bike computer in revolt, he opted for the train. At the Wetherspoons near the station, he downed a pint for £1.99 among a boisterous Saturday crowd, marvelling at the improbable mix of exhaustion, anticlimax, and elation. On the train home, another long-distance cyclist offered good company. When Paul misplaced his ticket, the conductor quietly waved him through at the barrier — “further evidence of the goodness of people.”

A Journey Blessed

Cycling the Via Beata is not for the faint-hearted. Over nine days Paul climbed the equivalent of a Himalayan peak, rattled over reservoirs, wheeled his bike across rope bridges, forded streams, and negotiated locks, hills, and pubs both bustling and derelict. He encountered generosity in small Welsh villages, eccentricity in B&Bs, and kindness from strangers when least expected.

It was, in his words, a ride that made him feel “increasingly like an explorer.” And perhaps that’s what pilgrimage is meant to be: not just a journey from A to B, but a long, winding route through fatigue and laughter, solitude and companionship, grit and grace. On the seafront at Lowestoft, rain soaking through, Paul Appleby had reached his end point — but also, perhaps, another beginning.