Probably my best day to date on a motorbike and I rarely got out of third gear. I spent the day on a Honda 230 trail bike along with fellow pupil Martin on a Husqvarna 250 and instructor Marianne Walford on a Suzuki 400. I had asked for a ‘nervous beginner’ course and Marianne pitched it just right. We may not have ended the day as riding gods but we were both euphoric about the improvement in our skill levels and about the fantastic scenery we had seen.
I should point out to any of my hillwalking friends (it’s not just the pope who wears red socks – Ulster joke) that we rode on totally legal trails on silenced bikes, we closed all gates behind us, we adopted a ‘leave no trace’ philosophy and, most importantly, we had a ball while helping to keep the trails open.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Tuesday 23rd September 2008
Having repacked my gear in a slightly more logical manner, I rode into Bangor and got my glasses fixed for free at Boots. They did say that it was only a temporary fix, that my glasses were too decrepit to rely on for a long trip and that I should go urgently to get a new pair before leaving the country. Thinks: ‘good idea - must put that on a to-do list’.
I’d never really noticed Wales before except as an inconvenience between the ferry and somewhere more useful. The ride from Bangor to Machynlleth made me start to reconsider this as both the road and the scenery just kept getting better. Without too much difficulty I found Llwyngwern Farm and its campsite. This was where I was to have a relaxing evening before getting my first ever trail riding tuition the next day. Then I saw the lane to the campsite – perhaps they intended you to have the tuition first in order to be able to negotiate the lane? I suspect that Ralph Beaumont, the farm owner and an accomplished trail rider, will laugh for a long time at the thought of the overloaded thumper and its incompetent pilot making their nervous, girly way down his lane.
By this stage I had started to realise why xt riders referred to their somewhat basic steeds as ‘thumpers’. My whole skeleton was in a state of shock after spending four years cosseted in the soothing armchair embrace of my Honda Deauville.
At this point – my first proper solo night in a tent that I hadn’t put up properly – I seriously considered getting more in touch with my feminine side, feeling cold, badly fed and lonely, and wondering why I was doing this. Thankfully, and just in the nick of time, I remembered that Ewan and Charlie had registered their monopoly on all that old luvvie nonsense so I just went to sleep.
I’d never really noticed Wales before except as an inconvenience between the ferry and somewhere more useful. The ride from Bangor to Machynlleth made me start to reconsider this as both the road and the scenery just kept getting better. Without too much difficulty I found Llwyngwern Farm and its campsite. This was where I was to have a relaxing evening before getting my first ever trail riding tuition the next day. Then I saw the lane to the campsite – perhaps they intended you to have the tuition first in order to be able to negotiate the lane? I suspect that Ralph Beaumont, the farm owner and an accomplished trail rider, will laugh for a long time at the thought of the overloaded thumper and its incompetent pilot making their nervous, girly way down his lane.
By this stage I had started to realise why xt riders referred to their somewhat basic steeds as ‘thumpers’. My whole skeleton was in a state of shock after spending four years cosseted in the soothing armchair embrace of my Honda Deauville.
At this point – my first proper solo night in a tent that I hadn’t put up properly – I seriously considered getting more in touch with my feminine side, feeling cold, badly fed and lonely, and wondering why I was doing this. Thankfully, and just in the nick of time, I remembered that Ewan and Charlie had registered their monopoly on all that old luvvie nonsense so I just went to sleep.
Monday 22nd September 2008
So, that’s the fast ferry leaving the port is it? Not to worry, bound to be another one in a couple of hours? Not until 17:45? Right, then.
Ted Simon said that the interruptions are the journey (or something like that) so I settled back to see what Dun Laoghaire had in store for me for a whole afternoon.
And? Nothing, Zip, Nada, Zilch, etc.
And then I broke my glasses.
Seasoned traveller that I had become, I simply switched to my emergency pair of prescription sun glasses and tried to look cool and mysterious as I rode into the ferry’s murky vehicle deck.
There was no fooling the other bikers on the boat – they were mostly hardened party animals returning from the Quay Vipers weekend bash at Benone, Northern Ireland. They rightly found the vision of me starting my big trip by riding into darkest Wales in the dark wearing shades to be just hilarious.
I have to say it wasn’t all that hilarious. I hadn’t even intended to leave Holyhead but I got caught among the trucks and ended up on the main road to Bangor. After ten miles a brown tourist sign for a campsite seemed more appealing than an inglorious death on the A55. Unfortunately, like most brown tourist signs, it promised much but delivered nothing. I arrived in Rhosneigr and went gratefully to the only B&B sign. Was it my scruffy bike gear? Was it my Northern Irish accent? Did they think I was Osama bin Laden? For whatever reason, ‘vacancies’ suddenly became ‘no vacancies’ at an obviously empty B&B. Luckily, I was directed to an excellent B&B run by the lovely Cathy Marshall who even went outside with a torch to organise safe parking for my bike. That’ll be a big plug for www.angleseyaccommodation.co.uk then.
Ted Simon said that the interruptions are the journey (or something like that) so I settled back to see what Dun Laoghaire had in store for me for a whole afternoon.
And? Nothing, Zip, Nada, Zilch, etc.
And then I broke my glasses.
Seasoned traveller that I had become, I simply switched to my emergency pair of prescription sun glasses and tried to look cool and mysterious as I rode into the ferry’s murky vehicle deck.
There was no fooling the other bikers on the boat – they were mostly hardened party animals returning from the Quay Vipers weekend bash at Benone, Northern Ireland. They rightly found the vision of me starting my big trip by riding into darkest Wales in the dark wearing shades to be just hilarious.
I have to say it wasn’t all that hilarious. I hadn’t even intended to leave Holyhead but I got caught among the trucks and ended up on the main road to Bangor. After ten miles a brown tourist sign for a campsite seemed more appealing than an inglorious death on the A55. Unfortunately, like most brown tourist signs, it promised much but delivered nothing. I arrived in Rhosneigr and went gratefully to the only B&B sign. Was it my scruffy bike gear? Was it my Northern Irish accent? Did they think I was Osama bin Laden? For whatever reason, ‘vacancies’ suddenly became ‘no vacancies’ at an obviously empty B&B. Luckily, I was directed to an excellent B&B run by the lovely Cathy Marshall who even went outside with a torch to organise safe parking for my bike. That’ll be a big plug for www.angleseyaccommodation.co.uk then.
Sunday 21st September 2008
I wobbled very uncertainly down Windsor Park and onto the Lisburn Road as the full horror dawned on me of what two fully laden aluminium panniers, a huge bag of camping gear and a long range fuel tank do to the handling of a tall trail bike on knobbly tyres.
‘At least I’ll have an empty road to get used to this’ – wrong! Co Tyrone were playing in the final and the road to Dublin was a seething mass of flag flying vehicles guided by cheerfully excited country folk who presumably hadn’t been on a road without grass in the middle since the last time Tyrone were in the final. This automotive mayhem concentrated my mind wonderfully and improved my riding enormously. Within a mere fifty miles I was down to random oscillations of about half a lane width at a time. The Tyrone fans probably didn’t even notice.
Having safely reached Dublin I think that I managed to get through an important seminar without obviously snoring or being too offensive to anyone although the lack of sleep was starting to kick in so I can’t be sure.
In line with my rigid rule about not riding in the dark on this trip I left plenty of time and set my target as the first fast ferry out of Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead on Monday morning to give me a chance to cover some safe, daylight miles in Wales.
‘At least I’ll have an empty road to get used to this’ – wrong! Co Tyrone were playing in the final and the road to Dublin was a seething mass of flag flying vehicles guided by cheerfully excited country folk who presumably hadn’t been on a road without grass in the middle since the last time Tyrone were in the final. This automotive mayhem concentrated my mind wonderfully and improved my riding enormously. Within a mere fifty miles I was down to random oscillations of about half a lane width at a time. The Tyrone fans probably didn’t even notice.
Having safely reached Dublin I think that I managed to get through an important seminar without obviously snoring or being too offensive to anyone although the lack of sleep was starting to kick in so I can’t be sure.
In line with my rigid rule about not riding in the dark on this trip I left plenty of time and set my target as the first fast ferry out of Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead on Monday morning to give me a chance to cover some safe, daylight miles in Wales.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Saturday 20th - final prep
In theory - no problem – all day to pack and put finishing touches to bike.
In reality – bike – Brian Jones of Mototech saved the day and appeared to double the power output of the xt600e after a full service
In reality – packing - you don’t want to know but I did finally get to bed at around 3.00am on Sunday morning
In reality – bike – Brian Jones of Mototech saved the day and appeared to double the power output of the xt600e after a full service
In reality – packing - you don’t want to know but I did finally get to bed at around 3.00am on Sunday morning
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