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.
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