RARE BIT OF UK TOURING

by Dave Morgan

For years I tried hiring a bike on my visits back to Wales to see the folks. I got close once, when I managed to get a Harley from a garage in Chester, then I ran out of time and that was it for another couple of years.

The roads that I rode my old James, Ariel and BSAs on nearly 40 years ago are now recognised as some of the best biking roads in the UK, with good surfaces, long straights and sweeping bends through the mountains of Snowdonia and along the North Wales Coast.

With the popularity of the roads and the reliability of modern bikes the area is now blessed with half a dozen good bike shops, selling everything from Royal Enfields to MV Agustas.

Ambling into one such place, Woods Motorcycles of Abergele, a few weeks ago I very fortunately started chatting to one of their salesmen, Chris Clark. After telling him my plight and the fact that I ride a Triumph in Oz, he said he had a T100 demo that I could borrow as long as I was considering buying one. So after checking out any insurance complications, a deal was struck over a Bike Me! cap and a bottle of good Australian red, and naturally a promise to give sincere consideration as to whether I should buy a second T100 and ship it back to Australia.

The following day I arrived back at Woods to pick up the bike. "Would you like full face or open face with that?" the mechanic asked me. Spotting the fact that the bike had been modified with a set of Norman Hyde pipes I went for the open face helmet. A couple of hours later riding through the Clocaenog Forest, the smell of the trees and the sound of the Triumph echoing through the lanes of pines vindicated my choice of the Davida.

Setting off I rode through once thriving Welsh holiday towns where I'd visited as a boy on the Sunday school trip, a ten shilling note clasped in my little hand for ice cream, a ride on the dodgems and a stick of rock. The towns now look as old and tired as I feel after the 24 hour flight it takes to go back and visit them!

Down into the Vale of Clwyd I rode, every yard and signpost evoking memories of the excitement and exuberance of my youth. I passed my old high school, up on to the town square and round the town clock, where 35 years ago one drunken New Year's Eve I managed to climb to the top. A picture of me and my lofty aspirations appeared in the Denbighshire Free Press the following week. Prat.

Islwyn Jones wrestles birds, not crocodiles. And he's still alive.

From there it was off towards the mountains and a quick stop at Pen Y Bryn from where my old neighbour, Islwyn, has developed his property into a bird sanctuary and is fast becoming the Welsh equivalent of Steve Irwin. I turned left and rode passed the farm where I was brought up, every dip and bend in the road recalling terrified English tourists' faces as I appeared at them from around the corner usually on the wrong side of the road with my Villiers engine squealing like one of the farm pigs.

Two miles past the old farm, there is a one in ten decline with a ninety-degree turn over a bridge at the bottom. On that corner is the Crown Inn in the village of Llanfihangel Glyn Myfyr. It wasn't until many years later that I discovered that the local lads would stand in the bar of the pub and take bets as to whether my old James would get me to the top of the hill before I had to jump off and run alongside it.

The local revisited...

Up and out of that valley I rode a couple more miles for a breakfast stop at the Saracens Café at Cerrigydrudion, a biker friendly café on the old A5 London to Holyhead road.

By this time I'd begun to appreciate the Norman Hyde pipes and could notice an improvement on my stock Bonneville in Sydney, however, just like on my own bike I was still looking for another gear at the top end of things.

No matter, after two mugs of tea, black pudding, sausage and beans, it wasn't only the Bonneville that sounded better as I set off over the Denbigh moors. A quick stop for a snap of the highest pub in Wales -- The Sportsman's Arms -- another biking memory recalls that I have never been back inside since the locals took exception to my spotty 17 year old face, helmet and badge encrusted denim jacket and chased me and the Francis Barnett down the road on foot. And nearly caught me, too!

The highest pub in Wales, where the beer is as good as the weather

Another half an hour and I was back in Abergele with a grin as wide as the Menai Straits I'd just ridden past. Of course, I stopped and filled the tank to overflowing and joked later with the Wood's mechanic that I could actually get this Triumph filler cap off to do it. He knew what I meant. I didn't get to see Chris to say thank you, but left a nice bottle of Wyndham Estate for him.

To travel half way around the world and then be given the opportunity to travel back through time on a motorcycle that was custom made for such an experience put a smile on my face even the ancient Druids couldn't erase and was worth a thousand bottles of good Aussie red.