Tuesday 10th April 2018
Another day of no riding. Tomorrow was going to be the big one where I tackled almost the entire length of the country, so I felt a bit of battery recharging was sensible today.
Up with the lark, and it was indeed grey and wet looking outside. Downstairs to a superb full English and a nice chat with the landlady, Patricia. She told me all about the Iron Man Wales competition, which is hosted in the town every September. The hotel is apparently filled with participants (mentalists?) and supporters from all over the world, all here to 'enjoy' this toughest of triathlons. It involves a 2.4 mile swim off the beach, then straight on a bike (in the car park behind the hotel, apparently) for a 112 mile ride around Pembrokeshire, and then to top it off, a full marathon. All in a day. Just hearing about it made me want to go back to bed.
The hotel, Ashby House, really was very lovely and I'd definitely recommend it. The downstairs lounge area looked inviting as a potential base for my rain-avoidance today - cosy, plush, classy - almost like a Gentleman's Club. However, by the time brekkie was over it looked like the rain had at least stopped. So I thought I would hit the streets of Tenby with my camera and just wander...
I had only seen the South Beach side of this little town so far, and had no idea what was round the corner of the headland I had photographed yesterday. Time to find out. Despite overcast skies I was absolutely blown away by how pretty Tenby is. I would suggest it may be the most 'perfect' seaside resort in the country, in terms of providing a cultural template of what we want from a holiday in a quaint coastal fishing village : a small harbour, great beaches, dramatic rocks and pretty coloured houses . It reminded me of childhood books depicting the seaside, particularly Rupert Bear annuals. The few hours I spent exploring took in every inch of the North Beach (which was virtually deserted now the weather was less perfect) and the fascinating back streets and alleys of the town, which were crammed in behind a castle wall. It was one long extended happy attack, and I'm afraid I got a little trigger happy with the snapping...
Come lunchtime I certainly wasn't hungry after the huge breakfast, but I was getting a little thirsty... so I settled on The Buccaneer Inn which had its own micro brewery (called Harbwr) out the back. The cask ales they make are suberb, and by 1pm every table was full of folk eating, so I guess they are doing something right there too.
I ended up vacating my corner table to allow a family to eat, and sitting on a barstool I found these plaques which made me smile. 'Titch' is my family childhood nickname too, especially in Wales. It's because I'm the youngest of four siblings (Gareth, my host on Day One, is the eldest). Enquiries with staff revealed them to be commemorating three local fisherman legends who had propped up the bar for so many years that they were now part of the furniture.
After scribbling up my notes the combo of writer's cramp, sea air, and one ale too many conspired to make me sleepy, poor dab. What the hell, I thought, I'm on holiday - so it was back to the hotel for that ultimate indulgence, The Afternoon Kip. Bliss. Wake up early evening and it's time to eat, so off to a place I had clocked earlier - an award winning pizzeria called Top Joes. Now, spending a fair bit of time over the years in Italy I have inevitably become a bit of a pizza snob, but I'm pleased to say this was as good as I've ever had in the UK. The plain, salted slices that came with the starter were particularly ace. And ice cold Moretti in a proper glass, too.
Whilst tucking into my dessert of affogato, the sun suddenly lit up the street outside for a few seconds. So bill paid, I decided to go back and grab the camera again for a last saunter. I had perhaps got a little over excited as it wasn't exactly blue skies, but they were certainly less leaden than before, and I found myself undertaking a long walk to the very end of South Beach at dusk.
I'd got quite a sweat on beneath my armoured parka by the time I got back to the start of South Beach, so before the steps up the cliff to my hotel I nipped in to the South Beach Bar, which had been heaving in yesterday's heatwave, but which I now had completely to myself. Sat outside with a delicious Welsh porter, it was mild, still, and quiet, with just the sound of the waves coming out of the gloom. It really felt like I was on holiday, and was the perfect end to my lazy day getting acquainted with this gem of a place. I made a promise that I would be back before long, to introduce the family to its many treats.
Despite the hour's snooze earlier, I was off to bed at a respectable hour as I had potentially the most challenging day's riding to contend with tomorrow...
(Click here for the next part...)
© Rich Lane 2018
