Monday 9th April 2018
A real sense of excitement this morning - sunshine! Nothing like clear blue skies and the promise of the seaside to get you up and out early doors. That said, it was a very sad goodbye to the hospitality of Lloyd, Delyth and the girls, but off just before 10am with the Garw vally looking even more stunning in the bright light.
Rather than taking the shortest route south to Bridgend and then west along the main road, I took Del's suggestion and went back up through the next valley to the west, heading towards Pontrhydyfen, a small village famous as the birthplace of heroic welsh boozehound Richard Burton. My sister Liz and I were always brought up to believe we were named after the troubled alcoholic megastar couple (cheers for that, Mum & Dad...) so it seemed fitting somehow. It was a scenic ride all the way, and at the entrance to the village are both a viaduct and aqueduct, the latter of which is long since filled in, but provides a dramatic view of the river valley below.
I didn't really stop for too long anywhere on the way to Tenby as I was very aware that substantial rain was forecast for all of South Wales tomorrow, with things clouding over from later in the afternoon. I just wanted to get to my destination on dry, safe roads, but still be able to see a few sights. The morning sunshine really was an unexpected bonus. From Pontrhydyfen it was a gradual lessening of the steep Valleys landscape as I got nearer to Swansea and the coast via the town of Neath, which was lit up by the sun in a most flattering way as I approached.
Sunshine on Neath (Sorry...)
Nothing much to report after Neath really - the outskirts of Swansea were predictably stop-starty with lights and roundabouts and passport seeking traffic heading for the much signposted DVLA headquarters. I certainly didn't get a view of the city at all sadly, save for retail parks and some fairly grand leafy suburbs. I had hoped to get some sort of panorama looking out to sea and The Mumbles (I think Twin Town was playing on my subconscious) but the satnav wasn't interested in sending me that way.
After Swansea it was motorway speeds on the fast moving A48 until Camarthen. Once again the Vespa coped with no problems, but it was not the most relaxing way to scoot. I would have ideally gone a gentler route, but I was increasingly aware that the sun was STILL blazing, and how good would it be if I arrived in Tenby whilst it was still sunbathing weather..? It's ironic really, as originally the main purpose of the trip was to enjoy the rides, without a deadline other than reaching my shelter by the end of the day - getting there should be more than half the fun, so to speak. Yet here I was getting a bit stressy and impatient to just get from A to B, just like I do every day commuting by Vespa. In fairness though, I always get like this when it's sunny. I hate the thought of wasting sunshine. It's rare in Britain, and as someone whose complexion hasn't been exactly flawless since he hit double figures, I also instinctively want to use it as nature's medicine for my poor old Randolph Scotts.
(I have had this notion since childhood that we shouldn't have set Bank Holidays in the UK, where the weather is almost always shite exactly when we don't want it to be. Instead, we should just have 3 or 4 potential 'Sun Days' each year. The concept is that when all available, trusted weather forecasting organisations predict that tomorrow is going to be a scorcher, all channels of telly and radio will be interupted (at, say, 7pm in the evening) with the following broadcast : 'We are sorry to interrupt this program, but we have some news from Buckingham Palace' and no less than Her Madge Queen Liz herself will grant every man, woman and child in the UK the day off tomorrow. Can you imagine the collective euphoria? There is NOTHING more euphoric than a short notice day off work, let alone in a heatwave. It would be like a national Snow Day with sunburn.
Yes, I know we'd have to iron out a few creases. Like who looked after the ill in hospitals, manned the petrol pumps, and served the lager in the beer gardens. And yes, part of me does realise that it could turn into The Purge with flip-flops. But don't Bank Holidays, as they stand, already pose these problems - only with invariably bad weather?)
Anyway, here I was ON HOLIDAY AND IT WAS SUNNY and I was damned if I wasn't going to grab some of it without balaclavas and parkas and crash helmets on. So it was wide open throttle all the way down to Pembrokeshire, which was a very fast road until almost the very end. It rather sneakily doesn't show you the sea until you are about a mile away from Tenby itself (well, certainly not today with the hazy visibility anyway), which all added to the excitement when it finally happened.
I had never been anywhere near this part of the country before, and as I got into Tenby, following the satnav to my digs, I was beaming from ear to ear to see that the hotel was pretty much right on the sea front, at the start of the sweeping South Beach. And it was STILL hot and sunny, and only just gone half twelve! I actually forced myself not to look at the inviting views too much until I was parked up and checked in. A large carpark right behind the charming Edwardian BnB meant that the scooter was within earshot if the alarm went off in the middle of the night - one little worry could be crossed off. I practically ripped the luggage off the bike, carried it all at once (in arms, between knees, and in my teeth) round the corner to the hotel front door with visions of a swift change into shorts and onto the beach within 10 mins. I get to the door and swing it open. Or at least try to. It's locked. There is a note on the door. My heart sank. It contained the four most stressful words in the English language - 'Back In Ten Mins'.
Now... I have always had a problem with this. I appreciate that people need to nip out and close up shop for a multitude of valid reasons, but why is it always ten minutes? And more importantly, ten minutes from when? For all I know it had been there since last Thursday. Why doesn't anyone ever put the time of their departure on there, to give some sort of chronological context? I was standing there in an impromptu heatwave wearing gear that was designed to keep me warm in a Snowdonian winter. Carrying a week's worth of luggage. After a pretty long ride, and with the sun mocking me - 'you know that I'm gone the moment you get your shorts on, don't you, Dickhead?'
AAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!
I managed maybe 4 minutes before I dropped the stuff in the porch and rang the hotel number, just to let the landlady know I was here, should she be on the end of a mobile. I heard the reception phone ringing just behind the glass. Knackers...
I started to compose an email, there in the street (yes, I know...). Just then a kind voice asked 'can I help you' and the landlady was there walking towards me, true to her word. It had been all of 6 minutes. A very nice, friendly lady who I soon found out had sadly lost her mother a couple of weeks before, and had popped out for a few minutes as she was still sorting through her Mum's things. I felt, of course, ashamed of my selfish impatience when I found out. I can be a truly terrible human being sometimes.
Checked in, contents of the two roll bags dumped on the bed, thermal long johns off and shorts on. Stuffed a beach towel and my camera in to the smaller of the two bags and practically sprinted to the end of the road and let out an audible 'yes!!'. This was the view I was greeted with:
I couldn't quite believe it. Surely this was a trick? I strided off down the steps to the South Beach, only stopping for an ice cream on the way. Yes, you heard right - an ice cream. It was gloriously hot weather, with not a breath of wind. Found a beaut of a spot, a real sun trap under the cliffs, and I was soon feeling that contentment that only comes from the warm orange glow behind closed eyelids that signifies holiday sunbathing. I'm afraid it was so hot that I even indulged in a spot of what my Scottish friends would term 'taps aff'.
Then it was back on the Vespa to try and find Barafundle Bay, which was apparently a little over half an hour away, and had topped a poll as the best beach in Wales. It had to be done, but I was up against time. It was getting ever cloudier, and I really wanted to get there before sunset as it involves a coastal path to reach the location. I didn't fancy stumbling around a sheer clifftop in the dark. Most of the way there was on a glorious road known as The Ridgeway which was fairly straight and fast , and had views either side which reminded me somewhat of similar roads in Central Italy, where the wife hails from. Despite my hurry I just had to stop and take a shot of a view which somewhat spooked me out - what looked like a huge futuristic industrial settlement on the horizon, which resembled a scene from a post apocalyptic sci-fi, or even the Emerald City from The Wizard of Oz.
I can only guess it must have been part of the busy Pembroke Dock? I shrugged it off and headed on with the satnav's guidance, looking for a place called Stackpole Quay, which was the nearest parking location to Barafundle. I got lost. The satnav was sending we to the village of Stackpole, not the Quay. The light was fading. I had to ask directions from some walkers, but the folk were Southern tourists and although perfetly charming, absolutely no help at all, sending me the wrong way. I eventually stumbled across signs for it and arrived, parked up the Vespa, and practically jogged on up the cliff path to try and get to this fabled beach before sundown, if only to take a snap and turn back. To borrow an image from Tubbs in The League Of Gentlemen, the fiery orb was already weighing very heavy in the sky. Not that you could see it for the increasingly ominous clouds.
On the cliffs I encountered lots of wise people coming the other way, who were deserting the beach before dark. The Pembrokeshire Coast is a National Park, and I could see why. Rugged, dramatic, breathtaking.
A sweaty 15 minutes later and there it was - 'The Best Beach In Wales'. Not exactly drenched in sunlight but still wildly impressive, and with a beautifully secluded, remote atmosphere.
A set of steep steps took me down to the sands, which I had to myself save for a young family just finishing up for the day. I had brought my travel tripod with me so I set up for a selfie, with the clouded sun just about to disappear behind the dunes at the back. The moment I was ready a weak ray of sun just lit up the beach for a few seconds before disappearing for the day.
Although sad I couldn't linger for longer due to encroaching darkness, I was at least glad I'd seen it, experienced it and snapped it. So it was down with the tripod, off over the cliffs and back on the Vespa following a slightly different route to Tenby. I arrived back at the car park happily tired and ready for an early night. There was still time for one more somewhat gloomy pic of the place on my tour which was furthest from home, and the little vehicle which had delivered me there safely.
© Rich Lane 2018
