Friday 6th April 2018 - PM
Ok, so a bit of a cheat to start, as I spent the entirety of the first day in England, all be it following The Marches (the name for the border lands) for much of the way. My first destination was my brother and sister in law's house in the Wye Valley, Herefordshire, which would take me past the Shropshire Hills. Both are Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB)
Petty frustration and impatience are not the best moods to start any trip but I found myself packed up and ready, hovering around the front door all morning, waiting for a late Royal Mail delivery which never came. It contained some noise cancelling Bluetooth earbuds, which were going to help protect my ears from noise on the trip, whilst also sending me audible satnav directions. With more and more of the day slipping away, and a window of dry weather ahead, I would have to abandon the idea and rely on my satnav's display, and see how I got on with no ear protection. Bugger - it was the only missing piece in my plans too.
A farewell to the family and I set off just after noon. It was mild (13˚C - considering how cold it had been just two weeks before!), sunny, but very windy. I won't lie, it took me quite a while to relax, and for the first hour or so I was wondering what the hell I was doing. The combo of fear of what could lie ahead (punctures, extreme weather...worse?); frustration about those earbuds; battling against the noisy, buffetting wind; guilt at my selfishness for leaving the family for a precious week of the school holidays; and some very fast, quite busy dual carriageways was conspiring to make me anxious enough to question whether this was really 'fun'. This tension was manifesting itself physically too - as an ache across my back and neck, which kicked in after only a few minutes riding and wouldn't shift.
After heading west to Shrewsbury, my route headed south along the A49. Whilst very pretty on the whole, it is fairly busy, with lots of loooong traffic lights (temporary and fixed), tractors crawling along, the standard gits in Audis right up yer jacksie, and warnings of the dangers for two wheelers. However, my mood started to lift when those shapely Shropshire Hills seemed to suddenly pop up on the horizon. I had been down this way in a car or on a train many times over the years, but not actually visited the hills properly since my teens. A slight detour to take a better look was needed.
The area around Church Stretton is sometimes known as 'Little Switzerland' and you can see why. The landscape is beautifully 'chocolate box' up close, and pointily dramatic from a distance. The hills here have always had a pull for me since growing up in The Black Country, as on clear days they could just be made out on the horizon as a pointy blue outline. They seemed impossibly far away and romantic back then, and it was many years later that I learned they were the very same 'blue remembered hills' of A.E. Housman's 'A Shropshire Lad'. A school geography day trip to the area aged 15 was a revelation, and I vowed to go back and look at them properly as soon as I could. My brilliant idea was to cycle there and back a few months later, on my new cheap, heavy mountain bike. This was an 80 mile round trip and quite hilly. I had no money, just water, and completely underestimated how hard it would be. I got back home that evening with shaky legs and blue lips from exhaustion. I'd barely had any time there due to worrying about getting back in the daylight, and even less energy to explore. I realise now that such cycling follies back then were no doubt the fledgling attempts at exploration of a frustrated scooterist.
My first stop was the Carding Mill Valley, the location of both those childhood visits. The babbling stream, the lambing sheep, the hikers and huts - I now started to feel like I was somewhere 'special'. Once again though, I couldn't really yomp off on a big hill walk, as the scooter was all packed up and the luggage hardly secure. But it was still exactly as I remembered it.
A quick check on the satnav showed that there was a road up the Long Mynd, the valley right next door. I decided to give this a go. It was narrow, precipitous and scary, but also thrilling, wild and spectacular.
Much of road was only wide enough for one car - I was glad I was on a narrow two wheeler despite regular passing points! The views back down into Church Stretton, and over to the hills on the east side of the main road were more than worth it though. My first 'happy attack' of the trip had well and truly kicked in...
As the road started to level off into wild moorland I took advantage of a small parking area to have a break, take the helmet off, and enjoy the view. It was incredibly windy but not cold. The tarmac snaked off ahead into the unknown in such an attractive way that I also wanted to see if I could find a longer route to my destination by going straight ahead, rather than turning around and dropping back down that scary road... something which was now playing on my mind a tad, truth be told. A look at my petrol gauge sealed it for me though - I had just under half a tank (about three quids worth...) and I didn't want to risk running out in the middle of nowhere on my first day. This was also the first time I had properly used my satnav (a TomTom Vio) and it was to be a few more days before I discovered that it could show you the location of filling stations... doh! Aah well, the mystery of what lays beyond that ridge is perhaps more interesting than the reality. And besides, it's a good excuse to go back and see one day.
So back down it was - I had to have my wits about me, and once or twice I got that creeping of flesh in the soles of the feet (and in the old unmentionables) that comes with sheer drops. I was very lucky not to meet too many other motorists coming up. The big problem with scooters is that they can't reverse uphill of course, so that does restrict the ability to back into a passing point to allow oncoming vehicles through. Once you're moving forward, that's it really. Anyway, I made it and rejoined the stressful A49 with an exhilaration and sense of adventure that saw me through the remainder of its length a much happier man. My trip was starting to give out rewards, and make new memories.
I was glad to see the back of the seemingly endless 'A' road at Hereford, and join the quiet, winding lane into the Wye Valley that signified I was nearly at Gareth and Christine's. A lovely, gentle, relaxing way to end the first day's riding.
Arrived at Hoarwithy, with it's distinctive Italian style chapel, around 4pm. It had stayed dry and mainly sunny all day, but was just starting to get more overcast. I'd been very lucky with my timing. I'd made it!
My sister in law Christine works in a school (as do I) so she was on Easter holidays. My brother Gareth (who has his own business near Birmingham) had got off early for the weekend. So we took advantage of an early evening headstart to go for a pint or two in nearby Ross on Wye. I unpacked the scoot and left it to rest on the drive until tomorrow.
It was warm enough to sit on the terrace of The Royal Hotel and look at the meandering river just below. Lots of very nice watering holes in Ross I must say. And an abundance of local ales. Before we got too settled it was back to Hoarwithy where Chris had cooked a delicious chicken tagine. I don't know if it was the wild abandon of my road trip that was making me reckless, but I decided to go against a lifelong moral decision and experiment with a substance to which I had always been radically opposed - hummus. And it is with no little sense of shame that I had to admit I enjoyed the experience. It took a while for the sense of class guilt to subside. I promised myself a purge with good honest cheesy oatcakes and brown sauce when I got back home.
Hoarwithy has its own great pub, The New Harp Inn, so it was deemed rude for Gareth and I not to wander down after tea (should I start calling it dinner now..?) and support the local economy a bit. Spent a very fun evening with his mate Jamie, an ex marine with a few discreet stories to tell. A very warm welcome from the landlord and lady, Adrian and Belinda, too - they work very hard providing great food and ales to locals and the multitude of seasonal visitors alike. They had a free jukebox in the corner, one of those where you speak into a remote control to select tracks from a seemingly infinite online library. Needless to say when Gags and I got hold of it no one else got a look in. The locals were treated to an eclectic musical journey that took in The Carpenters, Primal Scream, The Prodigy, Abba, and at least an hour of maudlin Welsh language lullabies. They obviously wanted to thank us but were too aesthetically blown away for the actual words to form. But we could see it in their eyes, just before they left early.
A wobbly walk home in the pitch black, a quick secret dip in the hummus, and bed. Wales tomorrow!
(Click here for the next part...)
