Wales - Brecons. 15th Dec 2018

The weather forcaster had been warning of storm Deirdre with gale-force winds, rain and snow and it was just starting to rain as we set off.   In fact the natty welsh guide had phoned the day before asking if we were sure we wanted to go out, he was a nice cheery chap about the size of a slightly built hobbit.

Our riding squad (is that the correct collective noun?) comprised six guys, seven including the guide we had employed, four KTMs (450 Coops, 350 Tony, 350 Bad Lee, 250 2stroke Rich) one Husky 250 for Good Lee, my yellow elephant DRZ and the guide on a CRF250.  

Below from left to right; Coops, Tony, Rich, Bad Lee, Good Lee, and me.

Good Lee, Bad Lee and Rich joined us the night before just as we returned to the B&B from the Strata.  I'd only met Rich once a week or so ago and hadn't met Good and Bad until this day.    Rich had previously joined Tony, Chris and I for a green laning morning around Nottingham and had taught me a new skill when I got stuck in the Trench of Doom. (Named by Chris when he got stuck in it, its full of old bits of metal scrap with steep banked walls). It struck me as odd a little later that a man I'd only met once was now my room mate. (Snoring, farting, burping, all the good stuff. We know each other much 'better' now)

Tony asked our guide if we could avoid the Strata having had our fill of water the day before and so he took us off in a different direction.  Heading through forests, over the moors and grasslands and down step descents the riding was good, but all the time the weather worsening.   At some points the wind was so strong we were riding at angles into the wind to keep going straight, at another point Good Lee and I were blown clean of the path into fields.

Our guide took us to a lane that was quite steeply inclined and scattered with rocks, the three more seasoned riders skipped off like spritely gazelles (Tony, Chris and Rich).   Rich looked like he was riding on different ground he skipped passed with such ease. I wrestled  with the DRZ, Bad Lee dropped his KTM and bent the gear leaver and Good Lee, who had just passed his bike test, was shouting 'this is f*cking mint!'  he was loving it and his enthusiasm infectious.

We reached the top of the lane and were on open moorland, with nothing stopping the full force of the wind it was causing the rain to hit us sideways, each drop biting and stinging my face.   I couldn’t see with my googles on and I couldn’t see with my goggles off, it was exhilarating, and probably quite dangerous.   

Below, the days route.  Note how it ends in the Brecons when we turned around.

Our guide hobbit being cold and wet wanted a quick conflab  with the others, who are wiser than me, and a decision was made to head for home.   Most of they guys were soaked to the skin and freezing, but I'm happy to report that the new kit id invested in held up remarkably well and I felt pretty good, barring wet feet and hands.

I didnt manage to get many photos of the ride due to the biting weather. 

Once we were dry and changed we headed into the town of Llandovery where one old welsh fella commented that both single women would be out that night, fabulous!! :)  

The town is centuries old and has Seven pubs, we visited them all, drank too much, talked about bikes and took the piss out of each other before heading back to the digs for a three course meal and an evening of snoring.  ah middle aged bliss...

Below, Good and Bad

Below, Coops and his odd green spot