If the freedom of speech is taken away then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.

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Showing posts with label baskerville hall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baskerville hall. Show all posts

Sunday, 15 May 2011

3rd International XT Meet - Suzuki 1, Jack Russell 0

I was supposed to be working this weekend, but I had booked two days' holiday so that I could attend the 3rd International Meeting of the XT500 Club and the Yamaha Thumpers Club, organised by my friend Alun. I missed the first one in 2009, but I went last year (pics here, report here) and had a great time.

Reading over last year's post, the experience was remarkably similar. It was held at the same place, Baskerville Hall Hotel near Hay-on-Wye, the house where Conan Doyle wrote the famous dog story.



Great ride up, great company with visiting Belgians and Germans, enjoyable Saturday ride-out, good barbecue on the Saturday night ...



lots of late-night drinking round the fire-pit ...



some inspired lunacy from the Belgians ...



Someone tell them the Vikings were Danish ...

and a great ride home. I was cold, just like last year, and I got cramp in my sleeping bag, just like last year. In fact, for a truthful report on this weekend's activity, you might as well read last year's post and change the dates. So what was different?

It was the first time I had properly used the tent I got last August, a Vango Beta 350 (eBay bargain), and the expense was fully justified. Although it took longer to set up than the small one I took last time, the room inside, and the way you can stand half-upright to put trousers and boots on, was well worth the effort. Old gits need room.



It poured down on the Friday evening and the Saturday evening too, but the tent stayed dry inside. It was bloody cold like last year, too. The new sleeping bag, a Vango Nitestar, is supposed to be a three-season bag, but it was only on the second night, when I had managed to close up all the little ventilation panels in the tent, that it came close to getting me warm. But both bag and tent were a country mile better than last year's choices.

The Saturday ride-out was, a little disappointingly, scheduled to cover the same ground, and visit the same locations, as last year. However, a small bit of drama put a stop to that. We were riding along a narrow single-track road north of Abergavenny, passing some farms between high hedges, and we were doing a sensible speed - no more than 20 or 30 mph. Suddenly, a rider's arm went up in the air - a sign for everyone to stop - and then I saw, five or six bikes ahead of me, a bike on its side in the ditch. It seems that a small dog (a Jack Russell) had run out of a farm gate and run alongside the bike for a few yards and then turned under the bike's front wheel and had been run over. The bike had gone down and slid along the road and into a ditch, and the rider with it.



By the time I got there he was standing up, but didn't look good and was complaining of chest pain. Alun the organiser and I are First Aiders and we checked him over and decided that a visit to A&E would be a good idea, so one of the ride marshalls was sent to get a van to transport the bike back to the camp and the rider to hospital. The dog, meanwhile, was being taken at high speed to the vet by a very anxious lady, the owner of the farm. Easier than explaining to forty motorcyclists why her dog wasn't under proper control, I suppose.

(We learned, later on, that the rider had a broken foot and bad bruising of the chest. The dog didn't make it, sadly, although its end was quicker than that of the original Hound of the Baskervilles. The rider was on a nice, unrestored Suzuki GT750, and had only joined us for the day. He had told his wife he was going off to price up a job, but came with us instead. I bet that took some explaining. Damage to the Kettle was fairly superficial.)



"It'll polish out ..."

Lunch was partaken in the Skirrid Inn ...



... and ice cream was had at Llanthony Priory, just like last year.



On return, we lined all the XTs up together (lesser bikes were excluded for the purposes of a photo for the archive). 28 bikes, and strict size order was enforced, so from the left we had:
  • XT225 Serow (as ridden by Lois Pryce on her American north to south adventure)
  • XT350 in well-used but fair condition
  • XT500, all versions, and a couple of heavily modified supermotos
  • XT600, three - mine, and two much newer ones
  • XT660 Ténéré, only one and highly desirable in a lovely milk-chocolate colour


That's mine, third from the right.

Pics of some of the more interesting machines will be the subject of a separate post.

Although the true XT500 owners rather sneer at the 600 (electric start, four-valve head, monoshock and modern *cough* styling), I have received a formal invitation to the Belgian equivalent XT meeting in September. I am seriously considering doing this one. It's a long way for a little'un, but I am confident that the bike is up to the task - the rider less so. It would be a lot of fun. I think I need to think about this, and perhaps do some more garden visits to build up my Brownie Points with my accountant and leisure services manager.

The XT didn't miss a beat, and managed an average of 63 mpg. Over the last few weeks, it's just going better and better. It stomps along at 60-70 mph, and feels like it could go on for ever. I love this bike.

Sunday, 16 May 2010

Pics from XT Meet

Here are some pics from the weekend. Click for bigger. Sorry for the quality; the iPhone doesn't take very good photographs, but it's better than lugging a DSLR round everywhere on the off-chance.

Baskerville Hall Hotel
Arthur Conan Doyle used to visit Baskerville Hall a lot, and it was there that he heard the local legend of a ghostly hound. When he told the owners he was thinking of working it up into a story, they pleaded with him not to reveal the location of the Hall, as they feared an influx of undesirable visitors. In deference to his hosts, he agreed to set the story in Devon. They still got their undesirable visitors, though.



Gathering of the Clans
Showing that Germans appreciate decent 4x4s as well. This guy had built a superb expedition 110 and had toured Morocco in it. Powys shouldn't have been too much of a problem. He was the kind soul who lent me a blanket for the second night. Germans, I love 'em.



Crude attempt at bringing fire to the people
Public-spirited work in clearing surrounding woodland of dead material and disposing of it in an environmentally-friendly way. The chap in the foreground is an Irishman who was returning to Ireland with a van full of old Honda C90s. I didn't find out why. He lives within a stone's throw of the Magners brewery and showed a touching dedication to their products.



Home from home
My little corner of a cold and damp paradise. For a biker's tent, it is palatial and took way too long to put up and strike. A waste of drinking time, basically.



Ready for the off
XTs and assorted hangers-on get ready for the ride-out.



Oldest bike of the weekend
One of the 'Thumpers' was a 1950 Norton 16H, a 500cc side-valve single. It was, to be charitable, in 'oily-rag' rather than concourse condition. There was a bit of concern over how it would keep up on the ride-out. No problem, of course. I followed him for several miles, and the lovely chuff-chuff of a Brit single was an aural pleasure. I rather fancied getting one, but then I heard that these are fetching over 3 grand even in this condition, so I changed my mind. It was good to see a bike that was even older then me and still in good working order, though.



My little hero
Was there too.



Abergavenny Bus Station
And a crowd of bikes - mainly plastic pocket-rockets, but a few proper bikes in there.



Llanthony Priory
Beautiful, quiet corner, and a real sun-spot - it reminded me a lot of Strata Florida, which has the same rather spooky quietness. Decent ice-creams.



Surprise view
Somewhere on the mountain road between Abergavenny and Hay-on-Wye - we just came round a corner on a twisty single-track, and - wow - there was this. It seemed as if the whole world was laid out at your feet. 25 bikes all had the same idea, and stopped for a gasp and a photo. The cage drivers were not too pleased. Sod 'em.



Ready for home
Note the scientific way the luggage is loaded with no regard for the principles of weight distribution, or common sense. It worked fine, though.



Dire Warning
This is a monument (the "Mail Coach Pillar") by the side of the road between Brecon and Llandovery. One one side is a cliff face, and the other is a plunge of - well, a long way - down a steep slope to the river. The monument was erected as a warning to mail coach drivers to forswear the evil drink after a mail coach with a drunken coachman had a tragic accident here in 1835. The coachman, Edward Jenkins, was driving the mail coach from Gloucester to Carmarthen. Under the influence of strong drink, he was driving on the wrong side of the road at a full gallop when he met a cart coming the other way. He pulled the horses the wrong way, the coach plunged 121 feet to the river and broke apart after hitting an ash tree (great detail, huh? It even names the passengers, both 'inside' and 'outside' the coach) with a heavy loss of life. The monument was erected as an early form of drink-driving campaign.

XT Meet

Apologies - it was a joint meet between the XT500 UK mob and the Thumper Club of Great Britain (devoted to all single-cylinder bikes, not just XTs).

I loaded up and set off on Friday afternoon. I haven't got any panniers for the XT, so it all had to go high - sleeping bag, tent, odds and ends in the top box and personal stuff in a tank bag. To start with, it handled like a pig on stilts, but I soon got used to it being a bit top-heavy and it didn't give me any problems.

The journey up, to Baskerville Hall Hotel near Hay-on-Wye (where Conan Doyle wrote that book), was wet and cold, but I was grinning all the way. There's just something about setting off on a trip, however modest, that excites something deep down. I'd opted for an open-face helmet and goggle-style sunglasses for this one, as I knew there wouldn't be any high speeds, so all the passing motorists could see me smile too.

The weekend was in a field next to the hotel - pretty rough and damp, but we got a fire going and things warmed up. There were a few from the UK, but many from Belgium and Germany. I had brought a few cans of beer with me and these ran out disappointingly quickly. But then one of the Belgian guys came to the rescue with a bottle of Duvet, or Duvall, or something - by that time, I wasn't interested in spelling stuff. All I knew was it was 8.5% and went down very well. Later, we repaired to the bar for food and more beer. By 11 pm I had had enough, in both senses, and went back to my tent.

The night was very cold (frost on the grass in the morning), and I didn't sleep much. I can say with a degree of authority that the dawn chorus in Clyro starts at 3.30 am and is very loud. I dozed a bit and at about 8 am decided I ought to show my face. Unfortunately, as I moved my leg to get out of the sleeping bag, I got a sudden bout of cramp. I straightened my leg violently to relieve it, and ripped the zip right out of my sleeping bag.

The entry fee of £15 included breakfast, lunch and a barbecue on the Saturday, which seemed to be stonking value. We had a ride-out which went by Abergavenny bus station (millions of bikes) and then to the Skirrid Inn, where we had lunch. In the afternoon, we came back to Hay over the mountains, stopping for an ice-cream at Llanthony Priory. We had an excellent barbecue, helped by the fact that the organisers had catered for about twice the number that actually turned up. The cold and draughty night that I had anticipated following my fight with the sleeping bag was much improved by the loan of a blanket from Tom, one of the German contingent.

This morning, I struck camp and made my farewells before the hard work of moving all the wooden furniture back the hotel started, and I had a very wet but pleasant ride home.

Lessons learned:
  1. Camping is a young man's game, and does not suit bad backs or cramp-prone legs
  2. Yamaha XTs are great for short journeys but cane your arse after 50 miles
  3. Don't take cookset and fuel to a meeting where you know there will be food and drink
  4. Yamaha XTs are very happy at 50 mph, and feel as if they will carry on for a week
  5. When kept to said modest speeds, they will return between 60 and 67 mpg (compare with my usual 52 for haring around locally)
  6. And the well-worn but still relevant: lay out everything you think you will need and leave half of it behind.
I know this, intellectually, but I never manage to follow it. I always bring back heavy and bulky stuff that I never even took out of the case.

Thoroughly cold, uncomfortable and enjoyable weekend, all in all. The next one is In Belgium in September. Hmmm.

I might. The XT didn't let me down this time, after all.
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