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.