Locked out in Llangollen

On Wednesday I had a mission. To take photographs for a piece I’m doing for Cycling World on riding along the ridge top of Offa’s Dyke in Flintshire. The road is the B5101 from Treuddyn to FFrith Hall. It’s only about four miles but it has two unique features. There are few sections of the original Offa’s Dyke that have been metalled so vehicles can travel along it, and to my knowledge it might be the only stretch that hasn’t been widened with the original ditches on either side. King Offa, in the 8^thcentury, built the ditch either as a boundary, defensive line, or as a power statement to his Welsh adversaries. Generally it runs between England and Wales and was formed by digging a ditch and piling up the waste dirt and rocks into a ridge. The B5101 – I wish it had a more grandiose name. For example in Coedpoeth is Heol Offa, which also runs along the dyke though it isn’t so obvious.  The second point of interest in this road is a red sign warning drivers of “Cyclist in road – Beicwyr ar y fford” wonderful. I want one – preferably two suspended in front and behind me! Not seen a notice like that before. The lane is so narrow there, because of it being perched on top of Offa’s Dyke, that there are traffic lights to permit vehicles in one direction at a time. The lights change too fast for my short fat hairy legs, and obviously for other cyclists too, hence the sign.

A wider section of the B5101

I filled my digital camera with views of the road – enhanced by blue skies and gorgeous woodland and hillsides, plus the two pretty villages of Llanfynydd and Ffrith – with its going-nowhere-mineral-railway viaduct.

The photo here is of a wider section of the B5101 and there are ditches either side behind the trees. I love the way the tree branches curve over as if to meet and grab passing cyclists…

At the T-junction with the Minera Road I veered right to Coedpoeth to see if my pal, John Marchant, and his wife, Rita were in. We had a long chat during which he effused about how wonderful the Escape Velocity: The Anthology was – see earlier blog. Heading away from Coedpoeth, through Minera, I tackled the steep lane up World’s End. Love the bleak treeless landscape on the plateau – it’s like going from Deciduous woodland below to the tundra in just a few miles. A few years ago on the way up I felt a wind fly past me and saw it was Chris Boardman and his North Wirral Velo cycling club. They all helloed as I puffed up the incline and waved back. My brakes held as I whizzed down through the water ford at World’s End.

In Llangollen I couldn’t go to the YHA hostel because it’s one of the hostels sold off – along with all the others in a 20 miles radius, including Chester, Bala, Corwen… so sad. However, there is an independent hostel – Llangollen Hostel. No chores, friendly staff, reasonable rates, clean duvets, well-equipped lounge, kitchen and dining room. Breakfast is thrown in. I met Peter Williams, who had cycled from Chapel-en-le-Frith (this Frith, Ffrith business is getting well used in this blog – wonder what it means?). Some of his route coincided with mine from Chester to Nottingham so we had much in common. After the proprietor (I suppose he’s not a warden as in YHA?) left – we thought to go shopping or whatever – we also left to get some tea. Problem. We didn’t know the code to get back in! Never mind we assumed it wouldn’t be long before the owner returned. It was on my way to the shops when I realised I’d lost my wallet. The hostel was prepaid but I always carry some spare coins. I had 6 pounds to buy enough for dinner, supper, midnight snack and the next day’s sports drinks and food. I guessed that my wallet fell out of my rear pocket near the Royal Oak in Kinnerton when I stripped to remove my vest. Do I use some valuable rare coins to report the card to Lloyds bank, but I don’t have the number of the card, nor of Lloyds – all would take even more money especially as Vodaphone have no signals in Llangollen. I bought some food and returned to the hostel. Peter and I arranged to leave the door ajar but someone had closed it. I assumed he was still in town, maybe gone to a restaurant or a pub. I knocked but no reply. A note on the door said to call  a landline number if no one was in. So the min charge of 60p of my diminishing cash called said number – voice mail. Back to the hostel. I knocked and waited for two hours.

What would you do? Suppose, as actually happened, the ‘warden’ had left until breakfast and you had insufficient funds for another hotel? It was getting cold and my bike and belongings were locked up. I could a) find a bush to sleep under, b) report myself as destitute to the local police, or phone home. I’m sure my wife would have loved to arrive home after a long day in London, to jump in the car to drive the 20 odd miles to get me. And I would have had to return the next day to collect my bike. Eventually another guest turned up and he had the door code. Then I wondered about Peter. How would he get in? I stayed in the lounge writing up my SF story, Target Practice, until 11pm then shrugged and went to bed. At breakfast he said he was already back in the hostel when I’d returned but didn’t hear my knocking. Hah. Oh well.

Hey, thanks to the man who picked up my wallet in Kinnerton. He phoned my wife, so she did have a journey to make for me after all. Life, eh?

My first published fiction story was called World’s End, and involves a cyclist and spot of mystery. Read it free here.

Walking clears the head

Again my mrs had to work in Llangollen so I chauffered, donned my hiking boots and headed for the hills. I’ve just uploaded a clip to Youtube if you’d like to view http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ToFrMzoymo0

I only encountered two other people in four hours, who’d have thought you could be so alone in Britain. Marvelous for thinking plots and characters.

The path was probably tramped by the Romans and ancient Welsh before them. A ruined Cistercian Valle Crucis monestory is nearby so the ghosts of monks were no doubt following me. Eglwyseg escarpment is popular by climbers but not before July to allow the birds to finish nesting.

Every year so the Nelder two undertake a pilgrimage to London – partly to remind ourselves why we don’t want to live there, but mostly to replenish our thirst for knowledge at the Science, Natural History and British Museums, and to take in some shows. This time we met up with, Ray, my best man of 35 years ago, and Marion. If you need a peaceful meal in the bustling capital, try The Crypt under St Martins-in-the-Fields, not that there is a field for miles. The first show we saw was the musical Les Miserables. Victor Hugo would have been pleased. The Trevor Nunn version with Drew Sarich as Jean Valjean was perfect. The music brought back memories of my son playing the theme tunes on his clarinet for the Chester Schools Concert Band a few years ago and regaling European cities with them. On a spur of the moment  we opted to take in another show on Friday night. Cabaret. Rushing to the ticket sales we were able to buy two remaining seats in the stalls almost touching the stage.  This risky position puts us in range of any cunning narrator, and in this case it was the celebrity comedian, Julian Clary. No sooner had scantily clad young men and women cavorted about with erotic yet graceful dancing, then Julian encroached near the front and leered peered at us.  He pointed at one unfortunate man in the audience and asked if he would like to take home one of the pretty near naked girls, or a boy. And he asked the next man, and then ME!

“Any thing I can get, please!”

The hilarious act along with semi-and full frontal nudity had a poignant pathos as the Nazi 1930s German politics impinged on the story line. The whole cast stripped for the last scene – earlier it was in jolly sensuous fun, but in the end it was for the gas-chamber…. The applause went on and justifiably on. Sadly, I didn’t get to take one of the beautiful young dancing girls home but I did have a blonde on my arm as consolation.

We enjoyed a rotational ride on the huge Wheel known as the London Eye: the vision of David Marks and Julia Barfield, a husband and wife architect team. The wheel design was used as a metaphor of the turning of the century in 2000.  The top reaches 135 metres above the River Thames allowing us to a view of the horizon 40 km away. The journeys in the capsules are called flights and the 30 minutes journey felt like one.  The photo shows long shadows of people on the pavement below us. Why am I fascinated by long shadows!

Two science museum items amused me. I didn’t know that Rowntrees chocolate manufacturer created the Black Magic box of chocolates after they commissioned a psychologist. He interviewed and tested 7000 individuals and the average consumer wanted a plain black box rather than the pretty flowery or scenic choccy boxes generally found in the shops. I was a caramel disappointed since the display was next to the aptitude testing fitting shapes into the relevant holes test. I always liked to empty chocolate boxes and see how fast I could the diamonds, circles, and squares into their receptacles. And then eat the ones I got wrong!

I also liked the machine that tested for accident-prone employees. A rotating paper passed in front of the candidate, who had to mark the circles nearest a central line. The speed increased and the chances of hitting the correct circles became less likely. The idea is that if the candidate persisted too long in the test then they failed. This is because they were deemed to take too many chances on success and so were more likely to have accidents than workers who gave up easily! Umm, that’s me out then .

Today I hiked 14 hilly frosty miles near Llangollen. Brilliant clear anticyclonic skies allowed the sun to send shadows looming for metres across the grass. I’ve put some photos of the walk on my website

http://www.geoffnelder.com/gallery.htm