Already?
It hardly seems a year since the last Dragon Rally. Last year I was almost unable to go because my combination was off the road and the weather, until the very last minute, was icy. This year, I had a severe cold, and only decided it would be all right when I woke up feeling well and heard the good weather forecast, on the morning of the rally.
I had spent much of the previous weekend replacing the double-adult sidecar body - an ancient and disintegrating Watsonian - with a goods box adapted for camping. I used an old-fashioned cabin trunk (you can get ANYTHING at Beatties - thanks!) bolted to a wooden base which also provided mounting points for the lights, mudguard and battery. The new body works a treat. The bike handles well with it on, and it will cruise at 60 and did 60 mpg over the trip - with the old body I’d have expected 55 in each case.
But I think I’ll add a few more bolts (there are four at present). There’s a noise when I go over a bump - a thud - which suggests the bottom of the chest is flexible enough to allow the corners to come clear of the base and drop back. All very well, and no danger of its coming off - but how long before something cracks, splits or parts under the flexing - it wasn’t designed to take it? So I’ll add one in each corner, and one right in the middle.
The ride over was delightful. I had to report to a control near Nebo, a village in the hills off the A5 above Llanrwst. I rode up the A5 through bright sunshine, on a day that wasn’t cold enough to need my heated gloves, stopping for breakfast at Froncysyllte along with a couple of dozen other rally-bound motorcyclists. Indeed, every cafe from there on had its row of motorcycles outside.
My Jawa always has a problem. On this occasion, it was the brakes. Oh, they stopped me just fine (well, as well as Jawa brakes ever do). But at about Shrewsbury, I found that after stopping I had to get off to free off the operating arm. I contemplated removing wheels at the roadside, but it isn’t that easy, I’d been ill, I had no jack - I settled for adding WD40 and chain oil to the pivots. Eventually, the oil worked its way to where it was needed and the problem resolved itself.
On calling at the control at Nebo I exchanged my payment receipt for a site ticket and directions. I had to continue along the B road down into the valley, cross the river and make my way back to Betws-y-Coed along the other side, and proceed to the site about two miles past the Swallow Falls. Unfortunately, I followed the road I was on, which turned right; the B-road was the tiny road forking left and marked “Narrow road with passing places”. So my route to Betwys was circuitous, although I did use the proposed road from the river crossing: most other people just went back down the A470 to the A5 and crossed the river there.
The site itself was in a loop of the river. Two years ago, I’m told, the rally was held here in wet conditions. During the night, the river rose from its bed and invaded those of the campers...
This year, there was a marquee. Last year, it had been so windy they failed to get it up. Once again, we were presented with sweets, souvenirs, soup and a miniature of whisky on arrival. I found a pitch, next to a couple from Lancashire, and had my tent up by two o’clock.
I decided to walk to Betws - four miles. I haven’t had much chance to get out lately, and I’m out of condition. More so than I thought, in fact (although motorcycle leathers are not well adapted for walking): by the time I got to Swallow Falls, I was aware that I could get to Betws all right, but the return, uphill into the wind and as it was gathering dusk, was going to be miserably hard work. So I turned back. Good decision - by the time I got back the temperature had dropped, the sun had gone and it was just trying to drizzle.
So I took the bike to Betws, bought a cup of tea and a scone, then walked around admiring the lovely woollen goods and outdoor clothing in the shops there, being careful not to look at the price tags for fear of a heart attack. I also bought a collapsible water carrier of a kind I’ve been seeking for a while, and some heavy duty tent pegs.
This year’s Dragons breathed real fire. Some people had bonfires - I went one better. My attempt to cook an evening meal was enlivened by my petrol stove, situated in the mouth of the tent out of the wind (with me on the inside) going on fire. I dashed out past it, and hauled it out with a stick (spilling warm water everywhere in the process). I couldn’t reach the fuel tap, so I retreated to a safe distance - to see if it would go out or explode. Fortunately, it went out.
At this point I realised that in my haste to escape, I had rushed out onto a wet Welsh field in my socks, and that I had no spares (stupid!)
All further sustenance came from the burger vans.
I spent the evening talking to people I met in the marquee and around the bonfire. A man from Manchester way who’d lived in the USA and Canada; his friend who welds the chasses of forty-foot lorry trailers for a living; a Dutchman who had come over specially for the rally. We talked bikes, politics, sport (I listened, didn’t contribute much), education (well, people will ask me questions when they find out what I do).
The tent pegs I’d bought went into the very soft soil at the windward end of my tent. That night, it blew a gale and rained. In the morning, the floor of the marquee was strewn with the sleeping bodies of those whose tents collapsed or leaked: I survived - just; although I didn’t get much sleep, and must have checked that everything was still there at least every hour.
The burger vans were supposed to reopen at six o’clock. At 6:10, I decided a cup of tea would be more use than continuing to attempt to sleep. At 6:15, the caterers arrived. At 6:50, they finally opened the hatch: by which time, tea and a bacon-and-egg batch tasted just delicious.
Then I packed up and came away, one of the first to leave (having been ill, I was going home to warmth and sleep), and returned to England via Blaenau Ffestiniog, Bala and Llanrwst - a journey involving some sun, some lovely views, and some fog.
And the bike didn’t break down once!
15th February 1997