Hesketh Owners Club Rally
In the last few months, so many of us have been unable to do the things we have always taken for granted, like simply going on a club run. Between lockdowns, the Hesketh Owners Club managed to get together. Ray James has written a delightful description of rideouts, friends, food and ice cream – all the things we now appreciate that little bit more.
The Hesketh Owners Club Rally was due to be held in South Wales in September and, becasuse of limitations imposed by Covid-19, it would only be the second time that Jan and I had ridden a motorcycle in 2020. It was also the first HOC Annual Rally for both of us, and we didn’t want to miss it. But it wouldn’t be the first time I’d ridden a bike in South Wales, although the bike in question then had been a Claud Butler bicycle. About 50 years ago, I cycled around the Black Mountains and the Brecon Beacons with Jan’s brother and a couple of pals, and that experience taught me that all four seasons in one day could be the norm in Wales. So, with that in mind, Jan and I prepared for the worst.
Going to the Dark Side
It was Hobson’s choice when it came to a motorcycle because our newly acquired Hesketh V1000 is currently in kit form thanks to Covid-19 and an itchy spanner hand! I also have yet to acquire suitable panniers and mounting hardware, so consequently, our BMW R1100SS (‘Dark Side’) was supplied by the aforementioned Hobson. Panniers packed, contents double wrapped in plastic bags and best waterproofs donned, we departed. The weather was warm, dry and cloudy, but bright. We had plenty of time and we enjoyed the scenery on the cross-country run to Chipping Norton which was unusually quiet, giving me time to be distracted by the eclectic architecture. We ambled through the Cotswolds and, once around Gloucester, found the A48 which runs on the west side of the River Severn. It proved unexpectedly pleasant as it twisted and undulated, providing occasional views of the river. Past Chepstow, the A48 seemed to disappear so we took the M4. I made a mental note to try and avoid the M4 on the way home… At Wenvoe our stop was at the Premier Inn although, due to the concealed entrance and inconspicuous signage, we missed it first time. Turning back, we found ourselves in commuter traffic that was barely moving – negotiating that, two up on a fully loaded bike going uphill, was not the fun I’d been anticipating, so it was good to finally arrive at the hotel and see the glorious sight of two red, nickel and gold V1000s – one belonging to Dave and Ellie, and the other to Kevin Buck. After about 150 miles of mostly green, pleasant and reasonably quiet A and B roads, it was the perfect time for a beer. At the time, a Covid-19 restriction limited groups to a maximum of eight in Wales which meant that, with late arrivals, we were unable to sit together. Jan and I ate our meal in a separate room from the others but we were able to join them for socially distanced drinks after other diners had gone; a most convivial end to the day.
Merv’s mystery tour
Breakfast started well, with full English (or should that be a full Welsh?) – bacon, black pudding, sausages, fried egg, beans, hash browns and tomatoes, followed by toast and marmalade, all washed down with orange juice and two cups of tea. After that, I needed a ‘leak’, so I guess it must have been a full Welsh breakfast after all! Out in the car park it was dry, the sky blue and the clouds few. With everyone having arrived, we had our full complement of bikes and riders; our BMW, two Triumphs (Keith and Elaine’s white Triumph Tiger 1200 and Richard and Pauline’s Tiger 900) and three Hesketh V1000s, Merv and Linda having turned up later on the previous evening. Merv was going to be our guide on a keenly anticipated mystery tour. When riding in convoy, keeping together can become difficult very quickly. It only takes one or two illtimed traffic lights or roundabouts for a continuous chain of bikes to soon become broken, even with a small number of bits, but Merv just confidently said, “Follow me” and so we did. Off we set, with Merv and Lynda leading on their V1000, closely followed by the other Heskeths, then two Triumphs, and Jan and I on the Dark Side BMW as tail-end charlie. We cleared the outskirts of Cardiff. Dark Side was thoroughly warm and we all kept together without trouble, heading west on the B4265 towards Bridgend. The B4265 is a single carriageway, mostly hedge lined, and flows nicely with only a few villages and small towns to navigate. This was idyllic but doubts hovered when we turned onto the M4. I am no fan of motorway motorcycling and will avoid it when possible. However, on a day like this, with summer skies, dry roads and light traffic, even the M4 was pleasant. As we followed the V1000s, I was surprised by the pleasant and characterful exhaust note they have at motorway speeds. The sound reminded me of a late-1970s Honda CB250 under hard acceleration but at a lower register. We left the M4 at the Portal Talbot junction and took the A4107 towards Bryn. I had no clue to where Merv was taking us but I didn’t care – I was enjoying the ride! The hills were definitely getting higher, the bends a bit tighter, and the hedgerows began to be replaced by trees which shaded the road for sections at a time. It was now I discovered that my photochromatic sunglasses were a little slow at reacting to the frequent changes in light intensity. I went through a phase where the glass seemed to be 180 degrees out of phase with the conditions, almost transparent in the sun and dark in the shade. I guess I could have slowed down a bit, but where’s the fun in that? The traffic was still light and the road continued to sweep left and right with a few blind bends. I kept an eye open for the 'cameru cyflymders' (speed cameras). At the turn to Glyncorrwg was our first hair-pin bend, dropping steeply to the left. Shortly after the decent from the hairpin, Merv turned left onto a narrow single-track road which then opened up to reveal a disused railway station and our first coffee stop.
Ghosts at the station
The locals were friendly, the coffee good and there was a chance to inspect the local plumbing... how timely! To the left of the station a notice read: ‘PASSENGERS ARE REQUESTED TO CROSS THE LINE BY THE BRIDGE.’ Neither the bridge nor the railway lines are there now but ghosts of the past .A green Great Western Railway (GWR) engine quietly hissing steam as passengers alighted, slamming carriage doors, could be readily conjured. If, like me, you are a baby boomer whose father was a GWR engine driver, it was all too easy to imagine! How many of you have had bacon and eggs cooked on a fireman’s shovel heated in a steam engine fire box? But that’s another story. Spirits were high as we set off on the next phase of our journey: the mountains. Once we cleared Treorchy, we almost had exclusive use of the road! The conditions were close to perfect, the road was dry and in good condition (do they pay more road tax in Wales?), no sign of rain and the temperature ideal. A clear indication of mountain roads are bends and drops protected with steel Armco barriers. Another clue you’re in Wales is ‘ARAF’ (SLOW) written on the road when approaching bends. But as we descended to a roundabout with a small town beyond, I subconsciously I switched into ‘town mode.’ Imagine my surprise and delight as Merv led us around the roundabout and we headed back the way we had come, returning to the twisty bits! All too soon we were back in Treorchy. Merv turned the V1000 into a side road, and Lynda and Merv hopped off and started rolling wooden barrels across the adjacent hotel forecourt. This, it turned out, was our lunchtime stop. Hotel staff appeared and soon an exclusive parking space for the Hesketh Owner Club was created!
Pigging out on tapas
After my full Welsh breakfast I didn’t need to eat for another week or two, but it was only polite to go with the flow. Consequently, when the words ‘tapas’ and ‘pulled pork’ appeared on the menu, I thought, what harm will a small snack do? When my tapas appeared, it was the size of a large pizza and must have had close to half a pig on it. At this point I considered asking for a doggy bag, or perhaps a dinosaur bag would have been more appropriate. All this ran through my head before I’d taken a bite but it’s strange how the taste of good food can change your view. One minute I’m trying to avoid terminal gastric overload, the next, I have my fork poised to fend off any intruders. The pork was delicious! Dear reader, I’m not proud of this but I somehow managed to demolish the whole thing. Well and truly refuelled, we said our thanks, donned our helmets and made our way to the bike park. I waddled out, unprepared for the group photo; you can see I couldn’t close my jacket! I struggled to haul myself back onto Dark Side, and Merv led us off in the direction of Barry Island. The route was convoluted, weaving through villages scattered along the south coast, one minute next to the sea and the next on green village byways. A quick loop through a beach car park found us approaching a very tyre-unfriendly exit barrier, the type that pops out of the ground at an angle of 45 degrees and simply folds flat when hit by a wheel in the low to high direction, or lowers itself when a valid ticket is inserted in the machine. We were approaching this steel obstacle from the high to low side… I had the luxury of watching Merv negotiate this formidable obstacle from a few bike lengths back. My thoughts were something like this: “I haven’t got a ticket and I’m pretty sure Merv hasn’t either. Perhaps he’s going to wheelie over the barrier! Can I wheelie Dark Side? That would get the front over but can I bunny hop the back wheel over? Perhaps Jan should get off first…” In my head I could picture Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, jumping a motorcycle over barbed wire at the Swiss border pursued by motorcycling Nazi troops. This situation was similar, except there was no barbed wire, no Nazi troops, no Swiss border and no Steve McQueen. Just as I was about to stop and ask Jan to step off, Merv simply swerved to the right of the ticket machine and rode out on the barrier-free entrance road! The sight of Merv’s manoeuvre was a relief, a simple solution. Unfortunately, his solution did not disperse my adrenalin. If we had encountered any Nazi troops or Swiss borders on the way back, I would be flying Dark Side over the nearest hedge – with Jan’s permission, of course!
Ice cream fights back!
Further on the road to Barry we passed a surprisingly modernlooking coal fuelled power station that had recently closed due to the current green power initiative. Then we descended to Whitmore Bay and Barry Island Pleasure Park, close to the home of the sitcom Gavin & Stacey. We parked next to the pleasure beach and took a stroll to take in the view across the bay. The coast of Somerset, including the Hinkley Point nuclear power stations could be clearly seen on the horizon. We had witnessed the past and the future of electricity generation, how poignant. Time for an ice cream! The nearest ice cream emporium was decorated with lifesize images of Gavin, Stacey, and another character from the show, Nessa Jenkins. Just as I was going to ask “What’s occurring?” to our socially distanced group, the cone that Jan had rewarded me with for not falling off in the mountains or pulling wheelies in the car park (habits I really am trying to break) exploded! Thanks to my cat-like reactions, I caught the ball of ice cream arcing rapidly towards my feet, despite my hand being slippery with sanitiser. I held my hand aloft with a cry of “Howzzz that?”, a reflex from my cricketing days. My smugness was short-lived, as Mister Whippy’s finest trickled down the inside of my jacket sleeve, making an irresistible path along my arm for the local wasps. The final leg of Merv’s Mystery Tour saw us claim the hill on which Barry is built, and then it was back to the hotel and an evening meal, a drink or two and some good company... who could ask for more? Merv’s mystery tour had been delightful mix of town and country, mountain highs and seashore lows, twisty bits, sweepy bits, cruisey bits, and well-timed stops. What a triumph! Or should that be two Triumphs, a BMW and three Heskeths? All in all, it was a fine end to a fine day and the sort of adventure that all of us have sorely missed for so long. After another good breakfast on Sunday morning it was time for the Best Hesketh competition. All three contenders were lined up and looking handsome in the car park. Richard managed to persuade a passing fellow motorcyclist to be the judge. A roll of drums … and congratulations go to Merv for a well-deserved win! After all that excitement, Jan and I said our goodbyes and set off for the return journey, reflecting on a weekend of firsts: our first time to Wales without rain, my first exploding ice cream, and my first annual rally with the HOC. What improvements would I make? I would repeat the whole experience riding our V1000 and hopefully win the best Hesketh award. That would be absolutely perfect!