Mach and cheers
The Scrambler 1100 heads to the muddy Mach 3.5 festival in Wales
“NOT SURE I’D want do a big trip on it…” said the Scrambler’s previous caretaker Steve, as he handed me the keys. But you can’t tell me nothing, can you?
I’ve attached a tailpack to Big Yella, and gave her a rudimentary clean. I’m heading to Wales for Mach 3.5 — the Motorcycle mini-festival held at the home of global touring supremo Nick Sanders. It promises camping, huge rideouts, live music, great food, good people and, best of all, endless local ciders and ale.
Thing is, it’s more than four hours away and with the festival’s big rideout, I’m looking at a 500-mile round trip. So as I set off, I can hear Steve’s words ringing in my ears. But I can also see his smug “told you so” face, so there’s no way I’m going to let any
discomfort get the better of me.
I needn’t have worried. Keeping it at a steady speed and sitting in a halfcrouch minimises windblast, and the Scrambler’s saddle isn’t all that uncomfortable either. The only downside is I can’t check my mirrors without sitting up into head-on, collision-force wind.
I’ve been uncomfortable on bikes before, but this time gritting my teeth and powering through is made all that much more difficult thanks to the camper van that’s been following me since leaving the office. It’s being driven by my girlfriend Kayleigh with my dog Gili keeping the passenger seat warm. Loading the Ducati into the back and finishing the journey with a hot coffee and comfy seat is a tempting prospect. But I won’t do it. Steve isn’t telling me so this time.
Maybe it’s just my “I’ll show you” attitude, but it actually IS getting easier. The M54 mercifully turns into the A5, which finally becomes the A458 and the traffic dissolves, as do the shops and houses, all replaced with vast green hillsides dotted with sheep and the odd farmyard. I love this place, and the
Scrambler seems to like it too. We team up to carve our way through the Welsh valleys and blast past any traffic that gets in our way. A quick twist of the throttle and burrrrrrrrrrrrpppp! Traffic, gone. Incidentally, so is Kayleigh. But she’s got sat nav on her phone — I’m sure she’ll find me…
The roads get narrower and twistier and before long I’m heading up the rocky track leading to the Nick Sanders Expedition Centre — the site of Mach 3.5. By the time I reach the top, I’ve drawn a number of onlookers. You see, Big Yella isn’t exactly discrete, so heads always turn in our direction. I park it up right outside the bar and go seeking out a couple of beers, because I’m surely in for a bollocking after riding off without Kayleigh and hopefully, a beer ought to take the edge off it.
The festival is great. Everybody is super-friendly and the live music is outstanding. But the reason most people attend is the huge rideouts guided by Nick himself. He’s lived in Wales for years and knows all the best roads, so there’s really nobody better to show us the way round. It’s a huge convoy of bikes wafting their way through villages and over the Abergwesyn Pass. Nothing crazy, not too fast, just a relaxed ride out with your mates — all 100 of them.
This is where the Scrambler really comes into its own. On these roads it’s an absolute pleasure to ride. Sticking to either second and third gear and yanking the throttle wide open out of every corner is perfection. I’ve ridden Welsh mountain passes on a number of different styles of bikes, but the Scrambler beats them all, hands down. It’s a genuine shame to have to ride back to the festival after hours of dicking around, but there’s beer to be drunk.
The rain/hangover combination of the next morning calls for tea and a fried breakfast indoors before plucking up the courage to don the waterproofs and embark on the long ride home.