June 24th   -   2006

Left to right.  Kev's VW 1500 - Roy's 1300 Metro  -  Pete the Feet's 1300 Metro - and last, but not least, my 1600 VW

     Kev - 1500 VW                                                         Roy - 1300 Metro                                        Pete  -  1300 Metro                                Bod  -  1600 VW

    The introduction of the new computerised MOT almost claimed my trike as a victim.  The tester said it needed hazard warning lights - I said it didn't.  Following a few telephone calls to the VOSA the matter was resolved, and the trike now has its MOT ticket - without it needing hazard warning flashers.  Now seeing as the TCT had passed its MOT, I thought I may as well hitch up the trailer and give the whole plot an outing, and before I knew it, I was pitching the tent down at Rhayader .  Food soon followed, then a wander around the local pubs, where the locals were once again acoustically assaulted by a banjo wielding manic. 

    The plan today was a gentle ride over to the Bryn Tail lead mine, then on to Llyn Clywedog, before heading for the source of the river Severn.   For some reason, the gentle ride was more akin to a formula one race ( or Wacky Races, as folks have pointed out on more than one occasion ) with the tail-ender having to go a tad quickly to catch up.  Still, if nothing else, it got us to the lead mine a few minutes earlier.

Looking down on the Bryn Tail lead  mine

The Bryn Tail lead mine

    We spent a good while just nosing around the old mine workings and sitting by the river.  All this nosing and sitting helped us work up a thirst - so the next stop was the cafe.  Much tea, coffee and ice cream later and we embarked on a bit of nature watching.

A prickly customer                Hmm  -  a metalic blue moth.........whatever next ?                Some kind of flowery, tree hugging, hippyish, Earth Mother type photograph.

    Next on the agenda was a trip around the lake, with the usual stop halfway to take in the scenery, and anything else that happened to be about. . . . and, as if by magic, some very shifty looking characters were spotted.

"Claude"   -  the Mountain Man    "Firkin Dave"  -  A man who owns rubber maggots    "Kev Corbett"  -  Don't mention the blood covered walking stick    "Pete the Feet"  -  The man with no arse 

                 "Claude"                              "Firkin Dave"                      "Kev Corbett"                            "Pete the Feet"

    By the time we got back to the site, a few more faces had turned up, so this time we hit the town 'mob  handed'.  To protect the innocent, I will not name the person who drank so much that he lost the power of speech, and had to be carried back to his bed at three fifteen in the morning - - - and to top it all, he never even had a hangover the next day.  Had that been myself, I wouldn't have been able to move until about Tuesday evening.    In typical Welsh fashion it was raining on Sunday morning, but at least it wasn't cold, and by the time I covered ten miles or so the rain had vanished and the sun made a valiant attempt at shining.  In fact, it was warm and dry for the rest of the day, so it didn't take long for my tent to dry out once I'd hung it over the washing line at home. . . and so ended another weekend.