Race-the-sun write-up Part 9 - Trecastell, Llandovery

Blink and you'll miss it on the A40 in the Brecon Beacons

Trecastell is a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of town, but it will have a special place in the heart of many an ex-pongo. It was the last outpost of civilization before turning right onto a track up into the Brecon Beacons for two weeks of mud and rain, learning how to fight a mythical enemy who had exactly the same weapons as us and attacked over temperate moorland. (So that's why we won in the Falklands!)

But Trecastell has come on a bit since I was last here. I noticed a cafe offering WiFi. And there is this street, which is no doubt where they connect to the Llan.

Llandovery gets its share of visitors, what with its wee castle and cattle market and craft shops, but I thought I'd mention this by way of a public service: the car park is overseen by the ghost of Glendower, seen here in shiny stainless steel robes. (The shiny stainless steel robes is all you see; the rest is ghostly empty space; very effective.) Improperly parked cars will be lanced.

While in Llandovery, I spotted the West End Cafe, which I had noticed on Google Streetview some while back. This seems to be a popular stop for the many visiting motorcyclists drawn to the area by the gloriously scenic roads. I thought I'd call in for a cuppa and possibly a chat. But when I arrived and did my usual cheery greeting, the three chaps out the front totally blanked me. They could've been Welsh, of course, but I think the problem was that they were what my brother-in-law, Chris, astutely identified as MAMILs (middle aged men in leathers). They ride sporty bikes very fast. Typical conversation might be 'I red lined on the B1586 and totally smoked a bloke in a 911.' I am a MAMID (...Dacron). Mamids ride ponderous touring bikes frugally. Typical conversation might be 'Oo! Look! Pwitty! Let's stop and take some pictures.' When I turned up, they looked at the bike, the Dacron, and especially the collar and tie (see previous entry, http://bigrideforcancerresearch.blogspot.co.uk/2011_08_01_archive.html, under 'Togs'), and could make neither head nor tail of me. There are many breeds on two wheels, just as there are many on two legs. Just as you wouldn't expect a baboon to have the time of day for a booby, there is no automatic affiliation between the leather blokes and the Dacron blokes, the Harley cruiser and the scooter buzzer, or the off-road puddle-duck and the chrome-polishing classic owner.