111. 30.04.2012 Man on the Edge

111. 30.04.2012 Man on the Edge

John is always telling me that I’m pushing him closer to the edge. To be brutally frank I’ve no idea what he’s on about.  But it’s mutual. There is only so much plucking of hairs from ears that a person can take.
After combing through the small print on the insurance policy, I thought a trip out to the Horseshoe pass was on the cards and some shots for the picture of the day of him dicing on the  rim of the  chasm (innuendo not intended) The sort of picture that could be framed in a tasteless gold frame above an  urn on a mantelpiece, perhaps with a string of alternating fairy lights for ambiance with some personal nick-nacks like his Vicks nasal stick (which to my knowledge he’s had for the last 7 years) or the congealed bottle of  Compound W or his favourite   callus file, or his   electric jumper-bobble remover – personal and sentimental items.

Anyhow, the spoil sport was sulking and wouldn’t pose and spent half an hour stamping up and down the lay-by whilst I skipped up  llantysilio mountain with the agility of a Great Orme goat.  (it’s the new fitness regime you see)

The pass is oddly enough horseshoe shaped but in  Welsh it  translates as Pass of the Cold Stream (Bwlch yr Oernant) -  think of it like having a wee in the Irish sea  but with the stream being cold and not warm.

The pass was built in 1811 and was originally part of the turnpike road.  It’s often closed in winter due to snow and landslips or bikers protesting about the price of fuel.

The bikers love the thrill of  speeding  up and down it two or three abreast  on the wrong side of the road, maybe because the white line in the middle of the road doesn’t actually apply to them, I don’t know.  They  don’t seem to be put off by the many bunches of roadside flowers along its length. Years ago I used to pillion ride a friend with a motor bike (no inuendo intended) and to be brutally frank, I got through more pairs of underpants than I care to think about.

There’s a cafe at the top – The  Ponderosa which is where all the leather clad bikers head to to have a bacon butty and a cup of tea in a polystyrene cup standing around in groups pointing at each other’s bikes. To the untrained eye one bike looks very much like another to me, unlesss there’s a peg with a bit of cardboard stuck to the mudguard or those  coloured beads in the spokes that make a noise when they ride past.   
The Ponderosa, just like every tourist hot spot in Wales sells just about every item of tat that you could find in just about every other tourist shop in every part of  Wales. The tat that Welsh people don’t actually buy  – fridge magnets with dragons on them, pencils with dragons on them, notepads with dragons on them,  dragons with dragons on them and dragons with dragons with little dragons on them  as well as the much sought after Welsh lady ass. fudge. Oh and the very flimsy traditional Welsh cookery books filled with classics such as Welsh rarebit, Welsh cakes and Bara Brith and ermm other traditional Welsh fare like that.