It is 8 o’clock and there is a dark black cloud hovering to the west of Swansea but heading in this direction, I am determined it is not going to stop me going on my ride. It passes and with great relief by 8.45 the sky has settled down to merely menacing and off I set down to the sea front for the ride to Briton Ferry. The rain starts but I was ready for that and had all my waterproofs on. By the time David Naylor caught up with me as I crossed the bridge over the Neath river I could be truly put in the category of ‘rather wet’. The same could be said for him.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen of a house in the upper reaches of Baglan, Marilyn Cardy checks the sartorial elegance of her husband John.

“Did you comb your hair before you put your helmet on?

“Yes, Marilyn.”

“Good, and have you brushed your teeth?”

“Yes, Marilyn.”

“Show me.”

John gives her a toothy grin. She wishes she hadn’t asked. “Now are you sure you won’t need a banana. You always take one with you.”

“No Marilyn, we’re only going to Porthcawl.”

“Well just don’t let that Bob Evans tempt you into buying candy floss. Now take care and off you go now.”

John gets on his bike, gives a cheery wave and he is soon racing down the hill.

“Ooh, he’s a lovely man,” thinks Marilyn to herself “and to just think that I made him what he is today! Ooh!”

So here we are at MacDonalds, the rain lashing the windows. John and Sheila Henderson are there to pour encouragement over us but they will not be riding. Still a good downpour of encouragement makes a welcome change. We peer out in search of optimism, none is found. But we are here to ride so ride we must, our bikes are mounted and we are ready to go but John White discovers a puncture, he changes the tube but for some reason the tube is faulty so the whole process starts again.

At last the six (6) (joke for the benefit of Alison Cardy - please regard it as a wedding present) of us are off out of Port Talbot in the rain, not only that but the rain is cold. John and Jan consult and decide that it may be more sensible to make the golf range our lunch stop and we agree, this is just beyond Margam. We negotiate gates to enter Margam Park, they are not easy, we ride on along a soggy cycle track, the mud and muck accumulates round the brake blocks so it is a noisy ride. The track is mostly uphill and we are pleased to reach the top and the exit gate. This gate is even more difficult than the first, it just doesn’t open wide enough for my handlebars, I jiggle it this way, I jiggle it that way. It seems impossible.

“Its all to do with kinematics,” says David Naylor “like getting a grand piano up to your bedroom. Angles and openings and things like that.”

With his help I got it through but I was then left wondering why on earth he should want to have a grand piano in his bedroom. Is it still there?

We reach The Range, it is warm and my glasses steam up. I order the complete, all thrown in mega breakfast and a can of cider and while we all wait for the meals to arrive David starts his sales pitch as a wedding planner.

“I hear your daughter’s getting married, John” he said “ I used to arrange quite a lot of those at one time, is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, no really” protests John, a hint of panic in his voice “I leave all that to Marilyn and the girls, I just have to turn up in a suit. It was bad enough having to sort out invitation etiquette last night.” He throws a question out to the rest of us.

“Does anybody know what is the correct form for giving the date on an invitation? Should you show the date as a numeral or write it as text?”

We were all flummoxed of course but we had no time either to show it or to reply because David, like all good salesmen, was off again.

“I had one where I organised a fancy dress race for all the guests between the service and the photographs, it really got the blood circulated. That really went down well.” I couldn’t help noticing that one eyebrow was higher than the other reminiscent of the style of Patrick Moore.

“The thing is,” explained John, triumphantly, “some of the guests will be elderly.”

David was well in his stride by now. “No problem, they can have a tricycle race.”

John went quiet. Unnerved by the silence David went on. “ I did one where the cake was in the shape of a mountain and the bride and groom cut it with a claymore. What about something like that?”

John was stunned. “What about this then. I could sort out all your seating plan so nobody needs to try and work out where they sit. What I’ll do is, I’ll work out the grid references for all the seats and everyone can have a sat-nav system which will take them straight there and, what’s more, they will all be certain to be facing the right way. How about that?”

We could all see that John needed rescuing.

“How did this wedding planning business come to an end then, David?”

“Well I’m an engineer really,” he said “and I was doing alright when heavy denim wedding dresses were in fashion but fashion is fickle and everybody seemed to want frills. I’m not really a frilly type of person, so I had to give it up.”

We were saved by the arrival of the food.

Nature had worked wonders while we were eating and the sun, whilst not actually shining, was certainly exercising its enthusiasm and there were signs of better things. Our destination was Aberafan Beach, which has recently shown promise of a blue lag for cleanliness thanks to a quiet and unassuming member of our small band. I insist that he should be nameless on this occasion as he does tend to get far too much mention anyway.

So, sorry John I’m not saying its you!

We meandered through the back streets of Port Talbot until we found ourselves following the river down to the sea. When we hit the sea front – what a view. The sky was blue and so was the sea, the tops of the breakers were being blown back in the breeze and a streak of sun was reflected in the wet sand. What a contrast to the morning! It just made everything worth while.

We cycled on and admired the sculpture before popping into Remo’s for coffee where we came across the Hendersons again. These people are just everywhere!

Why, they are even mentioned in a Beatles’ song – do you remember? It went something like “The Hendersons will both be there” Something to do with a Mr Kite. Written under the influence of pound, shillings and pence (or LSD to those of you who are post decimalisation!)

Off then for home, we bid goodbye to Jan and then John and have a pleasant pedal back home.

A mixed sort of a day but the lovely weather of the afternoon made the discomfort of the morning all worthwhile.

And we did learn a bit more about David didn’t we!!

Thanks to Jan for leading us. First time – full marks

Happy pedalling

Lew Spokes

For the complete Wednesday and Sunday rides programme click on the link at the top of this page, or if that is too much trouble then click here.

At the start (photo: Martin Brain)		The Range
Working out the grid references		A message here
We're waiting, David		Still waiting David
Are you nearly done		Got to hurry you!
Aberafan beach		The ubiquitous Mr Cardy
Aberafan sculpture		More Aberafan sculpture
And even more!