“Let’s go for a ride to Bala”, I confidently decried at the last Manhoc meeting. This was well received and on Sunday morning, we had 8 bikers and one pillion all ready and raring to go. The sun was shining, it wasn’t too cold for a November morning and so off we went.

I was leading on Phils Fireblade – a mistake for two reasons as will become apparent. I shot away from Poplar 2000 services and left the normal trail of “buddies” as I crossed roundabouts and traffic lights. However, by the time I got to the A49/M6 junction, I was down to my last one. So, I stopped and waited. And waited. And waited. With no radio back to Derek (Tail Ender), I had no idea what was going on [First mistake – never be a leader without some method of finding out what’s happening behind you]. Eventually I turned around and headed back, picking up Pete on the way. As I got to the traffic lights, the rest of the gang were just arriving. “LAY BY” I shouted and we all met up once I’d done another U-turn in the middle of the road.

The big problem had been right back at the start – Alan’s Tiger 955 had failed to start, even with some judicious bump starting from Derek. So, he’d stayed behind and Derek had set off to collect the stragglers. So, we did all reconvene ready to set off. By this time, my neck and arms were aching badly [Second mistake – I don’t “fit” a Fireblade], so I swapped back to my trusty FJR – complete with radio communications.

The next part of the journey was very pleasant and we swung down the A49 and across to the A51 enjoying the freedom that biking gives you. As we got into Wales the sun went in and it started to cloud over – which made the view through my dark visor a little muddy. But we carried on successfully until my sat nav advised me to turn right onto a B road. Well, I wouldn’t have called it a B road – more of a goat track. But we soldiered on through puddles, farmers debris and potholed tarmac for the next 6 miles but which time we were all a little tired and hungry (at least, I was – the FJR is not a small bike). Once we reached a semblance of civilisation, I found a pub which advertised food and we all pulled in. We were still about 15 miles from Bala, but enough is enough.

Derek took some pictures of our mucky bikes before we all stormed in demanding food and warm refreshments. The pub was warm and friendly and the food was excellent. My roast beef dinner was one of the best I have had for ages. Banter ensued – most of it directed at me and my route (which I deserved) and we made the decision to head back home rather than trying to find Bala (save that for another day). So, I plotted a quick route back via Chester and we headed off again once we'd started Phils bike. Yes, another flat battery - this time because he'd left the heated grips on. Starting a bike with a slipper clutch is no joke (so I'm told - I just watched).

This time, we stuck to proper A and B roads and we were soon “in the groove” and making progress (a police euphemism for going fast where it is safe to do so). We got round Chester onto the dual carriageway and, apart from stopping for petrol (including a false stop when it turned out the petrol station was under repair), we made good time back towards Manchester. Bob, Derek and Geoff headed off home and the other four of us (Phil, Wobbly Bob, Pete and me) headed for a pub for another brew.

Then, back up the motorway in the dark to home and a welcoming bath – once I’d hosed my bike down.

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