The first signs of heavy snow around my home brings out in me a sort of adventurism. I must go out and conquer the elements. The colder the better, the deeper the snow the happier I am, the further I have to ride the more excited I become. My friend, Pete, had a '75 Honda CB250G5 modified for trail riding. How? Well, you substitute the rear boot for a Dunlop Trials Universal, add a rack and a huge top box to redistribute the weight backwards. Myself, I had a Suzuki TS185S, which was quite a usable trail bike in its day.
We set off on a bright January day at around 8am, into the Welsh hills. Initially the roads were dry and then became wet, thanks to the sun melting the previous day’s snow. In Llangollen we warmed up a bit and rechecked our route on the maps. We were to climb over the Berwyns to Llanarmon Dyffyn Ceiriog and follow the route of the Wayfairer to Cynwyd, then follow the A1 back to Llangollen and home.
Up through the town, left then right, past the sign that said "unsuitable for motors," which we interpreted to mean very suitable for some fun. Climbing up this track was like running along a dried up river bed, although once upon a time it had actually been an old drovers road. The surface was loose pebbles of various sizes, covered in snow.
At the same time as the road suddenly steepened, the track became covered by trees and was free of snow. The sudden lack of light and change in road surface nearly had me off and I could only applaud the sheer balls out lunacy that allowed Pete to whack open the G5’s throttle and fishtail up the incline. With a Bridgestone front to complement the trials rear tyre, the G5 steered like a supermarket trolley with half seized rollers.
We emerged from the tree cover onto a farm track, suddenly in six inches of soft snow, both fighting for grip as there was still a bit of a gradient. Past a farm, the track became deeply rutted from the farmer’s tractor, where we rode over slippery, deeply compacted snow, our feet trailing along on the ground to give us some stability. This doubtless meant we looked pretty silly, but when we fell off, we were able to do so with our legs well clear of the bike - and we fell off very often, which was all part of the fun.
We eventually crossed over the top of the Berwyn hills, went down towards the valley through which the river Ceiriog cut, where the track down towards the village of Pontfadog became really incredibly steep. The thick layer of virgin soft snow with no tyre tracks at all meant there was no way we could stop in a conventional manner. Before my speed increased to truly insane proportions, I laid the Suzi down and slid clear into a soft but cold landing in the snow. I then helped Pete slow down by grabbing hold of his rack as he sped past, and digging my heels into the ground. This was repeated several times until we reached level ground.
In Pontfadog we joined the B4500 which is a really great biking road, a good smooth surface with every kind of bend and very few straights. My Suzuki was fairly standard except for the gearing that had been altered to give a low top speed of 65mph, but this was sufficient to allow me to enjoy the road, Pete only overtaking me on the odd bit of straight. It was now one oclock, lots of time wasted warming our right hand and stamping our feet. We'd kept our left hands warm by clamping it on the cylinder heads (don’t try this if your gloves are plastic) as we sped along. As darkness didn’t fall until 4.30pm we had no worries because we'd be on the B4401 on the other side of the Berwyns in the Vale of the Dee well before then. That’s what we thought.
At Llanarmon DC we stopped at the pub for home-made soup and crusty bread in front of the log fire. Out of Llanarmon, we turned right onto an unclassified road, virtually impassable to four wheel traffic. The road is ten miles long, the first 2 and last 3 miles surfaced and the rest dirt track often washed away by a nearby river my favourite bit of trail.
The first part was relatively flat and free of snow, even the sun was shining dimly. When the road surface changed to dirt track, it also became a steep hill with high banks on either side. This part of the road was often turned into a river but what we saw exceeded our greatest fears - from one bank to the other a solid sheet of ice stretched for two to three hundred yards! We parked the bikes and with great difficulty walked to the top, beyond which the track appeared clear, so we decided to give it a try.
I tried first by taking a run at it, and did quite well by getting to the half-way mark, laying the bike down and slowly sliding back a few feet before coming to a halt. We slid the bike over to the side of the road where there was a ditch that allowed me to ride, with Pete pushing, to the top of the hill. Pete got a face full of frozen mud for his pains.
The Honda is much wider than the Suzuki and it wouldn’t fit in the ditch. We thought a run at it would help, but also got some branches from a hedge. Pete set off at quite a speed, much faster than I'd been going and just nailed the throttle as he hit the ice. The back wheel spun and fishtailed, the bike reached a height similar to my own, where I was waiting to grab hold of the Honda.
Pete reckoned that if the bike was at an angle with the wheels touching the right bank there might be enough traction. With branches under the rear wheel and both of us pushing, we somehow slowly moved it about six inches at a time. It was very tiring moving a bike at 45 degrees whilst trying desperately to find some grip underfoot. We kept slipping and dropping the Honda, but as we neared the top we seemed to get the knack and eventually breached the summit. This took about an hour and it was now 2.30pm, but I reckoned we had at least two hours of daylight, which was plenty of time... who says you can't trail ride in the dark?
Snow drifts were more evident as we came out into more open country, but only one caused a problem to Pete on the Honda, and with a push from me he got through. The lighter Suzuki didn’t sink so deep in the drifts and its narrowness and higher ground clearance meant it was much easier to ride. Pete was doing really well keeping up with me, as I was travelling as fast as possible to make up for lost time.
I had to keep looking behind to check on Pete (no mirrors), all was fine for two miles until I saw that he was falling behind. I had to stop to let him catch up - his engine sounded a bit sick as if it was only running on one pot. He reckoned it would clear soon, so I followed after him, ready to get off to push the Honda up the last uphill section we could see about half a mile away.
Where a stream crossed the track, immersing the Honda in 12 inches of water, the motor cut out and he only just had enough momentum to clear the water. The engine refused to restart and, naturally, we hadn’t come prepared for a major breakdown. The problem appeared to be the solid snow packed coils under the tank, thrown up by the front wheel. After clearing it away there was no improvement; we decided to leave it there, returning the next day with WD40, new plugs and a proper selection of tools.
I got on the Suzuki and kicked and kicked and kicked... now it was my turn. We tried for a while but it just wouldn't start. We decided to find a phone to contact a friend who had a car - the phone box was three miles back. We hurried along the track because we didn’t want to become lost as darkness descended. You could feel the landscape change as the sun closed down and everything began to freeze up. We tried running but our footwear was useless for that kind of fun, so we ended up walking as fast as possible.
Pete had been complaining about a wet right foot when he slipped for the umpteenth time on his smooth soled boots - he split the boot down the inside seam from toe to heel. We eventually reached the phone box, frozen through and praying that vandals hadn't wrecked one’s of British Telecom’s flimsy phones. They hadn’t and we arranged to meet our friend in the pub in Llanarmon DC.
Pete's foot was thawed out and his sock had dried by the log fire, by the time our mate and some friends arrived in the Land Rover. Over plenty of drinks we took our time relating our story and he exclaimed that his Land Rover could get up anything the Honda could manage. It was decided to try to rescue the two bikes!
The Land Rover didn’t make it up the hill, it ended up wedged between the two banks. We all had to get out and push it clear. No way it was going to make it, so we started to walk to the bikes armed with that modern miracle, WD40. Pete went all quiet as his foot froze again and eventually said he'd return to the Land Rover.
The bikes were still there and once sprayed started straight away. The Honda stopped straight away because the fuse blew but a bit of silver paper soon sorted that. As there were four of us, the most experienced riders took over. I was on the back of the Honda and experienced the craziest ride I've ever had trying to keep up with the complete madman on the Suzi - he fell off six times on the way back, which was the only reason we managed to keep up. Once he had to stop to put out a fire under the seat.
As the Land Rover was a short wheelbase job it was decided to ride home in a convoy in case the bikes played up. Because we had to stop to warm up all the time, the Land Rover driver said he'd go ahead and wait for us at the chippy. Pete kept stopping to get warm, he was shivering and acting strangely, his frozen foot was really beginning to affect him.
When we passed the chippy, which was closed, with no sign of our mates he became even more morose and soon after refused to continue. I’d never seen him like this and it scared me. I persuaded him to get on the back of the Suzuki, and we rode a few more miles to Wrexham where we found a taxi office open (it was now after 2am), where we warmed a while in front of the heater, whilst we waited for a taxi to return.
By the time we got home Pete was well again after some nasty fits of shivering. He says he doesn't remember much of the last part of the ride, and must've been suffering from hypothermia. The bikes were picked up the next day, none the worse for wear, although the Honda’s wiring loom burnt out a few weeks later. Our mates apparently found the chippy closed, went looking for another one and missed us. Pete's wife banned him from trail riding with me...
Bernard M Wright