CHAPTER 46
PENDINE BOXING DAY RUN
( Photo 1 ) . A plaque mounted on the outside of The Beach Hotel in Pendine celebrating the 5 land speed record attempts.
The Pendine run was an annual bike run that took place every Boxing Day, it was organised and run for many years by the Mid-Glamorgan Motor club.
This is the story of just one run that took place in 1979.
Everyone who intended going, had the instructions previous to Christmas to meet up at ( PAN’S ) Leslie Griffith Motors on Ewenny road, one of the two bike shops at the south end of Bridgend town.
The shop was an ideal meeting spot, everyone knew where it was and it was easy to get to and from any of the outlaying villages.
One of the main organisers of the run was a man called Haydn Rees.
Haydn was the manager and a director of the aforesaid bike shop, he was well known in the local biking community, at all levels of experience from novices to lifetime bikers.
He was not only the manager of the shop, but also head salesman.
We all have had a connection with Haydn over the years, he was better to deal with then Merve the Swerve, the salesman over at TWO WHEELS SERVICES, Haydn’s personnel tax was more reasonable than Merve's.
The Boxing Day run departure time was set at 09:00, I needed to get up early, if I wanted to go on the run and leave at the same time as everyone else, first I would need to ride down to Wick village, before I could go to the bike shop.
I would pass the meeting point at the shop on the way down to Wick as I traveled down from Pontycmmer.
It was a 17 miles ride to Wick and when I finally arrive there, I would pick up Gaenor and then I would double back the 8 miles or so over the same route back to Bridgend.
The plan was to leave the bike shop in a large group, but this never really happened because there was mix of experienced and non-experienced bikers, all using a varied assortment of different types and size of machines.
We may have all left at the same time at 09:00 in Bridgend, but at the village of Pendine there could have been a difference of an hour and a half before the smaller machines finally arrived.
The seaside village of Pendine can be found on the west coast of Wales tucked away from all the industrial busy world outside with just sheep, sand, sea, thick woods and green fields and more sand, a very tranquil part of the world.
Pendine`s beach is normally referred to has Pendine sands and stretches for 7 mile’s /11 k.m`s.
The village sits on the picturesque shores of Carmarthen Bay.
The sands are famous for world land speed record attempts, and in the early 1900s, the beach was also used for the Welsh T.T. motorcycle races, a contemporary motorcycle magazine of the time described Pendine sands as “ the finest natural speedway imaginable “.
The beach was used for the speed racing because the sands had a firm flat surface.
It was ideal for speed attempts before motorways appeared in Britain in 1958, this beach was the longest, straightest and flattest area that could be found anywhere in Britain.
It was also smoother then any other road of the time period with the added advantage of no cattle grids and raised manhole covers, if you’re a biker you’ll know what I’m talking about.
Among the many world and speed record attempts there are two that stand out from all the
( Photo 2 ) . 1924, Malcolm Campbell taking Blue Bird down the slipway onto the beach, The car was powered by a 18.3 liter ( 350 H.P. ) Naiper lion Aero engine.
The cars dry weight was 3 tonnes with only 3 gears and with a possible top speed of 195 M.P.H.
In 1924 Malcolm Campbell achieved a top speed of 174 m.p.h. / 280 k.m. in his 350 h.p., 18.3 liter Sunbeam Manitou car which was called BLUEBIRD and in 1927 a Welshman called J.G. Parry-Thomas managed to achieve the speed of 170 m.p.h. / 270 k.m. in his 27 liter, 450 h.p. car called BABS.
Parry-Thomas record attempt ended in tragedy as the car crashed at 170 m.p.h. and killing the unfortunate driver instantly.
Bab’s, the car was buried deep in the sand at the crash spot on the beach, some years later in 1967, the car was dug out from the beach and fully restored.
( Photo 3 ) . 1927, J.G. Parry-Thomas The car BAB`s was powered by a 27 liter ( 450 H.P. ) liberty Aero engine.
The car was driven by an exposed external chain drive to the rear wheels.
The car was also known as ( Chitty Bang Bang 4 ) and called the Higham special, there were only 4 of these type of cars ever built.
In 1933, the female pilot Amy Johnson used the beach as a runway and flew from Pendine sands in a De Havilland Dragon Rapid ( G - ACER ) “ SEAFARER “ to attempt a non-stop flight to New York in the U.S.A. across the Atlantic Ocean.
Very near to the end of her flight, she ran out of fuel and the aircraft plummeted to earth and crashed just short of the city of New York, she survived the crash, but was badly injured.
( Photo 4 ) . Amy Johnson taking off from Pendine sands, 1933.
( Photo 5 ) . And not forgetting a famous Bridgend biker, Leslie Griffiths, pictured here during the Welsh TT races at Pendine Sands in the 1940s - 50s on his Norton.
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( Photo 6 ) . leslie griffiths, number 11 was his house number on Ewenny Road, which he used whenever possible.
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If you left click and drag the mouse across the web address until it is all blue, just like the copy and paste command by holding the left mouse button down and then right click, a menu will pop up and then click the ( search ) or the ( go to prompt), it will take you directly to the YouTube video.
Or just search for Pendine Beach on YouTube.
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Pathe film of Captain Campbell and Blue Bird At Pendine (1927)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDu43tV-qwo
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pathe film of J.G. Parry-Thomas and Bab`s.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlenXEysfZ0
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pathe film of recovering Bab`s from the Pendine sands
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7v1tyMKy1Ko
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Amy Johnson and her husband after they crashed in America.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gvzilv8tnrQ
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1979
The Pendine Run
It was a cold chilly morning and for once it had stopped raining, the grey clouds still hung around and were very persistence in not going away, and they were always giving the treat of rain.
It may well have been Christmas in Wales, but there was never any danger of waking up in the morning and the outside world being covered in snow, we had more chance of getting snow in August.
The ground was still wet from the rain, that had fallen the previous evening, the day was going to be dull and gray with no chance hint of seeing the sun.
Because it was winter time, the weather could possibly give us four seasons in one day, it was always necessary to wear waterproof gear.
It may have not been raining on this particular morning, but it would not take long before the water spray off the road would soak you to the skin, if you did not have the right wet-proof gear on, so nearly everyone had prepared for the ride by wearing or having their wet weather gear strapped to the bike.
The ride up to Pendine from Bridgend was approximately 66 miles, this may not seem a long way, but quite a lot of the journey would be on ( B ) secondary roads and through twisty country lanes.
When myself and Gaenor arrived at ( PAN’S ) in Bridgend, there were a number of bikes already assembled outside the shop.
I was riding my blue Honda CB 550 which didn’t like the cold damp weather, so as I waited for the others to arrive, I used this opportunity to spray the Coils and H/T leads on my Honda with W.D. 40, hoping this liquid water repellent spray would prevent my engine from miss-firing and only going on to 2 or 3 cylinders on the ride up to Pendine.
09:00 came, and we all left on time, which was a surprise to everyone, because normally there would be stragglers and late comers, which we would normally wait for, before we all left.
I rode along with my friends, Fat Mike, Wobble, Brian, Galen, PJ and some others in one large group.
The roads were extremely quite, with very little traffic, Boxing Day was a public holiday for most people, so people who did not have to work would stay inside away from the cold and damp weather and finish off the remains of their Christmas Turkey.
( Photo 7 ) . Myself and Mike in the car park of The Beach Hotel at Pendine, Mike is using a Cine camera, I have yet to find any film that was taken on that day.
On the way up, we were riding reasonably fast for the weather conditions, the average speed was around 70-80 mph on the open parts of the roads, and then we would drop down to 40-50 mph as we entered the more twisty narrow lanes, which looking back on it all these years later was far to fast for the type of roads and how wet the road surface was.
Country lanes can be very dangerous to ride though for a number of reasons, blind corners, tractors, animals ( mainly sheep ) and other road users coming in the opposite direction taking corners in the middle of the road and in doing so taking all the space up on the road and forcing you into a hedge.
The hedges were so tall and thick in some parts of the lanes, you can only see the road in front of you for a very short distance, its all designed to wipe you out, all of these things could contribute to a disastrous end to your day.
At one point in the lanes we were riding down a bendy hill that with high edges on both sides, at the bottom of the hill, the lane bent sharply to the right and what was around the bend was totally out of our view as we approached it.
What we could not see, just around the bend out of our sight there were two field gates directly opposite each other and from the state of the road a farm tractor had been very busy moving between the fields.
The tractor had been crossing over from one field to another between the gates and it looked as if it had dragged half the field with it on its knobbly tires as it crossed over the road.
There was a thick layer of red mud spread completely over the road from one gate to the other and the spread of the mud was around 8-10 foot wide.
It resembled a river of slushy mud.
( Photo 8 ) . Myself, Mike and Galen, Mike and Galen were singing again.
Fat Mike was the lead bike, and I was directly behind him.
I witnessed him approach the river of dirty red mud and heard him scream, not exactly a girly scream, but one very much like it, he lifted both his legs and stretched them out as high as he could into the air, leveling them with the tank on his orange Honda CB 550.
He rode through the mud river still making a screaming noise.
The mud was very wet and sprayed out in all direction, just like as if he was riding though the water-shoot fairground ride at Coney beach in Porthcawl.
I cut my speed in attempt to slow down, I had no intention of stopping, my idea was to slow down so the mud spray would not be so high as I rode though the slimy mess.
I was on the dirty red carpet of mud in seconds, the bike made a wet squashy sound as it cut through the liquid mud, Gaenor my girlfriend was on my pillion seat, and she made a similar screaming sound just like mike did second’s earlier.
I lifted my legs up copying what mike had just done to avoid the mud spray.
I made a point of not screaming, I understood why mike made the girly noise, I could feel my front wheel skip over the mud, losing traction on the slimy surface.
The bikes behind me, all followed me into the mud stream, they were all trying to do a similar thing as we just did, by slowing down before hitting the mud.
They to, did not want to be sprayed with all the mud and of course nobody wanted to fall off, because it was obvious to everyone that the mud was slippery when wet.
Everyone rode though the stream without any issues, but there was a Chorus of screaming behind me.
A few miles further on, through the lanes, we caught up with a tractor which was towing a large cigar shaped silage tanker very slowly behind it.
( Photo 9 ) . Inside the hotel with Mike and Brian with the Harlow bobble hats on, and myself looking into the camera.
The tractor was slowly trundling along at it’s own pace with not a care in the world, large lumps of mud were falling of the tanker from beneath silage tank and flying in all directions off its wheels, which needed to be avoided.
I remember thinking at the time this ride is turning into a video game like Super Mario, I thought what’s next on the list, being bombarded by seagulls or hay bails rolling through the hedges, or being sprayed by silage must be the next level.
The farmer was in no hurry to go anywhere, he knew we were right behind him, he had passed at lest two pull-over lay-by passing places that were big enough for him and his trailer of hazards.
A group of bikers that were a few miles behind us soon caught up with us and the slow moving vehicle in front.
The farmer passed another three more pull-over lay-by’s, totally ignoring them and us.
He just kept rolling on.
We followed the tractor for another ten minutes or so, it was impossible for us to pass, the lanes were far to narrow and the trailer took up most of the space on the road.
It was one of the longest twenty minutes I have ever experienced, it felt much longer, we were travelling so slow, I felt I could have dismounted the bike and run alongside the tractor on foot.
So having no option, we all stayed behind the tractor and trailer, it must have looked to any passerby like a lot of ducklings following a mother duck.
And then suddenly the tractor slowed down, if that was possible and started to manoeuvre into an open gateway leading into a muddy field.
There was no brake lights and no indicators.
The farmer didn’t give a shit about who was behind him, he was going about his day at his own pace, and he was not rushing for anyone.
As we passed the tractor and trailer, Mike sounded his horn and shouted as loud as he could “ Merry Fucking Christmas, you Prick “.
( Photo 10 ) . Some of the guys in the car park outside the hotel, we had just arrived, and were stripping off our wet weather gear.
P.j. with the yellow council leggings which were one of the best waterproof garments anyone could obtain and usually they were free off friends who worked for the local council.
Galen smoking a cigarette, trying to look cool, Wobble leaning over his CB 400/4 and Brian giving me the V sign with his fingers.
We then carried on without any hold-ups, we arrived at the Beach hotel in good time despite the hold up with the tractor.
There were bikes already parked up out the front of the hotel, they must have missed the tractor.
We lined the bikes up under a sign that declared that there was no parking in that area.
We all stripped off our mud covered waterproofs and packed them away on the bikes in the panniers or simply held them down over the seat with bungee straps to keep the seats dry.
The bikes were very dirty covered in red mud and rock salt, there was no point in cleaning them down as they would have a second coat on the way back home.
Once everyone was ready we headed into the pub for a pint and waited for the arrival of the stragglers.
There is not a lot to do on Boxing Day in Pendine, everything except for the hotel was closed.
Pendine is a small place with only a population of 351 according to the ( 2011 Census ).
Pendine translated into English from the Welsh means ( End of the Dunes ) and to be honest, except for the village being a very beautiful and quite place to live, the only thing it has got going for it, is the seven-mile beach.
While we were in the hotel bar some of us decided not to waste the chance of taking a ride on the beach.
There was a concrete slipway that lead down to the beach alongside the hotel.
It did have a round steel tube`d barrier across the full length of the slip way, just like a check point between east and West Germany when there was a Berlin Wall.
The barrier arm was not locked down, so up it went and the beach was open to us.
As luck had it the tide was way out and a great expanse of beach Was waiting for us to ride on, and we had it all to ourselves.
We had no danger of being cut off by the incoming tide or being swamped by waves.
I asked everybody and everyone in the hotel if they wanted to go for a spin on the beach.
Fat Mike was to busy drinking and chatting to everyone, he was well settled in the lounge bar just like many of the others, none of them wanted to play on the sand.
I could not find Wobble or PJ, they were there somewhere, but I failed to find them.
Galen refused point blankly, stating that he did not want to ruin his drive chain with all the sand particles that would find their way into links and rollers on the drive chain and shorting it’s working life, he did not want to buy a new chain just yet, my answer was “ did it matter with all the rock salt that the council spread on the roads “, the councils spread the rock salt during the winter months to make black ice melt.
Galen replied “ that’s different, the council are ruining my chain, not me “.
Galen was one of the very few people that I knew that would clean his bikes on a regular basis.
I just used my bikes until something needed attention or fell off and then I would fix it, but I always serviced my bikes on a regular basis, but I never cleaned them very often.
To be honest regarding my Z 1000, I bought the Kwaka in 1986 and then did not stop riding the bike until the late 90s and in between the 15 to 20 years that I rode the bike, I can only remember cleaning it once with a steam cleaner and I only did that because it was offered to me free of charge because I was on a jolly for Dai Moberllery.
I would ride many different bikes to a small unit nearby where the old Bridgend Athletic football ground was and then clean the bikes down with the steam cleaner that the guy in the unit rented out.
The bikes were cleaned to make them all sparkly and clean after the mechanic had P.D.I`d. the bikes ready to put into Two Wheel Services showroom, and as far as I can remember that was the only time I ever cleaned my Z 1000 to that degree of shiny.
So myself and Gaenor as pillion headed down the concrete slip-way followed by Brian on his Honda CB 900 and Andy Parrot riding his Yamaha RD 400, everyone else stayed at the Bar.
( Photo 11 ) . Andy Parrot, riding back up the slip-way to the hotel after he had ridden on the beach on his RD 400.
The sand felt hard and firm under the bike, it was like riding on tarmac, the bike did not sink into the wet sand which I was surprised about.
I could see no rubbish washed up onto the sand, it was the cleanest beach I had ever seen and as flat as the eye could see.
It was obvious to see why the beach was chosen for BAB`s and Blue Birds speed attempts, it was perfect for racing and the high speed runs they were hoping to achieve.
The beach stretched out in front of us for miles, I didn't bother wearing my helmet at the time I did not know how firm the sand was, if I had come off the bike it would have been like hitting concrete.
I rode for around half a mile at around 40 – 50 mph, just to get the feel for the sand and then when I was happy with the sand beneath my wheels, I accelerated slowly increasing my speed as I eat the beach up until I hit the 90 m.p.h. mark, at this speed I could feel my front wheel shipping on the sand and with that I immediately throttled off and kept the throttle shut and let the Honda coast down to 50 mph and just enjoy the ride with the wind in my hair and the cold sea breeze against my face, I closed my eyes for quite a distance and rode like this not attempting to open them again, I kept them shut tight and then after quite a while I took both hands of the handle bars and stretched them over my head, still with my eyes closed and then I had a punch in the ribs off Gaenor, Gaenor did not know I had my eyes closed.
I don’t know what her issue was, we had nothing to avoid in front of us, when I opened my eyes again, I still had an expanse of sand in front of me with nothing but open space.
( Photo 12 ) . Me on my Honda CB 550 on the beach below the hotel after we came back from the ride on the beach, Gaenor combing her hair after it was blown everywhere on the ride.
I kept the speed down, my bike was not set up for speed runs, so I left that to the Professionals.
We rode for a few more miles alone on the beach and then gave myself a wide arch to turn the bike around, not wanting to bank over on the sand. Once I conducted this simple manoeuvre we headed back down to the beach the same way I came up and towards the hotel where all the other guys were.
As I approached the hotel, I could see a number of wide tire circles in the sand, where Brian and Andy had been riding around each other and there were a number little dips in the sand where they must have turned the power on and the rear tire had dug down into the sand.
This was only a short ride, the weather was still cold and the air damp with moisture, We had some fun riding around on the beach over the same ground that BAB`s and Blue Bird raced on and not to forget Amy Johnson.
( Well technically not the same ground, the sand moves with every new tide, but you get what I mean ).
We all left the beach together and parked the bikes back up in front of the hotel and then went in the hotel to warm up and have another pint and a free class of mulled wine.
( Photo 13 ) . Brian just arriving back from his run on the beach, the photo is a good example of the size of the beach.
Everyone stayed in the bar at the hotel for a while, people had a chat and caught up with things with each other and had a few drinks and then it was back on the road again with the intention of getting home before dark and before the temperature dropped down to low.
At this time of the year it was dark by 16:30 ( 4:00 ) and the roads were bad enough to ride on in the daylight, so it was time to head back home.
There was no mass exodus like it was when we left Bridgend, riders left Pendine when they were ready to leave, the number of bikers at the hotel would slowly decrease as the day wore on.
Fat Mike and some others left earlier than Myself and Gaenor, we stayed for a bit and then Gaenor wanted to go, so I didn’t wait for anyone else to leave and left without my fellow bikers.
I would see everyone over the new year in any case, there was always a party planned to see the New-Year in.
On the way back home, there was a roadside café on the left side of the road set back a little off the road.
It was still open and there were a number of bikes parked up outside, one of the bikes was Mikes Orange Honda CB 550.
So I stopped at the café and parked the 550 up and we both went into the café, as soon as I entered and walked though the door the girl behind the counter announced that the kitchen was closed, and they had stopped serving for the day.
I answered “ ok thanks, we are not stopping “ I kept walking towards where Mike was sitting by the window that overlooked the road, he was sitting with some other bikes that had ridden down from Pendine, I stood by him not saying a word and reached over and nicked one of his sausages of his plate of sausage, egg and chips and then turned and very quickly made a dash for the door.
He was not happy
He really was not happy and tried to stab my hand with his fork, he knew I was going to try something of that nature, but I was too quick and made my get away out of the café.
( Photo 14 ) . Mike, pretending he can't see me.
I laughed as I left the café, mike was busy eating when I did this snatch and his mouth was full of sausage and chips, he shouted “ fuck off, frog “.
I shouted back “ didn’t your mother bring you up not to talk with your mouth full “.
I was still laughing as I waved the sausage at him though the window when I got outside, I held it up high over my head and pulled my scarf down from over my face and shouted “ sharing is caring “ and then took a large bite of the sausage and finished it off in two bites, mike gave me the finger while he continued eating his meal.
I climbed back onto the bike, Gaenor did not have a clue of what had just happened, I seen Mike later on at the new year party, he told me he knew I was going to nick his food, but I was to quick for him, everything was calm in the world once again, winding each other up was always part of the fun.
So we hit the road again and a few miles further down the road towards Bridgend, I could see a lone bike in the distance, we were now out of the twisty lanes and had an open road in front of me, I opened the bike up to close the gap between me and the dot in the distance.
I managed to get the gap down to less than a quarter of a mile from the bike ahead of me, but that is where it stopped, I could not gain another yard on the bike he was pacing me, I could see that he was laying on his tank to get more speed out of the bike by cutting the wind resistance down, there was no way I could get any closer to him.
I’m guessing that the rider may have seen me behind him in his mirror and turned the juice on and was matching my speed, even though the bike was at a distance from me, I recognised the bike and the rider.
The bike was a smaller bike then my CB 550, it was a Honda CB 400/4, I also knew the rider, he was Geraint Rees the son of Haydn Rees one of the organisers of the run.
I just could not make any more ground up on him, I was 2 up on the bike ( carrying a passenger ) and we had all our waterproof gear on, which is not very aerodynamic, well that’s my excuse any way.
Tragically a few years later Geraint was killed in a bike accident at LLandow race track on a Honda CB 500 that I sold to him.
It was not Geraint’s fault that the accident happened, but the stupidity of another rider who was not paying attention on another part of the same track.
But getting back to the Pendine run, it was cold and wet, but it was always worth getting up early for, we had some fun on the beach, and had a few pints with friends and a few laughs, it was always good to have a ride out into the countryside, and a stolen sausage is better then one you paid for.
( Photo 15 ) . Inside the Beach Hotel with Dai Mobberlery, Angus, Myself and with Galen posing for the camera once again.
( Photo 16 ) . Galen looking as if he is about to use some W.D.40 on Dylan, Dylan went everywhere with us, if you look closely you will see the top of my head between Dylan and Galen, I was most likely having engine misfires again.
( Photo 17 ) . Pendine Sands.