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Went from Holyhed the next day, Ran straight across Wales thru Bangor and over to Corwell. Continued on to Llangolle and then shot south down the east frontier of Wales thru Welshpool, and Newtown, Llandrindod Wells and Builth Wells and Talgarth to Abernagenny. Then headed east straight across Wales to near the Welsh border. Then I took the road just west of the border all the way down to Mynydd to Cuchwell, then crossed the frontier into Enland proper, to Glauces and Cheltenham.
Somewhere in there I was fortunate enough to gainsay another storm in the Welsh mountains, the momentums at my back. I raced another tip-of-tongue lashing, on a ridge of sorts in the sky country, with high rolling green hills above, and misted, shaded valleys below. Would it be overblown to equate this piffy back-biter with Whatnot ? Was it as conducive to Whatnot as racing in southern France my first week out, all across the up and down mountain pass-throughs. It was equally as thrilling with the wind at my back instead of my head, as it had been for a week, a game of chase with the Whatnot hounding me basker-to-ville thrill and gale.
Recalling the scene in the bar, I was not a party person. I was shy around people I didn't know. Think that was because I always made them ideal. I started with that. I gave them the highest measure and more than myself. And what was that ? I remembered the party I froze in Madrid. I never did-parties. Thinking today a holiday, and people this and that, and a lot of them at parties; the party types; I used to go to parties way-back in the day. Not my kind of psychology.
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