A Winter Blast to the Welsh Coast

Out through the Shropshire border villages first — stone cottages, wet tarmac, the odd dog-walker giving the wee Honda a look — then onto the fast road and over into Wales, where the dual carriageway briefly lets you breathe before the lanes close back in. The whole run west was a parade of oncoming bikes: in deep winter, on a Saturday, the Welsh roads were absolutely heaving with riders. There's a reason they come — the roads out here are some of the best in Britain, and you'll not share them with much else.

Down to the coast at last: an estuary slipway, a row of colourful seafront terraces, and the grey Irish Sea doing its January thing. A quick stop, a warm-up, and back inland the long way — different valleys, a big steel footbridge over the main road, more villages, and (for variety) a fire engine getting on with its day. Home before dark, cold hands, big grin. The kind of ride the 300 is made for: small, honest, and happiest pointed at a Welsh horizon.

No GPS logged this one, so the exact roads are inferred from what's on camera — if you know these lanes and I've drawn it wrong, tell me and I'll fix the line.