Inspiring
Prince of Wales
TAKE TO THE SKIES
For now though, I progress in stately fashion north east, to Talgarth and the village’s gliding club. It doesn’t look like much, secreted away down a labyrinth of lanes. But this is widely accepted as Britain’s best ridge and wave gliding site, thanks largely to the fact that it sits 970 feet above sea level and half way between the Black Mountains,
to the east, and the Brecon Beacons, to the west.
You might look at these surly lumps in the landscape and think picnics, snoozing and perhaps the odd spin of a bicycle wheel. But to the members of this rarefied club, there’s a whole jungle of meteorological activity going on over our heads, the knowledge of which spells the difference between the dull life of earthlings and a six-hour glide of your life. Once you’ve grasped the invisible rules of the sky, the possibilities for CO2-free flying are endless.
Or endless, that is, when it’s not raining, or the club isn’t bracing itself for a storm. Nothing for it but to head to the renowned Felin Fach Griffin Hotel, a delightful dining pub with comfortable bedrooms. Come the next morning though, and suitably refreshed, I am summoned for a weather brief back at the airstrip.
“It’s a great morning to fly,” says Peter, our guide. “It’s going to be pretty choppy up there, but very interesting. So who’s going up first?” he asks.
The other members of the club politely volunteer me. Having taken plenty of Kwells, I passively await my fate. But a new weather bulletin puts pay to any flight plans. Phew,
I nearly exclaim. Time, I think, for a little urban counterbalance to all this appallingly fresh air.
CARDIFF A CAPITAL CITY
You don’t have to be a member of BBC1’s Torchwood Appreciation Society to know that Cardiff, just a gentle glide down from Brecon by VXR8, is enjoying something
of a heyday. As witnessed by the bronze outline of Wales’ Millennium Centre (aka the “armadillo”) and the open-plan ingenuity of the Senedd, the seat of Welsh politics. Add such ongoing developments as the rescue of the spectacular Coal Exchange, where trading in “black gold” laid the foundations for the city’s prosperity, and it’s clear Cardiff is a city that positively bristles with justifiable self-respect.
But in contrast to the delicious emptiness of the Brecon Beacons National Park, the hubbub here can seem shocking. So I make first footing at Butetown’s Mermaid Quay, an enclave of calm amid the bustle of the ever-rising Cardiff Bay. Not that it’s that calm on one of the many weekday evenings that are seen as the weekend’s warm-up act. Remember, there are no fewer than 30,000 students here, so Cardiff’s street life is bright, confident and pacey. Indeed, such is the excitement that some enthusiasts appear to have left home before they’ve finished dressing. However, we spend a quiet night in Jolyons Boutique Hotel, with its six individually-designed bedrooms and comfortable king-sized beds. A sleek white supercar such as the VXR8 is a jaw-dropping machine and wherever you steer its bold outline into a busy street, children wave, mothers smile and grown men with anything more than a thimble of petrol in their veins try earnestly not to dribble. From Cardiff Bay, up through the centre and on to the fast-booming charm of Pontcanna, Cardiff’s coolest postcode, the ultimate VXR8 is a sensation. So, my journey to Wales is a success. I’ve faced my demons and become a bit of a sporting hero (though I do say so myself) and I’ve put the VXR8 through its not inconsiderable paces and realised just how inspiring it is in every way. So how do you road test inspiration? Simple: you create
a machine that’s also a travel companion, a car that creates a feeling of time slowing down, not speeding by. And the best proof of whether the VXR8 succeeds in that mission comes at the journey’s end. It inspired so well, I’m afraid it all went far too quickly.