The Bridge was very atmospherically shrouded in mist and cloud and absolutely freezing. But it and the roads in Wales were lined with far more spectators than I'm used to.
The route, once in Wales, went round (and round and up and over and down) the houses - and people had brought their garden chairs and morning tea down to the bottom of their driveways the better to cheer and wave. I am not used to such a warm reception. No biker is. Usually the people shouting are swearing at us, not cheering.
Chepstow itself closed off its square and nearby parking lot for us, and had set up stalls and a band. Lynn was expecting bigger, I wasn't expecting anything at all. We found a coffee shop which was as heaving as every other cafe, but the queue seemed to be moving (it had very efficient service, even if they'd decided all drinks were grande regardless of price charged). I have to say, every time I've been in Wales, I've found very good coffee. It's a major bonus for Wales (in my caffeine-addicted book).
We came back in winds so strong and cold I could barely breathe, paused for a thaw-out with the family again and across the Mendips to the A303. Which was beautiful, but we should have taken the A38 (also nice) and the M4. then maybe I wouldn't have been quite as soaked or quite as late. Notes for next time.
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