There is a windswept part of mid-Wales that always makes me feel far from home, even though it’s only a couple of hours from my front door. It’s scenic and pretty, but the National Parks to the north and south are more dramatic by a distance. What you find here is a strange sense of isolation, as though the modern world hasn’t yet spread this far. To say goodbye to the BMW M2, it was the only place I wanted to go.
With light traffic and a heavy foot I could be there in two hours, but that’s not the point. I’ve cleared my diary and cancelled my calls, meaning all I have to do today is drive. There’s no hurry, but an early start is still best. I slip away from home before sunrise, hoping the rain that’s lashing against the screen lets up before long. Rather than picking up the multi-lane highways that would spirit me to my destination in no time at all, I stick to the smaller stuff, crossing the Severn on the old bridge before cutting cross-country towards the eastern fringes of the Brecon Beacons.
I know these roads backwards, and while I am planning to drive a couple of my favourite hillside routes throughout the park, I’m hoping to discover one or two others I’ve never tackled before. That’s why I don’t have Google Maps running on the M2’s huge central display, nor an A-Z stuffed into the passenger footwell. If I can help it, I won’t consult a single map today. Instead I will bounce from one town to the next, finding my way like a mediaeval pilgrim. That way, I might just stumble upon a road I’ve not seen before.
