The hotelkeeper held out a discouraging prospect in regard to the hills ahead of us.  He said that the majority of the motorists who attempted them were stalled and that there had been some serious accidents.  We went on our way with considerable uneasiness, as our car had not been working well, and later on trouble was discovered in a broken valve-spring.  However, we started over the mountain, which showed on our road-book to be not less than three miles in length.  There were many dangerous turns of the road, which ran alongside an almost precipitous incline, where there was every opportunity for the car to roll a mile or more before coming to a standstill if it once should get over the edge.  We crawled up the hill until within about fifty yards from the top, and right at this point there was a sharp turn on an exceedingly stiff grade.  After several trials at great risk of losing control of the car, I concluded that discretion was (sometimes) the better part of valor, and with great difficulty turned around and gave it up.

We made a detour by way of Welshpool and Oswestry, where we came into the London and Holyhead road, bringing up for the night at Llangollen.  We found it necessary to travel about sixty miles to get to the point which we would have reached in one-fourth the distance had we succeeded in climbing the hill.  It proved no hardship, as we saw some of the most beautiful country in Wales and traveled over a level road which enabled us to make very good time with the partly crippled car.

Although Llangollen is a delightful town, my recollections of it are anything but pleasant.  Through our failure to receive a small repair which I ordered from London, we were delayed at this place for two days, and as it usually chances in such cases, at one of the worst hotels whose hospitality we endured during our trip.  It had at one time been quite pretentious, but had degenerated into a rambling, dirty, old inn, principally a headquarters for fishing parties and local “trippers.”  And yet at this dilapidated old inn there were a number of guests who made great pretensions at style.  Women “dressed for dinner” in low-necked gowns with long trains; and the men attired themselves in dress-suits of various degrees of antiquity.

While we were marooned here we visited Vale Crucis Abbey, about a mile distant.  The custodian was absent, or in any event could not be aroused by vigorously ringing the cowbell suspended above the gate, and we had to content ourselves with a very unsatisfactory view of the ruin over the stone wall that enclosed it.  The environments of Llangollen are charming in a high degree.  The flower-bordered lanes lead past cottages and farm houses surrounded by low stone walls and half hidden by brilliantly colored creepers.  Bits of woodland are interspersed with bright green sheep pastures and high, almost mountainous, bluffs overhang the valley.  On the very summit of one of these is perched a ruined castle, whose inaccessible position discouraged nearer acquaintance.