Hi, I’m Martin Moyse – licensed amateur radio operator (callsign 2W0NKS), proud member of the Dragon Amateur Radio Club, and the guy who makes the internet work for both DARC and the Meirion Amateur Radio Society (aka “Webmaster Supreme”).
I’m also a founding member and former chairman of many years for the North Wales Amateur Radio Group before the club who incidentally supposedly embrace the moto “Radio Friendly” sacked me for building this website for the Dragon Amateur Radio Club.
Like many hams, I collect hobbies like some people collect QSL cards. My past includes a stint in an elite Royal Marines airborne unit, 3 command Brigade Air Squadron (yes, really), and somehow also being an Avon sales girl (also yes, really). So whether it’s CQ DX or “Would you like to try a new moisturiser?”, I’ve got you covered. Incidentally you might like to watch my video about my time in Iraq with the Royal Marines.
As a young lad growing up in Cornwall, I was into three things: Citizens Band radio, motorcycles, and being outdoors — basically, I was halfway to becoming a mobile weather station. So it probably won’t shock anyone to hear I eventually joined the Army (specifically the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers — because why just ride a bike when you can also fix one?). Somewhere along the way, I earned my Amateur Radio License (2W0NKS — and yes, I picked the callsign for the laughs), and my passion for motorcycling grew to the point where I now consider exhaust fumes a form of aromatherapy!
After 14.5 years of serving Queen and Country, I’m proud to be an Armed Forces Veteran with a strong passion for supporting The Royal British Legion Poppy Appeal. Being a keen motorcyclist, I naturally gravitated toward the Riders Branch of the RBL, the RBLR — because nothing says “remembrance and respect” like leather, chrome, and the occasional bug in your teeth. I now serve as the North Wales County Rep, a committee member, and the branch webmaster… which means I ride bikes, attend meetings, and repeatedly explain to people how to reset their passwords.
I could write an entire website about motorcycles — and honestly, I probably will — but for now, let me tell you about one epic event the RBLR runs every year with the Iron Butt Association (yes, that’s a real thing, not a superhero gym). It’s called the RBLR1000, and it’s a sponsored long-distance ride that raises money for the Royal British Legion’s Poppy Appeal — because what better way to honour our veterans than by riding a thousand miles and completely forgetting what your backside used to feel like?
The event’s been rolling strong since 2009, with well over 100 brave souls taking part each year. But don’t picture some massive biker parade snaking down the motorway — riders pick one of four 1,000+ mile routes, set off from Squires Café in Sherburn-in-Elmet, and either ride solo or with equally mad friends. In 2023, I tackled the Northern route (Scotland’s midges still haven’t forgiven me), and in 2025 I completed the Southern route — less midges, more sheep and more service stations.
Watch my RBLR1000 video — and maybe bring a cushion.
Once upon a time (and several instruments ago), I was a proud member of the local brass band scene. I started out learning the cornet with Rhyl Silver Band, then gradually collected instruments like musical Pokémon — adding soprano cornet (badly), baritone, euphonium, and trombone to my brass résumé with Beulah Brass. Eventually, I even swapped my mouthpiece for a baton and became Musical Director of the Belle Vue Brass Band — probably the only time I got to tell trombone players what to do and have them listen.
Sadly, my time blowing notes came to an abrupt end when I fell seriously ill, ended up in hospital, and was diagnosed with COPD and other health issues that meant my brass-playing days were over. It was a tough note to end on — but the music lives on in memories (and probably a few slightly dented instruments).
Another one of my past passions is scuba diving — or should I say was, though I still occasionally take the plunge when I’m on holiday somewhere warm. Let’s be honest: UK waters are far too cold for a seasoned gent like me. I didn’t earn all these grey hairs just to freeze in a wetsuit off the coast of Cornwall.
Over the years, I’ve logged more than a thousand dives in places like the Red Sea, Mexico, the Canary Islands, and yes, even the chilly UK. I worked my way up to the level of PADI Master Diver — which sounds far more impressive than it looks when you’re trying to squeeze into a wetsuit after a buffet breakfast.
One of my all-time most unforgettable dives was on the wreck of the SS Thistlegorm. She was a British cargo steamship, built in Sunderland in 1940 and sunk by German bombers near Ras Muhammad in the Red Sea just a year later. Now resting 30 metres underwater, the 126-metre freighter has become an underwater museum of World War II artifacts.
Hold No. 1 is packed with boots and motorcycles, while Hold No. 2 offers up a surreal mix of trucks, rifles, aircraft parts, Wellington boots, and even exhaust rings — it’s like a military car boot sale frozen in time. Floating around the wreck is like swimming through history, only with more fish and fewer queues.
More recently, I passed my Advanced Motorcycle Test with ROSPA — which basically means I now ride like a responsible adult (but with just enough throttle to keep it fun). These days, I’m proud to serve as a North Wales Blood Biker.
For those unfamiliar, Blood Bikes Wales is a group of volunteer motorcyclists who zoom around Wales delivering urgent medical supplies like blood, platelets, and other squishy-but-essential items between hospitals — mostly when everyone else is tucked up in bed. Think of us as the NHS’s unofficial medical ninjas… but with hi-vis jackets and top boxes.
We do it all for free, powered entirely by donations, goodwill, and the occasional strong cup of tea. No sirens, no glory — just saving lives one carefully-scheduled courier run at a time.
I like to think of myself as a fairly crafty person — and no, not in the sneaky, plotting world-domination kind of way. I mean the good kind of crafty: imaginative, hands-on, and occasionally covered in glue. I really enjoy web design, graphic design, and creating laser-engraved and cut items — basically, if it involves creativity, tech, and a mild fire hazard, I’m in.
One of my long-time passions (though these days it’s more of a “when I find the time” hobby) is model making. Over the years, I’ve built everything from sleek cars to detailed military dioramas — tiny scenes that take hours to make and seconds for someone to say, “Oh that’s nice, did you buy that?”
I’m also proud to be a member of Models for Heroes, a fantastic organisation that supports the mental well-being of veterans and emergency service personnel through scale modelling — proof that glue, paint, and plastic parts really can be therapeutic.
My latest, greatest, and possibly most sanity-threatening project is rebuilding and customising a 27-year-old Suzuki 600 Intruder motorcycle. When I say I received it “stripped down,” I don’t mean a few panels missing — I mean it looked like someone had sneezed and the bike exploded. It had been sitting in bits for four years, probably wondering if it had been abandoned or entered into some weird mechanical witness protection program.
Armed with nothing but hope, a toolkit, and an increasingly questionable sense of optimism, I began the noble task of painting, cleaning, polishing, and trying to figure out what the heck some of these mystery bolts actually belong to. I envisioned a glorious bobber-style finish, sleek and minimalist — the kind of bike that would make people say, “Wow!” instead of “Is that safe?”
Things were going well until I made the horrifying discovery that the 600cc V-twin engine — which had been left unplugged and untouched for four years — had partially seized. (By “partially,” I mean “completely enough to ruin my week.”)
Upon further inspection, the cylinder bores were rustier than a forgotten tin of beans, and some of the valves were seized tighter than the lid on a 1970s jam jar. In short, I now need to do a full engine rebuild — a fun little detour I absolutely did not sign up for.
So yes, this has gone from “fun bike project” to “emotional journey of mechanical enlightenment.” Wish me luck… and possibly send biscuits.
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