Issue 135 : June - July 2004
SV to DL
Triumph Speedmaster
Into the Valley
Retro Rule
Where Eagles Ride
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SV to DL
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Into the Valley
"I've found a great site for a new party." These were the now immortal words spoken one hazy Saturday night in 1998 by our own 'Mr Motivator' Pete Walker. (It's funny how Pete always suggests these things when we're all drunk!) The following morning we all rode out to the site, asked a passing tractor driver who the land belonged to, agreed a rental price with the farmer and, before we'd shaken off our hangovers, Into the Valley was born. Six years on and this year's party ran like a well-oiled machine, or rather we hope you all thought it ran like a well-oiled machine. It all started on a very rainy Thursday morning when the first lorry got stuck in the entrance gate. Several tow-ropes and one exasperated tractor driver later, we began to unload the gear. The well-oiled machine was starting up. Maggie Bond, our party organiser, had spent the previous six months planning, e-mailing, phoning, faxing and shouting at the rest of us to ensure that everything would arrive on schedule, and the site duly began to slowly fill with lorries, fencing, toilets, generators, marquees, traders and all manner of party equipment which was being sorted by the beaver-like marshals. (Luckily, it rained for most of the day so we didn't overheat.) By teatime the lorries had all gone, the marquees and stage were erected, and there were just the finishing touches to 'tickle up'. The well-oiled machine was at full revs now and it was beginning to look like a party. Aah, East Yorks MAG, so professional, so organised, so where's the sides for the marquee?? Once we'd re-started Maggie's heart, it was discovered that the marquee contractor had made a loading error and our sides were at Scotch corner, a mere four hour round trip which Maggie undertook whilst necking vallium and, for some strange reason, repeating the word 'wibble'. The rest of us got on with the important task of getting very very drunk so that we were at our best for the impending arrival of our guests the following morning. Friday started early with brilliant sunshine (just what you need with a hangover) and the first bikes started rolling in around 11 am. We'd split the campsite into campfire and non-campfire sections and both were filling up nicely by mid afternoon. By late afternoon, the drunks were three deep at the bar, always a good sign. The first band of the evening were the District blues band who got heads a'nodding and toes a'tapping. By around 9 o'clock the party was in full swing and everywhere we went people were smiling, dancing, chatting around campfires and having a really good time. The well-oiled machine was throttled down to a tick-over and the crew joined together for a group hug as bluebirds serenaded us from a perfect sky. I swear I even heard Ron whistling a happy tune it was all going so well. Then someone uttered 'the 5 dreaded words'. These are the words that no rally organizer with sixteen hundred curry-eating, drinking Bikers on site ever wants to hear at 9 o'clock on a Friday night. Words so terrifying that crew members refer to them as 'the Scottish words'. Someone said, and I quote, "Where's the bog rolls mate?" It took 300 amps on the defibrillator to bring Maggie round this time. "Where the heck (I think she said heck) am I going to get 500 bog rolls from at 9 o'clock on a hecking Friday night?" Drivers were despatched hither and thither and eventually it got sorted by raiding every late night garage within a 40-mile radius. (Our usual toilet supplier had sold up and this year's supplier didn't quite grasp the enormity of servicing a two-day Biker's party.) The second band of the evening were the coincidentally named 'Shittin' Bricks' who raised the roof with some classic Motorhead, AC-DC and Black Sabbath numbers, going through three drumsticks and two guitar strings in the process. By 1 am things were quietening down and people began to slowly drift back to their campfires where much putting the world to rights was done 'till the wee small hours. Saturday morning started with a bang (literally) as the main distribution board blew behind one of the catering vans. We left Maggie having a well-earned snooze whilst that got sorted and then began the 'secret' bike competition. There were some stunning bikes on site this year and it's always difficult to choose the winners, but it takes all day to decide as many people went for a ride out on the superb roads that surround the site. We tend to spend the day walking up and down the valley and it was lovely to see the children playing and picking up pieces of chalk to form patterns on the sunlit hillside. What would their chosen design be? Perhaps a chalk horse? Or a rendition of the famous Cerne man? No. They wrote **** UR **SE, in six foot high letters, Biker kids eh, bless 'em. Saturday night got off to a storming start with the band Stikky Fingers who reminded everyone of some of the great songs the Stones have given us over the years. Paul K made a faux pas during the trophy presentations, which was so bad we can't reproduce it in print, it was classic Kelsey (ask us in private). The second band were a great hit with a wide range of covers brilliantly performed and including a number by the Darkness, nice to hear some modern rock for a change. The atmosphere in both the main and side bars was relaxed and full of raucous laughter all night. As the evening wore on the campfires became the focal point for many and you lot burned 60 tons of firewood keeping warm. Thanks to all of you for making our party one to remember and especially those of you who bagged up your rubbish on Sunday morning. We finished clearing out the last fire pit by 6 o'clock on Sunday evening so all help is gratefully received. Congratulations to Maggie from all the crew and we hope the repetitive strain injury in your 'waggy finger' gets better soon. See you all next year. Dave Elrick |
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By East Yorks MAG and friends.