Issue 136 : August - September 2004
BMW's Motorrad
Farmyard Party
European HOG Rally
World Ducati Week
Triumph Speedmaster
Boom Trikes
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BMW's Motorrad
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Portugese Postcard
There are numerous wild dogs in Monte Gordo, many of them sleeping flattened on the pavement as if painted there. I approached one slowly, was it alive? An eye lid opened, crocodile style, ceaseless surveillance beneath a veneer of whiskery indifference. On the beach, blue and white clinker built fishing boats rested on their hulls, leaned one side or other of their keels, draped with drying nets and seaweed, gulls circling over head. Old guys with stubby limbs and molten wax faces dark as tanned leather emerged from low doorways, characters from Steinbeck's novels. It was a scene from Cannery Row, the Palace Flophouse, all warmth, winos and sleepy manyana schedules. Then I met him. It's not every day that you meet a man in armour, especially one mounted on a motorcycle in a very warm country, a motorised Don Quixote, I had to ask. 'Are you hot in that ?' 'No I am cool' replied a hollow voice from within the perforated oven encasing a head that was clearly dribbling more sweat than a steam ship stoker. It's always wise to treat with respect, a man who can bear such suffering and sustain such self delusion, particularly when he comes equipped with a double bladed axe.
We'd covered 1600 miles from London to Monte Gordo. Miles which we'd covered at a leisurely pace, taking a week to bimble through France since the Brigadier had failed to book the ferries before they filled up which earned him a bucketful of abuse that was topped up by him persuading us to take the tunnel at a staggering £184 each. Even a truck with a driver, passenger, and a bike in the back of it only cost £175, make sense of that ? Dave French from MAG Ireland (who is Irish) rode his Vstrom while the Brigadier and I were mounted on Harley Dynas, his, the higher sport version with a sissy boy fairing to keep the wind off him as well as the rain which fell on us in copious volume for a whole day in France. I was on an annual mission to photograph the European HOG rally for Harley-Davidson while my companions made up the numbers. The numbers grew in Spain where we collected the Brigadier's family, comprising his fiancee, Barbara, her daughter Grace who rode with me, and a youth who had clearly escaped from the set of Omen2. Dave French who was still Irish drew the short straw and carried 'the Boy From Hell' whose only act of discretion throughout the trip South was to grow hair over the three sixes decorating his skull.
Hundreds crowded around the stunt area for each of Craig Jones' acts which are something to behold. Having cleared an errant dog from the strip, Craig did his stuff with a vengeance, which, in full leathers given the heat, must have been a gruelling experience. Doing what he does, he probably needs them though. By the way, in case anyone is thinking that there is some contradiction in criticising other magazines for running wheelie pictures while publishing one here - it's all a question of context. I didn't see too many Electraglides spinning doughnuts along the waterfront after the show, in fact the standard of riding everywhere looked pretty good to me and dare I chance saying it, the fashion for irksome backfires through hitting the kill switch seems to have passed. The cops, sadly were still gesturing at helmetless riders to 'hat up' which wasn't too comfy in the heat, though anyone with any sense brings along a nominal helmet that keeps the police happy while allowing the brain to function. The bike show in the square up in the old town pulled a few gems off the street. A Buell with a trailer - how's that for oddball? Probably not quite the use that Eric imagined his creations being put to, rather neat though, full marks to Brian Kirwan from Ireland for ingenious strangeness. Always good to see our team taking the top honours which went to Nick Gale of the UK for his FLSTC which for the uninitiated is a big twin softail custom, emphasis on the word custom in this case. The US Airforce imagery in the paintwork was brilliant, not the kind of thing I'd park outside the Mad Mullahs cafe round the corner from me in E11, but brilliantly done all the same.
The Parade is always the photographic highlight and though numbers at the rally didn't break records I reckon most of those attending went on the parade. With Dave French who remained steadfastly Irish, piloting me, I took some 500 pictures of grinning waving, vee sign flashing thumb in the air merchants. We crossed the Spanish border over a stylish suspension bridge ten turned around and came back into Portugal; thousands of bikes pouring in both directions at once, all waving to each other and the legions of locals gathered at the roadside, carnival time. The parade is a great opportunity for the expression of unbridled exuberance that would no doubt give the hand wringing safety Nazis a fit, but the speed at which it's conducted is very modest so what the hell. The journey back was fairly daunting with 1600 miles to cover in three days in order to make a MAG Board meeting. Thunder, lightning and heavy cloud bursts in the Spanish mountains was followed by a night lying on the ground. Our good friends the England supporters had filled every hotel in Western France on their trek South and at three in the morning, exhausted and homeless we lay on the grass in a motorway service area. The Brigadier had the temerity to sleep for two hours longer than I, leaving me to stamp around cursing as precious dry hours passed, ensuring that we caught more torrential rain just South of Paris which we then negotiated via the Perifique in 'boil in the bag' waterproofs as the sun had come out and there was nowhere to stop. What joy. A selection of Portuguese pictures together with pictures from this year's Farmyard Party, Lion Rally, Heart of England Rally and Lee Bay weekend are at: www.bikerlifestylepics.co.uk |
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Not all the English abroad were lobbing bottles at police officers. Ian Mutch found better things to photograph at the European HOG rally in Portugal.
All this jollity aside, the rally itself was a fair grin. After an inauspicious start being devoured by mosquitos in the night time, I set to recording the festival of chrome and colour that makes a HOG rally what it is. Those not burdened with the onerous task of photographing lovely girls and gleaming motorcycles were at leisure to stretch out along the seafront bars stuffing their faces with olives and grilled sardines, or joining ride-outs led by the local HOG chapter.
Wandering around the rally area that was really just an extension of the town, I came across Daniela the prime organiser of these extravaganzas. Some people need to take pictures, others need to be photographed. Supplementary nymphs floated out of nowhere, it was a fortuitous meeting.