Issue 138 : December 2004 - January 2005
NEC Bike Show
MAIDS
MZ 100S
Stormin' the Castle
XL 1200R Sportster
Milward in Africa
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NEC Bike Show
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Centopassi
Stormin' the Castle 2004. It's a bugger trying to strap a box of Mars bars, a bucket of pre-mixed batter and a deep fat fryer onto the back of a motorcycle but, as I was going to a rally in the heart of Geordie-land, I wanted to try the local delicacy without the hassle of using the local currency or lingo, (the last time I had journeyed this far north I was asked for "Far-pund twentee-eat" for something called a "Stottykaik" which, my native guide had assured me was "Kannyskran")? My pre-booked tickets (a bargain at £16.00) had arrived in the post with directions to the event so, I gave them one last peruse before setting off: "Keep riding North on the A1 until the average age of girls pushing prams falls to around fourteen, then look out for the traditional 'Mullet' haircut of the Geordie people. NOTE; if the Mullets begin to look ginger, you've gone too far North." The weather forecast was 'mixed' for the weekend, which is forecaster code for 'no idea' so we were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves riding up to Stormin' in brilliant sunshine. We were passing and being passed by Bikes of all shapes and sizes on the journey north and as we neared the turn-off from the A1 we seemed to be on a road occupied solely by Bikes. There's nothing quite like riding in a pack, the wind and sun in your face, the roar from the exhausts and the constant Thump... Thump... Thump of the wife hitting you in the back whilst screaming something about slowing down. It's what biking's all about. As we approached Witton Castle the sun was setting and the dancing spotlights from the funfair lit up the night sky. It really is a welcoming visual effect and lets you know that your journey is nearly over and that the Party's in full swing. Through the gates with a cheery greeting from the Marshals and off to find my mates. After about half an hour, I remembered I didn't have any mates so we camped up and went in search of a beer. I'd volunteered to do a stint marshalling so first stop was the control cabin where the Stormin' team were doing a stormin' job of running the event. They'd already run out of the 7,000 wristbands they'd had printed for the party and, by the time we'd meandered from control and through the back stage area to the bar, it was obvious that this year's event would break all records for attendance. Pub prices at the bar, fast and friendly service and no blaring music meant that standing around chatting whilst getting drunk was well catered for, and, with a centralised bar, you also get a place through which everyone will eventually pass, making it the ideal spot to hang around and meet up with faces old and new. Eventually, the need to eat overtook the desire for more beer and we left the bar in search of food.
Saturday morning held a painful awakening. Having erected the tent in the previous night's darkness I'd failed to spot the huge conker tree on the other side of the fence we'd camped next to whose previously heavily laden branches had given up their bounty directly onto our pitch. Couple this with a punctured airbed, a pair of misplaced jeans, a hangover and a somewhat immediate urge to urinate and it becomes obvious why, at around dawn, a cursing, trouserless Yorkshireman was spotted by two Stormin' Marshal's trying to simultaneously drown and kick to death a tree. There was a catering van next to the Marshal's 'survival' tent whose aromas drew us in like the tractor beam on the starship Enterprise. We ordered two bacon butties and two coffees and we waited. And waited. And then we waited some more. Finally, we waited a bit longer before the nervous looking guy behind the counter said "What did you order?" (If anyone reading this had the misfortune to stand in that queue on that Saturday morning, your butties are now ready).
By tea-time we were doing our Marshalling stint back-stage which afforded us the opportunity to stand stage side for the custom show prize presentations. I couldn't wait to hear how those pipes sounded but the owner was too drunk for the ride through! The evening began with a trip around the funfair, (which is always a good idea if you've been drinking all day) accompanied by the MAG stall crew who thought it hilarious to pay the guy running the waltzers to spin me round continuously for fifteen minutes. Oh how I laughed, once I'd finished vomiting. By the time we got into the main marquee the place was packed with people waiting for the Stranglers to perform and they didn't disappoint the bouncing crowds with renditions of their past hits belted out with the same youthful enthusiasm they had twenty years ago. It was nice to see so many couples cuddling to the slower numbers, you know, those 'nice' cuddles you give your squeeze when you're gagging for a leg-over (well, with a title like 'Golden Brown' you've got to go for it, we all live in hope, eh Lads). Sunday morning saw blue skies and a hurried exit for the long ride home, pausing only at the caterers to order a butty for next year. In summary, I don't care how many Monkeys those Geordies hang, they sure do put on one hell of a good party. See you all next year. Words: Dave Elrick |
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Dave Elrick heads North and notes: 'I don't care how many Monkeys those Geordies hang, they sure do put on one hell of a good party.'
Having got to the bar via the back stage area rather than coming in through the main entrance, meant that we hadn't really got our bearings and we spent the next couple of hours walking through the event weighing up the various eateries and seeing the sights. "Ooh look, a castle." said the wife as we strolled along in a drunken stupor past the queue of lunatics waiting to be rocketed into the air in a giant bungee ball. Lots of food to choose from, all in generous portions and at reasonable prices, plenty of traders and more funfair rides. "Ooh look, another castle!" said the wife as we chomped our way through a chicken curry whilst zig-zagging through the smiling crowds. The third time she said "Ooh look, another castle!!" it slowly dawned on me that this year's Stormin' layout was in a circular pattern. Doh! Time for bed.
Over to the traders area for a spot of browsing and a natter in the MAG stall filled what was left of the morning. By lunchtime the custom show entries were beginning to fill the arena so we decided to wander over to the castle bars, grab a beer, wander back and have a look. At least that was the plan. In the interests of a comprehensive review, we tried a beer from each of the bars, twice, and then settled in the laid back ambiance of the castle courtyard for the afternoon. It's almost impossible to define why some rallies die off after a couple of years and others go from strength to strength but the castle courtyard, on a sunny day, is a really nice place to be and offers an 'off site' trip to the pub with the bonus of being within staggering distance of the event. Eventually, we tore ourselves away from the bar and over to the custom show. And what a show it was. The quality and diversity of the machines on display was as good as you'll get at any of the bigger shows and a couple of hours passed very quickly whilst we stared at these wonderful creations. A personal favourite was the red Harley whose brass coloured pipes twisted around the motor and eventually 'blossomed' into what can only be described as the horns of cherubs in a Michelangelo painting. It really was that beautifully built.