Following the success of last year's pre-rally warm-up at the Richmond Hotel, there were a number of Bexley people interested in doing the same again - in fact staying two nights. Hence on Wednesday the hotel register included Tom and Gwen, Chris Biggs, Tom Friar, Malcolm and Edward, the latter two having had to come by car because Malcolm's Diversion had been stricken by something sounding rather fatal only earlier that day! Chris and Tom the Viking were rather late and nearly missed dinner altogether, but everybody made it one way or the other and enjoyed an extra two days on the Island. To swell the numbers further, Richard "Tank" Turner and Shelley joined them on the Thursday.
Caroline and I were the only folks aiming for the 4 p.m. ferry on the Friday so we packed up the bike with the usual straining panniers and huge tent bag and left home at about 1:30 p.m. bound for the National Trust tea room at the Devil's Punchbowl - and maybe on to the Isle of Wight later if it didn't rain. We stopped for a cuppa at about 2:45 p.m. having negotiated a broken-down lorry that was causing a sizeable tail-back at just about the worst point on the route: where the A3 reduces from two lanes to one before Hindhead. Suitably refreshed we set off again at about 3:10 p.m. with the aim of making the 4 p.m. sailing, although I didn't have a strong idea how long it was going to take, I only had a fair idea of the distance. About 16 miles out of Portsmouth we encountered a shower which looked like it might get serious, but just around the bend the sky ahead was clear so we pressed on, the skies dutifully cleared and we pulled into the ferry port with just enough time to buy a ticket and ride on behind a sizeable group of bikes.
We got to the speedway stadium at around 5 p.m. to find that the hotel-stayers (Tom, Tom, Gwen, Tank, Shelley, Chris, Malcolm and Edward) had already got there, pitched up and in some cases gone out again. So once the tent was up and stuffed with all our gear it was over to the bar for something to eat. May I belatedly offer our compliments to the chef for the chicken curry (not too hot) and the scampi (not too small). Later on as we washed that down with a few bevvies, John and Kim, Dave Clarke, Phil and Bob arrived at separate times. Dave's report covers the Friday evening recreation...
In deference to the previous evening's exertions it was a leisurely start on Saturday and a full cooked breakfast for most people to stiffen the sinews. In the course of tucking into the full cooked extravaganza I learned why the Maxwell Brothers had that name: no-one in the band is called Maxwell but at the time they got together and needed a name to go under for their first gig, the pension-fiddling activities of the recently deceased Robert Maxwell had come to light and in the frame for some jail time (and on the front of every paper) were his sons Ian and Kevin - hence: the Maxwell Brothers. So for those of you who have seen them play each year for however long it has been and wondered, it is my pleasure to clue you in as I was clued.
Anyway, after a hearty breakfast the general consensus was to head off to the steam railway for a ride on the trains, after which we eveuntually ended up at the Ryde carnival as detailed by Dave C's report. Once back at Smallbrook, as we were parking the bikes up next to the tents, a very observant Tom Friar pointed out that off in the distance you could just hear the drummers of the last band! I did say they were impressive.
I also stuck it out in the bar with Dave C to hear all of the band (called Don't Bring Harry - perhaps one day I'll find out the origin of that name!). They got off to a shaky start but as they played it became apparent to the anorak-musician- type observers (me) that although they could play pretty well they seemed to have trouble getting going, as intro after intro was punctuated by a musical hiccup of one variety or another. However they certainly won me over with their gratifyingly wide selection of songs. As well as a few token items of bog- standard blues-rock they managed to fit in stuff by the Doors, Jimi Hendrix, AC DC, the Rolling Stones, Hawkwind (remember "Brainstorm" anyone? A live staple even to this day but the studio version alone is about 9 minutes long so I was impressed that DBH - as I shall henceforth refer to them as - kept it shortish) and even the Stranglers (no, not the terminally dull "Golden Brown" or their other later stuff but what was about their earliest single: "Go Buddy Go". Why yes, I do own a copy as you ask and a great piece of punk it was!)
In between the band's sets were the traditional raffle (in which Edward won a toaster - !) and the prize giving. This year there was a keen sense of rivalry between Surrey and Bexley TOMCC because the traditional Bexley hoard was thinned out a bit by the absence of regulars like Gary and Jackie, Ian and Julie, Andy and Lee and not forgetting Lee and Tracey. After the compere had handed out prizes to all and sundry ("Best Foreign" went to a Yamaha R1 to much bemusement) it was observed that the prize for biggest club turnout had not been awarded. Old Tom collared one of the organizers to find out why not but it was not entirely clear. After explaining that Surrey had 12 and Bexley at least 13, Tom was mollified by a late announcement to the effect that once again Bexley would get the award, although it would have to follow in the post! At this point I should mention that I have no recollection of a young lady in high boots (see Dave C's report)... it was merely the beer and music that conspired so that I could not drag myself away until the end of the night!
As expected then, those who turned in earliest the night before were up first and munching on bacon rolls from the van. Those who slept in were liable to receive a visit from the cable-tie fairy, which meant that getting out the tent when the moment finally came was even more of a struggle. Bob put in an unusually timely appearance but I believe that was due to Chris and Tom Friar successfully persuading him that it was half past nine when in reality it was an hour earlier. Of course by the time he found out it was too late to get back in the sleeping bag, so he was in a position to join those making a fairly early departure.
Now back to the hotel usage: Taking it more slowly, Caroline and myself packed up the bike before making an inaugural visit to the Tesco superstore up the road. We marveled at how close it actually is to the stadium, we boggled at the number of people still wanting a full breakfast in the café at 11:30 a.m. and we swooned at the comparatively cheap grub. We also had a cup of tea and bought a Sunday paper before heading off on the next leg of our weekend: the relaxing overnight stay at a pub/hotel in Cowes.
Rather than go via Ryde and along the north coast I opted to carry on south from the Tesco and then head off west over the downs to Newport, and a very enjoyable route it is too. It was another fine sunny day and there are some great views from the top of the downs followed by some swooping curving roads and a final sharp turn immediately leading to a t-junction. Much use of the brakes there!
We found the hotel without any trouble, partly because I'd scoped it out on the Saturday while we were out and about. After checking in, a very pleasant and relaxing time was spent reading the Sunday paper over a drink or three then going for a stroll in the direction of the floating bridge which took us to East Cowes. One Thai meal in the evening, an early night to recover our strength and a nice relaxing ride home the next day. Sweet!