Phil, Kevin & Jan

Photo: Kevin James

If you are into old bikes this really is the place to go, and I cannot thank Gazza bin Lineham enough for introducing me to the Rally back in 2001. The rally being a celebration of bikes pre 1975 I was obviously on my Z900, Phil Loom on his T150 and Jan astride her Adventurer (there is a tolerance towards Lady riders thus Hinckley is not frowned upon if they ride it themselves).
We set off for Portsmouth on Tuesday 7th at about 3pm having an uneventful ride down to get the ferry to Bilbao which sailed at 8 o'clock that very evening. A bit early to leave maybe, but after the way my bike cocked about the year before we had decided not leave timing too fine. Boarded and at sea we settled down for the two night crossing which really is the worst part of the journey. Having a captive audience P & O take every opportunity to indulge in Piracy of the Pocket i.e. the drink and fags are cheap but they know on a boring trip food becomes a bit of a highlight and price it accordingly, though we all had big thumbs up for the grub in the Carvery.
Boredom being relieved somewhat when we discovered that there was a fairly large contingent of TOMCC we had met on rallies during the year, and there was plenty of banter with the prehistoric BMW owners club. Prehistoric counting for the bikes and in many cases the riders.
Arriving in Spain at 8 o'clock the mad scramble to disembark ensued, which is where the first Twat of the day was discovered. Leathered up and ready to go, nothing happened for nearly half an hour, 'cos some muppet car owner had to be dragged out of bed and slung in his car. Him gone, ramp down we were off to find that it was raining. This is where the second Twat of the day reared his head, MYSELF guess who had left his waterproof leggings on the chair in the dining room. Oh well!!!
We set off for Colombres and as we knew the way soon picked up a couple of Trident Riders from Norfolk who had never been abroad before, let alone ridden abroad. This lasted until the first petrol station a distance of about one and a half miles where somehow we lost one of them. The one that was left seemed on the verge of a fit so sending Jan and Phil on I turned back with him to find his mate. That being a total waste of time, I convinced Richard (Trident Chappie) it was best if we caught up with my group of two, 'cos at least I had half a clue where they would be. Any way his mate had the maps and instructions on the route to take, which incidentally he completely ignored but some how managed to follow on arriving not far behind us.
The greeting we received on arrival was fantastic; the rally organisers came out with open arms when they heard us arrive (I luv loud pipes). There was lots of "Hola mi amigo's" with myself being upgraded to Mister Kevin, Jan becoming Jane Hamez and of course Senor Loooom. We were there.
Booking in was a noisy affair but once achieved - Phil and myself being presented with customary goody bag and Trophy in recognition of our Classic machines - it was off to our chosen Hotel, the San Angel, very comfortable and slap in the middle of everything. As Friday is the official start of the celebration we had the evening to kill, easily sorted with a short walk to the bar and then dinner at the LA CASA ABAJO (Rib Shack), which is just down the road. This year Phil and I took full advantage of Jan's rudimentary Spanish, thus the menu was not so much of a mystery, (those on the 2001 trip will fully appreciate the weight of this statement). The eatery still appears to be attached to a pig farm where I am sure most of the menu grunted and grew. This year we indulged in a mixed grill of admirable proportions - two of which fed four - we had picked up a lost soul on the way, a BMW rider who had become separated from his mates. I unfortunately shared with Phil and was not quick enough - he had spotted the steak in the middle and proceeded to wolf it down like a Neanderthal complete with club, ignoring all my protests. Jan and the other guy being far more civilised shared and very nice it LOOKED too.
Friday morning it was off on the long run through the mountains - approx 100 miles. Phil, loving this sort of riding, was away early, one the front runners, with Jan and myself following in a later group. The scenery is fantastic and on lower slopes riding is great. Then the fun begins - Spanish bikers it would appear like a challenge and on a smaller capacity machine the going is easy. Our ride became somewhat slower after Jan made the mistake of looking over the edge. HUGE MISTAKE. Confidence now ebbing fast, in Jans words she "lost the plot", but realising that the point of no return had been and gone along with the Armco, with a little encouragement onwards and upwards we went, eventually reaching the lunch time stop in the village of Sotres at the top of a hill (in excess of 6500 metres high I have just been reminded ), where we met up with Phil who on seeing Jan's face fell about laughing and very helpfully reminded my good lady that she had to do it again on the way down. THANKS Phil.
After an extended stop in the village we set off down the mountain, deciding when reaching the bottom to take a more direct route back where Phil and I knew that the roads were not so twisty. Unfortunately the Spanish Authorities in charge of Highways had decided to widen the roads, this in Spain is achieved by dynamiting the mountain and much to Jan's horror this meant that once again we had to take to the hills. No matter which way we tried to get through, every diversion was up. Eventually making it back to Colombres, first stop was the bar, a couple of beers and much grinning at Jan from both Phil and myself. It wasn't too long before Jan was back to normal and joining in the hilarity herself, though it did take a couple of hours' siesta, a hot bath and two co-codomal to fully regain her composure.
The evening was a party in the garden of the Hotel JUNCO just down the road, easy walking distance and the place where the 2001 contingent stayed. Much drinking of wine, beer, and sidras, which is the local cider (tastes great now that I know how to pour it before drinking). The advertised music from the 70's was nothing that I've heard before, but with the general atmosphere and lots of alcohol the night was really something to experience.
Saturday saw Phil off on the morning run. No amount of cajoling was gonna get Jan up the mountain so I let her pick a route so that we could go out for a run ourselves. Route chosen off we set with me following. I WAS NOT GONNA BE RESPONSIBLE. The plan was a good one for about two and a half miles or until the road started to go up and up and up with hairpin after hairpin. Stopping at the first village Jan did mention that the view was fantastic and suggested that we go back to Colombres.
Taking her lead we duly arrived in town to partake of paella, cooked in the biggest pan I've ever seen, 'twas that big I would estimate that in excess of 400 people were served a generous portion (too much to eat) with a big chunk of bread and a beer. That afternoon saw the uphill road race, which takes the form of a time trial. Some of the bikes involved dating from 1940's and can they ride them. Three passes up the hill are allowed with the oldest racer being 84 years young, this man rode the bike he used to race on the track. OK he surely weren't the quickest but I wouldn't like to have the job of catching him. You have to see the spectacle to fully appreciate it.
Walking around the square was a wonderment, there are so many machines from days gone by. A hand-change Sunbeam, Tridents, Nortons, Beezers, Bultacos, Sanglas, and a rather nice Z900; the list goes on, with bikes I have never even knew existed. Wonderful.
Saturday evening is the dinner and presentations at the Mirador hotel. Food was good and the company excellent. Presentations for all manner of machines and riders - even a 1940's Harley with a triumph front end. The Spanish are not totally purist when it comes to their bikes, appreciating it would appear any classic or veteran machine especially if it is ridden there. I did not see a single award go to a bike that arrived on a trailer. Jan received an award for riding her Piston Massive, which was good. Especially as I had somehow got the job of calling out the English names owing to the fact that the Spanish have as much trouble with our language as we do theirs (pissed Phil off as it is a better one than the acknowledgement trophies we received). Loads of wine and a couple of cups of alcoholic tea later - good stuff you can ignite it - in a taxi and to bed.
Sunday morning Phil's up and away on the official run. We plotted a different course to the same place. The reason this time being that Jan had suffered a touch of Dodgy Botty and was in a state of near panic when she discovered that she had forgotten to pack her safety knickers. We arrived just in time to hear everyone's exhaust pipes as they were leaving. Again, breathtaking scenery. Lunch today being back at the Mirador. Copious wine consumption and a few beers later it was time for the traditional after dinner speech from the organisers - "What did he say?" - Good-byes, hugs and handshakes all round. The evening saw us dining in the Rib Shack where I at last got my steak and strangely became rather inebriated in the company of some really good Chaps from all over the UK.
The whole weekend we had been bathing in glorious sunshine so I suppose it only seemed right that on Monday it rained for the journey back to the ferry. You should have seen Phil's face when, loaded and ready to go, his Trident refused to start. Didn't take long to sort though and the offending spark plugs now live in a bush in Spain.
Ferry journey home was a laborious affair, P & O making like Blackbeard all over again, though the company was good. So many people from the rally on the boat that there was lots of lively conversation. Docking at about 5pm we made our way to the Pied Bull and that is where the trip ended. Brilliant time - all being well I will be going again next year.
Adios Amigos.