I left sunny SE12 at about 16:10, having decided to take the new bike (Speed Triple special edition if you haven't been keeping up). The rear end is not really designed for load carrying but I had it suitably padded out with foam to avoid scuffing the shiny black bodywork where the panniers rested. There was a fair amount of traffic what with it being Friday afternoon but a steady pace was achieved with some judicious filtering through traffic, so I reached the ferry port at around 17:50 and got on the 18:20 sailing. The half hour wait was no chore as it was warm and sunny and I was able to enjoy an overpriced coffee in a paper cup and chat to another Dave, a familiar face from previous rallies on the island. He's particularly recognizable by his distinctively decorated denim jacket with a red imp design (or some such - 'scuse my ignorance) on the back. He asked after some of the Bexley regulars and was interested to hear that Andy had become the first Bexley member to own a Rocket III, prompted by which he proceeded to impart a worrying tale of inflammable speedo cables, not something I've heard mentioned since though.
After we docked and disembarked at Fishbourne at around 19:00 I found myself near the back of group of bikes heading away from the port. Being the proud possessor and enthusiastic peruser of an Ordinance Survey map of the island, I was determined once again to navigate my way to the stadium on the most direct route avoiding Ryde. Most of the bikes ahead, however, followed the left turn, "through traffic" sign and there was only a trusting couple on another machine behind me who went straight on as well. I resisted the temptation to try and shake them off and ten minutes or less later we had arrived at the stadium and checked in. I had even got my tent up before the majority of the others arrived, so smugness was the order of the day.
Other Bexley members were already there: Ray & Colleen, Chris Biggs, Tom Friar, Phil Loom, Tank, Shelley and Dave Clarke. Having chucked all the camping clobber in the tent, it was time for a quick ride to Tesco for supplies, braving hordes of Friday evening shoppers. Once back at the site the Bexley contingent had found a quiet corner at the back of the bar. A beef pie and chips was sufficient to line the stomach before a few beers. And then perhaps a few more.
Friday night's band, going by the name of the Invaders were known to be strict rock'n'roll. This did not immediately concern me as I can enjoy a bit or more or less anything once in a while, however while their sound was traditional and solid and their feature vocalist looked and sounded the part, their choice of material was more than a little bland and eschewed the livelier works of, say, Buddy Holly, for slower numbers. I don't think we were the only ones feeling a bit disappointed either. As the night drew to a close we found Dave Clarke had been so comfortable in his corner armchair that he had dozed off!
On the Saturday we had a leisurely start which included a trip to the Tesco supermarket for their bargain breakfast, after which the day's main objective was agreed upon: we'd go and visit the island's tank museum, co-incidentally founded and run by Shelley's brother. It's more or less in the middle of the island on a main road and was not too hard to find - once some of us had overshot the entrance and turned around.
It's an impressive place, effectively purpose-built from the ground up, but still in the throes of development, so many of the exhibits are in a pre-restored state. However they still make quite a sight for those like myself who have not spent much time up close and personal with large armored vehicles. There are a few working examples and the museum usually puts on a display each afternoon. We waited around for that to start, enjoying some refreshments from the café, but when the appointed hour came it was explained to us that the unusually low attendance that day made it unfeasible cost-wise.
However as luck would have it they were preparing (I hope I've got this right) a Russian T54 tank to be loaded on to the transporter as it was being exhibited at a show the next day, so while that was fueled up and running, a lucky couple of Bexley members in the nervous shapes of Tom and Ray were given a quick ride around the tank course, balanced somewhat precariously in the turret while the tracks threw a large cloud of dust behind them as it roared and rocked over the undulating ground.
After a quick tank-top photo call we thanked them for their friendly welcome, bade them farewell and headed off. The next destination for most people was a stop at the glass-blowing place, but I had specific designs on giving my new bike an inaugural run down the Military Road before it got too late in the day. Hence I split off at the appropriate point and headed for Freshwater, being firm of the opinion that the Military Road is only truly appreciable on a sunny day (check!) and traveling in an anti-clockwise direction (check!). All the excitement of bowling along the cliff tops stimulated somewhat of a hunger, not to say thirst so after zooming past the site of the Galleybagger Rally, a solo stop at the Wight Mouse beckoned. There followed a very pleasant sojourn in the pub garden enjoying the sea view and waxing philosophical - as least within the dusty confines of the mind!
On return to the site the next objective was to get in gear for the Saturday evening's entertainment, which was provided by the Maxwell Brothers, familiar to... well anyone who has ever spent any time on the Isle of Wight, virtually. Theirs was a good solid performance as usual, accompanied by some good solid (well liquid really) drinking.
As far as I can recall we did not feature in the awards, being outstripped for the best club turnout on this occasion. And that really is about as far as I can recall so I must have had a good time!
Sunday was still fine so after some breakfast and packing up we set off for the ferry in various groups. I was lagging behind and for some reason forgot which direction to go in for the "easy direct" route back to Fishbourne. This afforded me a most interesting pootle through some very small and tree-lined roads in a more-or-less westward direction until I eventually emerged, blinking into the sunlight to find myself at the main road to Fishbourne but on the westward side. No problem, a quick right turn and before long the ferry port was in sight and the auto-pilot could be re-engaged to guide me from Fishbourne all the way back to South London.
This year's most over-used term could well be "old school" - or "old skool" (assuming you're Nigel Molesworth or a prominent figure in the worlds of hip-hop music, custom bike building etc.). That is not going to stop me from acclaiming this year's Isle of Wight rally as a fine and uncomplicated "old school" event where everybody turned up, pitched up and had a good time over the day and a half that our busy schedules allowed. The lure of the Ryde carnival does not perhaps act so strongly on those who have been there, seen it in all its oft-stationary glory and been elbowed by someone's out-of-control brat, which must be most of the rally-goers by now. On a similar note, I was particularly appreciative that this year the young chap with the scaled-down two-stroke trials bike was not present to ride it round and round the speedway track at 8 a.m. on Sunday morning, nor the other moped-thrashing interlopers from yesteryear. Bravo!