For some pictures, see this page!
For the Belgian TOMCC this was their tenth T-Days rally but for me the first. Ian organised the ferry tickets and directions so all I had to do was pack up the bike and be at the right place (the Blue Star ESSO garage) at the right time.
There I met Ian and Julie, Andy and Lee, Mack, Phil Loom, Lee and Tracey, Dave Clarke plus Colin on his missus' Kawasaki.
We set off for Dover in blazing sunshine and stopped at a garage just outside the ferry port in identical conditions, although the air temperature had dropped on our approach to the coast. There was plenty of time to fuel up and mill about as necessary before moving on to the ferry port.
After a hot and rather slow progress through the check-in and passport control we found the right lane for embarking from and joined Lou and June from Medway who were already there. Then it was just a case of waiting for something to happen. What happened was that we got hotter in the sun and before long Jackie and Chris Biggs joined us, both also feeling the heat. In fact Chris took the opportunity of the waiting time to have his first (and by no means his last) t-shirt change of the day.
Still before long we were being waved on to the ferry and I had my first real surprise of the day. On the Stena line to Holland (see previous Trumpettreffen reports), the storage solution for bikes is herd them loosely into an area under the stairways and tie them down with straps. On Sea France their approach is similar but a bit more sophisticated, because each bike is ridden into a slot with a front wheel clamp of sorts. A chock is wedged under the back wheel and some straps are then applied to keep the bike upright - not resting on its own stand.
So far, so what you might think? Well the bike slots were mostly in groups of three at fixed distances apart so problem #1 for everyone was that the panniers were practically touching, making it rather hard to get out. Hindsight suggests that they should secure each bike in turn, starting with the rightmost, so that once secure, each rider can easily get off on the left before that space is (in two out of three cases anyway) occupied by another bike.
This was minor though compared to a couple of other problems experienced by some of us. Lee Sykes was less than impressed to notice that the strap that had just been fixed to his bike was not actually holding the tension, merely slipping loose. A frank exchange of views with staff was undertaken until a working strap was found.
Andy Adie's problem was somewhat different - the big rear wheel of his Rocket III was simply too wide to fit in the "safety" slot! He had to push the bike as far in as it would go and then hope for the best.
Happily after an uneventful crossing during which some of us sampled the delights of the over-priced ham baguettes, we rejoined the bikes to find them unscathed and disembarked without further incident at Calais, heading in the direction of Dunkirk. Direction-finding wasn't too hard to begin with as we knew we had to aim for Lille before it got any more complicated.
Once in that area we picked up the specific directions provided by the Belgians and despite the roads dwindling down to little more than country tracks, we duly arrived at the village square (actually triangle) of Westouter which was adorned with the smallest direction sign that I have ever failed to see. Fortunately many of the others in our party had been there five years before so knew what to look out for. Specifically the two cafés along one side into one of which we lost no time installing ourselves for some much-needed refreshment.
As we relaxed in the warm afternoon sunshine with a cool beer or three, the occasional bike would go by and if they were loaded with camping gear and looked a bit uncertain of where to go, we would helpfully wave them in the right direction.
We couldn't stay there forever though, so after some time it was back on the bikes and up the narrow road away from the village towards the site. Finding it was no problem as there was little else of magnitude up there apart from a lot of agricultural vegetation growing in the fields (corn I think but I'm a city boy).
As we rode in one of the club organisers took your photo and - thanks to the miracle of digital technology - a laminated copy of same was available by the following evening to be claimed free and gratis, which I though was a nice touch even if I had a stupid smirk on my face.
The camping space was a fair-sized field set back from the road with a noticeable slope to it. I followed a couple of the guys over to the far lower corner for a bit of piece and quiet of a night and did not at first notice that the rest of our little group went to the far upper corner of the field, where admittedly the view was better. Still, it was later to become apparent that there were at least two other encampments of Bexley members dotted around - in fact the clutch of Japanese sportsbikes (and their owners) that had beaten us to the very edge of the field turned out to be there at the recommendation of a Bexley member, whose identity I never quite pinned down.
Also near the "high altitude" campers was a sizeable contingent from Mighty South London.
Once the tents were up it was off to investigate the facilities. The main building was part farmhouse, part clubhouse, with space for a "TV/reading lounge", bar area and bike display. Beer was on draught and initially served according to the "35% froth" mix. A few helpful explanations from the Brits and the bar staff were encouraged to squeeze a bit more in each little glass.
I had coughed up for the full range of meal tickets on arrival but Friday evening’s food was a bit hit-and-miss. Get to the front of the queue at the right time and apparently spaghetti was on offer. Time it wrongly as I did and a plate of mussels with a slice of bread was the only remaining option. Still, being hungry and not averse to the odd mussel I tucked in while some of the others formulated plan "B".
By the time I had finished that off and decided I was still hungry, plan "B" was decided on, namely to walk back to the village and get something to eat at the café. So off we sauntered and without too much exertion found ourselves settling down in their back garden area. A very pleasant meal was followed by one-sided water fight in which Mack came off worse at the hands of Ian if I remember rightly. Then it was back up the hill to the site to catch some of the "Party Crashers" band and drink more beer until it was time to go to sleep, by which point there was some ominous lightning on the horizon. I was asleep before any rain fell.
Next morning we emerged at intervals and made our way over for breakfast. Jackie reported the effects of hasty tent-pitching the day before - a rather damp interior as the rain had got in. However the weather warmed up again and we decided to take a visit to the Menin Gate at Ypres.
The first challenge was to recognise that on the local roadsigns it was spelt "Ieper" (with a capital "I"). Our second obstacle was that the other end of Westouter where the signs to Ieper pointed was mysteriously closed off, so we had to turn back and take a longer route. Then as we approached the town itself we hit the same problem with individual streets being closed. We had heard rumours of a car rally being on that weekend but it was only after we had finally parked up and walked to the main square that the scale of it was apparent. Rally cars plastered with sponsors' names were appearing out of side-streets and burbling along one side of the square, the middle of which was full of commentary stands, team trucks and marquees of unspecified purpose. The commentator was talking about each one but I couldn't work out if this was just a display or whether once out of the centre of town the cars were haring off into the countryside in expected style.
Keeping our priorities in mind though we walked around the edge and up to the Menin Gate. It is an impressive structure, situated on the far bank of the moat, and straddling the road out of town which - due to the rally I think - was very free of traffic. We spent quite some time looking at the thousands of names carved on the walls, each one a soldier killed between (my research tells me) the outbreak of the war in 1914 and 15th August, 1917. None of them was found and afforded a proper grave so this is how they were remembered, those killed after 15th August being recorded at Tyne Cot Cemetery due to lack of space on the Menin Gate.
There are steps up each side that lead to a higher level with good views of the moat and a garden. As we were strolling around there a school party congregated and I was able to listen in to some of their guide's explanations.
After a while more we went back over the moat and stopped at a café for a cuppa and to rest our legs a bit, the sounds of the rally event still audible in the background. When lunchtime was upon us we moved back to the square proper in search of a better menu and settled for a pavement venue with a good view of the cars going by and a group of Mighty South London lurking in the background. Being in no rush we enjoyed a leisurely lunch as I continued to try to work out what was happening car rally-wise. I saw a few with UK number plates and even reckon I heard the commentator speaking to the drivers in broken English but who knows? Phil and I checked out the museum later but with only a few minutes before we had to meet back at the bikes it would have to wait until another year.
We headed back to the campsite, stopping off in the village for booze supplies. Once back, at some point we realised that down in the shallow valley on which our field was located, the cars from Ypres were bombing down a track and round a bend at regular intervals. Spectators were able to walk down a road to the side and get a closer look - if suitably interested. However for the best in motor-sport, look no further than the on-site silly games which appeared to consist of a moped race around a tiny course made of tyres and tape, the Belgians being the only people being crazy enough to try it. There were thrills, there were spills, shorts were clearly mandatory safety wear, and I couldn't help wondering if it had been a good idea to locate the course right next to the marquee. Fortunately there were no horrible accidents, at least on site.
News came in though that some French rally-goers including Bill and his partner Inés (friends of Gary and Jackie) had fallen foul of a car stopping suddenly for a side turning. If I got the details right, it was the bike behind them that didn't stop in time, so Inés sustained a couple of broken ribs where the bike's handlebar hit her in the back and the other rider a broken leg from hitting Bill's exhaust, which snapped the bracket in the process. The injured parties had to spend the rest of the weekend off-site getting medical attention.
Towards 8:00 p.m. Dave Clarke went back to Ypres to see the buglers play the last post at the Menin Gate, a ceremony that is carried out there every evening of the year. I must confess to have been a bit too "settled in for the evening" by that point to join him. Again, another year perhaps?
Meanwhile the "surprise barbecue" was being set up by a team of what were clearly professional caterers in smart clobber. A big spread of salads and so forth was laid out and the meat was offered up to the heat. With plenty of hungry mouths to feed it wasn't long before a rather long queue had formed but in time patient waiting was rewarded with a good plateful and - again subject to lucky timing - up to three different selections from the barbie(s).
The band of the evening took a while to get it together on the trailer/stage so many of us tackled the bar which was at different times beset by temporary queues or temporary lack of lighting. Still there was no danger of the beer actually running out so we found some space at a table in the marquee and waited to see what would happen next.
You won't guess so I'll have to tell you: "Rhythm Deep" was about the least likely (some might say brave) choice for a bike rally unless the Belgians had asked Bronski Beat to reform (younger readers ask you parents, or your artistic Uncle Quentin). Basically they were a classic disco covers group and despite not being a fan of that slice of the 70's I could hear that they were technically very much on the case. There were afros and feather boas aplenty - and that was just the large female singer.
During their break was the all-important prize-giving and all I can remember - and it's probably all you need to know - is that Bexley won Best Turnout, quite possibly by a country mile. For this we got not one, but two trophies, and a certificate.
It's worth mentioning at this point that one thing which stood out for me at T-Days was the effort to conduct the whole rally (like their website www.tomcc.be) in three languages, Dutch (which I guess was understandable to any Flemish speakers), French and English. All of these delivered by their president, Jan, on the mic. The timetable given out on arrival was also in three languages. Compared to the Trumpettreffen where all the signs and announcements are in Dutch only, it made life easier for a monoglot like me.
Then the band was back and I was running out of steam. The tent beckoned and my ears did not dissuade me.
Next day, well... breakfast, pack up, ride back across the bumpy field and head for the ferry and home. An enjoyable first T Days for me!