Once as regular as the band they booked for Saturday night, I skipped last year's Thunderbird rally as we were off to the Nürburgring a matter of days later. This time there were no conflicting events and I was in the good company of Ian & Julie, Andy & Lee, Dave Clarke, Tank, Phil Loom, Gary Lineham and - on a lightning visit from 9:00 a.m. Saturday until about the same time Sunday - Colin & Maggie.

(Pictures from the rally.)

I met up with Ian, Julie and Gary at the Blue Star Esso station near Dartford and we set off through the tunnel with Ian's personal guru S'aat N'aav murmuring suggestions in his ear. With advance warning of bad traffic delays on the M1 north of junction 18, we planned to turn off there and pick up the A5 to get us nearer Stoke-on-Trent. All was going well until we had just got through the M25 Hatfield tunnel, at which point I was able, from my position at the rear of the group, to observe Gary's roll bag slip casually off the back of his bike as we motored along in the fast lane at about 80 m.p.h.
With not much time to weigh up several different options, I settled for the idea of "swerve round it and try to nudge it into the central reservation with a foot so it doesn't immediately get crushed". This did not turn out to be as feasible as I'd hoped, in fact all that happened was I missed the bag but caught my right foot against the road surface, from which it rebounded with some force, inducing what the medical profession would no doubt describe as a "minor sprain". In retrospect I decided that had I actually made contact with the bag I would probably have broken something. Anyway, with right foot now feeling the effects I caught up with Gary and drew his attention to the loose bungees behind him. I then caught up with Ian and drew his attention to all the aforementioned.
Sadly the bag was deemed irretrievably lost, as there was too much traffic to have any hope of recovering it safely, so when Gary caught up again we pressed on to our first scheduled stop, interrupted by an unscheduled one to put on waterproofs. A service-station lunch of eye-watering expense gave us time to reflect. I reflected on the state of my foot - not too bad, able to ride but probably should avoid aggressive use of the rear brake. Gary reflected most intensively on what he'd lost in the bag: air bed, wash kit and - ah yes - prescription "keep you healthy" tablets. A call to the wife was in order and fortunately Jackie got things organised vis-à-vis short-term re- supply. All we had to do was phind a pharmacy before closing time.
Off we set again, refreshed but lighter of wallet. Sure enough there was a sizeable tailback just after junction 18 so we started the A-road phase of our journey which in time brought us to the town of Tamworth and their fine retail park boasting a Sainsbury's with pharmacy and an Argos for camping supplies. Sainsbury's however would not dispense the necessary and directed Gary to the local hospital, which at least was very close by. Julie in the mean time volunteered to tackle Argos for airbed and pillow. Considering how long it can take to get any attention at all at a hospital A&E department, it was rather good that Gary was back within half an hour to report a successful mission. With the time now around the 4:30 mark we got some petrol nearby and were on the road again, destination Barlaston.
Ian's sat-nav did not let us down, at least not in the entertainment sense, but finally we pulled in to the familiar rugby club grounds. Andy & Lee had already got their tent up, as had Phil who beat us all there even with some Landmark diversions. There was plenty of space as usual just a short distance from the hard-standing area. Despite a couple of showers on the way up, we got the tents up in the dry and that was how it would stay for the rest of the weekend. Once settled in to the bar for drinks and food, talk naturally turned to the nature of the entertainment for the evening. We did not have to wait long until the band appeared and began setting up. The guitarist's cowboy hat prompted initial fears of some Country and Western but to the delight of Andy at least, they were traditional rock'n'roll.
After we'd passed another hour or two re-acquainting ourselves with familiar faces, it was time for the live music. Credit must go to the band for playing authentic songs from the era in an authentic style and not always relying on the obvious choices. Almost every number was preceded by a mini history lesson from the encyclopedic recollection of the guitarist (later identified as the self-proclaimed "Legendary" Lonnie Cooke), who for the duration of the performance had swapped his cowboy hat for a topper and frock coat. Andy was entertained, I was somewhat intrigued by the name-dropping that was slipped into to the introductions, but everyone else were less taken.
Around about half time Dave Clarke arrived having ridden up after work. Fortunately there was plenty of food left 'cause he must have been hungry! The band did another set and I retired to bed at about midnight with the disco in full swing and my right ankle still throbbing gently.
Overnight my tender ankle did not swell up or anything, so I emerged from my tent next morning at the respectable time of 9:00 to find Colin & Maggie parking up nearby. Having persuaded themselves to get up in the middle of the night (!) they had a fast and congestion-free ride straight up the M1 to be at the site before many people had made it 100 yards to breakfast.
Mid-morning and I sought out more details of the planned run-out, the announcement the previous night having been lost in the chatter. "Tideswell" I was told. "Peak District..." and "not much walking involved". This sounded good but the others were feeling lazier so I left them to it and joined on the end of the run as it left at about 11:30. There were quite a few bikes so keeping up was not always possible through every set of traffic lights. My group of tail-enders got well and truly separated but someone had a map and after negotiating some lovely scenery and windy roads we came to the town of Tideswell. As far as I could tell they were having a mid- summer event of some description as there was bunting everywhere and other signs of a local shindig. However apart from patronising the ice cream van (takings must have doubled for the day thanks to us) grabbing some photos and working out if we'd lost anyone permanently there wasn't much to do so the lead group (into which I made sure to include myself) set off again, next destination Bakewell.
More great roads - although all carrying a fair amount of other traffic - and more adjustments to the route brought us to Bakewell where it was necessary to find somewhere to park. I don't know what the permanent resident population is there but I reckon they must have planned their car park with one space per male inhabitant at least; although shielded by trees it went on and on, the majority of it already occupied by an apparent flood of seasonal visitors. Having negotiated the parking (almost literally, the plentiful wardens insisting on 4 bikes to a bay and each bay to be paid for at the rate of one car), we set off on foot (or in my case on-limp) to the town centre. On selected open spaces there were terpsichorean activities taking place throughout the day because it was the Bakewell International Day of Dance. This meant everything from senior citizens' line dancing to celts in clogs.
I retired from the melee into a tea-room with JC from the Somerset and Dorset branch, having convinced him of the merits of a cream tea with genuine Bakewell tart. When in Rome etc... The nosh was good although the plain unvarnished Bakewell tart in its natural form is a far cry from the garishly commercialised offering from yer Mr Kipling, although quite a bit larger per portion. Anyway all this wandering around and stuffing our faces had used up the time available quite well so we rejoined the others at the car park from where we set off on a last hour's ride back to the rugby club. We went along part of the A6, which had more than its fair share of "Biker Beware" signs along the way, augmented by the rather serious "Police helicopter speed patrol" warnings. Thankfully I don't expect to be seeing myself on a "Police Stop" programme any time soon unless it's relating to Gary's wayward bag.
Back at the site the rest of the Bexley ten were taking it easy and keeping themselves going between the pub lunch they'd apparently enjoyed and the scheduled hog roast later with catering packs of Doritos and Pringles. Over on the parking area there was much interest in a Hinckley Bonneville, which some capable chap had retro-fitted with as many 70's T140 parts as he could so that at first glance it really looked like a Meriden creation. Seat, paintwork, side panels, mudguards, brake caliper covers and rear light all matched the classic look and there was even a dummy kickstart on the gearbox! Everyone who looked at was suitably impressed. Sonia Young was also on site with her fantastic Rocket III trike, on which she plans to ride to Russia for charity (see Nacelle for details).
The hog roast caterers appeared outside the clubhouse with the evening's dinner already part- roasted and we queued patiently, tempting smells wafting through the evening air. Having chomped through a generous helping of pork and beef we installed ourselves in the back room of the clubhouse to await the band. The raffle(s) were partially fruitful - Tank won a genuine Triumph t-shirt from their "68" range and Andy won a(nother) torch. Also, come the awards, Maggie was pleasantly surprised to have won "furtherst traveled female rider" with 190 miles.
The band was called No Spring Chickens and for an unassuming quartet they made a lot of noise! I appreciated the range of their repertoire (the opener was a Pink Floyd "Breathe" / "Money" medley and any decent rendering of Faith No More gets my vote) but some of the instrumental workouts went on a bit long and it really was damn loud! Technically though it was hard to fault them and they played until about midnight, from which point we started to drift off back to our tents.
By Sunday morning my ankle was almost back to normal so we aimed for a straightforward ride home via the A50 and M1. Colin and Maggie were up and away early again, Dave and Phil did their own thing so I set off with Ian, Julie, Andy, Lee, Gary and Tank once we'd all ribbed Gary about securing his bags properly. Then watched him retrieve his bike keys from within his already packed tent!
With a couple of stops for fuel I was home in about three hours, giving me time to take stock of another enjoyable Thunderbird rally; well done to B&W TOMCC. Other than learning the perils of trying to kick objects on the road when riding at speed, I've also realised that my genuine Triumph gel seat - as I explained to Phil from Oswestry on Saturday afternoon - is delivering none of its supposed comfort gains, in fact it's noticeably more hard on the bum than the normal seat. It may be worth getting it re-upholstered, so any recommendations welcome!