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National Meet - Ride Report... (Better late than never!)
He Came, He Saw, He Dropped his Bike (A Lot!)
So it’s time to meet the gang, time to meet the hardcore rufty tufty cyber guys and girls who give it large on the forum. The people, who for the last year have only been imaginary voices in my mind as I read their posts and try to build up a picture of their personas. It was time for the XRV.ORG.UK annual National meet.
Day 1 – The ride from St.Neots to Dent (Lake District)
An early start beckoned on the Thursday morning for a rendezvoused in St.Neots, not ten miles from my home, a small group of us heading up from the South East were to meet in the Market Square café.
Almost instantly after converging a feeling of solidarity became apparent. Not that I knew or had met any of my compadres before, I didn’t even know their real names, only their forum handles, but the feeling was definitely there. Why? Well obviously because of the Bikes. It’s unusual to see big trail bikes about, excluding obviously the BMW GS fashion accessory, ridden (well kind of), by yuppie wanna be Ewan McGregor’s, but here I was submersed within a small collective of them. More than that though, you know the excitement you feel when in between the whole plethora of R1 and Blades you spot on the roads, you very occasionally see another bike like yours and you start waving frantically, well it was that emotion, but as a constant. Here I was riding with another four. (Oh and a couple of baby Alps and a Varadero. Varadero, OK best I not mention the world ‘Trail’ again, we’ll substitute that word with ‘Loud’). This sensation would remain with me throughout the weekend and the overriding feeling that I’ll take back with me from the meet, being with like minded people who all shared a passion for the same thing, big adventure trail bikes and especially the Africa, my Africa.
After breakfast it was time to get the posse together and head North straight up the A1, to the home of real tea, cheap beer, and where the family false teeth are handed down from generation to generation, Yorkshire, the place of my birth.
Now it has been asked in the past why I need an after market forty three liter fuel tank on my bike? Why should I carry enough fuel that makes the idea of refueling another bike ‘As you ride’, Nimrod style, a reasonably realistic one? Well the following two-hundred mile ride to Dent in North Yorkshire with the rest of the gang illustrated to me just why. How is it possible to have to make seven, yes seven stops for fuel in such a short distance! I know, let synchronize our fuel loads, not. Jesus lads it’s only two-hundred miles, it’s not even half a tank load, what the fcuk are you playing at!
Anyways, in between stopping, starting, stopping, starting, loosing SohoEasy, stopping, starting, Wheelie’s Sat. Nav. taking us on the scenic route through Bradford, stopping and starting again, we eventually make it, many many hours later to the Yorkshire Dales. Then not five miles from our campsite in Dent, we grind to a halt, again (Stops and Starts for gate opening, where tight Yorkshire farmers can’t part with the cash to install cattle grids have obviously been excluded, mostly), but this stop is for a bona fide reason, nothing to do with Fuel or Bodily functions.
Anton88 (whose RD4 looks amazing and which I had considered making an offer for when I first saw it), had developed a steering issue. Now, as we all know, when you have an ‘Issue’ with your Africa you don’t need a degree in mechanics to fix it, you don’t need a Honda dealer, you don’t even need a recovery service, you need a ‘Chad’, and luckily for us there was one present in our gang (Definition of ‘Chad’, we’ve all met them, the bike Guru, the chap who is in his element just getting oily and imparting his vast knowledge).
I’m sure Anton88 hadn’t even finished the sentence, “I Think I’ve got a problem with my….”, before Chad was there with a couple of the other guys, borrowing tools and stripping the poor chap’s bike down to almost its frame. Alright, maybe that’s just a slight exaggeration, but as someone who knows nothing technical about bikes, that’s how it appeared. Then, just as swiftly as Anton88’s bike was dismantled it was re-assembled while it seemed Anton was still finishing his original descriptive sentence of the problem. It was something to do with the eegy flippidy flop not being tight enough on thingymagey, apparently, and would need further attention later (My considered offer for Anton88 bike was retracted), but anyways, everything was cool and we started off, again.
Now you might of wondered why I was so harsh earlier on Yorkshire farmers and their inability to part with a little cash to install cattle grids and replace the frequent use of gates. Well I better admit to slight bias of opinion here, for it was at one of these gates that indivertibly caused my first incident of the weekend.
Approaching downhill to what was the last gate on the days ride, and after failing to nudge it open, I stopped, put my bike on her stand, got off and walked over to the gate to open it. Did I mention it was downhill? Did I refer to it as a very steep hill? No? An oversight, I’m sorry. Crash! Umm, guess that wasn’t the best place to try and park. Drop number one, bugger.
Whealie witnessing my complete incompetence came to the rescue, well attempted too at least. On standing his bike down, it drove straight through his puck. Crash! Two down five left to go! I did mention it was a very steep hill didn’t I? Thankfully the other weren’t as unlucky as Whealie and more competent than myself and after a few minuets jostling around they all managed to safely and securely park their bikes and help recover a degree stability from the carnage. Wheelies screen developed a slight custom look, but apart from that everyone and everything was fine.
Importantly though, being the first to drop their bike at the meet was part of my cunning plan to bring a more relaxed and harmonious atmosphere to the meet. By doing so I had successfully relieved everyone else from the pressure of becoming the first idiot to do so and therefore providing carte blanche for all the others to drop away. Convinced?
Eventually, mid afternoon we reached the campsite to find maybe thirty or so members had reached the objective before us (no great surprise!). We also located our lost member SohoEasy, who had stayed on the correct route throughout his trip up and unluckily missed out on the many wonders Bradford had offered the rest of us. The tents were pitched and the local shop visited at haste, obviously to allow more time for the evenings entertainment in the pub. This was a relaxed environment, well deserved, and a chance to recant the day’s tales about farm gates, inner city deprivation, and to discuss the results our extensive research into the regional fluctuations of fuel prices.
Much beer was consumed in the pub and back at the campsite Marquee. People were introduce, name after name, almost all forgotten, for which I’m blaming the alcohol. A great deal of pleasure for me was taken from putting faces to handles, names to bikes, relaxing and being in the company of good friendly people, all talking the same language, XRV.
Day 2 – Fancy a little off Roading?
Snoring? No, not me governor, well maybes just a little. The problem with camping, especially with lots of other heavy drinking guys is a degree of sleep apnea has to be expected. The solution though is easy. Either leave your helmet on, stick your ear plugs back in, or drink so much that nothing is going to wake you. I opted for the ear plug solution as a ride out had been planned for the morning, and riding with a hang over is one motorbike skill I’ve yet to master.
Needless to say I slept well and arose early feeling refreshed and sprightly, which is more than I can say for those who chose the drink to sleep option. What I hadn’t realized though was the fortuitous nature of the pitch I’d chosen the previous day. It appeared that through a stroke of pure luck, located next to me was Jamie Oliver, yes the Jamie Oliver!
Alright then, another very slight exaggeration, this Jamie Oliver, might have been slightly older, far less irritating and called BTBloke, but needless to say his culinary camping skills would have put the real young whipper snapper to shame. Give my man the ingredients and he’ll cook it. “A quick ‘fruits de la mer’ sir? No problem”. I was amazed at what one man could achieve with a single ring stove, though I’m still trying to reconcile to myself why anyone would need to take five different spatulas on a camping trip! Obviously this resource located so close at hand had to be exploited, in fact throughout the whole weekend and I managed to escape the chore of cooking completely. I was left in charge of providing supplies and boiling the kettle, an accord I found to be most acceptable.
After my gourmet breakfast it was time for my first ride out and the days planned activities included three off road sections through the Dales. The informal briefing held by Barftone, our ride leader, should have raised my suspicions though, “I’ve never ridden any of these stretches before so really don’t know what to expect”, just slightly vague maybe? Anyways, eight of us left mid-morning to tackle all Mother Nature could devise to test both man and machine and in Barftone we trust. Have I mentioned yet my off-road experience is somewhat limited? A slight oversight maybe?
Continued Below.... (10000 Max Character limit)
He Came, He Saw, He Dropped his Bike (A Lot!)
So it’s time to meet the gang, time to meet the hardcore rufty tufty cyber guys and girls who give it large on the forum. The people, who for the last year have only been imaginary voices in my mind as I read their posts and try to build up a picture of their personas. It was time for the XRV.ORG.UK annual National meet.
Day 1 – The ride from St.Neots to Dent (Lake District)
An early start beckoned on the Thursday morning for a rendezvoused in St.Neots, not ten miles from my home, a small group of us heading up from the South East were to meet in the Market Square café.
Almost instantly after converging a feeling of solidarity became apparent. Not that I knew or had met any of my compadres before, I didn’t even know their real names, only their forum handles, but the feeling was definitely there. Why? Well obviously because of the Bikes. It’s unusual to see big trail bikes about, excluding obviously the BMW GS fashion accessory, ridden (well kind of), by yuppie wanna be Ewan McGregor’s, but here I was submersed within a small collective of them. More than that though, you know the excitement you feel when in between the whole plethora of R1 and Blades you spot on the roads, you very occasionally see another bike like yours and you start waving frantically, well it was that emotion, but as a constant. Here I was riding with another four. (Oh and a couple of baby Alps and a Varadero. Varadero, OK best I not mention the world ‘Trail’ again, we’ll substitute that word with ‘Loud’). This sensation would remain with me throughout the weekend and the overriding feeling that I’ll take back with me from the meet, being with like minded people who all shared a passion for the same thing, big adventure trail bikes and especially the Africa, my Africa.
After breakfast it was time to get the posse together and head North straight up the A1, to the home of real tea, cheap beer, and where the family false teeth are handed down from generation to generation, Yorkshire, the place of my birth.
Now it has been asked in the past why I need an after market forty three liter fuel tank on my bike? Why should I carry enough fuel that makes the idea of refueling another bike ‘As you ride’, Nimrod style, a reasonably realistic one? Well the following two-hundred mile ride to Dent in North Yorkshire with the rest of the gang illustrated to me just why. How is it possible to have to make seven, yes seven stops for fuel in such a short distance! I know, let synchronize our fuel loads, not. Jesus lads it’s only two-hundred miles, it’s not even half a tank load, what the fcuk are you playing at!
Anyways, in between stopping, starting, stopping, starting, loosing SohoEasy, stopping, starting, Wheelie’s Sat. Nav. taking us on the scenic route through Bradford, stopping and starting again, we eventually make it, many many hours later to the Yorkshire Dales. Then not five miles from our campsite in Dent, we grind to a halt, again (Stops and Starts for gate opening, where tight Yorkshire farmers can’t part with the cash to install cattle grids have obviously been excluded, mostly), but this stop is for a bona fide reason, nothing to do with Fuel or Bodily functions.
Anton88 (whose RD4 looks amazing and which I had considered making an offer for when I first saw it), had developed a steering issue. Now, as we all know, when you have an ‘Issue’ with your Africa you don’t need a degree in mechanics to fix it, you don’t need a Honda dealer, you don’t even need a recovery service, you need a ‘Chad’, and luckily for us there was one present in our gang (Definition of ‘Chad’, we’ve all met them, the bike Guru, the chap who is in his element just getting oily and imparting his vast knowledge).
I’m sure Anton88 hadn’t even finished the sentence, “I Think I’ve got a problem with my….”, before Chad was there with a couple of the other guys, borrowing tools and stripping the poor chap’s bike down to almost its frame. Alright, maybe that’s just a slight exaggeration, but as someone who knows nothing technical about bikes, that’s how it appeared. Then, just as swiftly as Anton88’s bike was dismantled it was re-assembled while it seemed Anton was still finishing his original descriptive sentence of the problem. It was something to do with the eegy flippidy flop not being tight enough on thingymagey, apparently, and would need further attention later (My considered offer for Anton88 bike was retracted), but anyways, everything was cool and we started off, again.
Now you might of wondered why I was so harsh earlier on Yorkshire farmers and their inability to part with a little cash to install cattle grids and replace the frequent use of gates. Well I better admit to slight bias of opinion here, for it was at one of these gates that indivertibly caused my first incident of the weekend.
Approaching downhill to what was the last gate on the days ride, and after failing to nudge it open, I stopped, put my bike on her stand, got off and walked over to the gate to open it. Did I mention it was downhill? Did I refer to it as a very steep hill? No? An oversight, I’m sorry. Crash! Umm, guess that wasn’t the best place to try and park. Drop number one, bugger.
Whealie witnessing my complete incompetence came to the rescue, well attempted too at least. On standing his bike down, it drove straight through his puck. Crash! Two down five left to go! I did mention it was a very steep hill didn’t I? Thankfully the other weren’t as unlucky as Whealie and more competent than myself and after a few minuets jostling around they all managed to safely and securely park their bikes and help recover a degree stability from the carnage. Wheelies screen developed a slight custom look, but apart from that everyone and everything was fine.
Importantly though, being the first to drop their bike at the meet was part of my cunning plan to bring a more relaxed and harmonious atmosphere to the meet. By doing so I had successfully relieved everyone else from the pressure of becoming the first idiot to do so and therefore providing carte blanche for all the others to drop away. Convinced?
Eventually, mid afternoon we reached the campsite to find maybe thirty or so members had reached the objective before us (no great surprise!). We also located our lost member SohoEasy, who had stayed on the correct route throughout his trip up and unluckily missed out on the many wonders Bradford had offered the rest of us. The tents were pitched and the local shop visited at haste, obviously to allow more time for the evenings entertainment in the pub. This was a relaxed environment, well deserved, and a chance to recant the day’s tales about farm gates, inner city deprivation, and to discuss the results our extensive research into the regional fluctuations of fuel prices.
Much beer was consumed in the pub and back at the campsite Marquee. People were introduce, name after name, almost all forgotten, for which I’m blaming the alcohol. A great deal of pleasure for me was taken from putting faces to handles, names to bikes, relaxing and being in the company of good friendly people, all talking the same language, XRV.
Day 2 – Fancy a little off Roading?
Snoring? No, not me governor, well maybes just a little. The problem with camping, especially with lots of other heavy drinking guys is a degree of sleep apnea has to be expected. The solution though is easy. Either leave your helmet on, stick your ear plugs back in, or drink so much that nothing is going to wake you. I opted for the ear plug solution as a ride out had been planned for the morning, and riding with a hang over is one motorbike skill I’ve yet to master.
Needless to say I slept well and arose early feeling refreshed and sprightly, which is more than I can say for those who chose the drink to sleep option. What I hadn’t realized though was the fortuitous nature of the pitch I’d chosen the previous day. It appeared that through a stroke of pure luck, located next to me was Jamie Oliver, yes the Jamie Oliver!
Alright then, another very slight exaggeration, this Jamie Oliver, might have been slightly older, far less irritating and called BTBloke, but needless to say his culinary camping skills would have put the real young whipper snapper to shame. Give my man the ingredients and he’ll cook it. “A quick ‘fruits de la mer’ sir? No problem”. I was amazed at what one man could achieve with a single ring stove, though I’m still trying to reconcile to myself why anyone would need to take five different spatulas on a camping trip! Obviously this resource located so close at hand had to be exploited, in fact throughout the whole weekend and I managed to escape the chore of cooking completely. I was left in charge of providing supplies and boiling the kettle, an accord I found to be most acceptable.
After my gourmet breakfast it was time for my first ride out and the days planned activities included three off road sections through the Dales. The informal briefing held by Barftone, our ride leader, should have raised my suspicions though, “I’ve never ridden any of these stretches before so really don’t know what to expect”, just slightly vague maybe? Anyways, eight of us left mid-morning to tackle all Mother Nature could devise to test both man and machine and in Barftone we trust. Have I mentioned yet my off-road experience is somewhat limited? A slight oversight maybe?
Continued Below.... (10000 Max Character limit
)
