Motorcycle Forum / Country Specific / UK Group / July 2008

Hmm it was unremittingly wet in Yorkshire, mostly.
However I am currently perusing ferries for the Manx.

lol ... sounds great (in parts) ... care to give us one of your RBR-
style write-ups?

In the referenced article, SD <salad.dodger@idnet.com> writes:

Exploding gas canisters and Belgian techno-loving low-lifes
discovering that you don't wind up a field full of bikers and, if you
do, the French bikers will always take the side of other bikers, be
they English or otherwise.

My first Chimay, by Ogden, aged 31 2/4

Friday evening, loading up the bike with panniers, tailpack, tankbag,
tent, folding chair, rollmat and emergency supply of
Chateauneuf-du-Pape, the daughter of one of my neighbours asked me
"Where are you going?" "Belgium," I reply. She looks at me unconvinced.
"Where are you going?" "Belgium," I reply. She's still having none of
it. "Why?"

Classic bikes. What's that all about then? They look rubbish, they tend
to be made of tin and pig iron, they don't stop, they barely go and like
most things that predate my birth they don't hold a lot of fascination
for me. Mix that with crapping in a glorified bucket and washing
facilities that would delight a rabies victim and you can see why I
haven't been before.

I am, basically, a bit of a pillock.

The ride down to Hastings on Friday night was pretty dismal. I don't
much enjoy riding in wind, darkness or rain. I really don't enjoy riding
in all three at once, so by the time I stopped for fuel at Hurst Green I
wasn't really feeling particularly chipper. Still, a kebab, a couple of
bottles of beer and 8 hours' kip had me right as rain and I headed off
via the Icklesham Bends and Romney Marsh - if you're going to do a long
trip, start it somewhere fun. After stopping briefly to secure the tent
that was trying to make a rapid exit to the right, I discovered that the
combined effect of all that extra bulk on the back and a large sail
strapped above the pillion seat was a front wheel with about as much
weight over it as Kate Moss's bra. Cor lummy, flighty or what.

Another fuel stop at Ashford and I pick up a paper to read on the train.
Check in at the terminal and despite being there well before time I'm
bumped back to a later train. Ho hum. Park up at the terminal building
and who do I see yakking on his mobile but our very own National
Treasure. "I woke up about the same time I was supposed to be coming out
the other side - don't think I'm going to make it to lunch with Platy."
So the paper stays in the tankbag as talk bollocks for half an hour,
sneak on the next train (take that, check-in woman), talk bollocks for
another half an hour, and arrive in France. I put in a quick call to
Andy asking him to do my shopping for me and we head for the autoroute.
Fast forward 195 miles of France and Belgium at Goldwing pace and we
arrive at Chimay.

Ginge is absolutely shitfaced, a party of teenagers are setting fire to
large pieces of hedge, a bunch of Belgian chavs are pumping out dodgy
euro techno from the back of a half-painted car and I realise I've not
got a sidestand puck so I fish out an emergency can of Ruddles County,
decant carefully into a plastic pint-glass (you can take the man out of
England...) and get parked up. Cue Andy's arrival and a "why have I just
done that fat little c.nt's shopping when he's already here?",  the
first of several brief downpours and everything after that is a bit of a
blur of strong beer, unexpectedly expensive red wine (not the semi-plonk
I thought I'd fished out of the crate the previous evening), woodsmoke,
sausages and Ginge sh.tting in a field several times in protest at
having to pay 50c to do it in a bucket.

Sunday is a little clearer - there was definitely more beer, a trip into
Chimay proper and, unlike the previous afternoon, I actually saw some
bikes; Ginge continued to leave a trail of little piles of excrement
around the perimeter of a nearby field before buggering off home; Andy
attempted to start World War III with his IED; Eddie made a sterling
contribution to the consumption of every last drop of beer in stock (all
bar a single can of Grimbergen which nobody felt man enough to tackle at
3.30 in the morning) and I eventually decided to call it a night.

Monday consisted almost entirely of packing up, loading the bike and
going for a one-man Gumball Rally toward Calais. Stopping at the first
chance for fuel on the A26 I attempt to go for a crap only to find that
all the bogs have seats missing, the urinals are completely out of order
and the entire gents smells strongly of vomit - it would appear that
Welcome Break are making their first foray into the French market.
Around 50 miles later I pass Dodger (who had left around an hour earlier
than me, hurrah for non-existent French speed limits) and drop into
convoy mode for the rest of the run to Calais, stopping only on the hard
shoulder to rid my helmet of something wasp-shaped that had decided to
set up camp inside the visor.

Our journey through the Calais terminal must set some kind of record.
Arriving rather earlier than booked, we're both given a bit of paper
with K printed on it and discover that the train is already boarding. A
brief queue at passport control, then directed down a completely empty
lane 1 toward the train where I find the remaining half of our local
Proclaimers tribute act waiting to board. Autoroute to train, under 10
minutes including passport control. As on the way out, my paper remains
in the tankbag due to unexpected company and the usual Red Arrows
phenomenon occurs on the M20.

Will I be going again next year? You betcha. Those bikes may be rubbish
but they make a glorious sonic backdrop for a camping weekend.

<wonders>

Did Adie take the turbo?

aaaaaarrrrrggggh! http://www.flickr.com/photos/15262772@N00/1601605404/

I finally gave up trying to figure out a way to get my camping chair
onto the bike Thursday afternoon. So a quick bit of work with wire,
solder and a fuse older and I had an auxiliary plug under the seat.[1]

So around 17:30 I left chez moi and joined the rush hour muppets in
the rain for the trip to folkstone, which to be honest was a bit sh.t
with spray, cars etc hindering progress. I was booked on the 20:30
train but with the +/- 2hr ticket go onto the 19:20 along with a
german chap on his way to switzerland. He knew about avoiding north
wales because of brunstrom, so it's amazing how far the reputation of
that c.nt has spread. He also seemed surprised when I told him there
was basically no chance of the UK pursing camera violations against
him, he'd assumed it was the same as the rest of europe. He also told
me that a lot of fines in France had gone up to 72 euro because
anything under 70 euros can't/isn't chased up cross border.

Anyway off the train and the short journey to the etap hotel, panniers
off and changed into day clothes. No sign of any other bikes when I
arrived but by the time I headed for the bar a VFR was parked up. Got
to the bar and sent Andy a text to say which bar but he "was stuck
like a c.nt in ashford" I'd just finished my first beer when Ginge and
Michael turned up so it was Ginge's round. A short while later Lady
Nina turned up a bit peeved because Michael is a bit of a luddite on
the mobile front so hadn't communicated that he was already in the
advance party, whilst she waited at folkstone. So more beer until the
rest of the thursday contingent arrived, then more beer until the bar
closed. Tried another but that was also closed, however, Adie managed
to blag a carry out so we all retired outside the first bar to drink
them. Got moved on but by that time were out of booze so it was time
for bed.

Next day Andy And Adie headed for germany, Statto, Ginge and I set off
for Chimay leaving the other two to follow later. Using the Ginge nav
worked well until it went a little pear shaped in lille, however,
Statto had taped his GPS receiver to the bars and we headed off again.
Stopped in maubeuge for lunch, very decent Plat du Jour with loads of
garlic served by the most camp waiter ever. The on to Chimay via the
detours because the circuit eats up a lot of the obvious approach
roads. Arrived, found the Platybus and set up camp[2] before blagging
a lift from Laura into the town for dead animal on a stick and booze
supplies.

Various people arrived at different times, bits of dead animal were
cremated and alcohol was consumed. I put earplugs in before retiring
so wasn't as annoyed as some by the noise from the local chav mobile
although I did hear the bikes having the tits revved of them for no
good reason in the early hours.

Next day(s) looked at various shite old bikes in the paddocks, watched
others go round in circle and drank more booze, ate more cremated
animal. Saw lots of people watching the racing had ear plugs in and
then realised just how much noise Manx Nortons make when leaving the
start line. Some (most) of the sidecar pilots and passengers seem to
be a few brick short of the full load but fair play to them cornering
those old heaps at anything over a walking pace isn't for the faint
hearted.[3]

By sunday afternoon there was a fair degree of animosity against the
yoofs playing crap from their mobile speaker / beat box car. So when
they hadn't been around for a while it was assumed they'd cleared off
abandoning their tent and BBQ. Some bodies from another Brit
contingent let down their tent and removed the poles[4]. At this point
Andy was set on blowing up their BBQ, eventually he was persuaded to
move it into the next field where petrol and a partially used gas
cylinder did their stuff launching various bits of metal into the sky.

Not long afterwards the yoofs returned, very pissed and quite pissed
off about their tent and BBQ. Then some locals came over had a bit of
an argument with them and finished it off by knocking the loudest one
over. After which they buggered off and harmony was restored.

Set off for the return on monday with Zymurgy and Ginny across
country. All was going reasonably to plan until somewhere around douai
the diversions and road closures dropped us onto the A1 to lille.
There followed some reasonably aggressive filtering up the autoroute
to Calais. Blimey isn't the slip joining the final approach to calais
flipping tight, it just seemed to keep getting more so until it
finally straightened out.

Made it back to the Chunnel for the 16:50 train although since my
watched had stopped I went into the terminal for a piss thinking there
was plenty of time and saw the final call up on the board so I got
onto the train 5 minutes before it left.  A trundle around the
motorway and home for 18:00.

Various pictures/video here.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=3921&l=15933&id=1260540873
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=3915&l=87ad2&id=1260540873
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=3919&l=295a5&id=1260540873
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=3920&l=b4949&id=1260540873
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1024624176781
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1024627216857
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1024630816947

Much as camping is amongst my least favourite forms of accommodation
it was a good laugh and I'll be back next year.

[1] I was pretty certain the phone wouldn't last 4 days and sods law
say if the battery is flat then it will be needed.
[2] The self inflating mattress although a bit big for the bike worked
a treat
http://www.outdoormegastore.co.uk/acatalog/Coleman_Quickbed_Large_with_Integrate
d_4D_Pump.html
[3] Ginny seems to have volunteered herself for a go as a passenger
next time around.
[4] I believe they were from TOG's local club but BICBW

A small selection of photos here.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/g1nge/tags/chimay2008/

Rubbish bendy phone camera pics here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=30540&l=ed799&id=528363400
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=30542&l=22775&id=528363400

Right, I'm off to bed before I collapse.