yen_powell

They have these blue arrows so you know which direction to ride. We have a similar thing in east London but no one seems to know how it works there.

When I got back I lifted the fence again and quickly showed my wristband to someone who looked even more hung over than me. By the time I got back to my tent my mate was stirring, well boiling really. He had a small gas cooker going with a collapsible lime green kettle on it. “Ooh how lovely”, I said, “It goes with our pretty wrist bands!” He proceeded to pour the hot water into a pot of porridge and then did some actual stirring, it didn’t make it look any more apetizing than it did dry. This posh tent had its own phone mast. It looked like it was going to rain. We decided to ride into town quickly before it did and have a look round, and in my case get some breakfastlunch. I swear the actual rain did not start until we rode through the ‘nongate’ and into the car park. My phone was nearly out of charge and I had it plugged into a car type USB thing on my dash. It was raining that heavily that I backed my bike under a tree, followed by my mate, I left the engine running to keep the charger going (it is only live with the ignition on) and we waited. I had to put my hand over the charge to stop the deluge filling it and shorting it out. After about 5 minutes the rain eased and we turned right out of the carpark and took the short ride to the town centre. On the way we passed a group of Hells Angels all gathered around that traditional bike club mode of transport they seem to like, a broken down van which was blocking half a mini roundabout. Naturally it started raining again, but then stopped as soon as we parked up in a car park. I swear, someone up above knew exactly when I was riding and when I was not riding and set the weather accordingly. Barbie was showing at the local flicks, but I was worried other bikers might see us going in. Thing like that can ruin you wiv the boyz. I found a place for my combined breakfastlunch and of course the rain stopped and the sun came out. Afterwards we stepped out and the rain started again. We had a look around the local army regimental museum. An old man in a wheel chair stopped me and asked if I had ever fought in a war, I said no, but I had run away from a few pub fights in my time. He didn’t seem to understand, I don’t think he was the full shilling. We saw him later on being pushed about by a younger companion and asking similar questions to passers by. I was stunned to see a display which appeared to be my infamous friend Strange Dave, it was eerily like him. I sent it to him straight away and got the following response. "They wanted a fearsome looking chap." Saw this name on a medal display, loved it, unfortunately it is a blurry pic. Solomon Slugg. I must look him up. Near to the museum was an old house with strange figures posed outside. There was no explanation for this, so I took a few pictures and moved on. After a walk around the local market we rode back to the rally site. The Hells Angels must have fixed their van as it was no longer on the mini roundabout. Probably being used for its primary purpose, allowing large American motorcycles to travel to camping events with just a rolled sleeping bag under the headlamp! We decide to walk back up to Old Sarum as there was a pub in a little lane next to it. We had a few drinks in there and then I raced my bladder back to the site for the afternoon and evening entertainment. The sign with the band list kept moving, so when I spotted it again, I squeezed between a couple of tattooed beasts next to it and took a picture in case I lost it again.

I must have missed that. I did take my own toilet roll into the rugby club on Sunday morning They had one of those toilet roll dispensers that only allows a single sheet out at a time. You could see it was full, but one over enthusiastic tug would have been disasterous if the paper broke. There was no teasing any more out without the key to open it. I wasn't prepared to take that chance.

It was then I noticed a man walking towards me. Another early riser I thought, but no, he was wearing a sort of security/doorman type get up. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to be in here, the footpaths were closed. I said I was leaving now anyway, but there were no closure signs, just some dodgy and vague paper notice. He said that was it. I said that one thing I know about is how to close a footpath properly and that wasn’t it, but he didn’t really pay attention as he walked me out of the main gate. More to follow.

I was doing a double visit last weekend, Friday, Saturday at The Wiltshire Motorcycle Rally at Salisbury Rugby Club, followed by riding to north Devon on Sunday morning to visit my son and his family. I packed light (for me) and tried to cram everything into a top box, roll bag and tank bag. I was determined not to use panniers. I seem always hit super rush hour traffic whenever I have panniers and I was determined not to be stuck and unable to squeeze through gaps due to being wider than usual. I made the right decision. I left home and an hour later I arrived at my mate’s house to find that upon hearing that I was staying narrow, he was going to do the same so he could follow me through those same gaps in the traffic. He was right to copy me! We set off, first thing we crossed the Thames on the Dartford bridge straight into our first queue. The bridge has a 50mph average speed camera zone on it. As we were filtering between very slow moving lorries, 50 was not an option anyway, so not having to try and maintain a slower speed than you want to travel. The motorway opened up and after about a mile we hit the first 70mph section and it had just normal traffic in it. It was a warm day so this at least meant we could cool off a bit now. Anyone who uses the M25 will know it is filled with speed cameras on the overhead gantries and the ones that don’t still have the road markings as if they have to fool people into sticking to the limit. Very soon we saw a reduction on the overhead limits, a sign that there is a queue ahead and sure enough we were back to squeezing between vehicles for mile after mile. I made use of personality, hooter and headlights and most drivers moved over when they saw us coming through. When we finally got off the motorway we hit some beautiful and deserted country roads. I had only had my breakfast so far and I wanted to get some food in me before we pitched tents at the rally. I’d had a look before leaving and knew there were a few roadside cafes on the A30 near the rally site and we pulled into one. My mate ordered a bacon, egg and black pudding baguette, no style or finesse. His arrived instantly, my all day breakfast took ages, I suppose the clue was in the name. A man, who may or may not have been the cook stood telling us that Wednesdays was bike night. He said this while standing next to the sign that said the very same thing, so he was probably right. The site was in a rugby club field within walking distance of Old Sarum, the iron age hillfort that went on to become a Roman camp, a castle, a town complete with cathedral and finally deserted when everyone pissed off and built Salisbury instead. Some sort of argument with the castle guards I read somewhere. I said to my mate that when he saw a green volcano in the distance we would almost be there. The site is right on the edge of Salisbury, housing estate on one side, countryside on the other. We gained entry after me not finding the entrance gate first go and riding round the block. This was because they didn’t have a gate, just a section of fence they removed when they noticed you pull up. I just said our name and numbers, no paper tickets, a large man put a lime green paper wrist band on us both. One each I mean, not the same one like Sidney Poitier and Tony Curtiss in The Defiant Ones. We then had to ride through the stalls around to the other side of the marquee where another large man was waiting, camping was where they told you, no free-for-all as they were worried about how much room they had. I pulled up next to the man and I swear he pointed at the lines of tents and asked if I could see the bike. I replied, with, ‘What, the bike next to that other bike by the bikes?’. This went right over his head, so I asked which one and he named a colour this time which narrowed it down to 3 or 4. We parked up and I started putting my tent up, slowed by the fact my mate pinched my mallet when I wasn’t looking and used it himself for his own tent. I noticed that we seemed to be the only people in the whole place not wearing a leather waist coat covered in top and bottom rockers, must be a local fashion in Wiltshire. My mate's latest main bike, some sort of Triumph. We headed over to the rugby club and got some drinks, I was melting from trying to push pegs into tock hard ground with my bare hands and needed the fluid. My Guinness looked a bit off, but perhaps they use different water here. They had those special glasses that flex when you are carrying them. I don’t think I got back to my table with full drinks once over the weekend. Then we heard the first bit of music, so headed over to the marquee, we got the table right at the front. Everyone else seemed to have to sit together based on club membership and bicep size. I have to say there wasn’t one bad band, they were all cracking. I did worry about all the houses surrounding us, but not to worry, all music stopped at 10pm which was weird but understandable. I had a wander off between drinks into the car park to look at Old Sarum as the sun was going down. I decided I was going to walk up to it in the morning and have a wander around. The next morning I was awoken about 6:30am by the firing up of an open Harley pipe a few inches from one of my ears. Fuck it I thought, I didn’t want a lie in anyway. I got up and walked to the coffee stall and bought a cup of coffee and chatted to the stall owner. I asked if he was local and was he there when the Russians left the nerve agent lying about (Novichok). He said he had been, they had all had to be lined up and be tested by men in hazmat suits and then wash all clothes and bedding a few times before they got the all clear. I wasn’t worried about any left over nerve agent though, my pants would protect me! I drained my coffee add walked up to the ‘non-gate’. Someone on the front tent shouted at me to just lift it out of the base and put it back afterwards. I walked up the road towards Old Sarum, it is small looking when you have no scale to judge it by, there are no people, vehicles or houses nearby as you walk towards it. My tents is somewhere there near the caravans. I soon got to the main entrance and started walking around the outer rampart. I met quite a few dog walkers, so watched where I stepped. Soon I realised this thing was bigger than I thought and walking right round the outside was beyond my hung over but beautifully marked body. I got to the back entrance bridge and decide to cut across the inner part of the fort and the castle and go back out at the main entrance. There was a paper sign saying some rights of way weren’t available due to an event, but I figured that they would be marked up or taped off and headed in anyway. Once inside I saw how big the place was. The foundation stones of the old demolished cathedral are showing in the turf, and the Norman castle mound dominates the centre of the iron age hill fort. I walked around it and found a few white tents for the event which turned out to be some sot of jousting shindig. No one was up though, so I quietly took a few pictures.

I'm back from the nerve agent capital of the UK, plus north Devon. I have a black eye and a gashed finger as a souvenir of my long weekend. I was also escorted of some National Trust premises at 7:30am by a nice man in a stab vest. Ride report will follow as some point.

After riding around lots of different places at work, I parked at our contractor's yard and walked through a few streets to a Turkish restaurant where one of my friends/colleagues had invited us to lunch to celebrate his second retirement. On the way I cut through the Lefevre estate and took some pictures of the giant flowers which you'll see in the pictures I took today FRED. My friend's name is Nasser, he's an Iranian. He came to the UK to attend university and to keep him out of the Iran/Iraq war which was killing and maiming his school friends at the time. Further education was encouraged by the state, exempting you from compulsory military service. When he told them he fancied studying civil engineering in Britain they pointed at a map of the UK and said choose wisely which city he would like to go to..... Nasser said he knew nothing about Britain at all. He had a quick squint and put his finger on what he hoped was a throbbing centre of nightlife, loose women and wild parties and it was all sorted out for him. Anyway, after a few months in Bournmouth, he spoke to a friend who was also studying in the UK and they said he should leave Bournmouth and switch to where they were, another crazy happening place. So he transferred to Colchester!! There he met his English wife and eventually in 1986 he ended up working with me. He partially retired about 10 years ago and used to do 6 months on, 6 months off. When he worked with my team we gave him new jobs that he would start and finish in that time and it worked really well. He could visit Iran and help organise his parents care as they got older etc. Then he was transferred to a lazy team in maintenance and they saved loads of jobs up for him and presented them all to him on his first day working that year. He would get loads of grief from people who thought he had been sitting on the work for months. So now he has hit 65 he decided it was time to go permanently. He has two grown up sons. One applied to join the Police but was turned down as not being ethnic enough. When he said he was half Iranian they said that wasn't good enough. He became a plumber instead.

You need to go old style.

Just watched 10 minutes of this. In a way, it's just like an early UK biking experience when you were just left to teach yourself, the only difference being here it's on a 650 rather than a 125/250. It mentions some sort of course attended, they obviously never told him how to slow down properly, he'll come a cropper when he puts the brakes on with the clutch in at 45mph all the way down to zero in wet weather. Or maybe he won't as bikes all seem to have ABS now.

It's a shame, they seem to be a well thought of machine.

Doesn't seem to be available new in the UK. I assume it doesn't meet the latest emission bollocks here.

Found this person when wandering to a site today.