Rhayader Bimblecamp '09

On the Friday morning it had been my intention to leave my house sometime between seven and eight in the morning (with a preference towards seven rather than eight), but with all my farting about and readjustment of my luggage (it gets better every time I travel, just tweaking it all now, everytime I do it I think of something I can do differently or how to add something else!) it was actually just after eight when I began to wend my merry way towards Wales. One peculiarity of this latest set up is that the bike is pretty difficult to get off, especially when wearing full bike gear. To get on it’s much easier to have the bike on its centre stand and stick a leg over John Cleese style. Getting off is even more problematic- place the cub on sidestand, reverse the getting on process and try not to fall over, then put the bike on its main stand to facilitate getting back on again.

Loaded up and ready to go - just add idiot!

Having banished the horrors of the single seat and rack arrangement to the annals of history, I managed to rack up (excuse the pun)more miles than usual before I felt the need to stop, and even then it wasn’t desperate- certainly as much the fact I wanted to stop and have a smoke as anything comfort-related.

My next stop was after a good chunk of the mileage had flown under the wheels, this time it was very much an agony situation and the muscles in my arse had really started to set, making it impossible to even move to a more comfortable position on the saddle- that just caused more pain, but I was determined to find a layby near Worcester I had stopped in last year with a coffee/snack wagon in it. I figured if it wasn’t there I’d just have to go hungry, but I could still have my break and I’d have gotten a another huge chunk of mileage out of the way into the bargain. As it turned out it was there, and I spent close on an hour chatting with the owner whilst drinking my coffee and eating a floury bap full of various fried animal bits. When I’m travelling, I’ve discovered a few long stops refresh the mind and ease arse pains better than lots of short ones.

Two more longish stops (one in another layby I’d stopped in last year about fifteen miles from Rhayader – Fuzz and Sue give me a wave and blast of the horn as they zipped past in their van, the only time I saw anyone else before I got to the site itself) and I’d reached my destination- according to my Sat nav, around 160 miles in 4 ½ hours of riding, with another couple of hours stopped on top of that- and well before three o’clock. Certainly not bad going on a bike with low compression and a tendency to slow drastically on any incline greater than about 4 degrees!

I had arrived at about the same time as Black Country Pete, and so our tents went up next to each other- much to everyone’s surprise and bemusement, his tent was the ideal size for pygmies - Pete is about six foot five! For the uninitiated, Pete’s ‘slight Dudley accent’ is a little hard to follow at first, but I was assured that in regards to the tent “yam’ll be roight” or some such and, tents up, we got to watch all the others arrive.

With all the fresh blood available, the local midges clearly put out the clarion call over the airwaves that dinner was served, and soon we were all being plagued with clouds of the things that drove everyone to distraction and some poor souls to near insanity by biting them half to death. Repellent kept me free from bites, but didn’t spare me the irritation of clouds of midges round my head. I let Swim have some of my repellent (Repel 100, no less- almost pure DEET and very good, complete with a warning not to use it for more than two weeks on the trot, and not to spray it onto synthetic fibres as it can melt them…), but sadly he hasn’t yet managed to master the use of the pump-action spray very well and somehow managed to blast himself in the face with it. He later complained his lips had gone numb, but at least his mouth wouldn’t get bitten I suppose…

With most attendees now on site and the midges arriving in ever-greater numbers, it was almost universally agreed that it was time to go up to the town for some food and beer. One of the topics that came up was that Aidan and Noel were missing as usual, despite saying that they were intending to arrive on the Friday- it was decided that no doubt they’d arrive at Aberystwyth prom with perfect timing whilst we were there on the Saturday, as they had done on the previous two years. Food, a few beers and a couple of pubs later, and lo and behold, Aidan and Noel turn up whilst Gorilla Mike, Dee and myself were sitting outside.

“You on the sidecar again, Aidan?” I asked.

“I’m on the trike,” he told us, then shortly after with his usual nonchalance added “I flipped it just after coming off the ferry at Fishguard,” all done in a way that suggests something that happens to him every day (in all honesty, Aidan and Noel never seem to get too far from ‘incidents’, so it possibly does happen every day). More on ‘incidents’ later.

Feeling a touch out of place in the Elan Hotel, we all decided it was time to wander up to the Eagles Inn- the most used pub on these trips, if only for the simple fact that it’s at the top of the path leading out of the campsite. Boo and JJ had clearly already been sampling the local ales (and when I saw them a couple of hours later they had clearly been sampling even more- both were looking – and sounding – as ‘refreshed as newts’).

After a few more beers some of us took the wise option of wandering back to the campsite – I was totally knackered after the ride over and was beginning to flag, and I wasn’t the only one. Most of us had torches of some description to light our way along the path back to the campsite, which at times is darker than a very dark thing. The path is steep, and though it feels it as you walk up it, it seems even more so on the way back down. As far as I know, no one managed to go body surfing down the bank this year (unless they did and kept it quiet…).

Despite my trainers now being soaked through and me beginning to develop trenchfoot (I decided that suede trainers in wet grass weren’t so clever after all) I crawled into a nice dry tent, expecting to just pass out instantly. Instead, I found myself wide awake, suddenly ready to have another drink or two. I lay there listening to the gentle babbling of the river, the breeze sighing through the trees and a cacophony of snores for some time before finally managing to go to sleep.

Having gone to bed about half one, I was rather surprised to find myself awake again at half five, complete with a thumping headache (and not from the beer- I didn’t drink much, unusually for me – I think it was dehydration from the day before). Wandering off to answer the call of nature, I was completely oblivious to my surroundings. On my return I saw Black Country Pete standing behind his car and boiling his kettle on his trailer (I later asked if he had seen me actually come out of my tent- he had, but I hadn’t even registered his presence, not a bad feat as he was probably less than ten feet away). I was quite surprised to find anyone else up and about- Pete had forgot to turn off his alarm which normally wakes him up to go to work, so it had gone off at the ungodly hour of three a.m., and he couldn’t get back to sleep.

“Doesyamwantacuppatea?” he asked me. Fortunately he pointed at the kettle, so I gathered he was offering tea. I declined and headed back to my tent, hoping I could get another bit of kip. An hour or so later, I was up again, and Pete was cooking breakfast, as he was apparently “Roight clam”. After my bemused look of incomprehension he explained he was hungry. I asked him how he’d slept in his tiny tent, and with a groan he summed it up as being f***ing awful, and that he had had to curl himself into an S-shape to fit into it...

As with most campsites, everyone was up pretty early (except Boo, who always seems to be last up, but as his back teeth had been afloat the night before this was hardly a surprise…),and everyone was keeping an eye on the sky. The midges had largely disappeared, but it was humid and as everyone suited up for the day, there was discussion about just what should be worn to deal with the weather. I opted for my cordura jacket with its lining out and a pair of combats with my 2-piece oversuit on the top.

With the bimble scheduled for about ten, we actually managed to get underway not much behind time. First stop, the petrol station. Those that needed to fuelled up, then in a manic grand prix start, off we went. A few miles up the road and Pete’s bike conked out. Seeing him sitting there with half a dozen people already helping him (my ‘help’ would probably be more of a hindrance…) I carried on. Aidan was hanging back at a gate (we had to shut a couple of gates behind us, would you believe?) so I told him what was happening a little way behind. A few more miles down the road and we all stopped at a bridge to regroup. I told Fuzz about Pete’s breakdown, but he was in safe hands back there (apparently it was a dodgy HT lead which Neil kindly tested by discharging several thousand volts through himself, a selfless act, we all agreed) and we didn’t worry.

They soon caught up, problem fixed, and Nige caught up and informed us of ‘those we’d left behind’. By all accounts, during the manic off after the fuel stop we’d left eight or so riders behind. Nige had spoken to them (or had used telepathy, who knew- he had information from one source or another anyway) and they would make their own way to Aberystwyth, meeting us there. I was later assured they had a good ride, and I didn’t notice any gritted teeth when I was told this, so hopefully none of them were too pissed off at the cock-up!

I took the opportunity to take off my oversuit jacket- the sun had come out and it was getting warmer, if it rained I could always slap it back on again and my cordura jacket would keep the worst off in the meantime. A group of rather bemused Harley riders passed through, not quite sure what to make of this motley crew of maniacs on stepthoughs, but one of them stopped briefly to have a word, so hats off to him.

In the Valleys, boyo - there's lovely!

The roads that Prof had selected for us this year were excellent, with some stunning scenery- there are plenty of other folks’ photos around and they can give a better flavour of the scenery than I ever can, but still don’t do it the justice it deserves. We made another couple of reasonably long stops- one in a gorgeous valley, a second not far from the mine we had visited last year (or as it became last year, an off-road paradise for a few hardy souls) we saw another group of ‘proper’ (*snigger*) bikers on BMW’s , a mix of English, Irish, German and Dutch as far as I could tell from the plates. They seemed to appreciate us though, and waved and beeped as we passed.

Near the mine

Aberystwyth. Oh boy. It was an absolute hoot as we arrived en-masse and made our way to the prom. The looks on the faces of the locals and tourists in the town was priceless as we rolled in like the world’s crappest biker gang, then formed up into two rows on the prom. As ever, we seemed to attract more curiosity than any of the big shiny bikes there (though there were precious few it has to be said, presumably they were scared it was going to rain…) and raised a fair few smiles on the faces of the people in the town, not to mention my own massive grin inside my helmet as we arrived, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been the only one! One of the Irish lads had apparently had a puncture on the way to Aber, so they arrived a little later, with a little group that had stopped to help.

Aidan’s trike, being the strange feat of demented engineering that it is was attracting one hell of a lot of attention, and as he examined his broken rear brake he had an offer of help from a very strange man with “Teeth that looked like they'd been fixed wit' a hammer” as he put it later. Due to either time constraints (or the fact that the bloke was a touch…'odd') Aidan politely refused his help, though he would regret it briefly later.

Newt had apparently stripped down to his pants earlier because, as he told me later “You can’t go to the beach without having a swim’. He said he’d spoken to the (bored and lonely looking) lifeguard on the near deserted beach and asked the temperature. It sounded a bit cold, but he didn’t want to look silly by just dipping his toes in and chickening out, so in he went, and apparently it “Wasn’t too bad.” Rather you than me, mate, rather you than me…

Aberystwyth Prom

After much food and drink, and lots of chatting, both to passers by and each other, someone suggested we line the bikes up in single file for a photo op. Then someone else suggested a Le Mans style start with us all running to the bikes across the prom. Thankfully that never happened, lord knows how many people we’d have lost like that!

The weather had been pretty nice on the prom (I actually got a little burnt, but nothing like last year…), but the skies had begun to look ominous and the odd drop of rain had been felt. Despite the fact that I had been roasting alive in my sauna suit -sorry - waterproof overtrousers, like boil in the bag roast beef, I opted to also put my oversuit jacket back on.

Photo opportunity! (Thought I had everyone in shot, but chopped Dee off- sorry!)

The whole group back together, we left Aberystwyth to head to Borth, and more fun was had as we stormed through the town. One petrol stop later and we were properly underway, and so was the rain. Score one for the oversuit decision! I thought Borth was a miserable little place, made even more so by the heavy rain and gusty wind. I can’t believe that it’s all that appealing even on the sunniest summer’s day though, so I’ll scratch it off my list of seaside destinations. More than one comment was made as we stood in the carpark slowly getting wetter that we must be f***ing mad, yet spirits were up (with the possible exception of Gorilla Mike who, being dressed only in bike leathers, was getting wetter at three times the speed of most of us!).

A notable feature of the ride from Borth was a very steep hill, a hoot in the wet as people hauled the brakes on to stop at the junction at the bottom of it. Fortunately it was quite short, or brake fade and wet roads could have played their part in some 'hilarity'.

For the rest of the journey back to the campsite it pissed it down, proper rain. I discovered my waterproof Frank Thomas Aqua glove were about as waterproof as a pair of net curtains, and that my overtrousers leaked at the crotch- nice. We stopped a couple of times to let the slower riders catch back up and to discuss just how wet we were getting!

The final bit of the ride back was a joy as a long string of lights stretched out across the mountains, but I think everyone was relieved to be back at the campsite. No one seemed to have the energy or the inclination to climb into their tent and attempt to change, so we huddled under Diesel Dave and Brenda’s gazebo for a while. Aidan had had a breakdown (waterlogged airfilter, I believe) on the way back and had waved everyone on, so he arrived in his usual style a while later- hurtling at speed across the field, then attempted to stop, unsuccessfully it has to be said, using only his front brake (should have taken the mad geezer on the prom’s offer, eh?). He slid across the grass, ploughed stylishly into Noel’s infamous ‘Rust cub’ which fell over, knocked over H’s bike which then fell into Noel and Aidan’s tent. Cameras were reached for, but by the time they were raised into position Aidan had already leapt off the cub and righted the two bikes as if nothing had happened. The gutting thing was that Noel had intended to film his brother’s arrival, but just couldn’t be bothered, missing a classic ‘You’ve been framed’ moment.

Whilst standing under the Gazebo, being plied with tea and coffee by Brenda, Bogger crawled past on all fours, with a sheepskin on his back, and JJ riding on him like a Jockey. If anyone was going to do that, I suppose it had to be them. Classic.

Finally summoning up the enthusiasm to go back to my tent and get out of my wet gear, I opened the door and got my nice porch all wet. Every time I moved about in there on my knees, my combats got a good soaking, As I was already a mite ‘damp’ around my ‘equipment’ it didn’t really make me look any dafter. I threw on my cheapo poncho and went to the shower block to dry my trousers with the hairdryer, as they were the only ones I had brought with me. I got a few funny looks, not so much as I dried the damp patch across my groin and on my knees, but more so as I stood with the nozzle of the hairdryer in my trouser pocket with what was almost certainly a look of bliss as the warm air dried bits that other methods could not reach….

I found myself under Newt and AG’s awning, having a chat, and Nige kindly arrived and reintroduced me to the dubious joys of very cheap, very strong white cider. By now it was clear that the rain was going to be unlikely to let up anytime soon, and though the rain had seemingly scared off all the midges (or more hopefully, drowned the little bastards), people began to drift off to the pub. I left the site a bit later and found myself in town on my own (this is no bad thing- the town isn’t exactly a metropolis) and with no idea where everyone had gone, so I decided to wander into the kebab shop, all I wanted was a wedge of ballast and the drinking could begin. A half-pound cheeseburger and chips later and I was full to the point of bursting. I ambled listlessly back to the Eagles where people had as always started to congregate.

Eventually I found myself out of the back of the pub under the covered smoking area with Dave, H, Salty, Nige, James, Gary, Paul and Black Country Pete where I heard some cracking stories. Poor Pete nearly had a prolapse (in his own words), not to mention a near-seizure as he was bent over double laughing so hard. His laughter was so funny that the rest of us were soon in fits too. The conversation involved subjects as diverse as haemorrhoids, x-rays, people digging tunnels under gates great escape style, blood blisters, err… proctologists and much more. I honestly don’t think I’ve laughed as hard as I did out there for a long time, and I’m pretty sure poor Pete has never laughed that hard, or surely he would have burst a blood vessel or something before now. The poor sod was almost literally in fits, a true sight to behold. We also came to the conclusion that in every factory making waterproofs there is one guy there with a pin whose sole job is to perforate the groins of all the trousers so they leak there.

One local came out of the pub covered in white powder, thanks to JJ’s remarkable device. Noel’s footage of it has to be seen to be believed, and has been stuck on YouTube for everyone to witness here. I particularly like the fact he failed to notice the trick the first time he blew on it, and oblivious to the small cloud he gives it another go...

Some of us decided that it would be a good idea to head back to the campsite. We stood around waiting for Salty as he dilly dallied in a drunken haze “I’m not very pissed at all”, he reassured us. Eschewing the more accepted method of opening the gate, he hopped over the wall “Ooh, this is actually quite high this side, isn’t it?” and landed on the path, somehow on two feet and not his arse. Back at the campsite I was in the shower block and listened to BCPete and SaltySnax have a very interesting conversation about the word ‘Moist’. Not pissed at all, oh no…

For a second night running I went to bed expecting to fall asleep immediately and didn’t and I heard people wobbling across the site to their tents, with the exception of the Irish lads who went to another pub that had a disco on. I’ve since seen footage of the table dancing that followed, again courtesy of Noel, and having seen the state some of them were in it was surprising they managed to get up at all in the morning, let alone catch their ferry. At least it had stopped raining.

I woke up on Sunday morning, far too early and after only about four hours sleep. At least I knew I didn’t have to get on the bike for a while as I was staying until Monday. A couple of mugs of coffee and I was fine, and I waited for everyone else to get up.

Those of us staying on were able to watch in leisure as those who were leaving packed their tents up in preparation to go. The Irish contingent realised their ferry was an hour earlier than they thought, and a quite relaxed camp dismantling became slightly more hurried. A few of the leavers wandered up the vintage show briefly before coming back to get their vehicles and soon we were left with just a couple of handfuls of hardy souls in our now much emptier corner of the campsite. A bright yellow Citroen was spotted at the gates, which could only mean the arrival of Sir Klipp and Lil’ Annie, and soon many of us were spending half our time throwing a ball across the campsite for our favourite little dog (Annie, not Sir Klipp).

The 'Rust Cub'- got a shot for posterity before it finally dissolves!

Most wandered over to the vintage show, if only briefly - I spent the afternoon loafing around the campsite, glad not to have any commitments for the day. Once or twice the sky darkened and we had a few light showers, but by and large we had a dry and fairly sunny day. I sat with Newt and AG for a time (thanks for the tea and the sausage and bacon baps, by the way) and I heard of Newt’s ‘Incident’ the night before.

Walking along the steep part of the path that I mentioned earlier, Newt turned off his torch with the bold claim that “I can see in the dark really well!”, then he promptly fell down the steps at the bottom. Pride comes before a fall, they say, and Newt showed me the little lump he’d managed to take out of his shin in the process. Sterling work there, I think.

Drink was consumed, Diesel Dave and Brenda put on a bit of a Barbie for us all, Annie was kept busy chasing her ball, and the midges of Friday returned in force, angry that much of the fresh meat had gone, and redoubled their efforts to get at what was left of us. Poor Mike had been wearing shorts and his legs later began to resemble corned beef where the midges had bitten him. Early evening, and Fuzz offered me Jim Beam. A couple of glasses of that on top of the beer I’d already drunk and I was beginning to wobble slightly, though the ever increasing swarms of midges were starting to really piss everyone off and we made the wise decision to head to the pub. We also began to suspect that the pub was breeding the damn things and released them of an evening to force us into coming to their establishment and spending our hard-earned.

The evening was quieter than the previous couple, though ironically it was the drunkest I’d got - trust me to find I’d packed my drinking head after all, only to be not able to make too much use of it as I was riding home the next day…

We got back to the tents relatively early, and I turned down an offer of a late drink with Newt, AG and Boo in order to crawl into my sleeping bag. Finally I got my ‘fall asleep quickly moment’…

For the third day running I woke up early. I didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep this time. I’d be home in my own bed by the evening anyway, so who cared? I opted for a quick walk up to the local newsagents for cigs and Red Bull instead. It had been my plan to drink the Red Bull on the way back to the site, but it appeared that the fridge it had been kept in was somewhere close to absolute zero and the can was too cold to even hold for more than about ten seconds at a time. Sod it - back to the tent to make coffee and cook breakfast, I’d have the Red Bull later.

It was a nice lazy morning, with no one in any particular hurry to get away. I leisurely packed up my gear and wandered amongst my fellow campers for some time before finally making the decision to leave. I chose not to wear my waterproofs as the weather was looking good for the time being. I decided that I wasn’t going to stop until I got to the layby with the burger van just outside Worcester that I had stopped at on the way over, and asides from a brief emergency stop to remove a bee from my collar (it was dead after hitting my neck at speed, but a dead bee will still sting if it’s pointing its arse the right way) I made it.

Whilst having another delicious pile of fried animal bits sandwiched between two slices of thick bread and a cup of coffee, the rain started coming down. A cup of coffee and a few smokes later and it was still teeming down, so after filling my tank I donned my waterproofs. H zoomed by during this period and we gave each other a wave as he passed, presumably enjoying the rain.

Waterproofs on, and some time later, I decided to get underway again, nearly forgetting my rucksack which I had laid on top of my top box earlier. You’d think it would be impossible to miss, but if it hadn’t been for the bloke in the burger van and the lads outside it, I wouldn’t even have noticed that it wasn’t on my back and that it had dropped off onto the floor as I rode off. What a dickhead…

Rucksack now firmly secured onto my back I set off. I had travelled no more than three or five miles as the rain started to clear up and I began to sweat in my sauna suit. I stopped a couple more times, and just outside Leamington Spa I was tempted to take the waterproofs off as it was now largely bright sunshine with the odd light shower thrown in for good measure. Fortunately I was too idle to fold everything up and bungee it onto the bike and so kept them on - when I hit Northampton, the heavens opened for the trip along the dual carriageway. With my waterproofs over my cordura gear though, this time I stayed bone dry.

Arse pain forced me to stop no more than ten miles from my house for a quick leg stretch, but I arrived home just after five, having taken about the same time overall as I did on the way out, and all in nice bright sunshine. Total mileage for the weekend: 427.2 miles.

Thanks to everyone who turned up, both familiar faces and new ones, you all helped make it a cracking weekend, and if I didn’t get much of a chance to speak with you, then perhaps next time.

Cheers to everyone who gave me food, bought me a drink or just sat down and had a laugh with me, to Fuzz for giving me the breakfast of champions before we went to the pub on Sunday evening (he knows what I mean), and to the lads out the back of the Eagles on Saturday night for giving me the best laugh I’ve had in ages.

Hope to see everyone again next year, also those I saw last year but who couldn’t make it this time around, and to see even more new faces.

Roll on Rhayader 2010!