I rode on the back of Sylvester's 650 Triumph chop to check it out(never again, the seat was made of solid metal with holes drilled into it - ever sat on a cheesegrater for half an hour at 60mph ? my advice is - don't). A couple of Hell's Angels greeted me and after a quick ride on the back I parted with the cash.
First impressions of the ride home were scary. At every roundabout or corner I had to slow down to about 5 mph and change down into first gear before the bike could be persuaded to turn (also not easy with handlebars about a metre apart). After being used to a sportsbike, with brakes and steering that works, this needed quite a bit of consious thought (eg "there's a roundabout coming up, oh shit I'm on a Harley, I need to slow to about 5mph, oh no the brakes are crap, I'm never going to make it, and I haven't even written a will, here goes, christ, I made it just, good there's an easy straight bit now, I can stop clenching my buttocks for dear life")
After buying the bike on the Tuesday, it left only two days until we departed from High Wycombe and headed for Kent. However, this left Sylvester plenty of time to decide that lots of things on the Harley needed "fixing". First off, he "adjusted" the sidestand so that the bike leaned over more when parked. Next came the oil reserve tank ("please don't touch it" I was thinking, but you can't argue with a scary biker like Sylvester).
Thursday morning, the big day arrived. I rode to Sylvester's and we loaded our tents and gear into a Transit van driven by Jo and Noel ("wimps" you might cry, having a vehicle to carry your luggage but I'd like to see you try and carry a full Indian Tepee complete with its 30ft wooden poles on two motorbikes).
The ride there was great, a real taste of freedom. If you've ever seen Easy Rider, that was us on that day. The weather was beautiful, we both had gorgeous girls (ahem, sorry biker chicks, I've got to master this biker image thingy) on the back, and we didn't have a care in the world. I even didn't pay for petrol at one of the filling stations on the way, but this was purely accidental, I didn't remember until after I'd got home (I like to think it was my subconscious rebelious personality coming through).
The only problems I had on the way were the petrol cap falling off on the M40 (as well as not paying for the petrol, I'd also not put the cap on properly), and the sidestand spring popping out because of its new angle (thanks Sylvester!) I felt such a plonker with it taped up as I couldn't get off the bike when I stopped until someone brought me a brick to rest it on.
Sylvester's chop kept breaking down and continually needed fiddling with which meant we had to stop off in just about every town on the way, which was fine as the weather was perfect. I still remember the feeling of roaring into some tiny English village on two stupidly loud rebellious bikes, stopping at the village green, and lounging about looking scary (ok, so Sylvester looked scary, but I can dream). Mothers held back their small children, old ladies looked in horror. If only I could prolong that moment in time
We finally got to the show at about 10pm. As we were nearing the event, there were custom bikes everywhere, with everyone trying to look as cool as possible. I picked a spot for my tent and set it up. My girlfriend at the time somehow fell into a ditch and sprained her ankle (I'm still not sure how she managed to find a ditch in the middle of a field).For some reason we left the tepee until 1 in the morning and it took a further 2 hours to put up (each wooden pole has to go in the correct place). When it was finished it was definitely worth it though. We lit a fire in the middle, threw lots of drugs onto it and sat around with people playing guitars and digeridoo. Superb.
The next morning (ok, afternoon) was also great. Forget walking around the stalls when you've got a Harley. Climb on in shorts and t shirt, and ride around the field, checking out the stalls. Everyone was doing this, in various states of undress.
We parked the chops facing away from each other either side of the entrance to the tepee, which was on top of a hill. It just looked so cool, at the top of the hill, it was breathtaking. I wish I had a photo, I know Jo took one but I haven't seen her for 3 years.
I can't remember much about the time there (something you may have noticed about most of my reviews, I remember the journey there in perfect detail, haven't got a clue what happened there, and vaguely remember bits of the way home! I wonder why?). Anyway, I'm more interested in riding bikes than looking at them stationary, or buying new bits of chrome, I'll leave that for the others to do and write about.
I do remember the usual glam rock type bands, but I went back to the tepee before the customary strippers and wet t-shirt competitions.
The journey home was pretty amusing. We left on Sunday lunchtime and finally got back late on Monday evening (it normally takes about 3 hours by car!). This was caused by Sylvester's bike continually playing up, so we took it easy and camped out on a clifftop on Sunday night. The sun was shining, not a cloud in sight (yes, I know it was England, but its not foggy there all the time you know), and Sylvester pulled level with my bike whilst his girlfriend flashed her chest at me, he just looked at me and grinned, then sped off into the distance, leaving me nearly riding into a ditch in shock.
And then we were home, back to normality, and now I've sold the Harley to Jude (Grommit) and got a job, so it will probably never happen to me again. But at least I did it, and I've still got the story to bore my grandchildren with when I get old.
Dylan
