On Saturday afternoon Boyd dropped in enroute to Tenby. He delivered an engine I have agreed to purchase from a TC member, an SLR650 lump. I had a good chinwag with him and Kath before they set off again for West Wales. A short time later Simon Morgan turned up with his wife Sarah and their lovely daughter Sioned. So most of the afternoon was spent in the company of TC bods.
My chum Tim (some of you will have met him at Llanthony and one of you will have shared a bedroom in Mannheim with him) is leaving soon to live in Poland, so he organised a leaving do in a pub on the edge of Nailsea near Bristol for the Saturday evening.
My quandry was how would I get there? My outift has a slipping clutch and can barely make it to the end of the road at the minute. My brother stepped in and lent me his pristine TDM850.
My other problem was money. I'd paid a hefty bill the day before and the coffers were bare. I scrounged some wonga and emptied some pockets and raised £27. Not enough but it would have to do. The bike didn't actually arrive until 4.00 Saturday afternoon, but it was soon loaded up with camping kit as the pub apparently had a camping field so I could crash there.
The trip to Nailsea was uneventful and I bumped into Jethro and Julian on the way, Julian's car being parked at a junction as Jethro attempted to read the road signs in a very dark lane. Soon we were at the pub, a little country place by the name of The Blue Flame Inn. I went in and asked about the camping and the landlord said "we don't have any". However, after a bit of confused chat he agreed that I could pitch up in the beer garden, which I did.
Tim has been a regular at the pub over the last 30 years and it was full of people who knew him. One bloke told me about how he and his mate had gone in together to buy a Wall of Death, complete with Indian motorcycles. They ran it for a few years but now, incredibly, it only ever gets put up in the other bloke's garden and used for his own pleasure... what a toy!
Another bloke told me that he was trying to get his bike test so that he could ride the early 70s cossack outfit that his mate had built for him.
The rest of the night was spent talking to more interesting and/or mad people like this and consuming a couple of gallons of Butcombe bitter.
I can truthfully say that I can't remember meeting a more interesting and friendly bunch of strangers.
At the end of play I retired to my lonely tent in the deserted (but huge) beer garden. The landlord had warmed to me by then and he said "help yourself to some water behind the bar before you go, I'll leave the outside light on until you're sorted and if it gets too cold use the caravan in the far corner." What a nice bloke.
I woke at 7.30 on Sunday morning, conscious of the need to get back to Wales early to return the bike and to relieve wifey of child referee duties, but I still felt woosy and thought another 20 minutes shuteye would help. I woke next at 9.40
Within 15 minutes I had the tent down and the bike packed ready for the off. I was home by 11.00 and my bacon was saved.
A great weekend.
GC
