Gerry's last doo
The nice man on the telly said the weather
was going to be crap. I don’t always believe the nice man on the telly but being
the sort of chap who doesn't like getting wet and cold I wimped out and threw a
full face helmet in with my luggage This, as it turned out, was a very wise move
The ride out to Gaydon was a pleasant
journey in bright sunlight, the air was
chilly but the trike ran beautifully. Gaydon is a charming little village with
two pubs and one petrol station. It also has the stickiest mud in existence,
Anyone walking across the field was a good two inches taller due to the mud
building up on the soles of their boots. We looked like a misplaced group of
Gary Glitter fans with our designer 'Mud Platform' boots.
The Saturday night in the pub was
spent as you would imagine with much discussion about Gerry and his doings. Most
people agreed that if you've got to go, then going at a rally is one of the best
ways to do it. We won't forget you. Nice one Gerry,
The best thing about frost is that it
makes mud unable to adhere to boots, So with a nice ground frost packing away
was made that little bit easier. I was reluctant to emerge from my warm
dog kennel. The charcoal burning stove had kept me snug all night. With
everything packed away a slight drop of rain was felt. Not to worry, I only have
about 50 miles to travel. A few of the bikes needed a helping shove to get clear
of the ever present mud. Myself and Gordon decided to travel back together, so
we stopped for petrol at the same garage as everyone else who were heading home.
Some folks were using the jet wash to try and dispose of the mud. Having said
our goodbyes we headed off along the motorway in the now pouring rain. That full
face helmet I had brought with me was now proving invaluable as the sleet was
ripping my face apart. I don't know how Gordon managed with just an open faced
jobbie. The rain decided to turn to snow. The snow decided to turn into a
blizzard. Oh shit! The trike will run forever and a day in the most torrential
of rain but snow has a habit of swirling around and getting in all your little
nooks and crannies (oo-er missus).
The trike started imitating a Jota and ran on three,
having got bored with this imitation it then decided to emulate a boxer and run
along on two! Now two cylinders may be fine, but when you have another two dead
cylinders and a bloody garden shed crossed with a dog kennel attached to your
rear end it becomes interesting!! Now add to this a motorway junction where you
join from the fast lane, and you can imagine how quickly my sphincter
was twitching. I managed to reach the sanctuary of the hard shoulder and
proceeded to attack my plug leads and distributor with WD40.
Gordon was having similar problems with his Reliant engined
outfit. As well as the snow shorting the ignition system out, the carburettor
was also freezing up, the throttle cable freezing up, and my feet were bloody
well cold. A further six or seven stops for a quick squirt of WD were needed. I
pitied the poor buggers who were heading up as far as the Wirral, and down as
far as Cambridgeshire. I finally waved goodbye to Gordon at junction 2 of the M5
and headed for the last few miles before home. There was so much snow on the
front of the caravan when I arrived home that I couldhardly lift it to unhitch
it.
It's funny how you always remember the
rallies where the weather was atrocious, or the site awful, and in years to
come, these are the doo's that are remembered with affection. I, for one will
never forget Gerry's Last Doo. Or should I say Gerry's First memorial Doo?
^..^
Lone Wolf.
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