Scrumpies IV

A.k.a ”Tanks, Sandbanks and no underpants”

The start of another glorious late summer’s day and the sun battled to fight its way through the grime encrusted windows, and elbow light past the long seen better day’s curtains to light the face of our hero, who quickly grumbled and hid back under the duvet.

The smell of a fried breakfast wafted gently in the air, creeping up the stairs and seeped under the bedroom door. Even over the stench of the festering bike boots, this was an aroma, which had Ian moving.

Uuurgh what a headache groaned our hung-over fellow, who then staggered to the bathroom and fell down stairs (NOT A pretty site to see), to where breakfast was thrust at him. “Moornink” was the guttural grunt managed before, tea, toast, bacon, eggs and beans stirred some sense of life into Ian.

 Blodwyn (Ian’s Rusty steed) sat outside complaining profusely about the weight upon her back, for today was the first official day of the Scrumpies Rally; where many, so, so many of the VSOC cognoscente were to gather and engage in pleasant social intercourse and general confabulations for the long bank holiday weekend.

“To Horse” cried our hapless hero, as now suitably attired he headed out to his noble steed, “it’s going to be one of those weekends,” thought Blodwyn. And indeed it was to be one of those weekends.

With a screech of tyres, our hapless hero pulled into the petrol station, with luggage precariously falling off the side of his bike, the plastic that was meant to be protecting it from the rain, having given up all attempts at doing its job properly. And the straps also decided they would join in this game.

All strapped on properly the small group headed off to party, where on reaching the rally site; we found the rest of the Rejects Party Crew, who had already set up base camp on the Thursday night; and resurrected the gazebo on the Friday morning after a windy night. We had 36 Rejects by my reckoning. The Scrumpies ticket sales reached an unexpected high of 656 in total, a new record for a VSOC rally. The glass of cider was most welcome, and the “DIY” kit still hasn’t.

Friday night in usual fashion was spent meeting friends and making new friends, looking at bikes (all parked in a secure area), looking for the tea tent and dancing to a disco.  For me an unusually early night, after I had steered certain centre reps to their tents.

Next morning not the usual twitter of birds to bring us gently awake, but the almighty roar of many a Rolls Royce Aero engine, oh the joys of camping near an airport

Ride outs were organised in little groups, this would keep the traffic congestion to a minimum, those sober enough at 10.30 headed off to the tank museum (rides were also arranged to the Motor museum and Sammy Millers museum at regular intervals)

All set to go, and we were down on numbers, so pillions were rearranged, while we were entertained by some poor unfortunate who’s alarm went off scaring him so much he fell off. Thankfully all was ok, but it was a surprise to all. A pleasant ride later we arrived at Bovington Tank museum, where we changed into museum wear and plodded around. For me the exhibit being the German half-track affair with the bike steering odd to say the least.

Lunch was the call, and so with Paul from Scrumpies, who we commandeered for pillioning and route finding, in the lead we headed off. A few pleasant roads later and we find major traffic jam’s, due to an aircraft crash landing only yard from the site, so spying a suitable hostelry we hole up for a few hours. Suitably replete we head for fuel and back to site. To find that sadly Al and Annya have to head home (via a very nice man) as the front mudguard (It’s not a fender) had fallen off into his wheel, and it had nothing to do with the new fringes.

Saturday evening’s entertainment, apart from trying to identify your burger though the BBQ smoke, was a cracking Madness tribute band “One Step Below” who had us boogying on for some time, only to find at the end the sax player was the real Madness sax man. I must say it was one of the best night’s entertainments I have had for a long time. Then we had pretty fireworks afterwards.

Next Morning and I was trying to decide on a plan, when my mind was made up, by Helen asking if Judy may pillion again. Commandeering Paul from the Scrumpies again, to be guide (and seat for Helen) we headed off to Studland Bay, through some lovely twisty lanes and rounded onto Corfe castle, wow what a view. Reaching the bay, we headed off for a café. Now picture this if you may poor bewildered reader, families running around on the sand in little or nothing (but more of the nudist beach later) while 6 bikers in full attire stomp through the beach. Strangely you have to pass the naturist area to reach the café. Well the rest is possibly left to your imagination, but for the stronger of you there is a photo somewhere.

With the sun out and having had a nice cup of tea, we lazed on the beach till tea called again, this time back via the high-speed sea route (Studland Chain Ferry) to Sandbanks. In time for the open forum, which then meant you were trapped in the bar, oh well, lets make the best of a bad deal then.

The main theme for the evening was then drinking and general gay badinage till very late. The groups for the evening being the “ Rafter Rock trio” and the excellent “Illinois blues Band” who were good, but did not seem to get the people moving quite as well as the night before. But went down a storm.

Eventually I returned to the pit at the wee small hours, sadly on the Monday returning home. It had been one of the best weekends this year, a lovely group of folk to travel with, good bands and good time had by all, oh and neither the beer or the Newcastle Brown ran out, and believe me it was not for lack of trying.

Bosun