Memorial Run 2015

Memorial 2015

The Man from the Met rarely gets it totally right but it doesn't stop us looking at various weather reports, seeing what we don't want to see and hoping for a change. A day-ahead-forecast is never good enough for where we were heading; The Lakes.

Long as I remember the rain been comin' down

Clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground.

Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun.

And I wonder still I wonder who'll stop the rain

It can happen all at once there within any given hour during any given day of the week. He said it would rain and it did. He said Staffordshire will be wet, and he said Cheshire will be wet but Lancashire wouldn't and neither would Cumbria. He even went as far to say watch out in the following morning as it will hammer down...up till 1pm. Yeah right!

The occasion for all this planning and concern was our Third Memorial Run to Rydal Water in the Lake District where past and present members of the Club get together with friends and family of lost Brothers and Sisters. We have a moment's reflection on the banks of a body of water where ashes of some of our kin remain.

A few of us (yours truly, Baby Dave, Kerry and Conan) arrived wet at the first agreed rendezvous at Roby Mill to pick up Wigan Paul, Mags and Big Steve. We also had to collect stuff. Thora.

We had to collect Thora and strap her on the back of my bike. Anything that gets strapped to the back of my bike is stuff. I think she likes me and I think she likes my bike but I don't think she particularly likes the idea of me on my bike with her strapped to the back. So, with this in mind I came up with the perfect fix.....I threw away the straps. "You want a ride?..get on....bareback" After the tears she got on. I hate whinging stuff.

As we were in Lancashire there really was no need for waterproofs. The man from the Met said so. But he's a lying bastard so we all got rubbered up and rode off with our gear and our stuff and headed North.

Into the valley, betrothed and divine

Realizations no virtue but who can define

Why soldiers go marching, those masses a line

This disease is catching from victory to stone

There's a little road I know that gets us to where we want to get to but it's not for taking lightly and as I was carrying extra stuff there was no way I was taking this road lightly (sorry Thora).

Some of us screamed through the Lyth Valley at a healthy but not suicidal rate. Others were OMG'ing and WTF'ing at every other bend, dip and rise. One of God's own roads is that, but the Devil stole it. If you do most of your riding on urban roads you will find many of the Lakeland trails quite demanding on the senses and bum-hole, and the Lyth Valley is just one of those roads.

Once out of the Valley I did intend to take the team across the Lake on a scenic route but running late didn't help, nor the fact that thousands of idiots had descended on Windermere and Ambleside over the weekend to have a communal swim. Not sure what it was but summat like the World's Annual Aquatic Idiots Convention. Like Zulus. Thousands of them.

On your journey cross the wilderness

From the desert to the well

You have strayed upon the motorway to hell

We were down to Slow Motion at this point. Conan loved it. Second rendezvous point was the White Lion in Ambleside and we pulled in dry. It didn't rain. The Man from the Met was bang on the bob and through the steam generated by rubber and plastic boiler suits we watched bike after bike arrive until all were present and correct. Mitch, Ferris, Guzzi John (he's got a Harley now), Ferret, DD Paul (retired), Carl (brother of Scott), Carl's lad, Jackie, Fran, Fiona, Roly & Michael, Mark, Ste, Paul and Karina all made themselves known and the club members present augmented the turnout to something looking very ugly yet beautiful indeed. Naz, Tracey, Conan, Baby Dave, Kerry, Wigan Paul, Rick, Big Steve, Mags, Yours Truly and some other Stuff made up the full congregation and once refreshed we circled Ambleside one and a half times making as much noise as possible to the delight of many. Mainly the deaf I suspect.

Leave me alone

Like a dog with a bone

Like a stone that's been thrown

Let me be on my own

Let me rock

Let me roll

Let me rock

Let me rock in peace

Three or so miles up he road is the next stop. The Badger Bar, opposite Rydal Water, where the ceremony was to be held. By now it's a standard affair. We fly the flag...we have a speech,we stand around looking sombre...Wigan Paul takes pics and chases herons...I raise a toast and we have our own private moment and sup-from-the-cup of Jack while Bon Scott reminds us that they Rock in Peace forever in our minds and hearts. Naz was even prompting me to mention people I had forgot. I hadn't forgot anyone. Fact is they didn't warrant a mention. They were still alive. Being dead helps if you want a mention at this gig Naz.

Gorgeous George, Scouse Joan, Keith, Scott, Obnoxious Jon. RIP.

Martha has a madman

Standing hidden in the shadows

He's got a long curved Turkish dagger

With a bejewelled handle

The last two times we did this, the party afterwards was over on the North Yorkie Moors under a bloody great viaduct, but for reasons not needed to be highlighted here, we found ourselves heading towards the hospitality offered by our own adorable Fräulein (that's German for fit bird) up over yonder fell. Over Kirkstone Pass and towards Ullswater there lives a Mitch. Timid creature by nature but deviously mischievous with madman tendencies but boy can he knock up a good meat ball. With bellies full we welcomed Mitch back into the brotherhood of Salutation MCC.

He's tellin' her the world is full of freaks and geeks and simples and he's

Hiding like a leprechaun under stones and in the ripples

In the pool of time she thought she knew it - but someone threw a stone into it

Which breaks up the surface and it's making her nervous and it's true

We threw up a teepee and a few tents outside his woodshack in the forest, sampled his good lady's fine vegetarian food and munched his meaty balls while sat round a lovely log fire. It's all been said before by me many times but hosts apart, it's a beautiful place to sit and natter and drink and smoke and learn about each other.

Kerry moaned that the party better get started. Kerry moaned at Dave for her running out of anti-social-fluid. I shared my rum with Kerry. She also moaned at him in the morning for not taking her to the toilet and threatened him with salads for the next week because of it. It's obvious to me that Dave doesn't often not do what he's told by Kerry. Dave don't do salads.

I also learned not to be sitting too close to Kerry when a mozzie lands on your face. Twas a right royal hay-maker of a slap that sent my brain spinning inside my head and then Mitch let her loose with an axe.....just to calm her down a bit. Mags decided she liked it....Big Steve looked like he liked it....I always like did everyone there.

Fran came well prepared with fuck all to sleep in or on or under. I have no idea where he decided to lay his weary head either but when I woke up he was still there. Kind of. I know he needed to go. Helema was calling. When Helema calls, you go. However, his blood-alcohol level was saying no.

How can I see what I'm leaving for

How can I give what I gave before

How can you tell me that you want me to stay

How can I stay when I'm trying to say

That I can live without the rain

Yes I can live without the rain

We Remembered and we Partied and when we woke up it was raining. The Man from the Met was right on the job, so in light of that we decided we would have brekkie and wait till 1pm when he told us it would stop raining.

Big Steve and Mags at this point were in Wetherspoons, in Wolverhamptonshire! That's 156 miles away.

It stopped raining. It was 1pm. I was simply amazed. We rode off through low flying Lakeland cloud and came out of it once over Kirkstone Pass and into glorious sunshine and dry roads. The weather was far too good to let this opportunity pass us by, so we headed south down the opposite side of Windermere, through Clappersgate and Hawkshead to catch the Bowness ferry and get in some sea time. I rode a lot lighter on the way home. I didn't have much Stuff on the back. Thora got a lift.

It was a moving experience from start to finish. From wet to dry, sober to pissed to stoned to sober. It's about remembering them gone before us. Remembering what they liked to do and remebering what we liked to do with them. It's about Birds, Bikes, Beer, Booze and Boys (just for the girlies that last one in case anyone asks).

I remember the summertime

And the riding out into the breeze

And I remember the apple wine

Filling my head up with dreams

If only I could walk away

I'd do it all over again

But riding high on apple wine

It never mixed well in the end

Easy riders are coming

but now there's somebody gone

I'm sitting here all alone

And looking away, just looking away

Andy Kat

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

Memorial 2015

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