Poisoned Chalice Rally

I lit up and waited for Worjorj to come back from the ambulance, my head was banging and I found it more than a little disconcerting that the ambulance was parked next to a cemetery! Never‑the‑less it was about as peaceful as a location as you can get, no hum of traffic, no trains, no people really.

We were camped out the back of the Green Dragon in Hardraw, home to the highest waterfall in England (Hardraw falls). With a river running alongside the site, the church in front of us and the pub just in front of the church the outlook was good. I had arrived via the A1M from York and was treated to some lovely countryside on the way, a lot of bends, a lot of fields and plenty of crap on the road from tractors. I rolled up to the village as dusk was falling; the village consisted of around 10 houses, a pub and a tearoom. All of the buildings are hewn from Yorkshire stone including the pub. Stone floors, Exposed beams, low ceilings and a couple of open fires filled the pub. The landlady was friendly if not a little pre‑occupied at times (wrestling with the voices in her head we reckoned). That said she knocked me up a sandwich when the menu had finished, then 30 minutes later she made a baked potato for Kylie!

The camping was basic, you pitch and you pee… in the bushes if the pub is shut. This is raw camping at it's best. Mr and Mrs Worjorj were already on site when I pitched up and Grav wasn't far behind me with Kylie bringing up the rear. Friday night was spent in the pub eating and drinking until we got turfed out and carried on at the solitary picnic table on site. One by one we crawled off to our pits ready for some exploration in the morning. I woke up with a head that felt like a percussion grenade had gone off in it at 07.30. I wasn't happy because I had heard doors slamming and assumed it was some locals, turned out it was an ambulance. I pulled on my strides and boots and took a wander, I’m not the interfering type so I kept my distance and eventually caught a glimpse of Worjorj in the back (his shock of white hair is a giveaway). Mrs Worjorj had been suffering all night with severe abdominal pains and had ended up being admitted to Northallerton hospital. We watched her pull away and Worjorj wasn't far behind with his Nighttrain coping with the luggage situation admirably (see pics)!

Grav made a brief appearance very much in need of dropping the kids off at the pool, I watched him walk bow legged to the crapper in the pub and 20 minutes later watched him shuffle back muttering that he was not at all well. Kylie got up looking reasonably chirpy and made me absolutely piss myself when I realised her black leggings were actually thermals!

Grav was in no condition to go anywhere, so after a couple of boiled egg roll (courtesy of Kylie's picnic) Kylie suggested we head into town and let Grav get some kip. Hawes is typical market town with all of the pubs and shops built each side of the main drag. We walked the 1/4‑mile from one end to the other and settled on a traditional greasy spoon to top up with. We saw a craft fair advertised and climbed up two steps of the church hall before we saw the doilies and tea cups. Kylie puked and I broke into a cold sweat, feeling iffy after our brush with 'niceness' we headed to a pub for coffee and a crap. We promptly left the pub post crap and we had both irreparably damaged the porcelain (it transpired that Kylie was not well either). After a very technical game of poo sticks and Kylie running in front of a car trying to see who's stick was first, we went back for Grav.

Imagine Nosferatu's face after you have just farted in his mouth and then sprayed a fine mist of water from a plant squirter on it. Times it by ten and you have what Grav looked like, we loaded Grav up with tea and tried to coax some life back into him. I was looked at to decide on where we should go for the day "I only booked this cos no other fukker would"! Was my response, "I'm up for anything… excepting drinking from Grav's gusset". Grav was disappointed but went along with it. Kylie then announced that she had a secret mission, she had come with the intention of finding Crackpot Island where her Grandmother's ashes were scattered back in July. So it came to pass that me Kylie and Grav went tearing off over the Dales to find the Island.

I am not going to regale you with every detail, in fact I will just summarize. The trip was emotive for Kylie, it was tense for Grav's arse and great for me in full health. We felt like the only people alive in some areas, we looked down valleys as though we were gods gliding atop clouds, we chuckled about the rear end on slide on unexpected cattle grids and flagged down scooter boys when looking for fuel.

Several hours later and many miles under our belts we got back to meet Yambabe and man at the pub. Grav flaked and the rest of us went to the local curry house. Kylie announced that she like Bradford curries but not Manchester ones, Yambabe's man told us how he had bent the bars on a brand new bike he was delivering that day, Yambabe demanded the best wine in the house and I farted like a brass band following the meal. Back in the pub Yambabe's man had us in stitches telling us stories involving bullets, long nose pliers and lighters! The pub had a two‑piece band in that were very talented, the Dylan songs were spot on although 'Layla' needed taking out of their set (poor lads killed it).

Once again we were last in house and made our way up to the falls where Mr. Yambabe treated us to a laser show from behind the falls. Now, it is worth mentioning that the rocky escarpment he took behind the falls didn't look too safe during the day let alone in pitch‑black night. He then treated us to a game of night poo‑sticks with glowsticks and we all went charging off along the river following the little green capsules. I had one more relaxing smoke and then headed off to bed.

Next morning I was off and out before nine back to the bosom of my family. Some might say it was a poor turn out, others will say it's a shame people got ill (possibly off the beer we all drank). Actually it was perfect, the randomness of it all summed up why I am a biker and why I spend my time with bikers. I doubt there is a hobby out there with as large a collection of tall tales that we tell round the fire in the biking community… and the joke is, most of them are true. You don't need a thousand people for a rally you just need willing participants.