I like unusual place names. Nowadays I normally take photos of the signs, usually with my bike in shot or, more recently, through the windscreen of my Camper.
Back in 1981, I hadn't started doing this. A shame, becausethis rally was held in 'Upper Framilode', a small village with the pub just a few yards from the River Severn.
My tent was now covered by a replacement flysheet, which was a fair bit too big for it, necessitating the second improvement, the adjustable ridgepole. I still used a polythene sheet, just in case the flysheet wasn't up to the job. In fact it was better than the original.
We weren't welcome in the pub itself, but they had a bar in the marquee, so Friday night went off in the usual haze and the morning produced quite a few frail bodies.
After regaining some control over their limbs, my club decided on a trip into the nearest big town, where we weren't welcome either, although this was doubtless due to the local 'outlaw' element. I saw some Hells Angels patches for sale in a militaria oddments store, amongst a load of army regiment ones.
And so it was back to the site for the games. The physical exertion eventually gave way to the usual evening activity, (as soon as the bar re-opened, obviously), and a good time was had by all.
This was the first time I was told the tale of a guy who had fallen asleep outside his tent. During the night he woke up feeling somewhat queasy, opened the tent door flap, stuck his head through, threw up INTO his tent, came back out and went back to sleep. I suspect many have heard variations of the same story, with names attached and differences regarding ownership of tent etc.
There was a raffle on Sunday morning, which had quite a few inexpensive prizes, where I eventually won a Yamaha belt buckle, which fell apart a few months later.
It was a warm day and the ride home was not unpleasant and mostly unremarkable.
- Phil (the Spill) Drackley