I'm filthy and I stink GH2019

I'm filthy. I stink. I am soaked through after two hours riding in the rain.

My head is pounding from three days of partying and the roar of the exhaust, coupled with the hard-tail of this old Harley, seems to be shaking the fillings loose in my teeth and crumbling each of my vertebra to dust.
I yawn. Or at least, I try to. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and my lips, cracked and chapped, seem to be sealed together. God I want a drink, a shower, some painkillers and a warm bed. I have been awake since Friday when my alarm went off at five a.m. for work. I showered, grabbed my bags, bungeed everything down on the bike and went off to work my shift, Carrying heavy, awkward stuff from one place to another, then back again, then back again, then loading it onto trucks until I could barely lift my arm high enough to clock off...Then I gulped down a mug of tea and hit the road, four hours in holiday traffic, zipping along the white lines between angry, frustrated people in their cars. That was a good feeling and the wind in my face reinvigorated me enough to make the long trip with just a couple of stops for a bacon roll, a couple of mugs of tea, some fuel and a bit of half arsed flirting with waitresses in greasy spoon cafes.

Arriving on site was like a shot of pure adrenalin. Bikes as far as the eye could see. Black leather on every back, 70's rock booming out across the field as I parked up, popped a warm beer and gulped it down in one hit, dropping the can to the soft ground and stamping it flat before flicking out the stand and lining it up with the can to make sure my bike stayed upright and didn't topple over from the kick stand sinking into the mud. Then I got off, unpacked my gear and set up the tent, throwing everything inside and heading quickly down the hill to the party. You don't have to be so worried about thieves at places like this. It's no Glastonbury, this is purely about one tribe, and no one here will shy away from sorting out anyone who looks a little shifty around someone else's tent.

Friday passed in a blur. The music loud, the laughter raucous, infectious as we swapped tall tales about our rides here, to this field. Backs were slapped, rounds were bought, fast food was eaten...fast and as the night wore on, things didn't slow down. We all have our ways of staying lively, I had mine and that was that.

Saturday dawned to the chilled out sounds of the old school reggae and ska the current occupant of the DJ booth seemed to be into and as the day wore on, stupid games gave way to jealous appreciation of the sort of bikes that you usually only see in the centre pages of magazines. Squeals from the fairground mixing with the thump of the bass from the music tents, the zip of tattoo guns and crackle of the shooting booths. One hand always full, be it a drink, something to eat or smoke.

The night wore on and the wet t shirt comp got won, the girl who came third squealing and laughing at me as I tripped over one of the millions of guy ropes while we walked between the rows of tents...

Sunday dawned before I really seemed to do more than blink and breakfast was greasy egg and bacon rolls, tea from plastic cups and smiles across one of those rough wooden picnic tables you see in pub beer gardens.

The day was more of the same, bikes to see and vote for, bands to dance to or just watch, laid back on the grass beer in one hand, Miss wet T in the other..The night a crazy, kaleidoscopic rush of bright lights and techno..sweat and wood smoke always with the undertones of burnt oil and the rumble of bikes up on the hill being raced between the tents...

Monday morning, packing up, swapping numbers, a smile and a wink that says we are both too polite to mention we probably won't meet again...at least until the next rally...Tying it all down tight and keeping the throttle low as the back end snakes from side to side across the grass heading for the safety of the gravel roadway.

I pull in, not quite thinking about it, but I have done a hundred and twenty miles since I last filled up and this tank usually hits reserve around now, so it's a good time, especially as this garage has a little chef tacked on like some sort of architectural afterthought.

Forty five minutes later, I am steaming back down the A38... A plume of spray behind me like a misty cloak trailing in the wind as my iron horse gets given her head and she roars down the twin lanes, bank holiday traffic not so bad yet and the acid that was eating at my stomach lining now swamped by the greasy delight of the infamous Olympic breakfast from the little chef. Vision clear thanks to the two pots of tea (The second gratis, naturally) and there's even a grin on my face as I see the sign for the M5...40 minutes of hard riding and I will be home. A shower, a warm spot by the tiny, two bar, electric fire, then bed until 5 a.m. Tuesday when I get back to pretending I enjoy busting my back for barely enough cash to pay the rent.

I'm going home..or maybe, I just left it, for another year?

Damn, I felt, tasted and ached throughout that tale. The spirit of adventure. Beautiful.

a reply to: ClovenSky

Thanks

originally posted by: r0xor
Very cool but..

..we all know guys who ride Harleys don't write about partying and riding Harleys

Yeah, I know, tragic, isn't it?

I deleted it because it drew away from your story. I felt guilty afterward and thought it might have been trollish.

a reply to: r0xor


Well, I can see that, but don't sweat it, fella. Amazon is full of memoirs written by bikers and if you ever spent any time with blokes who ride, you will know we are all brilliant at spinning a yarn or two at the bar so there's no reason to believe a single thing.

Just to clarify, this is a story, written in the first person, and not an auto biography...especially the bits about flirting with waitresses or going off with a girl who finished third in a wet t shirt comp...as I just explained to my wife when she gave me "the eye" after proof reading it.

I meant no harm by it, I did say very cool story which it is and they are rather expensive to own and maintain. I see them less and less often but when you see one in city traffic, all eyes are on him.

a reply to: r0xor


Same with all newer bikes. mine's a 1988 xlh 1200 though, can fix it with a hammer and some duct tape

When you learn the tricks that are peculiar to your bike you can keep it running pretty easy, I've had this one about 16 years, many other have come and gone in that time, but she remains, older, rustier, a bit oily in places, but loud as hell and still quick enough to get me where I want to be so I will never get rid. My kids can bury me on her maybe

a reply to: SprocketUK

Damn dude, you have a heart of gold and try so hard to cover it up. Going around and giving all of the other writers props on their entries.

something something something .... making the world better .... something something something

a reply to: ClovenSky


I enjoy reading the stories and I remember how tough it was to post my first one and how great it felt to get a nice comment.
Karma dude

a reply to: SprocketUK

Man those were the days..! I was lucky as we were part of the performers which gave our band access to all the fun things at such an event..

Those were the days of youthful adventure and availing yourself to all the womanly charms a guy could find.. Which was darn high on my priority list !

Amazing we lived through our youth and daring do..

a reply to: 727Sky



Life is there to be lived, mate!
You seen how many guys have grey in their beards at these things?
All that changes is you need a bit more sleep and that the girl on your arm is the one you married long ago

originally posted by: SprocketUK
a reply to: r0xor
when she gave me "the eye" after proof reading it.

I thought my wife invented "the eye".

S + F = Love it

originally posted by: DictionaryOfExcuses

originally posted by: SprocketUK
a reply to: r0xor
when she gave me "the eye" after proof reading it.

I thought my wife invented "the eye".

S + F = Love it

I think it's one of those things they get in that secret "wife" pack when they get married, along with the lie detector and the ability to always know that you are enjoying a film or tv show because you fancy one of the women in it

And thanks

a reply to: SprocketUK


You definitely do not disappoint Sprocket.

That was well worth the read. You have a gift my friend.

a reply to: highvein

Thanks for that, you started my Monday off with a smile.

a reply to: SprocketUK

Very nice, Mr. Sprock!

a reply to: Nothin

Thanks for taking the time to read it mate.

I FINALLY got around to reading,
And... this was crap.


Just Kidding!!
It was very evocative of many festivals that I've had the pleasure of partaking-in!
The line that struck a chord with me was the very last one:

I'm going home..or maybe, I just left it, for another year?

I might nick that one....

G