Appleyard/Macadam VIP Weekend Knockhill 9-10th August 2008
We met everyone at Ripon on Saturday; it was raining just as Paul the weatherman had promised again. We were all wearing wet weather riding gear so we didn’t really care, actually we were getting used to it this year! Barry from Appleyards had arranged a weekend in the Scottish kingdom of Fife. We were to be treated as VIPs for the day by the Colin Appleyard/Macadam racing team up there at the Knockhill Race circuit. The package was to include a night in a hotel in Dunfermline which lay just 5 miles south of the circuit.
At midday we left the market square in the pouring rain joining the A1 northbound. The group consisted of Barry and Tina, Julie and myself, Brian ‘The Rotherham lounge lizard’ and Janet, ‘Stretch’ and wife Linda of Leeds last came Mr and Mrs Beck AKA the ‘The rabbit people’ from Harrogate on their cut down black German 1500.
We soon encountered heavy traffic as the rain slowed everyone, I moved to 2nd spot instead of my customary back door spot as the CBs chose today to become faulty, the problem was fixable but not here in the heavy rain on the sodden roadside. The CB is a very handy tool for Barry and I to use in group riding but today we elected to manage without it, besides we were a small group of five bikes and all were easily kept in sight by the girls using the mirrors
We stayed on the rain lashed A1 as far as Newcastle, the cars grew in number as the huge Metro shopping complex came into site at Gateshead, it looked as huge as Sheffield’s own Murderhall, oops sorry, that’s what the men round here call it! I meant to say Sheffield’s own MeadowHall. We slipped down the side of the stationary and dripping traffic and headed off at the nearby junction towards Otterburn and the A68. Instantly the volume of traffic fell away, probably because there are no shops up this road! The rain stopped leaving us with some decent weather. I began to see huge white knots of cloud, through the gaps I saw snippets of blue sky instead of the depressing grey screen that had sat above us up to this point. The day was getting brighter as the road and countryside opened its arms to us. We opened the throttles and leaped forward into Northumberland.
Around mid afternoon we stopped at a sleepy village pub to have tea and hot toasties, the pub went on high alert as Barry entered the place and announced our arrival, the dear old girl behind the bar has never worked as hard as she struggled to provide us with our needs. We stayed about an hour before moving on again but not before we left a couple of damp seats and a wet vestibule! I hope after this she doesn’t remember about that ‘No bikers’ sign sitting gathering dust in the cellar from the 1960’s! A few folk were outside looking at our wet steeds, one couple had been down to Lincolnshire on holiday on their green Kawasaki and were now heading back home to the suburbs of Edinburgh, they had had a great time and now were heading home, they too had full wet weather kit on but as they blew past us further up the road I saw his lady wore a pair of flimsy black and white baseball trainers, I smiled to myself as she hung on bum in the air gripping on with her ten cold blue toes…probably.
We loped along after the fizzing green machine up through the rolling Cheviot Hills, long humps and bumps made the ride fun and we were cruising along nicely along the edge of the Northumberland National Park. Before long we passed into Scotland at the Carter Bar viewing point. A few miles further and we came across a group of BMW touring motorbikes from Italy as they explored at a leisurely pace, we slowed on twisty awkward roads to follow them until they pulled over at Jedburgh where we waved as we passed, they smiled and waved back. Soon after we came up behind a faster moving Portuguese couple on a BMW grey cruiser, after a mile or two we left these guys behind as the road straightened, we pushed on through splendid green countryside before we began a long descent in the direction of Edinburgh down through Lauderdale. We could see in the distance the waters of the Firth of Forth and in a short while we entered the long long high street that was Dalkeith, we rode onto the A720 perimeter route around Edinburgh. The unmistakable structure of the Forth Road Bridge came into view on the hour as we headed towards it now on the M8. The Forth Railway Bridge always catches my breath as it lies solidly just hundred yards away to our right; it’s a much older, smaller but better looking structure than this modern efficient carbuncle we rode over now. “Oh look at that Julie” I said “They are painting it …again!” The signs for Dunfermline now said we should head left then Barry’s sat nav took charge and guided us through the suburbs first then onto the city’s cobbled inner streets right to the front door of our hotel just as we were ambushed from a side street by ‘Black Bart’ on his skull and cross boned adorned weathered red 1800. with him rode his menacing wife Suzi in slick black leathers on her huge Honda Valkerie, (that’s Suzi with a Zee). Their timing was Hollywood perfect.[SinglePic not found]
We took the bikes round the back of the hotel as the girls dismounted to book our northern tribe in at reception. We stopped under the hotel overhang and all as one began to unzip and rip Velcro open. Barry formally introduced our ambushers as Clive and Suzi Nicholson from Aberdeen. Clive is otherwise known as ‘Black Bart’ the webmaster of the Honda Goldwing Owners Club website. Clive is a proper biker, friendly funny and huge in stature, a real nice bloke! As for Suzi, his black leathered wife, she reminded me of that sexy rock chick Chrissie Hind of The Pretenders instead of a pout though Suzi had a huge disarming smile and lovely dark mascara’d eyes. Other Wingers came out of the hotel to greet us as we fussed around our bikes and luggage. Elaine and Russ came earlier in the day on their 1500cc red crusty bread van from Halifax. Heralding from Sheffield sprinted Lynn and John on their old but still intact 1500 purple trike, they had actually dropped in from Newcastle whilst on a short break. With everything gathered in our arms we all swished into the rear foyer with the intention of inspecting our rooms but ‘Bart’, Barry and I stopped at the bar for just a quick one….THE No 1 fatal mistake I seem to make time and time again! An hour and several pints later folk from the group began to reappear to join us at the bar.
The bar ladies in black tasked with serving had a difficult time at first understanding our loud ‘Yorksheeere’ requests, one beauty thought I was from Stoke! This really tickled Brian, I’m from up the road from him in South Yorkshire you see. He laughed loudly and said “Tha’ll do for me lass, that’s reet funny tha nose”! We stayed an hour or two here in the bar as we re-affirmed friendships and forged new ones, warming to new friends over a jar or two.
Half seven arrived at the double, it was time to sit down and enjoy some hot Scottish food. Gradually the bar filled as the evening gathered pace, in fact later on it got so noisy that some of us found ourselves in the front bar away from the Karaoke to drink and swap bike stories without having to compete with the ladies singing their all to versions of that old favourite ‘I will survive’. We sat drinking until well into ‘The Midnight Hour’ (pun intended) before the thought of retiring seemed a good idea. I now had to start the long accent up to our room. My ‘Stairway to Heaven’ so to speak (pun intended again) Julie had bagged a room high up in the heavens it came complete with sloping floor and sloping ceiling that it made me appear drunk, it was so steep I kept heading for the shower! I managed to claw my way to the bed and slept fitfully until breakfast. ‘Janet of the Falklands’ had bagged a superior room below us, unfortunately superior translated into noisy as they lay only feet above the Karaoke Bar. ‘Bart’ and Suzi found themselves unwilling listeners to a verbal altercation between some girls just feet below them at the front vestibule. High heel won’t mean the same for ‘Bart’ anymore either after this noisy night. So well done Julie for bagging us a superior room after all!
At breakfast I chose a healthy eaters nightmare, a plate loaded with bacon, sausage, baked beans, toast, spicy black pudding and haggis. It was northern lovely, none of your southern muisli and yoghurt rubbish! Slowly wingers began to appear for breakfast and once suitably awake proceeded to uncover their bikes and give them a pat and rub down before packing bags.
We set of in clear weather for Knockhill, we were there in twenty minutes. As VIPs we were waved through to our parking bays as one of the support races got under way. This course is smaller than any other circuit I’ve attended, it’s actually on the side of a hill and the views were expansive in fact at several places one could see most of the track.
We found the grey Colin Appleyard/Macadam outfit and said hello to everyone there, it’s a huge forty foot articulated truck with awnings and non slip matting.
This was Mr Colin Appleyard, another English race ace of yesteryear. He did the TT back in the good old scary days! His boss Peggy nudged and passed a warm cuppa across to him. Meanwhile Mr Macadam in long raincoat was outside eyeing the competition. The ladies in attendance offered us guests cups of tea and chairs and made us really welcome; we dumped bike jackets and plonked down to chat and enjoy the paddock atmosphere. Neil and Mezza Crofts had just arrived on their bike; they were on holiday here in Scotland in their Campervan and were just fifty miles away. They were wet and cold from their run down here and in need of some hot tea, its amazing how much better one feels after a cup of tea. In fact by now I was quite warm so went trackside to watch the first 600 supersport race.
The skies had just dumped several showers on the track which made things really tricky, so tricky in fact that I saw 5 riders tumble from their bikes during the race, this was to be the tempo of the day unfortunately as showers swept across the circuit, it must have been a nightmare to decide on slick, full wets, or intermediate tyres. I returned to the paddock just in time for lunch, the ladies had several microwaves on the go and hot food was on offer. Thank you very much ladies you did a great job. That’s how the day went, people meandered in and out of the paddock area as various races took place, I saw privateers sweating over engines, helpers dashing here and there pulling little carts loaded with bike tyres. Then came the colourful brolly girls, they caught ones eye naturally. They were dressed in yellow crop tops, tiny short shorts, high boots and nothing much else. Hardly the right kit for today ladies I mused to myself but jolly nice all the same! Other young ladies looked slightly warmer in their BSB figure hugging blue two toned lycra bodysuits and high heels
The paddock area is a really interesting place to just stand and watch, one could see all the various tribes getting their warriors ready for the forthcoming battle, some had bikes in bits with a mechanic or two working on them amazingly quickly getting them ready for the next battle, wives and girlfriends fluttered around with endless tea, spanners, and support. The large colourful concerns were very impressive to watch, they appeared to want for nothing except good fortune. On the other side of the coin and just as amazing were the small privately funded outfits, just two or three people working relentlessly under a gazebo lashed to an old white van. Sometimes after a spill these guys could be seen yanking grass sods from the battered fairings before tipping the bikes over to let gravel fall from the belly pan before stripping the bike to make it ready again for the next race, amazing!
Ahead of me a privateer on his bike appeared in an apparent frenzy, he was late for his race, his bike a multitude of coloured panels, his race leathers old and crinkled suddenly he yells “My gloves! I forgot my f******* gloves, go get my gloves Timmy!” Mac the mechanic took the throttle and kept the engine running, it coughed and barked as he coaxed her to run smooth, meanwhile the young warrior fumbled feverishly with his helmet strap. Young Timmy dashed back with the forgotten gloves, the young hopeful pulled them on and weaved away down to the track through the paddock urged on with a slap on his back, one couldn’t help but feel for him. In sharp contrast a smart shiny silver/grey bike was being wheeled out nearby by two or three smartly dressed spanner men. Colin Appleyard stepped forward and pressed his hand into the youngsters palm, he quietly offered a word and held his eye for a moment as though passing some winning wisdom. I think perhaps I had just witnessed a private moment between young buck and wise mentor. I know that whatever the support and backing…or lack of it, it was apparent that all were equally fired up and full of determination.
The day quickly passed, we saw nine races altogether from various viewing points around the circuit, we split up to go see different things from different angles.[SinglePic not found] It was a really exciting day and during one BSB round three bikes smashed into the fence near us and showered us spectators with small pieces of Perspex debris from their smashed bikes. The strong crash fence did its job really well, the riders though were fairly knocked about but with no serious injuries I’m told. It makes you appreciate the racers bravery and the safety measures that sometimes seem a little too protective. To put it in prospective a little, I’ve attended meetings on and off during the past thirty years and this is the first time anything like this has happened to me.
We began to disperse after the last 125cc race, the rains had finally gone and left us alone, we dressed for rain all the same!’ Bart’ and Suzi turned north for Aberdeen, Neil and Mezza turned north too for the fifty mile ride to their motor home. The rest of us rode south back over the Forth Road Bridge then onto the Edinburgh bypass before turning south onto the A7 to Galashiels. We left Brian and Janet here as they had the luxury of both being retired folk and not in need of the dash south. The A7 was a lovely ride in the fast approaching evening, the sky was calm and empty now, just as the edges were turning faintly to shades of red and purple, slowly but surely the twilight crept over us. We turned at Hawick towards Bonchester Bridge onto a nice twisty minor road to intersect the A68 at the border, looking in the mirror as we climbed I saw the most beautiful view as the dying sun dipped behind some distant fluffy knots of clouds.
The purple trike left us at Newcastle waiving and blowing kisses at 60 mph as they would also stay over an extra night. We were now on the dark and empty A1. We took the bikes up to a pleasantly fast cruising speed for a while before stopping a few miles down the road for more fuel and hot tea. We split into an even smaller group now as two bikes pointed slowly towards Leeds and Harrogate. Barry and I parted quickly as we unleashed the full power of 1800cc’s and we rode in tandem like this until he and Tina peeled away at Ripon heading towards Keighley, we couldn’t see them, just the bikes lights as they slowed and turned to our left before disappearing from view. Julie and I kept a swift southerly course down to Doncaster and home. I think we were probably the last to land at 12.04hrs. It was a brilliant weekend only spoilt by the thought of work in six hours time!
Lateronthen Folks.
Dave Sharp