Dicko’s View
…some trials riders, a pub… what could possibly go wrong?
John Dickinson has been around the offroad world for quite a while, this means he has views… this is where he jots them down.
❝ We go to shows for many reasons. To talk rubbish with like-minded souls, to see old pals, to flog some junk (sorry, I mean rare and highly desirable items) ❞
This piece is being scribed on wooden blocks (old time printers would understand!) before the eagerly anticipated Telford Show, so a showrelated beginning would seem appropriate regardless of when it is read.
When I tell my brother (who keeps his motorcycles in the house) I am going to a classic show, he always responds: "Waste of time, there's nothing new!"
I know what he means – but he is wrong. The truth is virtually everything is new at classic shows. It is one of the reasons that so-called 'classic' machines are so popular these days. You can buy or build a brand-new bike. More to the point it will be a whole lot better than one purchased brand-new back in the day!
Probably the biggest boon in classic biking since 'the good old days' has been electronic ignition, and lighting, should you be a road rider. Come on, just how much unnecessary pain was inflicted on us by Joe Lucas, the man dubbed, with some feeling, The Prince of Darkness, by a cynical motorcycle press.
Or what about Mr Wico Pacy and his electrical fripperies?
My dear, old, departed dad treated me to a shiny new Bantam D14/4 for my 16th birthday and while the little BSA was 100% mechanically reliable, Mr Pacy's derisory electrical contribution went up in smoke on a regular basis. Thanks to him my fitness increased dramatically as I all too frequently pushed my pride and joy home – again with dead electrics. How I hated Wico Pacy.
But, as we know, go to a classic show and you can update your D14/4 – or whatever your choice of wheels – to a lovely new electronic package that will give a nice, fat, reliable spark and, should you wish, light up the road ahead like a, 'Super Trouper' as ABBA tunefully informed us.
We go to shows for many reasons. To talk rubbish with like-minded souls, to see old pals, to flog some junk (sorry, I mean rare and highly desirable items) but more often than not, to accumulate even more rare and highly desirable items...
Talking of Telford reminds me of a memorable trip into nearby central Wales back in the 1980s, when a bunch of us, led by Nigel Birkett, used to trek the country taking in the National and British Championship trials of the day.
The drill was that Birks left his Broughton in Furness on Friday evening in his big, old V6 Transit and picked up the weekend's participants along the way. Sometimes we had as many as five bikes and eight bodies crammed in, all eager for a trials weekend away.
The simple plan entailed a thrash down the motorway to wherever, find a pub with beer, grub and rooms and the job was cracked. Happy days.
I can't for the life of me remember which trial was the final destination of this particular weekend, but it must surely have been near Rhayader.
However, for whatever reason we were very late hitting the road that night and it was after 10.30pm when we finally swerved into a likely looking pub car park. On enquiry though, the landlord informed us that he had no rooms – but he would call a fellow pubowning pal who lived a few miles away.
Success, the pal had rooms, no problem, we were given directions and off we went. Long story short, the roads got narrower and narrower until we came to this lonely hostelry miles from anywhere, deep in the hills.
On entry, the few locals present, clustered round a small table sharing a half pint of ale, all went quiet and stared at the strangers entering.
"Err, are you closed?" enquired a thirsty team member, as it was around 11pm. "Closed!" bellowed the cheerful landlord, "I'm only just open!"
He was too, and by midnight the place was buzzing as he disappeared into the kitchen to rustle-up fish and chips for all of us.
The grub and beers were duly dispatched and we eventually found our rooms, up a dark, creaking wooden staircase and got to sleep. Only to be awakened in the dead of night by someone who had got up to visit the bathroom, only to halt in the doorway whispering, "Look at this!"
Fast asleep on the landing was a young lad, curled up with his arms wrapped round the biggest, meanest looking dog you have ever seen in your life, its back jammed up against our door.
We tip-toed away and the bathroom had to wait until morning – when both boy and dog had disappeared... much to our relief... in more ways than one!
Happy new decade to you all...