SPARKLEPANTS SPORTY
A PROJECT INEVITABLY BEGINS WITH THAT FATEFUL PHONE CALL: ‘D’YOU KNOW ANYONE WHO WANTS A CHEAP SPORTSTER?’
’d been loosely looking for a Sportster for a while so when a good friend phoned to tell me he’d just picked one up, I couldn’t resist going over to take a look. The bike’d originally lived in New York, then been shipped to Sweden, and then found its globetrotting way to London where it’d stayed, parked up, for five years or so. It was in a fairly sorry state, showing signs of its age, and ripe for making into something far more beautiful.
II’m a clichéd petrol-head routed firmly in the custom scene. For many years I owned a 1959 Ford Pop’ hot-rod, which I’d had for twenty years but’d been sold on to pastures new, and I needed something in my life again to truly make my own. The concept I wanted to create was purely in my head but, luckily, my good friend Nick Argyle of Insane Motorcycles understood – it was quite funny how at times whilst the frame was being built, we’d both look at a section of tube and know instantly what it would become. It was almost as though we worked on some sort of psychic plane at times!
Nick did all the work converting the frame, and all the metal work, as I haven’t got the facilities, or a frame jig, to take on that sort of work. As it came together, the Drag Specialities springer forks were lodged in place, and it was decided they were way too slab-fronted for the style of the frame we were making, so I gave free rein to Nick to sort them as I knew he’d create something really special. When I got the frame back from powder-coating in December 2020 lockdown was firmly in place, and that was licence to spend lots of time in the garage (I worked throughout lockdown, and was so hoping for furlough to give me extra hours to spend on the build, but sadly it never materialised). My garage’s down the bottom of my garden, and throughout the winter months
Well, up to 2019 that is. 2020 didn’t happen (the rally that is, not the actual year) for Covid reasons, nor did the 2021 rally, but tickets were held over ‘til the rally could be held. When the Hook Up Chopper Show confirmed the 2022 gathering was a go, social media went into meltdown, with people trying to get tickets but, unfortunately, this is a 500 limit event and the tickets were all sold in 2019, so any that did come up for sale were literally snapped up in minutes.
The show itself is a welcome return to the basic rallies of old – likeminded people with a passion for choppers (especially Shovels, Panheads, Knuckleheads, Flatheads, and a few makes other than H-D) gather for the weekend in the beautiful Welsh countryside. The views from the campsite were spectacular, and it soon filled up. The standard of bikes appearing in groups from near and far was quite stunning -– I was in for a very busy picture-taking weekend. If you like chops (I do, did I already mention that?) then this was the place to be – you see them about every now and then on the road, or at general bike shows, but it’s only at an event like this that you see them in such large numbers.
There’s a vendors’ village selling everything from T-shirts to all manner of chopper-related stuff. Past the trade village, it was into the courtyard where the surrounding buildings included the bar; another building housed a collection of chopper-related art and photographs; a tattoo studio (manned by Chris Hatton and Sami Graystone) and another building with the stage and dance floor; and a boxing ring… no, that’s not a typo – Saturday night starts with boxing matches before the bands do their thing. The main courtyard also housed a few tables, but mainly it was crammed with the very best of the chops selected for the main show on arrival at the gate. A bit further on, another courtyard housed the food outlets.
A lot of very keen people’d arrived during Friday and, after setting up tents and the like, the evening kicked off with much beer drinking. When some people’d consumed a certain amount, they suddenly (and miraculously) found that they could sing
(to be fair, there were actually some good voices), so the singing continued into the small hours. And when some people had imbibed even more, they discovered they could dance, too… well, possibly.
Saturday morning started very slowly with many recovering from the night before. The main activity of the day was the mass ride-out, led by someone who didn’t have a particular destination in mind (and who only knew a few of the mass of riders behind him) – not an easy task, methinks, but actually it was a great success even if it started later than scheduled. Old bikes’ kick-starts, while they look really cool, don’t always do what they’re supposed to do, at least not first time… or even eighth time. I’m still not sure of the route or where the destination was, but the ride included some of the best riding roads that Wales has to offer, along with gorgeous scenery thrown in. There were, admittedly, rather a lot of fuel stops (due to some of the fuel tanks having the capacity of an emu egg), but this didn’t appear to bother anyone, and it was a gloriously sunny day.
On return to the site, the following couple of hours were spent, for many, with spannering on the bikes, adjusting carbs, checking for loose bits, tightening stuff up, and sorting out the bikes that didn’t start at all and were unable to make the run. That’s part of what these bikes are all about, and everyone was happy to pitch in and help with parts, tools and expertise. The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with old friends, making new ones, discussing bikes and other events, getting the barbecues going, and having a few beers before the night’s entertainment started. Then the call went out that the boxing was about to start – the contenders donned massively oversized boxing gloves and quickly knocked seven bells out of each other. New to this year’s event was the first -ever all-female bout which, without a doubt, was a savage bout. (Did that just rhyme?) Anyway, it was the most popular contest of the night, judging by the volume of cheering and shouting from the audience.
I had presumed people might be having a steadier night, the majority having partied hard the night before, and Sunday being a day for packing up and going home, but not a bit of it – they’d enjoyed Friday, and now they were going to kick the arse out of Saturday as well. The bands played, the drink flowed, and there were some hardy souls still carousing at 3am (I know this because I heard someone shout, “Do you know what time it is?” and the slurred reply was, “Yep, it’s three in the morning”).
Did I enjoy The Hook Up? Hell, yeah. Will I be going next time? Hell, yeah. Will I get a kick-start put on my bike so I can fit in? Hell, no.