Every May and October, the Hemsby Rock 'n' Roll weekender took place at the Pontin's Holiday camp in Hemsby, Norfolk (near to Great Yarmouth). Friends had been going for a few years and it had gained a reputation as a great mix of R'N'R music, drinking and motorbikes. You stayed in chalets in the camp with two dance halls featuring DJ's and bands.
The first year I went was 1995. I'd gotten quite into Rock 'n' Roll (The pukka '50's variant that is) and went to a monthly do in Edinburgh. A number of the EUMCC guys were into the music and the bikes reflected this - some seriously dodgy '50's machines that were in an authentically wrecked state and run on a shoe string.
I was in the middle of building a 650 BSA, acquired the previous winter as a basket case, and riding it down to Hemsby seemed the ideal way to test it out. My mate Niall was going to take his fairly sorted A65 and Rick and Angie would be on, respectively, an original (and somewhat decrepit) A10 and a very shiny Triumph T100. Also heading down were Tombo and Scott, on dodgy A10 cafe racers, but they were leaving a day later. I left a few days early as I wanted to spend time at my folks place and needed to do an oil change on my newly rebuilt and run in bike. I'd got it on the road a few months previously but soon after the engine seized solid - a typical BSA bottom end balls up. So it had been a rush to get it rebuilt and ready and as usual I was still working on it until the early hours of the morning of departure. It went fine down to Mum and Dads, I changed the oil and figured it would survive the remaining 600 odd miles of riding.
Rick, Angie and Niall turned up at mum and dads place the next day. We didn't leave until 3 but only had 120 miles to do to Lincoln where we were to stay with Niall's girl friend. In the event, the weather was fine, the bikes ran OK and we got there in good time. The next day was a leisurely run along the A17 and A47, roads I would become very familiar with over the following years. The landscape down there is pan flat and somewhat featureless but at least makes for easy miles. The weekend was a hoot with lots of good music, dancing, riding of bikes round the site and general tomfoolery. Scott and Tombo had made the run in one go with only some minor parts loss an issue.
Made it one piece, just have to get back now...
Heading home was a more leisurely affair. Rick and Angie were going to do it in three days but I needed to be back to work so was going to head back up to my folks and home from there. Scott, Tombo and Niall decided to join me. Apart from Niall's colossal hangover, the run home went well.
The next year was very similar although Rick and Angie took the car! That year we fell in with a bunch of guys from Germany. They had similarly dilapidated bikes and were of like mind when it came to music, dress and attention to restorative detail. Steve, a guy from Belfast but actually one of Ricks London mates had also joined our gang. He too had a bike being run on a tight budget (a T100) and soon enough we had set ourselves up as a gang of scumbags, in sharp contrast to the lot from London who were all immaculately turned out both in terms of dress and their bikes. These all seemed to be mint restorations of various '50's road burners but all had been trailered up, despite the short distance. We'd already gained a reputation as hard nuts having ridden our machines from various far flung destinations and we were sure to milk this for all it was worth. On the day of departure, Niall was again horribly hung over so left me to ride home in one go.
1997 saw me riding my recently acquired BSA B40 (from Rick, I should have known) gingerly down the road, it having just had a new piston fitted. It snowed on the way down then rained rather a lot. The bike became progressively louder, the farther I went, and by the time I arrived it was smoking ominously and making some horrible noises. Undeterred I removed the top end to discover a loose big end and a piston that had hit the head, bending the ring lands, hence the smoke. The AA came to my rescue (a popular trick at the time was to 'break down' a few miles away from the site in order to get a free run home) and needed little convincing that my bike was dead. So a two day epic journey became 7 hours in an AA van.
1998 and a gang of us were going. I'd borrowed a works van and we had several bikes and bodies in the back. The B40 had been properly rebuilt and was now a full on trail bike so as well as the usual music, beer and bikes, we spent several happy hours jumping it off the wheelchair ramps that came with each chalet.
The next few years were the Trophy years. Having proven it on the Isle of Mann it was the ideal tool for a run down to Great Yarmouth. I generally went a long scenic route, calling at various family members houses and avoiding motorways as much as possible. Best of all I discovered the old road through Norfolk from Kings Lynn which missed the drudgery of the A47 and took me along many great wee roads, empty of traffic. Every year all the bikes at the event took a run into Great Yarmouth on the Saturday. This was a chance to show off the machines and to have a full on rocker burn up on the way back. I'd already upset a few of the Londoners on the B40 the previous year so the Trophy showed them all a clean pair of pipes. It would crack a ton without any bother whereas their precious machines had clearly never seen such excesses and were unlikely to have survived.
Then in 2001 I'd had a change of fortunes in that my girlfriend was coming too. She was travelling up from the south and then we were both driving back to her folks place after the do. I still wanted to take a bike however so after some thought I figured I could shoe-horn my trials B40 into the back of my Citroen AX. A small bike in a small car. I'd been trialling on this bike for a year or so and it was a huge amount of fun. Inevitably we ended up jumping it off wheelchair ramps again and even featured in one of the German lads film of the event.
2003 was the last year I went as it clashed with another commitment and I was drifting away from the scene.
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