The lure of an IHPVA-sanctioned event held within 3000 miles of home (London) was too good to miss and so preparations were made to attend. Problems started almost immediately when it was discovered that the cost of hiring a van for some ten days would be far too high and so a group of myself, Mike Burrows, José from BikeTrader and a crowd of six others met up at Harwich dock on Saturday 19th to catch the night ferry to the Hook of Holland. I was carrying the bare minimum of luggage in my fully faired racing Windcheetah, with the bulk of my kit being taken over by team Kingcycle the following day. Mike was pulling his trailer behind his Speedy and, being hotel-based and not camping like the rest of us, was carrying a spare pair of underpants and the latest incarnation of his Giant AR-1, the unpainted frame of which spent the whole trip poking up like the neck of the Loch Ness monster.
We arrived in Holland at 7a.m., and rumbled off the ferry consulting our maps in the sunshine. Now generally, cycling in the Netherlands is a very pleasurable experience. Unless, of course, you are riding a fully-faired racing HPV. Then the cobbles and tiles of the fietspads make it a bloody awful one. Put the temperature up into the high 80deg c and you can really start to suffer. We broke the journey down into several stages with a pancake stop for lunch and plenty of water stops. Luckily we had ace map-reader Paul Craig with us* and after a relatively trouble-free trip lasting some ten hours, including a gruelling 20km slog into a fierce headwind up the coast of the Ijsselmeer, we completed a 170km trip by arriving at the Lelystad campsite, our home for the next nine days.
Tents were put up, with mine having arrived safely arrived in a van full of Kingcycles, Wasps and Beanos, and the rest of the evening was spent socialising, greeting old friends and providing the local mosquito population with fresh blood. The rest of the Brits turned up from their various corners of the country until there were about twenty of us. Most important arrival was that of Dave and Tina in Moby (Dave’s Citroen estate), because they were carrying the weeks’ supply of duty-free beer, much to the amusement of the more athletically-conscious Dutch competitors. Well, we were on holiday as well.
Monday
The first event of the week was the 200m sprint. I seem to be the only one in the club who likes this event, so I spent the early morning sorting my machine out, including raising the fairing by 5mm over the wheels. The cobbles on the trip over had bounced the sharp edges of the front wheel cut-outs onto my brand-new 20" IRC tyres and had cut them to ribbons. New tyres were fitted (I’d bought four spares!) and the fairing was mounted rigidly onto the chassis. The Big Ring (68t) was fitted, and it was then that I noticed that the left crank was 170mm long and the right was 180mm! Never mind.
We made to ride out the start of the event. One thing you really need in this situation is decent maps, but these were sadly lacking, and for the first of many times that week, we got hopelessly lost. We ended up taking over an hour to cover the six km to the event. The closed road, when we eventually found it, was dead straight and very smooth. Sadly it was into the prevailing wind, which was to feature all week, but it had to be run this way because of the run-off area. The new Kingcycle Beano was to make its much-anticipated debut. It looked very neat, small and very low and in the true tradition of Kingcycle, was finished about five minutes before the race started. Steve Slade took it to 68kph in his first run, with a 1.4km run-up, beating my first 61kph. For the second run that afternoon I fitted the side windows and taped up all the wheel slots, and managed to get up to 69.9 kph (10.3 sec)., edging out Sergei Dashevski for sixth place and even Steve in the Beano (69.16kph/10.41 sec). First place went, surprisingly, to Jürg Birkenstock of Switzerland in his very neat carbon-kevlar Glider (82.66kph/8.71sec), pushing the Nilgo 2, powered by Laurent Chapuis, back into third place. Unfaired first went to Bram Moens, with Pat Kinch coming up from behind (huh huh) to take fourth place.
As usual, the event took all day with loads of standing around in the scorching heat between heats, but luckily the local baseball (!) club opened their clubhouse for food and drinks. I won my bet against Sherri and Murray from Australia, who didn’t think I’d go faster in my second run after two beers, a cheese toastie and fries. I did.
We set off back to the campsite at about 5pm, stopping off at the supermarket for provisions. I was able to ride Speedy through the shopping mall and freak out the locals. The problem of how to carry back all the food was solved by the arrival of Dave and Tina in Moby, who obligingly slung the whole lot in Moby’s cavernous boot. We arrived back at the site, which was by now jammed with about 300 people plus their hardware. Dinner was cooked, beers were drunk and some entertainment is provided by watching Big Mal attempting to move. A 190lb London ex-cycle-courier, Mal rode over with us from home on his brand -new Ovel low racer. It was his first real trip on it and his legs were suffering badly. He didn’t take part in the sprints and by evening the only way he can crawl into his tent is by lying down and crawling on his stomach. It looks awkward, very painful and is extremely funny. That night my sleep was interrupted for the first time by the arrival of Spiny Norman, the local hedgehog, upon whose nocturnal trail I seemed to have put my tent, and who took a great interest in my muesli.
Tuesday
The day of the short time trials. It dawned quite foggy, with the mist coming in off of the nearby sea, and as we set off for the start it was quite difficult to see out of Speedy. Once again we got hopelessly lost on the confusing network of fietspads and the group of Dave, José, Mal, myself and some Danes spent an hour and a quarter riding across some terrible cobbled dyke in the fog, not knowing where the hell we were going and me with my fillings being rattled out. We finally met up with another group who were similarly lost, but between us we managed to find a main road which led to the airport, which was the meeting point. Here we found that road works had forced the 1 mile t.t to be moved again (it had already been moved from its original site several days before due to, yes, roadworks). We now had to race down a fietspad, albeit a smooth straight one. At this point Dave, London’s premier Anglo-American despatch rider and BikeTrader dogsbody, discovered that he had dropped his wallet somewhere on the way. He attempted to retrace his way to the campsite, but got lost even then and eventually gave it up as a bad job and returned, penniless, passportless and creditcardless.
Still, back to work. The first event was the one mile. Held on a good fietspad, it was simply a mad blast along the path one after the other. There was very little run-off area at the finish, so little in fact that Bram Moens, who was the first of the fast boys to go, came back to the start after his run to warn the others to be careful. After waiting some time in the by now blazing sun, it was my turn to play. I had no idea of the distance, having managed to rip the wire out of my computer while getting out of the Speedy that morning. I set off, but I couldn’t pace myself properly, not knowing how far there was to go. Also, the finish was not well marked and I ended up braking before the line, thinking I had finished. Still, it was ok. We all then moved on the start of the 4km event. Another long wait ensued with very little to drink. We were originally given our allocated start times, but these seemed to have been forgotten or disregarded, the only proviso being "unfaired machines off first." When I eventually got going it seemed much shorter than I thought and in no time at all I passed the "1km to finish" marker. I really got a move on and was still accelerating over the finish line, to finish with an average of 55.94kph. Naturally the winner was Nilgo 2, who flew over the line at some 50mph, fully needing the 2km run-off. A tremendous sight. We then retired to the airport cafe for some much-needed food and drink and to prepare for the afternoon’s 25km t.t Or so we thought.
As we in the BHPC discovered ourselves at our national championships a few weeks earlier, things do go wrong at the most inconvenient times. Then a traction engine rally, of all things, caused the cancellation of the road time trial by the Police. Now this time it was road works again. After most of the unfaired vehicles had started their rides, the organisers were stumped by the local Police arriving to tell us that they had to re-open part of the circuit to relieve the traffic congestion on a nearby main road. They did agree to close it again at 7pm, some 2 1/4 hours later, but the organisers decided that it would be too dangerous, so late in the evening, particularly as almost all the remaining vehicles were fast faired machines. And so I didn’t get to play, which was a pity because it was a good circuit with some long straights and some sharp corners, which would have suited me well. A pity also for Mariëlle and Sacha, the organisers, who had done so well to reschedule the two earlier events at such short notice. Still, these things happen. Or not. We all rumbled back to the campsite in less than half the time we took to get to the start, where we decided to go for a swim the in the windsurfing lake. It was fresh water and beautifully cold and clear, and the sight of us hardy Brits persuaded a lot of others to join in and soon the lake was the scene of the first IHPVA-sanctioned skinny-dipping contest. At least it meant that we didn’t have to queue for half an hour for one of the two showers. Back at the tents, we cooked more pasta with beer and were warmly greeted by the local mozzies and hedgehogs and the good news that Dave’s missing wallet had been found intact on a distant fietspad and handed to the organisers. A good ending to the day.
Wednesday
Today was Fotorally day. This was a 100km ride around the Lelystad area armed only with a photocopied map and a disposable camera to take shots of local interest points. You were also required to take a manoeuvrability test, a time trial of 6km and to complete the whole lot in about six hours. This was obviously not Speedy territory: similar thoughts had occurred to Miles Kingsbury and ex-world record holder Pat Kinch, and so the three of us made our way into Amsterdam for a little sightseeing. A warning here: Amsterdam has really gone to pot, if you’ll forgive the expression. If you want all manner of Class A narcotics, hard core bestiality videos and AIDS, then this is the place to go to. Pat was approached several times with offers to buy crack, and he at least had the decency to pretend he didn’t know what it was. We eventually got away from the seedy side, but the city for me was a real disappointment.
We arrived back at the campsite and went for another swim and awaited the return of the Fotorally gang. They arrived at around 5pm, with tales of windmills, Jehovah’s Witnesses, wild boar and lost cameras. Interestingly, the results of the rally that were published the following day had Pat down in 19th place, which was excellent considering he’d been out with me and Miles all day.
The 50m drag races took place that evening in the town centre. At first we thought that this was a printing mistake; surely it should be 100m at least. But no, 50m it was, and we actually had quite a good time watching everyone bugger up their expensive toys by thrashing them across the square for the entertainment of others. Spectacular viewing was provided by the two Bendtsen bikes. Fully faired derivatives of the bikes that were first seen at the Fiets 365-Day competition a couple of years ago in Eindhoven, they were paired against each other in one of the early heats. As the gun went off the two bikes moved forward but go no further than a couple of metres before they both stopped dead and fell over. It transpired that the main tubes on both bikes had bent (or Bendt?) down under the strain of the acceleration and had driven the tube into the front wheel, causing the sudden termination in the evening’s proceedings for both of them. Both bikes were beyond repair, although the fairing on one of them was removed and fitted on a spare chassis and raced later in the week. We also saw Dirk Thijs lose his RowBike in a fairly major way, complete with exploding tyre, although happily no-one was hurt in the evening. The UK contingent did pretty well overall, but it was our man from the Commonwealth, Murray, who got through to the semi-final, only to lose out. He got fourth overall and a prize, probably for being the longest-distance competitor as much as anything. I declined to take part in Speedy, partly because the extra weight of a trike meant it would have been quicker for me to pick it up and run the 50m with it, and partly because the last time I did short-distance standing-start sprints, even over 200m, Speedy nearly fell apart under the strain, such is my power output (ahem).
Thursday
The Criterium day. The circuit was set around a local sports and school complex. We set off in a convoy of about 30 machines. We then proceeded to set the record for the highest number of lost riders in one attempt, thanks to the bad maps. We shattered the record some thirty minutes later when we met another similarly-sized group coming the other way. After some consultation we headed off in another direction and found the circuit, late as usual.
It was a pretty good circuit, about 1km long with some very sharp corners, a small climb and a couple of straights. There were five qualifying heats from which the top six went through to the semi-final. There were 12 riders in a heat which lasted 30 minutes. In the first heat, an early casualty was Steve Donaldson who experienced trouble with the K drive on the Wasp while leading his group. He restarted, but was unable to rise above seventh place. Mike Burrows, in his Speedy, found the circuit rather hard on his machine and he withdrew on the last lap to avoid further punishment in the semi-final. I found the circuit no less difficult, with the tight corners and I had to work like mad to finish sixth and make the semi. Only four UK riders made it to the semis; Steve Slade, Pat Kinch, Dave Fyfe (who won his heat convincingly) and myself.
The first semi got under way and Dave again moved into a huge lead on his Kingcycle. Pat on his unfaired Wasp rolled around fairly comfortably. But Steve on the faired Wasp had a few problems as well and he also had to work hard to get up to seventh place. In the second semi, my efforts in the heat proved too much and I was unable to rise above tenth place. The weight and the sharp corners meant that the constant braking and accelerating on each corner for 30 minutes was just too knackering, and I concentrated on giving the sizeable crowd a demonstration of two-wheeled cornering, causing several to move out of the way pretty quickly on the occasional excursion onto the grass. Organiser Mariëlle later asked if I thought that the circuit was too dangerous. It certainly wasn’t in my opinion and the fact that it wasn’t suitable for my machine was hardly the fault of the organisers.
I recovered enough to be able to ride back and with better instructions we made it back somewhat quicker than on the way out. Those with more money than me (everyone except Mal, José and Dave) went off into town to an Italian restaurant while us poor sods stayed at camp and cooked our own brand of Italian food, i.e. pasta with tuna and tomato and beer and mosquitoes. We spent the rest of the evening, as on most nights, down in the small bar on the campsite, which, seeing as the vast majority of competitors were on the site, had become the main social meeting point of the week. We sat and waited as the others came back from town to join us. The bar got pretty busy at night and the staff looked more than happy at the extra custom; at f2.50 for a bottle of Heineken I’m not surprised. The more financially-challenged among us struck our own blow against capitalism by sneaking in cans of our own cheap duty-free Grolsch and repeatedly filling the same small glass all night. When asked by the waitress why I was drinking so little, I informed her that I was an athlete and had to look after my body. The (duty-free) cigars were simply to repel the incessant mosquito attacks. I don’t think she believed a word.
Friday
World HPV Information Day and Criterium Final. Leaving my trusty Speedy to guard my tent and all my worldly belongings, I took a ride with the Team Kingcycle van back to the school where a large hall was filled with static displays of lots of machines and various HPV-related paraphernalia. There was also the results of the Fotorally, where everyone had to stick their photos on a card and add some comments or explanations. The results were very interesting and highly imaginative in some cases, with our own Slasher Slade displaying a talent surprising from someone who chooses to race in Union Jack boxer shorts. Steve Donaldson’s photos had been lost on the way, and so he had drawn all his answers in cartoon form. Prizes for the events held so far were also given out, and not a Brit in sight...
Mike Burrows had the pleasure of an IHPVA committee meeting, where a few of the more forward-looking members were trying to put forward a few proposals. This all took place behind closed doors, of course, and apparently got a little heated. How much so was to become apparent later that evening.
The sky had grown overcast for the start of the criterium final and there was a distinct possibility of rain, which would make the circuit rather dangerous. They all set off well enough, with Dave Fyfe taking an early lead over Thomas Kjaer-Andersen on the remaining un-Bendtsen bike. Steve, after a slow start, began to pick off the middle markers with ease and Pat was getting to grips with Ymte Sybrandy on a Flevo Lowbike. Then the rain came down.
Within one lap, four bikes went missing. Steve disappeared and Pat dropped four places. We found out later that there had been a crash which had claimed one bike on the first corner and Andreas Weigel, riding Tim Brummer’s X-2, had hit the wreckage. Pat braked to avoid the pile-up and had come to a halt. Steve had entered the chicane near the start/finish line and the now wet surface took his front wheel away and he slid rather painfully on his side onto the grass. People now took more care and soon Thomas K-A caught and passed Dave and opened up a lead which he held for the rest of the race. Pat was meanwhile giving Ymte some lessons in race etiquette, i.e.; do some bloody work instead of sitting on my back wheel. The rain eased off and as the track dried out Pat eased away from Ymte to take first place unfaired and fourth place overall. It was a pity the rain claimed Steve in particular; with his fearsome cornering ability and immense nerve, he was my favourite to win.
By this time the rain had naturally stopped and after a while we made our way back to the site via the supermarket where the locals were getting used to us. Back at the site we had dinner (guess!) and we made our way over to the boat club office for the second meeting of the IHPVA.
This was basically to explain to us, the members, what the committee had decided what was best for us. The three main rule changes proposed were
Saturday
Today was the event that I had been looking forward to. The one and six hour time trials were to be held on the RDW test rack outside Lelystad, which was a smooth concrete oval, some 2.8km long. with long sweeping banked corners. The two races were to run concurrently, and at about 1pm the six hour riders set off. Now I personally find the idea of riding a six-hour about as sensible as volunteering for experimental rectal surgery, but Mike Burrows obviously thought otherwise and duly set off with the others. The weather was a lot cooler than of late and the problem of overheating was greatly reduced. Sergei Dashevski from Russia set off a tremendous pace in his huge fully faired trike and Mike had a job to stay with him.
The first bikes to go in the hour race were the unfaired ones and we faired types had to wait for ages. I was not off until 5.30 p.m. and so I passed the time sleeping and listening to the football reports from England on the BBC on the car radio. I emerged to see Mike call it a day after four hours. Sergei’s pace was too high and the lack of distance training took its toll on our Chairman who succumbed to exhaustion and cramp. He looked dreadful in the car afterwards and sat there wrapped in blankets while we fed him hot drinks as he recovered. I left him making a note in his diary to consult his colonic specialist when he got home.
It was 5.50 p.m. when I eventually got away after watching most of the other UK riders going off. I had no idea of what pace to set, but with no computer to help me it was all going to be guesswork anyway. Sherri and Miles were holding boards out with all sorts of numbers on them but I had no idea what they meant. With 40 minutes one I started to wind it up as I still felt pretty good and I got progressively faster towards the end . Mind you, it was still rather disheartening to see Steve, Jürg and Lauren all go charging past me....
By the time I finished it was raining and it was getting hard to see out of Speedy which made the last two laps a little hairy. I crossed the line in a sprint and stumbled out of a now very warm and smelly cockpit and headed for the van to get some dry clothing on, leaving Speedy in the care of Dave and Mal. Coffee and food was made available and I recovered to watch the last of the hour riders and the finish of the six hour. Sergei still seemed to be maintaining the same pace as at the start as he crossed the line for the last time. Provisional results were given out not long afterwards, and in the faired class first was Laurent Chapuis (France) with 68.425km. Second was Steve Slade with an excellent 61.849km, not bad considering it was a new machine and that time trialling is not Steve’s best discipline. Canada’s Robert LaFleur took third with 61.223km, and I rolled in fifth with 54.860km. Not bad in a ten year old design, but fourth placed Jürg Birkenstock was almost six km ahead of me with 60.247km! Other Brits were Jon (7th, 53.356km), Steve D (8th, 53.124km), Dave Fyfe (11th, 49.307km) and Nigel Sleigh (18th, 44.302km). Unfaired was unsurprisingly taken by Bram Moens with 50.454km, second was Bjorn Frank with 49.105km and our own Pat K with 47.761km. The only other two Brits (where were the rest of you pansies?) were gNick (30th, 36.195km) and Richard Brooks (31st, 35.310km). Honorary Brit Murray carried the Lanterne Rouge (40th, 30.992km).
The Hard Bastards event was won convincingly by Sergei Dashevski with a storming 320km, followed by Martin Sorensen and the push-me-pull-you tandem of Allert Jacobs and John Poot. Unfaired went to Ymte Sybrandy with 247km. Sergei’s effort can be put into perspective when you realise that his average speed over six hours was only slightly less than mine was over one hour! And it was done on a machine that, although pretty streamlined, was a little primitive in construction and equipment and weighed about half a ton.
We were racing at the track the next day and so several of us, including me, left our machines in a shed at the track and got a lift back to the campsite, where it was now pouring with rain. I was too tired to cook so I made do with a few bits and pieces and then sat under Dave and José’s huge canopy tent and drank/smoked/talked until an early bedtime.
Sunday
The final day. Most of us packed up our tents early that morning for a quick getaway. I wasn’t leaving until the next day, but the Kingcycle van was going that afternoon and they were carrying my luggage for me, so I had to pack up and find somewhere to sleep that night. Dave, José and Mal were heading off to the Hook via Amsterdam in two days. José’s Speedy had broken again and this time we were unable to fix it. He ended up borrowing Steve Slade’s Kingcycle and the Speedy took a ride home on the roof of the van. Having arranged to meet the others at the Hook on Monday evening, I set off for the track with Miles and co for the Devil-takes-the-hindmost.
Now these usually take place on a small track where the laps are short and fast. Not in Holland, mate. Here we were set of on the 2.8km track in a huge bunch of some 100 machines and paced around by motorcycles with pillion riders dressed as Devils, complete with horns and tridents. Paced at a reasonable speed, we would be led around the track and about 200m before the line the bike would accelerate and leave us to a massive free-for-all where the last four over the line would be eliminated. As you can imagine, this took quite some time and as the race went on, the number of riders pulled out per lap went down from four to three and then two and finally one. I had no rear view in the Speedy and I had no idea of how many riders were left after about 30 minutes. Meanwhile the race was getting faster and faster as the slower riders were eliminated and things were getting rather exciting. Mike B had made a remarkable recovery from the previous day’s efforts and long after I thought he had gone off the back, a familiar yellow beetle came hurtling off the banking I front of me with a cheery wave. By now it had developed into a series of chess-like manoeuvres followed by a mad sprint. Now I quite like sprints and I’m not bad at them , but to do them lap after lap for over an hour is pretty exhausting, especially when you remember that the Speedy is a trike, one of only three at the whole event. However, I was holding on, more and more desperate with each lap until we got to the point where Mike eliminated Sergei, who had doggedly been holding the inside line for the whole race, and then there were only six of us left including myself, Mike and Pat, now with the bag fairing on his Wasp. The next lap Robert LaFleur saw off Mike, only for me to see him off the next lap and then there were four. That lap really killed me though and I had to chase to catch the group to line up for the next sprint. I tried to hold on, because one more lap would get me a medal, but on the last bend I came off the banking too early for the sprint and had to brake to avoid overshooting the pace bike. The flag dropped just then and I found that I had nothing left for the final push. I coasted over the line to a nice reception from the crowd and got out in time to watch the final lap with Pat, Laurent and Jürg jockeying for position on the final bend. Jürg, whose usual tactic was to hang way back on the top of the banking and come through from behind, totally misjudged Pat’s sprint and although Laurent pulled away fairly easily, Pat comfortably held off Jürg to take an excellent second. I think that we had the moral victory, though; Mike is 52 years old, we were both riding tricycles of a ten year old design and Pat was riding with a bag fairing! I don’t wish to appear condescending, but if you have seen Laurent’s Nilgo and Jürg’s Glider, which look like Formula One cars, you’ll understand. Great fun, though.
And so to prizegiving. IHPVA medals were given out in all classes and there were a few other special prizes and although there were none for me, there were some for Pat and Steve and well deserved they were too (cue grinding of teeth..)
Goodbyes were said all round and all my luggage bar essentials were loaded into Miles’ van and Mike and I made our lone way back to the town centre where I was staying at Mike's hotel for the night. Sundays in Holland are rather quiet and Lelystad was like a ghost town and almost everything was closed. After dumping the two Speedies in the hotel foyer (!) and taking just about the hardest earned shower in ages, we walked around the town and found a small restaurant open where we had the usual pancakes before going back to the hotel were we watched TV for a while before finding the only bar in town that was open (even the hotel bar was closed) for a few beers before bedtime.
Monday
The day dawned wet, of course. We had a good breakfast and as the weather showed no sign of breaking and we had a long day ahead of us, we set off in the rain which almost immediately got worse. Crawling slowly out of town I ran into the back of Mike’s trailer because I couldn’t see a thing out of the screen. Out on the Ijsselmeer, however, the rain developed into a storm of Biblical proportions. The sea was raging, rain and sea spray lashed us from all sides and there were some spectacular rainbows to boot. My Speedy has more open sides than Mike’s and within moments I was soaked to the skin and getting cold. The wind was incredible; we were travelling at about 25 mph and we weren’t even pedalling. Speedies make very good kites and we were being buffeted around so much we could not ride on the narrow fietspad and so we took to the road, where the surface was awash and we could aquaplane to our hearts’ content. The few cars we saw didn’t even bother to hoot at us.
After about 40 minutes the weather broke just as we turned off the dyke. The sun came out and we slowly dried out. We made pretty good time and we only made a few wrong turnings. Sadly one of them was several kilometres up a fietspad made up the worst type of cobbles. We had to retrace our way back to the correct side of the canal, all at little above walking pace because any faster was shaking the Speedies to pieces. It took over an hour to get back on the trail. We stopped for lunch at the same cafe as on the way out and to fix our only puncture of the trip. The last leg of the trip was mostly through towns where the cyclepaths are of the worst type. Patience with Dutch town planners was wearing a little thin by now and the rush hour traffic did little to help. We did see our first Alleweder in general use and we stopped for a brief chat. We finally arrived in the Hook a little after 6pm where we bumped straight into Dave and José who had just arrived from the other direction. We directed them to the bar while we went to the terminal to book in. Typically, after a whole day’s almost incident-free riding, I lost concentration for a moment outside the terminal and rode straight into a concrete bollard. There was a lot of noise and a big dent but luckily no real damage and the dent popped out wit a well-aimed kick from the inside. At the terminal we recovered Malcolm, looking a little tender in the arse region but otherwise well. We made our way back to the bar in the high street where myself, Mike and Dave Larrington had killed a few beers while waiting for the same ferry two years previously while on our way back from Eindhoven. The landlady remembered us from that trip, or rather our bikes, and we spent the last of our Dutch currency on Heineken. We boarded the boat and squeezed into Mike’s cabin for a shower and clean clothes and then onto the restaurant for a huge curry. The crossing was a bit rough and we were soon asleep in various parts of the ship.
Tuesday
We arrived at Harwich at 7am and after coffee and rolls we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways; Mike rode the 70 miles back to Norwich, José and Mal took the train back to London and Dave and I rode the 70 miles to London. I didn’t really want to, but I couldn’t get Speedy on the train so there was nothing for it. The main A road back to London is quick but not very bike-friendly and after a few too many big trucks we turned off onto the minor roads. These proved to be a bit hilly and slowed me up too much as I had to be back in east London by midday where my girlfriend was waiting with the car, complete with roof rack. Sorry, but there was no way I was going to ride Speedy through central London to my house in west London. I left Dave to trundle his way back home while I made my way back to the A12. From then on the road was like a motorway, three lanes of very fast traffic and I had to keep up a tremendous speed just to keep up with the flow and feel safe. It then started to rain and I don't mind admitting I was bloody scared. At this point the bungee holding the back of the fairing on snapped and I had to stop and use a spare toestrap (never go anywhere without one kids!) to tie it down again. Then the rain stopped and I was really flying again with a tailwind and I arrived back in Gants Hill only 30 minutes late where my girlfriend and son were waiting. Speedy went on the roof and we went home.
And that was it. My first IHPVA World Championship and pretty good it was too. As ever a few things could have been done better, but that is easy to say with hindsight. Perhaps the event was a bit too long and there was a lot of standing about and there were a lot of familiar faces missing, presumably because they were unable to take a whole week off, but for some, me included, it made a good holiday. It was a pity that none of the US contingent made the effort to attend, but there you go.
Seeing as I’ve just heard that the IHPVA has rejected the proposals made in Lelystad on the grounds that there were insufficient Board members present (surprise!), it does seem that the European HPV association will be striking out on its own and so you are all cordially invited to come to the 1996 European Championships to be held in Leicester in central England on June 28th-28th. Following the sterling efforts of Mariëlle, Sacha and the NVHPV to put on such a show at such short notice, we will have to do well to match or better it. See you there........
PS. This article was originally written for the BHPC magazine, which explains the UK references and terminology and the occasional in-joke. Sorry also if it seems a little Anglocentric!
I.M.S
*Actually it wasn’t luck; I made sure he came with us...
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