The Glowing Lamb

15-17August

It's been hot and sunny all week and I've been fretting in case the floods return. But they didn't (guess that means they'll be back for the bank holiday though), cos it's the Glowing Lamb and it's always sunny. I should have had more faith.

Anyway the collection of pirates for this event where Andy Bell, Sam (Spam to her friends), Dav, Alison, Martin, Morag, Hilly, Pete the Products and me. Meeting up with Keith and other assorted reprobates at the site.

After much initial stress and aggravation; Martins flat battery, bump starting ZZR11's, people turning up and saying "I'll be back in a moment - hang on" - talk about herding cats, anyway I digress.

The ride across entailed the much loved Leyburn to Hawes road. Going slow was not an option. And I was pillionless - aaagh, orgasmic. By the time we arrived at the quarry, site of the Glowing Lamb, we where all suitably adrenalined up and raring to party.

Finding a spot to pitch the tents was a bit more tricky that usual because of the size of the turnout. Eventually my front wheel dives into a ditch and the bike stalls one time too many and there we stay. This is a tried and trusted technique that's never let me down at the Lamb.

Friday night is the same as most Friday nights, Wibble, giggle, wobble, fall over, sleep. No I can't remember any of the bands (gosh, what a surprise).

Pete "The Products" does his best to ingratiate us with the staff of the Talbot Hotel
... thanks Pete...

Saturday. Oh yes, Saturday. Now we're not your chrome handbag types, we are more of the fast twisty brigade (in case you hadn't guessed), so I love the Lamb cos a) it's a shit hot party, and, b) it's a chance to play on some of the bestest roads. So off we went.

The morning was spent lazing in the sun then at about midday we decided a gentle ride in the countryside was required.

good pub, hot sunshine, fast bikes, deranged people
what more can you ask for...

Our first port of call, the Talbot Hotel. Dead posh, and the general consensus is that we will never be allowed in. So we use our secret weapon, Martin, who despite all evidence to the contrary, always manages to convince people that he's an upstanding member of the community. God knows what they thought when the rest of us appeared. No seriously, it's a lovely pub with a superb beer garden and a nice pint.

Afterwards some bright spark decided that we would go and explore the Wrynose and Hard Nott passes. Hummm. Ever done them on a bike? Going up Wrynose was hard work, tight and twisty (good) but covered in gravel and tin boxes creeping along in 1st gear (bad). Oh, and lets us not forget the cows. As we approached a tiny bridge we stopped to let the cars get ahead. A cow decides it wants to cross the bridge, gets to the middle of the road and gets scared of Dav's not exactly quiet exhaust. Been the stupid sod cows are it just stands there neither going forward or backwards. No-one has the bottle (or deathwish) to try and sneak past it so it's a stand off. Eventually it forgets what's it's doing and wanders off.

Going down Hard Nott is worse, same loose gravel on hair pins at about 1 in 4 and I've got Mad Morag of the Glens on the back. I'm not enjoying this. We stop at the bottom for a smoke break. A herd of cattle decide it's milking time and come down the road thus creating the most annoying traffic jamb I've ever seen. I spit me dummy big style and consider giving up me veggi ways.

a fat git and his chips

Eventually we set off again. I decide it's sooo nice, I'm going to ride without me lid for a while. 10 second later a fly, on a tangential path, goes straight into my ear. Bastard of a thing. Is this why real rufty tufty hardtail types wear pisspot lids and bushy beards to keep the bugs out of bodily orifii? Which then begs the question of where did the term "hairy arsed biker" come from? And more to the point why? Or how? Answers on a particle wave to ....

Next stop is the Woolpack Inn for some nosh and a pint. I'm desperate to avoid the passes again cos I need some speed. The nice lady behind the bar suggest another slightly longer route back to Kendal. Game on.

And what a good game it is. Red mist time and all that. Christ knows how fast Bell and Martin where going but they lost me. At one point I looked at my clocks, 9000rpm+, in top (work it out for yourselves), on small backroads, in combat trousers. Slow down you fucking idiot. Then the red mist returned, Suzi was responding and all was well with the world.

At a later time we reached Kendal and headed back to the site.

Saturday Part 3 - time to get hammered

Thus refreshed by "Operation Pootle", we entered Saturday part three. The evenings outrage. No outrageously good bands this year. Well OK the main band where good but I'm not into punk that much. What's happened to The Names Irrelevant? They stormed the place that last two years and where right up my street. Still I enjoyed myself, the bands are the least part of a rally to me.

Eventually everything took it's toll and I crashed out, only to be woken up by Dav returning from somewhere or other. Dav's got this theory, despite medical opinion to the contrary, that if you abuse you body often enough it gets used to it and stops complaining. Unfortunately he seems to be right.

this is Emma, note the lack of purple hair or any other distinguishing features, well OK I suppose the nose counts, but some people are sensative about these things, so I won't mention it. OK? All happy now? Good

Sunday dawned bright and hung over. I met Emma who does the NE MAG web page, who, despite earlier claims and emails, doesn't have purple hair. Hello Emma.

And that is the end of the Glowing Lamb. Please let there be another, it's quite simply the best rally there is. If you've missed it I feel really sorry for you, it blows all the rest away.