It's hard to believe it was very nearly a week ago already. Time flies by when you're having fun you're the driver of a train you pile right back into the day job of spreadsheets and contracts.
I wasn't sure, actually, that I was really going to enjoy the rally, because of various factors, but I was lucky with getting my choice of dangly bike space on the train out of Waverley. The Dundee Contingent clearly had other plans and didn't bother to turn up, though the train nearly didn't turn up either which left me with a frantic couple of minutes for hoisting things aloft and wrangling panniers.
No sooner had I arrived at the epicentre of the action at the Knavesmire (the beer tent) than I was engaged in conversation with Geoff and Fiona and Claire from the BHPC, which led to an even longer conversation with Chris Parker from ICE Trikes, in which my arms and neck slowly burned because I hadn't brought my factor 30. I had splurged last summer on a big floppy hat though and was glad for it. Toilet block meet and greet ensued with Kim and barakta and someone I didn't know. I found myself camped next to the world's most quietly spoken yet talkative man, and the world's sweariest lady, who was totally out of her depth at the rally having been somewhat dragged there by a friend. That evening was spent in pursuit of pizza, at which I failed because the shop wasn't there anymore; as backup, I decided to get fish and chips, but I failed at that too because they'd run out of fish. Rode back to the rally and promptly met LeeW and MrLeeW who were heading out to Naburn on a DIY not-Velovision ride - and I had a pannierful of sausage and chips to eat... As is tradition when camping, I slept incredibly badly.
I spent Sunday morning in yet another long conversation with Sweary Lady, then noting the impending weather forecast, decided I ought to do a bike ride. Skilfully again avoiding conversation with the Welsh Guy with the Extremely Wiry Grey Hair, I rode out to Naburn for my obligatory photo, and Saturn for my other obligatory photo, then figured I may as well ride to at least Pluto. Once back I spent a few minutes checking out the trade tents and then returned to the beer tent to meet my friend Amanda and her partner, whereupon BCCletts turned up on a flying visit, regaling us immediately with stories of train timetables, broken forks, gigantic thorns through tyres, and variously similar bicycle decrepitude. My friend went home and then the tent suddenly got very busy because it thundered, and 23.7 million tonnes of water was too much for the tent roof which promptly leaked onto my shorts, while Kim studiously monitored the rain gauge outside. After some playful humour (I think, I couldn't quite tell) with Darren and Sweary Lady who was apparently now enjoying herself, I was suddenly completely out of spoons and ran away to my tent to hide and have tea. Talkative Man thought that was a splendid time to engage me in conversation, which at least was about bicycle touring. I still slept really badly though.
For Monday after goodbyes with Kim and cycleman I had a nice random ride around York and found a lovely bakery where I got supplies for lunch on the train, then got lost six times before I remembered which road went to the station. And magically, I had my choice of dangly bike spaces again! I managed as far as about Newcastle and then slept until Berwick. My brush with The Plague still hangs over me, after a couple of months, and I was completely done in by the time I'd cycled home up the many hills. Next time, and there may be a next time, I'm actually tempted to forgo bicycle for motorbike.
