There is a legendary creature which lurks in the wildest parts of the UK; a few people have seen it in its natural habitat and a select number of licensees have been near enough to sell it beer. This creature is known by those who have had contact with it as the Abominable Rallyman.

In my search for the unusual I had heard rumours of this legendary creature and I determined to seek him out and document his habits and lifestyle for posterity. My inquiries had led me into the mountainous region above Holmfirth. The Dean Valley M.C.C. were holding their Rallymans rally, an event which has been run at the beginning of January for over twenty five years, always in the higher places of Yorkshire and usually accompanied by snow and ice.

BMW Outfits Galore.

A Rusty Harley!

Bobs isn't the only ugly trike...

This years event was no exception, arriving after work on Saturday afternoon I soon had my tent up and my bed laid out. Taking a look a look round the car park I was surprised at the number of new bikes including Harleys, BMWs and Pan Europeans braving the salt and ice.

A number of old friends were unloading their machines and we wished each other the compliments of the season, after taking a few photos I went inside and booked in. Alan was on the desk, at nearly seventy he attends rallies almost every weekend, allegedly his wife chucks him out of the house, and wears a bike out every year.

This year, as well as the usual badge and stickers all the attendees received a commemorative T Shirt. After a couple of pints of Black Sheep I joined the Over the Hill club for a bus ride into Holmfirth. After a meal in Compos Cafe we tried out the three of the local pubs, meeting up with the Dalton M.C.C. lads and getting the last bus back to Dunford Bridge.

Over the Hill & Dalton MCC in Holmfirth

It's Snowing!

The gang against the bar

The Disco was swinging with John Pilley of the Lancashire Road Runners on the decks and the dancefloor was full. The trophies and awards were announced, some maniac from the North of Scotland got long distance and the Mayflower club got turnout. The best bike was an immaculately restored Cossack outfit, why?

As the night drew to a close I staggered out to my tent and was appalled to find snow on the ground and icy patches. It was warm enough in my sleeping bag and I slept well until the dawn chorus of misfiring engines woke me up.

Bridge Rat Richard Hirst brews up.

Ted with the world's dirtiest BM.

Otto & Neil feeding their faces.

After breakfasting in the pub I packed up and mounting the trusty Enfield ( Dr. Rod may have his own views ) (too right Monty I think they're horrible things!) plodding back home after a jolly weekend away.

I had discovered, after all my travels that the Abominable Rallyman was looking back at me from my own mirror.

Monty the Rat