Diamonds
Are Forever
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2003 has been something of a year for anniversaries. Unless you've been living on Mars you can hardly have failed to notice the Harley Davidson Centenary, which has so penetrated the public mind it's even been mentioned on Radio 2 and had special feature programmes on our dearly loved Men & Motors channel. At last the general public notices a bike brand, though in my experience there are very few non-bikers out there who can tell a Suzuki Bandit from a Brough Superior. I remember being accosted by some old bloke outside my local Tesco's who insisted he had once ridden a bike exactly like mine when he was dispatch riding in world war two. Turned out his bike had been a side valve Matchless. I pointed out my bike was exactly the same, except it was made in Japan, had a four cylinder DOHC engine, shaft drive and three disc brakes and was 40 years newer. Apparently he'd been fooled by my matt black paint job, which was almost identical to the shade of khaki used by the British army in the North African desert. Yeah, right....
But buried deep in a corner of the psyche of the general public is a dim awareness that there are some strange folks out there who hacksaw their bikes up, weld them back together in new and unusual shapes and then congregate in muddy fields drinking until they fall over. And to some degree that was the reality of riding custom bikes back in the early seventies when the immediate aftermath of "Easy Rider" led to a rash of tall spindly customs with dodgy old BSA or Triumph twin engines and peanut tanks emerging from lock-ups on council estates across the nation. My own first chop was a pre-unit 500 Triumph in a stretched TRW frame with slugged Honda 250 forks. I remember gazing fondly at its 5.00x16 rear tyre, awed at the width of rubber. Who would have thought, who would have ever imagined in their wildest dreams, that up here in 2003 we would have built such a strong custom biking culture that British customs set the pace in the international biking world, particularly if your interest in two wheeled vehicles extends beyond the Harley-Davidson vee twin.
One or two figures on the early custom scene turned out to be pivotal in the development of biker culture in the UK; take a bow Ian Basset, Gary Sylvester, Leon Wallace and of course John Reed (the original Uncle Bunt) who now mixes in the heady company of world wide legends like Arlen Ness. But it wasn't just the specialist bike builders we owe, it was the clubs too. The ordinary blokes who simply wanted to build and ride chops, and get away and party with like minded souls whenever they could manage a weekend away from the daily grind. Which brings us neatly around to Bill Gill, who back in the summer of 1973 got in touch with few other like minded individuals, who then put a diamond patch on the back of their denim cut-offs and called themselves the National Chopper Club.
Now somewhere around here I better declare my own vested interest, for back in 1980 I too wore a diamond patch and continued to do so for the next eight years. The NCC more or less became my family for a while, and it was during those years that I made some lifelong friends. It was also during those years that, one soggy weekend, I found myself knee deep in mud in a Wiltshire field celebrating the 10th anniversary of the NCC with some blokes from Holland, who had just become Chopper Club Nederland. Ten years down the line, as an ex-member, I was thrilled to be invited to another field in Scotland to celebrate 20 years of the club by which time there were patches present from Belgium and Luxembourg. So as August Bank Holiday 2003 approached there was only ever one place I planned to be and only one bunch of people I planned to be partying with. And that's how I came to find myself in the company of three other grey haired, middle-aged blokes rumbling down the M6 to Devon, an almost exact time-warp re-run of NCC Yorkshire circa 1980.
Now things have changed in thirty years. The club is much bigger and better organised than the loose conglomeration it used to be in the early days, and now has members right across Europe and Scandinavia. And, partly in response to government legislation aimed at eradicating the scourge of crusties from farmers fields, has bought several patches of land to call its own, many with permanent club houses on site. So the NCC 30th anniversary run was held on the club's own site with a clubhouse and bar, proper toilets, good food and almost every modern convenience. Not like the old days at all, though in deference to the grubby days of yore I did neglect to comb my hair for three days. The clubhouse actually has two bars; the Kilner bar named in memory of club drag racer Ian Kilner, sadly no longer with us, and Bamber's Bar, named in honour of the legendary Nige Bamber, former General Secretary of the club and honorary life member. Such are the logistics of these events that when I finally reached Bamber's Bar for my first pint of the weekend Nige Bamber was serving the drinks himself. A bit like going to buy a Harley and finding yourself served by Willie G, though Nige is much younger and better looking. And he has more hair....
The structure of an NCC run is quite different to your usual custom bike show. Sure, there's bands, music, beer and late night partying in plenty. But with only members and invited guests allowed on site the atmosphere is much more relaxed and intimate than any event open to members of the public. And that's not meant to sound elitist either - the NCC does not close its doors to those who approach the club with a genuine interest in the bikes and lifestyle, and the exclusion of the general public simply means you don't have to worry about some headbanging Iron Maiden fan being sick over your prize paintjob while you're off partying yourself. These guys are all dedicated custom bike builders and riders, and there's an air of respect for each other skills that is sometimes sadly lacking amongst the pram pushing heavy metal tee shirt wearers I've seen wandering around at some public shows, their grubby kids smearing chocolate covered paws over someone's pride and joy.
But the real focus of any NCC run is the Sunday ride-out where all the club turn out as one to ride in convoy to some local beauty spot. And I have to tell you, NCC runs these days are very big and very impressive. With the clubs own marshalls stationed at roundabouts and road junctions (how refreshing to see no Police sticking their noses in) the whole club in convoy is probably the biggest, loudest and most impressive parade of top quality custom bikes its possible to see anywhere. I have seen more bikes in convoy before, but each bike on an NCC run is a crowd stopper in itself and even the general public gawping at the side of the road slowly becomes aware that they are witnessing something a bit more special than just the weight of numbers of, say, a MAG run. As the civilians heads pan back and forth like viewers at a spaced-out Wimbledon and their eyeballs extend further and further from the sockets at each example of impossible looking engineering blasting past, the run just keeps on coming, and coming, and coming.... I have no idea how many bikes there were on this years anniversary run, but I had time to shoot off two rolls of film at the roadside and re-load my camera, and still they came. The run ended up in Woolacombe this year, where unprepared locals gasped awestruck as the massed ranks of the NCC filled the streets, parking in long rows down each side of the main street oblivious to petty regulations like helmet laws and yellow lines. But one welcome change I did see was that ordinary members of the public no longer seem frightened to approach club members and strike up conversations, frequently pleasantly surprised at the friendly response they get from the bikers. In past years the British public used to run and hide, and I remember being very pleasantly surprised on my first trip to Holland with the club back in '87, where ordinary Dutch families would stop and chat with us. Perhaps our country is slowly getting more civilised at last, but I still reckon there's a way to go to catch up to Holland. The only glitch on the run occurred when some local old dear trying to drive her car up the main street froze white knuckled at the sight of the club, blocking the street with her car and apparently unable to move forward or back. Despite waiting patiently and offering help and advice the club was unable to move until President Matt finally blasted a way through on his Evo, followed by bikes swarming round both sides of the stationary car leaving her twenty minutes later sitting in the middle of a deserted street as the noise and fury of the club roared out of town.
And Sunday night was of course trophy night. But to kick things off on this rather special event, the club made a presentation of the sole remaining brand new 1973 backpatch to Bill Gill in recognition of his original vision and dedication over the years. There must have been a lump in every throat in the marquee as he held it aloft for the cheering crowd. And then, the bikes. The closed nature of the event and lack of interference by the Heath and Safety Executive means that NCC trophy awards are quite unlike anything you'll see elsewhere. A ramp leads up on to the stage from outside where the prize winners wait, and as each bike is called it gets ridden up onto the stage for the presentation, then down another ramp leading through the crowd in the middle of the marquee and out the other end. It has become traditional on these occasions for prize winners to perform a burn out on stage and the assorted officers of the club and humble press photographers like me sometimes have to leap sideways out of the way as some almost out of control tyre smoking monster zaps sideways across the stage, filling the place with noise and smoke. Brilliant, and lots of fun. But as the evening progresses the marquee slowly becomes filled with tyre smoke so that eventually only the people on stage can actually see the bikes before they plunge down into the crowd, and taking photos becomes a fairly pointless exercise. After the bike presentations any further stage entertainment feels rather anti-climatic, and I was amused to overhear someone asking Matt on stage if there would be any strippers on later. "Don't think anyone thought to organise it, mate. I'm off for a beer" he replied. What a refreshing change to the rather contrived strippers-and-silly-games approach grimly trotted out on some other rallies.
But I must mention at least some of the musical entertainment provided for our delectation, and I was hugely amused by Ozzymosis, the surprisingly convincing Ozzy Osbourne tribute band. Personally I think Ozzy Osbourne is a talentless bumbling oaf and Black Sabbath the most over rated hack outfit ever to walk a stage, but nonetheless it was great fun to watch this band perform a very slick and well rehearsed impersonation. Rather like watching an episode of "Neighbours" I began to suspect that the reason people like Ozzy is because he is so crap, and maybe I've been missing the point all these years. Despite my prejudices I really enjoyed them, and if you genuinely like the shuffling one I reckon you'll love this lot.
And so it was that the evening wore on into the kind of hazy blur fuelled by lots of friends, smoke, and drink, that finds you swaying gently from foot to foot in dim surprise that it seems to getting light, and you haven't yet been to bed. And have in fact been talking utter bullshit for hours on end. Somewhere in amongst there Damage was explaining his plans to sell up and retire to a disused Chateau in France to spend his final decades taking lots of drugs and being continually serviced by a harem of local whores, and it says something for my state that it all sounded utterly plausible at the time. As the sun rose things finally became utterly incoherent and I went to bed. I did find the advantage of staying up all night is that it's a bloody sight easier to find your tent in daylight instead of wandering hopefully around in the dark for hours like I seem to do at the Bulldog each year. Congratulations to the Chopper Club on their 30th Anniversary, and many thanks for the invitation to attend as guests of the club. We had a great time. Hopefully we'll be back in another ten years.
Dr.Rod.