We kick started the Trip Out weekend a day early with a warm up party on Thursday with our friends from Eat Dust. Rob and Keith rolled up in the afternoon with some new Eat dust shirts and jackets for the store and showcased their forthcoming collection at the event.
People started arriving around 6pm, and by 8pm the yard was heaving with bikes and people. It was time for the band to the floor.
Saint Agnes came on at around 8.30 and were followed by an immense wall of sound. We had set up an additional PA for the organ and vocals and Bolt became a thunderous cavern of rock and roll. I grasped the door shut to try and mute the sound, neighbours had complained at the sound check and I was expecting an angry mob of local residents by the end of the first song. Thankfully no drama unfolded.
Plans to head to the Trip out on friday fell into disarray and a saturday morning start meant a much needed day to recover, that would have been true if i didn't go out and get smashed. We met up early down the black skulls and an hour of so tweaking the bikes and we set off.
The ride down was great, Sven swerved and grunted his Harley proving to all the other road users that there's more fun to be had on two wheels rather then four. Rory's kept up on his triumph chop until his light came flying off, bounced on the wheel and hung precariously from the wires. My clutch kept slipping, leaving me coasting along riding waves of erratic power surges - things were only going to get worse.
We arrived at the Trip Out to see those that came the night before nursing some severe hangovers. It was great to see so many familiar faces at the festival and to be graced with some good weather! We drank, ragged bikes over the grass, Tamara taking things to another level by flooring Reino's honda XR and leaving a knee shaped dent in the tank.
We set off at lunch on sunday, a winding stream of 30 or so bikes making noise through the country lanes. I left with a maximum speed of a walking pace and after a few miles the clutch finally kicked back in and i was off. A brief stop and the clutch was gone again leaving me crawling along and hugging the edge of the road. There was no hope, I waved the others off and aimed the big metal slug in the direction of Milton keynes.
With no charge on the phone I blagged some electricity and settled in for an afternoon in the world's most unexciting shopping precinct. Hanging off the end, like a gangrenous limb was the 'entertainment' centre, a cluster of abandoned, greying units with signs indicating a hey day of retro night clubs, pizza huts and weather spoons. Luckily one pub had survived and a solitary session commenced as the sunset over the shopping centre.