None of us recognised ‘Wellard’ with his clothes on.
This hardened biker, renowned for riding in the coldest of weathers in just T-shirt and ‘colours’, was on this occasion dressed to the chin in wet weather gear. I looked around: of eleven Harley-Davidson riders I was the only one not in head-to-toe waterproofs. It was then that I knew I was in trouble. I had clearly missed the forecast…..
The eleven of us, all members of Surrey Chapter UK (a Harley-Davidson chapter), were lining up to do an ‘Iron Butt’ ride to raise money for the St Luke’s Cancer Hospital in Guildford. An ‘Iron Butt’ ride is pretty much what it says on the tin – you need an Iron Butt to complete it: 1,000 miles on a Harley-Davidson in less than 24 hours. The whole thing is independently scrutinised and verified. And totally, totally ludicrous.
As the name suggests, it is a US invention. In the US they can avoid single-track roads, traffic lights, tunnels, bridges, roundabouts and M25 tailbacks ……..
Nor do they have to face English weather: torrential rain and gale-force winds, both of which tore through gloves, boots and – yes – even Wellard’s wet weather gear, with a wind-chill that froze to the marrow.
Boy, did it rain. It rained from the moment we left Guildford, to the time we got to Bristol, via Birmingham, Newcastle, Perth, Glasgow, Lancaster, Manchester and Birmingham (again). At one refuelling stop our road captain announced that he was putting his gloves back on inside out – as they were drier on the outside than the inside. In desperation, several of us bought those bright red rubber gardening gloves – the best (and, at £1.99, by far the cheapest) Harley accessory I have ever bought. Style be hanged. It was comfort that counted now!
Normally riding a Harley can be described in one word: ‘fun’. On this occasion that word is: ‘uncomfortable’. At times such as these one is concentrating solely on the damp, the cold, the discomfort, the wind (especially dangerous across the Forth Bridge) – and the knowledge that there are 23 hours more of this ahead. It is testament to the power (or dysfunction) of group dynamics: each of us knew in our hearts we should stop, yet none of us was prepared to be the first to do so – not Andy, the 72-year old who lost his essential paperwork at the first stop (an unfortunate zip malfunction) and his vision (and his balance) at the fourth. Not John, who was from the start shivering uncontrollably from the cold. And most of all, not Jan, the only woman in the group and who (without the protection of a screen) was visibly fighting massive fatigue.
What kept us going? Well, mainly our allegiance and respect for ‘Trigger’, the guy who had spent the last year fighting cancer as a guest of St. Lukes, and who proudly led the ride out – and back in again. Also sheer bloody-mindedness.
But little things, too. Like the smell of pig-shit when we hit Yorkshire. So offensive and sour on the way north; so welcoming and sweet on the way south. Like the hopeful sign that said, simply, ‘To the South’ on the way back: a wonderfully reassuring counterbalance to the despairing sign that had read, hopelessly, ‘To the North’ some hours earlier.
And that little ray of sunshine at Bristol. So small, so brief but so poignant. After 900 miles of rain it was more welcoming than you can ever imagine.
Finally, exhausted and elated, and 22.5 hours after we started we were back to where we started – at Ripley, near Guildford, some 1,063 miles later. We had done it – on a binge of red bull and lucozade tablets (trust me – there is no time to stop for meals). A triumphant, self-indulgent ride back to the hospital, flanked proudly by 60 other bikes. And home.
(Well no, actually – we then had another 40 mile to a celebration party.)
By them even Wellard was tired……..
You can give to St. Lukes at www.justgiving.com/triggerspage
*for the most riders successfully to complete an Iron Butt in a group
Written by The SaVVy Club member Robin Howard.
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