What was it like on the second day’s stage? The bike seemed to be doing well, it was keeping up with the modern BMWs, and she was in her element on these tiny twisty roads, much lighter than the new bikes I’ve ridden and quite easy to steer with your knees, keeping the bars straight and pushing the back end around corners. After we were thrashed at a tug of war, I turned to something I was slightly better at, bike tinkering. After the rally briefing and the whiskey paring, the instruments were out, Scottish music started up, and somehow ended up in an impromptu Highland Games. The estate is run by a wonderful Scottish-German couple that served up “Tartan Tapas” with local scallops and fish from the sealoch. By the fourth checkpoint of the stage we had caught up with a few more teams, and met up with the BMW Motorrad team, led by Ralf and Lucas with photographer Amy Shore who was documenting the rally. In places the sea was a turquoise blue, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we were in Scotland the white sand beaches could be in the Caribbean. We only needed to turn right about twice, the rest the of the day was following one gorgeous tiny B-road down the entire western side of the Scottish Highlands, through truly wild countryside.
The Thunderbird was pulling strong and running like clockwork, we made great time, and Stage 1 was pretty easy going overal. We barely saw another vehicle for the first few hours of the day, hugging the coastline that rises and twists along the edge, one of the best parts of the North Coast 500 route. I was riding with Team-7, two couples on a mix of modern Triumphs and Bobbers. My team departed an hour or so behind schedule, but it felt so good to finally be out on the road after the months of planning, logistics, and communications that went into it. Teams departed in five-minute intervals, and my plan was to ride out as soon as the last team had left, to catch up with them. It was beautifully warm- when Scotland is good, it’s bloody great!Īfter waiting for some “royal cows” to cross the road, the log books were out, stamped, the flag dropped, the rally had begun. Luck was already on our side and not a cloud hung in the sky.
Rally mornings are always the most rushed, and the first day was the most chaotic of the lot bikes and kit everywhere, riders running from tents to bikes, half dressed in leathers, toothbrush in one hand, with a coffee and spanner in the other, trying to find some odd component that they were sure they packed.Įventually we threw our duffels into the support vehicles and headed to the starting line at the castle. I don’t know if the cooks made it to bed that night, I woke at 5AM and they were slaving away over the fire, knocking out a hearty wild-cooked breakfast for everyone.
#1957 thunderbird full#
What was the first full day of riding like? The feeling that the rally was about to begin was building. We road back along the coast and the local villagers had come out of their house to wave us past, very sweet. The group of completely unique classic, cafe, and custom motorcycles snaked back and forth up the hill in single file, moving as one continuous machine, the headlamps lighting up the hill in the dusk. We rode five miles along the coast up to the lighthouse, perched on a slab of rock 250m above the lashing sea. With fresh rally numbers on each machine, we left the castle as a pack led by Jim, the head groundskeeper at the castle, on his old BMW (after a quick change from his kilt to riding leathers). It was a bit sad seeing my old bike leave for Scotland without me, like sending away the family dog and watching it stare at you out of the rear-window as it was driven away and out of sight. Strapped in tight, for the long and slow journey up to the Castle of Mey, located at the very northern tip of mainland Britain. After a quick lap around the backstreets of Shoreditch past the BikeShed to test the brakes and the oil flow the bike was pretty much ready to go.įirst thing the next morning we helped the professionals load the bikes into crates and onto the rally trucks. I managed to fit a new oil-feed pipe, “new” custom California handlebars, bent the mud-guards out a bit to accommodate the larger off-road trials tires, fitted race plates, and gave it a fresh oil change. On the forecourt of The Classic Car Club in London, bits of the Thunderbird were littered around the bike, more and more custom and classic rally bikes were being dropped off every hour, which only added more pressure to the impending deadline. The day before the rally, like most of the riders I was scrambling to complete the bike in time, finding last-minute spare parts that might break or rattle off.
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