BEERSEL 1991
Thursday afternoon (1/8/91) and approx. 5 Scoots, and 9 people, leave Medway, for the 50 mile ride to Dover, with another 2 leaving later but travelling via Calais. The group is a mixture of Medway S.C. and Maidstone Invicta S.C. members. With the Ferry not leaving until about 2 o’clock Friday morning, this makes for a leisurely cruise, which is undertaken in about an hour and a half with no problems.
Scoots parked up, and it’s into the Pub nearest the Ferry Terminal. Other Scooterists come and go (as they have earlier Ferries), whilst we stay until Closing time. Bod then decides to ‘borrow’ someone’s push-bike and proceeds to pedal the Wrong way up Jubilee Way before he is confronted with an Artic Lorry coming towards him. He bravely (drunkenly) turns the bike around and pedals furiously back down until he hits the Roundabout full on. The bikes' wheels stick in the pebbles/ rocks adorning the Roundabout and Bod is un-ceremoniously ejected over the HandleBars into an accommodating Bush, to the hail of much applause. The Elderly owner of the Push-Bike turns up, removes the bike (which is still standing upright), and nonchalantly pushes the poor thing away, to much squeaking of buckled wheels.
Fun over, and with 2 hours before sailing, it’s now time to inflict ourselves upon the Ferry Terminal. Through Passport Control with Crash Helmets on (they must have X-Ray vision), and the most blatant cases of Shop Lifting ever witnessed (that would make Winona Ryder wince), and it was onto the Ferry.
An uneventful Crossing followed, which was mainly spent sleeping off the bingeing of earlier, and Ostend beckoned. Upon disembarkation a few ‘obligatory’ Photos were taken, which nearly resulted in 2 of us being wiped out, as we were now on the ‘wrong’ side of the road. Not really having a clue where we were going we followed some of the other Scooters that were also leaving the Ferry Terminal, Beersel bound. This amounted to an impressive number of about 50 odd Scooters, which was then completely disrupted upon arrival at our first ‘foreign’ roundabout. Half went the right way round, and the rest of us the other way around to mucho bibbing of Belgium Horns. Must Remember to stay on the Right.
Heading towards Brussels, it soon became apparent how much blatant disregard the Belgians have for themselves and fellow road users. A Motorbike sped past, the Riders outfit consisting of an unbuttoned shirt, shorts and flip-flops, although to be fair he was wearing a Full Face Crash Helmet. A Woman driver approached us from a tight curved slip road, forgot to straighten up and smashed head-on into the ‘walled safety barrier’. Somehow she had narrowly avoided hitting any of us, and upon our pulling over to see if she was all right, she got out of her car and ran off into the distance. Unfortunately the Cassette Tapes in her car were all Belgian, and she had taken her handbag with her, so we couldn’t even have a drink in her honour. Later on in the Journey, feeling as though I was being followed, I looked round, to the sight of a dirty great big Grille of an Artic Lorry, which was so close I couldn’t even see the Windscreen or Driver, which seeing as I’m paranoid about Blow-outs at the best of times didn’t do much for my nerves. Bloody Nutters.
Eventually, Beersel was located, some 10/15 miles south of Brussels, and the Campsite was found. Just in time, as the cows were being ejected from it (for the time being) although keeping them at bay with a thin piece of rope is far from ideal. The cows may have been ejected, but the cow pats definitely hadn’t, and these were dodged in order to set up the Tents. After this, Beer was sought, and found in an outhouse type arrangement that was doubling up as the entertainment venue. For some reason the Belgians like their Tokens, and you had to buy these before getting a Beer, which seemed pointless. The out-house had several different floors, and proved an ideal place to chill out.
The evening was spent drinking downstairs with the Leicester/ Loughbrough Lot, when it was noticed that the ‘Staff’ were going into the cellar and bringing up drink from there. Someone was duly dispatched to the Cellar, with others as look-outs, as bottles of Beer were passed up and hidden amongst our group. This scam was eventually rumbled, when the person in the Cellar was caught with an armful of bottles, protesting his innocence and stating he was looking for the toilets. the free beer tasted especially good while it lasted, and so it was off to bed.
Next morning meant a trip into town for some food, with the supermarket being the favorite place. Whilst entering the supermarket several scooterists were chased up the road by the Security Guard, as they had been attempting to see who could stay in the Freezers (undetected) the longest. Cheese, Ham and Bread were the order of the day, and it was only when back on the campsite that the Lot we were drinking with the night before told us that the Beer we were drinking from the cellar had been low alcohol lager (as a Belgian had translated the writing on the Bottles for them). D’oh.
It was then decided to take a Tram into Brussels, for a spot of sight seeing/ drinking. Exactly where we ended up is unknown, but several of the party quickly found a few Smut shops, and purchased some magazines, whilst the rest of us frequented a few bars.
After regrouping, we found a McDonalds, which for some reason was un-staffed. After waiting for some service, it was decided that it was self service. Halfway through our freebie meal, the Staff then returned, and we decided it was probably time to leave. Outside we bumped into several members of the Highwaymen S.C. from Liverpool.
Then Bod took it upon himself to direct Traffic in the middle of the High Street. Knowing the Belgian Drivers disregard for human life, Si decided it would be better if Bod wasn’t in a position to get flattened, and somehow managed to rescue him without incident. Only just.
After this
point, several of us realised we needed to relieve ourselves, so we adjourned to
a nearby alleyway. What we didn’t realise was we were actually urinating in
people' letterboxes, and this was duly pointed out to us by a couple of
Policemen, who had rather quietly turned up (after a phone call from McDonalds).
After suffering a torrent of abuse (terms such as ‘Engleesh Pig Dog’,
‘Scum’, ‘Bloody Engleesh’ and other pleasantries were used), whilst we
stared at our shoes in mock grief, trying not to laugh, we were ordered to hand
over our Passports. As they had Guns (well they might not have done but it
sounds better), we duly obliged. We were then told we would be deported, and
that we were never to come back, after our details had been taken. Then rather
unexpectedly they let us go.
After this we came across a large Fun Fair (run by Turkish Gypsies), situated in a run down area. The Ghost Train was the first port of call, with Cavey & Bod in the first carriage, and Me and Si in the next one. Unbeknown to us Cavey & Bod had alighted from their carriage, and the first ‘horror’ we saw was Bod, bent over, pulling his cheeks apart, and proudly displaying his innards. This was then followed by him and Cavey, chasing each other round the inside of the ride, whilst tampering with the exhibits. It wasn’t until Me & Si emerged from the ride that the person responsible for it (an Old Woman) realised there were 2 people ‘missing’. She then picked up a nearby broom and went backstage, and all we could hear was the noises of pursuit, laughter and ‘Aahs’ as the pair eventually found the exit point, whilst being systematically whacked by her.
Amongst some of the other rides was a roundabout (for small children) with ‘real’ horses, which proved too much of a temptation for one member of our group. He climbed over the barrier, and rather than stroking them, decided to drop trousers, lift up a tail and simulate copulation. Unfortunately my photographs were never printed. We left there in a hurry, being verbally assaulted by an angry mob of Parents.
Next up was the Dodgems, for some reason Bod took offence to other people bumping into him, stood up and shouted about the fact did they know he was English, to which someone bumped into him. He then got out and confronted his ‘bumper’, who duly fled the scene. Valour then got the better of Bod who then chased this person up the road, and around the corner, out of sight. Several minutes later Bod came running back, himself now being chased by a mob of about 20/30 people, as if reinacting a scene from ‘the Wanderers’. This mob then decided to surround us, with one of the girls in their number starting to swing a piece of wood around wildly in our general direction. Luckily Gareth (Cupcake) Brown was with us, who being a bit taller than most, was able to catch the swirling piece of wood, and then kissed the girl on the top of the head. This caught her unawares, and she let go. Then a bald headed, muscular chap started giving it the big-un, with karate type chops etc, until Si walked up to him, hit him once, and floored him. The rest of the Mob didn’t know what to do, as this was obviously their ‘hardest’ geezer, and so they dispersed. We then decided to leave promptly, before they could summon up re-inforcements, and luckily a Tram was nearby. Once onboard, and underway, we did indeed notice that re-inforcements had arrived, but by then they couldn’t catch us. Which was Nice.
Back on the Campsite, Bod noticed that one of his Smut mags was missing, and that the others he had bought contained ‘stars’, covering strategic parts/ organs, on every page, and not just the Front Cover as he had been led to believe. He was not a happy bunny. So he and Chalky (a 17 year old who had been virtually kidnapped to come to the Rally) decided to venture back into Brussels to find his lost mag, and buy better/ un-starred smut. The rest of us chilled out, had a few beers, and watched the Tug of War etc, and looked round the Custom Show.
After a few hours, Bod & Chalky returned, somewhat battered and bruised. Apparently parts of the Mob from earlier had recognised them, and had given them a good kick-in. For their troubles they had some good cuts, bruises to be, and even some nice bite marks. They had only managed to make an escape by riding away on a moped, conveniently stolen for the purpose.
The Entertainment for the Evening wasn’t going to be in ‘The Cow Shed’, as it turned out that was what the Out House was, but in a pukka Hall (Scout Hut type thing). This was described as being ‘down the road’, so some more beer was drunk whilst waiting for everyone to get ready,
As a group we set off, down a long hill, for the ‘do’ with Bod lagging behind. The next thing we heard was ‘clank, clank, crash, thud, Aargh’, then laughter, then ‘clank, clank, crash, thud, Aargh’ followed by laughter again. Then a Supermarket Trolley, piloted by Bod, came whizzing past, making a ‘clank, clank’ noise, due to it missing a wheel. It then veered across the road, hit the kerb with a ‘crash’, and deposited Bod onto the Tarmac with a ‘thud’ and an ‘Aargh’. Then he laughed. Mysterious noises now solved. This process was repeated several times, with different occupants, with a few parked cars also being hit instead of the kerb. The Hall for the ‘do’ was now reached, and a good time was had by all (I assume, as I can’t remember much about it). After the ‘do’ had finished it was back up the hill to the Campsite, with certain people stealing mopeds, yet again, to get home.
Sunday morning came round far too quickly, and the realisation that it was Home Time. Tents packed and Scoots loaded, it was Full Steam Ahead to Ostend. The only problem encountered was Cavey’s Trike mis-firing, which turned out to be wires from his stator plate shorting out where they came out of his mag housing. Several hours later Ostend was reached, the 4 hour Ferry ride completed, and the duty free’s were crammed into the tail-gate of Cavey’s Trike. After saying our good-byes to the Highwaymen S.C. (who were taking the M2) with a several hundred-mile journey home, we joined the A2 and were Medway bound. This journey taking a bit longer, due to the weight of Cavey’s trike, and also the group splitting up somewhat, as all people wanted to do was get home, and so raced ahead.
Cheers
Scott, Medway S.C.
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