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Archive indexFollowing my personal success of Sars Poteries 1995 when I managed to complete the course without parting company unexpectedly with my trusty steed, the 1996 rally was a must. Dave Beare and I decided to leave a day earlier and visit a few scrap-yards that we had seen the previous year on the way down.
Thus it was that we found ourselves on the 09:00 Stena sailing to Calais on Friday 31st May. Dave's VéloSoleX 3800 and my Raleigh Wisp were lashed to the back of his camper and we were soon heading inland. Our first stop was at a hypermarket in St Omer to stock up with essentials for the weekend: wine, beer and - oh, yes - a bit of food as well. After that, we hit the first scrap-yard, one that Dave has known for some time. It used to be run by a couple of old dears on a very informal basis but has now mutated into a highly commercial enterprise and casual visitors are discouraged. We did manage to cast an eye over a pile of cyclemotors and mopeds, however, and spotted two interesting but overpriced machines, a VSX 2200 and a 1960s Mobylette. The real gems were stacked behind the main house on the site and were presided over by a dog which consisted mainly of teeth and saliva, so we beat a dignified retreat empty handed. The other yard that we found had some very interesting machinery behind the fortifications but it was one of those places where you asked for what you wanted and waited while they fetched it. Curses, foiled again!
We took to the back roads for much of the journey and enjoyed getting away from the busy N43, passing through some lovely little villages on the way. The scenery in this area is very attractive provided that you keep a respectful distance from it. This warning comes too late for one rider, of whom more later.
The Felleries camp site was practically full when we arrived but Dave had reserved our plot and we found ourselves close to Team Kreidler from Holland who had arrived with three immaculate machines and their own support vehicle, kitted out as a mobile spares store cum workshop. We had been warned about Bernie's Night Out which was to culminate in a firework display at 02:00 on the Sunday morning and we had deep reservations about this as we were not unadjacent to the venue for the pyrotechnics.
Another Dutch team turned up with a Citroën Méhari towing two Berinis and a Quickly in a trailer. The latter gave cause for concern throughout the Saturday when the points fell apart but the Kreidler mob spent hours on it and all was well on the day. More co-operation, this time of an international nature, was exhibited when the Dutch got their welder out to repair a broken exhaust bracket on one of the British machines.
We were invited next door for a drink on the Friday evening. Their home for the weekend was an incredibly small Eriba Puck (thank God for spell check) caravan with an awning which, at one time, accommodated eight of us as the heavens opened. The Puck is like the TARDIS in reverse: it is actually much smaller inside than it looks from the outside! I asked if the rest of the family was sleeping in the awning and was told that they would be in the small tents behind the caravan - the awning was for the cyclemotors! Here we see an example of triage, the definition of which is: "The allocation of limited resources on a basis of expediency rather than moral principles".
The rain pis persisted down throughout Friday
night but Saturday dawned warm and dry. A scratch run to a
local park was arranged as a warm-up for the gruelling ordeal
ahead. The Parc du Val Joly is built around a dammed
river and is a water sports leisure complex with miles of walks
for those so inclined. We, however, were inclined to sit
and drink beer. Dave and I continued our ride, passing at
one stage into Belgium. We paused at the old French/Belgian
border for a photo at the Café du Poteau (= post,
as in border) where the patron told us how they used to sell
cheap tobacco from a side window that opened towards the French
side of the line. Apparently, they got away with it by:
Naturally, as a steely-eyed revenue agent myself, I deplore such practices. Pardon? Oh, mine's a pint, please. Thanks. Sorry - on with the narrative.
On the Sunday, we gathered in the town square at Sars Poteries for 10:00. Or shortly afterwards if you happen to be the editor of the bi-monthly journal of the National Autocycle & Cyclemotor Club on a Cymota and sidecar (!) with a blocked jet in the carb. Not a good start and it didn't get much better, did it, Andrew?
After a couple of hours admiring each other's machines and browsing through the small auto-jumble, the assembled company made its way to the town hall in a cloud of two-stroke exhaust where we enjoyed a leisurely lunch in true Gallic style with plenty to eat and a seemingly endless supply of red wine. The lucky winner of the raffle prize carried off a tidy Mobylette sports moped, sadly not to this side of the water.
Two hours later we staggered under the weight of lunch out to our machines for the road run. There was a choice to be made part of the way round: to head for home from the aforementioned café or to really punish the buttocks by going for the full 80 kilometres. That decision could wait.
The diversity of machines was amazing. Front wheel drive, rear wheel drive, bottom bracket jobs, virtually every interpretation of the cyclemotor theme was represented. The VéloSoleXes were out in force and we were overtaken several times by a couple who seemed to be joined at the hip. She was doing most of the work, pedalling up the hills with her hand on his back. He was just sitting back, letting her help him while he admired the view, which was precisely what several of us lecherous Brits had been doing when we noticed her at lunch. Unfortunately, their closeness was to be their undoing, as I later heard that they had been riding too close going up one hill and had crashed into each other. She went one way, colliding with the scenery and collecting a few broken ribs when the VSX landed on top of her, and he went the other, bending his bike in the process. The Curse of Sars Poteries strikes again!
At the café, we stopped for refreshments. The British suffered a seizure on the Kerry Capitano which was towed in by a Suzuki motor cycle. Andrew Roddham had the Continental eyes popping by demonstrating the turning circle of his Bond Minicar, in which he had driven all the way, along with the usual hard core of Suffolk reprobates - sorry, representatives.
Decision time. Short or long way? I plumped for the full route as the Wisp was going really well. Past the point of no return, I began to regret this choice and considered removing the saddle, leaving the seat stem to act as a locating peg in the interests of comfort. The Wisp saddle is a lot less comfortable than it looks.
The route back to Sars Poteries led us through more villages and forests. I would be overtaken on the flat, only to enjoy sweet revenge on the hills, such as they were. This is good cyclemotoring country, requiring a minimum of LPA
Once back at the Mairie, it was time for a glass of bubbly, a cake and the prize giving. Philippa Wheeler picked up a cup (the distance award, I think), Andrew for the Bond, Dave Stevenson for the Bown and sidecar - rightly collected by his daughter for Passenger Who Was Thrown Around When The Rider Stood Up To Pedal - and Andrew Pattle got one for giving the Mayor a laugh when the Cymota ran out of fuel.
Perhaps it was the wine, but the conversation turned to BSA Ariel Threes. I confessed to having one and we reckoned that we could muster nine for the 1997 run. How about it? 1996 was hijacked as the International Sidecar Sunday, so how about making 1997 Three Wheels On My Wagon?
Whatever you ride, please try to join us. This is as good as our hobby gets, folks - cyclemotoring just doesn't get any better. Mark your diaries now: JUNE 18th 1997 - SARS POTERIES. And BE THERE.
Just one more thing. The telephone number of the nearest hospital to Sars Poteries is 0033 27 56 55 55. Participants in the 1997 bash might like to leave this information with loved ones in case The Curse strikes one of us!
First published - August 1996