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to the Archive indexThe annual gathering of cyclemotor enthusiasts at Sars Poteries forms a part of my philosophy of enjoying life while you can, and my preparations for the June event started last July when the horse-trading with my team members at work began to enable me to get the leave slot I needed. The e-mails started in earnest in December as plans were made for travelling to northern France in the early hours of Thursday June 3rd. Dave Beare was booked on the 05:00 P&O with a free caravan deal and I had my crossing booked for the 07:00 SeaFrance. I brought my booking forward to the 05:00 and we arranged to meet in a lay-by on the A16 to Dunkirk. It all sounded very dodgy, clandestine meetings in lay-bys between the Welsh correspondent of Kelsey Publishing with specific responsibility for Tractor and Machinery Magazine and a douanier - anything could have been changing hands.
Ian McGregor performs his shamanic autocycle dance
to aid the erection of the NACC gazebo. John
Redding (right) looks on.
So off we set for Felleries, stopping only to take on stores for the weekend at a supermarket. Arriving at the Felleries camp site after a trouble-free journey - apart from a missed turning (my fault) at the end of a long detour around road works that had closed our usual access to the dreadful A25 - we set up camp and offloaded our steeds for the weekend in the traditional British corner. The advance guard in the form of the Witchards was there and others joined us throughout the afternoon. John Redding and the late (as in time, not deceased!) Ian McGregor assisted with the consumption of copious amounts of beer and wine, anticipating the joys of the weekend to come and reviving memories of previous years' rallies.
I woke in the early hours of Friday to the sound of pouring rain. "Bloody marvellous, here we go again", I thought. We'd had a few wet weekends in the past but the forecast, in the form of Christian the camp site manager, had led us to expect a fine one for 2004. There was another surprise awaiting Paul, whose helmet had been left out overnight and had collected a considerable quantity of water. A visit to a hypermarket on the outskirts of Mauberge was arranged where, much to the amusement of the assembled company, I bought a porta-potti for my camper and spent the rest of the break fending off enquiries about christening it. Dave was having trouble with the BMG Mosquito that he'd been given by some Swiss friends. The machine had been in a cellar for many years and was on it's first outing at Felleries. It had run well on a test drive up the lane in north Wales but developed symptoms of ignition failure on a planned sortie to Avesnes. The original coil was seriously hot and dripping oil. Out with the cable ties and a spare 6V coil, a carburettor strip down or several later and it was pronounced fit for the purpose. It sounds very easy when written down but you had to be there to feel the tension, frustration and ultimately the satisfaction involved in coaxing a fifty-three year old cyclemotor into reliable life. A mild incontinence was something we couldn't cure, the result, possibly, of a cracked weld deep in the frame which formed the fuel tank.
Having had a degree of success with the Mosquito, it was time for my steed to strut its stuff. I had chosen my 1971 Poirier invalid tricycle with the Sachs 47cc engine. It fired up and, after a couple of circuits round the gravel track during which I collected a disapproving look from Christian for demonstrating wheel spin, I was on the open road up to the tourist office in search of souvenirs. The delightful young lady in the office stole my heart. Philippa Wheeler had, by this time, arrived on the Ariel Red Hunter and Bob and Val Goodwin had brought Bob's Mobylette - you know, the one you can't get tyres for.
The site had a rude awakening on Saturday morning at 04:00 when the fire siren went off, calling the duty pompiers to arms. Honestly, haven't these people heard of pagers? Saturday was the day for the run to Val Joly. Paul & Pat Witchard, Johns Lipscomb & Redding and I made the journey, stopping on the way out to photograph the Poirier by the Willies village sign (childish as ever!) and to sample the delights of Willies Frites on the way back. It was during the return journey that I began to feel - how can I put this delicately? - a little uncomfortable. The result was that I am now marketing Poirier Therapy as a cure for impacted faeces: something to do with the vibrations!
Nick Devonport's 47cc Sachs engined Poirier trike, 'Somewhere in
France'
Dave Stevenson and Barbara the Maths Adviser had arrived to complete the home side in a superb Bond MkG Minicar powered by a Villiers 197cc two-stroke engine with a cruising speed of 35mph. This constituted heroism in the extreme but was a logical means of transport for Barbara, only recently recovered from the broken bones that she'd suffered in a scooter-related accident. In the background, I noticed Philippa strapping a rolled-up coat to the luggage carrier of the single-seat Ariel. Too late, I spotted the connection between this seemingly innocent action and the dangers inherent in Dave saying "Nick,could you do me a favour?" Ten minutes later I was clinging on to the Ariel's rack for dear life taking video and still footage of the Mosquito in action for the folks back home. I don't do pillion under ideal circumstances, let alone on a jury-rigged saddle but it seemed worth it just for the experience of riding on the bike, a big, lazy thumper of 500cc with an engine note like no other.
The Poirier had been coughing and spluttering on the run to Val Joly so a carburettor strip-down was called for. John Redding got in the way of the test fire and was enveloped in a cloud of exhaust fumes, a cunning plan to make him, my main competition (!) for the affections of Mademoiselle Tourist Office 2004, less attractive to the opposite sex. The afternoon visit to the military surplus warehouse at Solre le Chateau had been fruitful for Paul W with the purchase of a Terrot moped, a stable mate for the Lutin at home. Two early sixties Mobylettes were wheeled off by the Dutch but my own stable is full and my moped slush fund depleted so I wasn't disappointed to be pipped to the post by them this year. The barbecue on Saturday evening provided an opportunity to consume mainly dead and partly cooked animals of uncertain origin, although Ian swore that a piece of meat on his plate still had a pulse. The Big Announcement of the weekend came with the launch of an English language book on the history of the cyclemotor written by Dave Beare with archive contributions from Philippa Wheeler and Andrew Pattle. Watch out for more information coming to a bi-monthly journal near you. [See Nick's review]
Sunday morning. Up at the crack of sparrow for the village vide grenier. We really did strike it lucky this year: the annual Felleries cycle race, the fair was in town (which meant the friterie was in town!) and there was ample opportunity to purchase French cast-offs at dawn. At about 10:00, we made our way to Sars Poteries to add our machines to the display and to rummage in the autojumble. To my delight, two more Poiriers had turned up, one like mine and a much larger Mobylette-powered model. There were many fine machines on display in the square and a good selection looking for new homes. Once more I resisted complete machines but succumbed to a couple of unwise accessory purchases in the heat of the moment.
The buffet lunch in the Salle des Fêtes provided us with an opportunity to fortify ourselves for the 60km road run. Mlle le T O was a vision of loveliness in a Day-Glo tabard and appeared at several junctions to guide us in the right direction. The marshalling was very slick and much appreciated, especially on some of the more dangerous and unmarked junctions. I began with the intention of doing it with the other two Poiriers but an unscheduled stop in Felleries when mine spluttered to a stop, necessitating a push start, made me realise the fragility of the trike and I watched the others disappear over the horizon in a cloud of dust. The route led us from Sars Poteries through the villages of (and this is the bit where you go scurrying for your map of France if you weren't there) Felleries, Semeries, Sains du Nord, Ramousies, Willies(!), Clairfayts, Beaurieux, Solrinnes, Obrechies, Damousies, Wattignies la Victoire and Floursies before returning to the start point. The mid-route stop was at Solre le Chateau in the town square where the Auto Tuning Club de Chimay was holding a meeting, the main purpose of which seemed to outdo the next chap with the volume of the sound system and the quality of the customised paint jobs and upholstery in their Corsas, Clios and,in one notable case, an RX8. The scenery was beautiful as always, the roads somewhat less so. The tricycle resisted some of my efforts to keep it in line on some of the back roads but the rally passed without major grief for all concerned. I'm pleased to report that Bob's tyres held up for the duration although the machine is probably in the back of the garage awaiting a miracle in the form of the discovery of a cache of Michelin 600x50Bs. Andrew completed the run on a borrowed Hercules and the only Lynx, brought by the Suffolk team, was a delight to see.
Nick Devonport's Motoconfort X7 at Semeries barrage
The prize giving back at the Salle des Fetes brought rewards for the Brits: Barbara in the Bond and Rod Western on a very nicely turned out Puch. My heart skipped a beat (not for the first time that weekend!) when the Master of Ceremonies announced "Et maintenant, le gen qui roulait à Poirier..." Could it be, could it possibly be? No, it was the Mobylette version, a thoroughly deserved recognition for a cracking machine.
So, back to the campsite for the wash-up, yet more drinks and packing for those with an early start on the Monday morning. I was invited to take Dave's Bond Minicar for a spin round the village, a challenge that I eagerly accepted. At the entrance to the site, I was flagged down by a youngish lady wearing impossibly short shorts and a top struggling to contain an eye-watering pneumatic superstructure. The wife of one of the suits on the village committee, to my delight she jumped in the Bond for a ride round the block. The vibrations of the car did their best to shake her free of the confines of her clothing as she prattled on about her husband buying her a BMW Z4 and her not wanting it (yeah, yeah, just sit there, shut up and shake, love!) but, sadly, they were unsuccessful!
I wrapped up one of the best Sars Poteries weekends yet with a trip out on my spare machine, the Motoconfort X7, visiting Ramousies and Semeries (sorry, had you put the map away?) as the sun sank below the horizon. I will remember the event as much for the licentiousness, flatulence and the consequences of various vibrations (both noxious and pleasant at different times) as for the ambience and camaraderie of cyclemotorists struggling with recalcitrant machinery. If you were there, you loved it as much as I did. If not, I hope that this has whetted your appetite to join the NACC Irregulars on the annual jaunt. Next year, it's June 5th. My leave is booked. Hope to see you there, if the good Lord's willin' and the creek don't rise!
Although this was the 13th Rando Cyclo to be arranged in this part of France it was for all participants a lucky one, but for a variety of reasons. I know that we are a cyclemotor & moped club and strictly that is what members expect to read about in these reports but Sars P caters for all tastes, most of which appeal to the lower orders.
With the exception of Friday morning we were blessed with sunny weather for the five days that many members were in residence. This rainy Friday inspired some of us to visit the Auchan hypermarket to buy motor cycle apparatus like oil ,a full-face helmet for £30, puncture kits and for Nick Devonport to purchase a "Bipot 1520" for £45. This was not a new cyclemotor from the Far East but a chemical toilet for his caravanette. His joy that it included free chemicals and that the paper was biodegradable was palpable. Each morning he was asked, "have you?" and it is believed that the chemicals are still in their container.
As well as the above items, the supermarket trolley was also laden with beer, wine and other essentials to the extent that its wheels resembled the rear axle configuration of a fully loaded Triumph Herald. The rear of John Lipscomb's car had also taken a battering when he was overtaken by his caravan en route. Much to everybody's amazement he had carried on with his tow bar attached to the rear spoiler of his Citroen with rubber bungies (I am not joking).
The peace of Friday night was disturbed by three long blasts on a siren at about 3:30am. Younger people turned over and slept on but older club members were seen scanning the sky for Dorniers and asking where the air-raid shelters were. Friday also saw the late arrival of the Ipswich contingent in a large Mercedes van. They were late, as, aided by Neil's satellite navigation system, they had also done a comprehensive tour of Belgium.
Saturday dawned fresh and bright and an impromptu run was made to Val Joly late in the morning. Beer was followed by chips and ice cream and Nick Devonport took his annual photo of his machine by the signpost to the village of Willies. Dave Beare emerged from his newly acquired caravan and, having shaved and washed and combed his hair, bore a strong resemblance to Cary Grant.
Again, tradition was followed with the Saturday afternoon run to the army surplus store at Solre Le Chateau. Stock included many Solexes, Motobécanes, a Citroen H van and a 2CV, a Moby chop and spares. Purchases were made by many as prices were reasonable with machines going to England, Belgium and Holland. Also on Saturday afternoon was the round Felleries cycle race for three hours; it would have needed a very fast moped to have kept up their pace. The fair was also in town and the Friterie was popular.
Still on the Saturday, towards dusk, Ian McGregor fancied a constitutional walk around the village and asked if I would accompany him. The scenery was very pleasant and even more so when we idly looked towards a bedroom window with the light on and the curtains open. The next 30 seconds were a bit of a blur but words including blonde, lingerie and two grinning Englishmen feature. Somehow even the bar did not look so attractive after this. We retired to the campsite to extended conversations with all and sundry and a late night around the wine bottle.
You all know about the Sars Poteries road run, raffle, prizewinners, blue hazy two-stroke, attractive scenery, so it only remains to list the machines ridden by the British Contingent. They were: 2 × Honda Novios, Ariel Red Hunter, James Autocycle, BMG Mosquito (the history of this machine warrants a paragraph alone), James Comet, Mobylette, Elswick Lynx, Hercules Corvette, Solex 2200, Bond 3-wheeler driven from England, 2 × Mobylette AV82, Mini-Motor, Poirier Manulette, Yamaha SS1, Mobybecane SP, Puch Monza, Mobylette Sport 91, BSA Bantam. And so for all of us, the 13th Rando was lucky and enjoyable.
First published, August 2004