Despite the almost tropical weather in the preceeding weeks, the fickle finger of fate started turning the thermostat down for the weekend.
However, it seems we escaped the real cold that has arrived this week.
I didn't do a count of the bikes out on Saturday, but there seemed more than last year.
The run went down to the Wye, over Kern bridge, where I quickly lost all sense of direction as we ran through tiny farm tracks caked in mud and littered with holes large enough to swallow the largest of ariel riders. My rear tyre slid a few times but it doesn't bear thinking about if it had of iced over ...
At one point, on the run in towards Fownhope I could clearly track that a number of the "groups" had coverged (in the age old rush to get to the tea and cake first) by the line of yellow flouresent jackets visible across the valley.
The final pub of the afternoon, the Red Lion, was pretty much overwelmed by first us and then a group of "countryside" folk all dressed in the uniform of plaid jackets and trousers and green wellies. Their fleet of identical landrovers was clearly visible out back.
Someone commented that they had their uniform and we had ours ...
The barmaid had an impressive scar and I politely asked what it was... turns out she'd had heart surgery, with first a stainless valve and then a pig's one. "How do you feel about Bacon, now ?" asked a wag, further down the counter.
There were more people eating, on Saturday evening, than out on bikes.
This, I have learned, is an AOMCC tradition as was the stampede for the carvery.
I could hear Lester's stomach rumbling in the far distance (he wasn't there) - although he would have had to have paid for his own puddings....
Well done Peter Kent for organising it.
I think Len would have been happy... I know I was .. nothing fell off my bike;including me.
