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 | Short stories from yesteryear!
The occasion was when the FIM Annual Congress was held at I knew quite a few of the delegates attending the Congress from my time riding MX & Enduros in Europe, in fact in many parts of the world, so was able to welcome them to NZ & help where possible. With a smattering of French & German language that few other Kiwis had, it was easier for them too. The French delegation was quite big, but they needed help to arrange rental cars, look about the area, & generally get themselves organised. I was happy to help, that’s what I was there for, as a member of the N.Z. Auto Cycle Union (later named Motorcycling NZ) Executive. Naturally some of them remembered me as I often stayed in They asked me to attend a special dinner they had arranged one evening in Then the President of FFM started a speech that I couldn’t understand fully, so got help from their medic rep. who spoke a little English. The presentation was especially for me, not for my help at this Congress but for all the help, good sportsmanship & hard work I had done while competing in French events, some 30 years earlier! I hadn’t ridden in
Thinking back over various reasons, it became more obvious. Being a bit of a transient type in those days, & in earlier times always alone, I’d arrive at a MX Circuit a few days ahead of time & without any other place to stay, would camp at the venue. Park whatever vehicle I had, sleep in it if it was raining, or on the ground outside if it wasn’t. As the Clubs were preparing the circuit I’d help them knock in pegs, erect banners, chip out stones, publicity & generally occupy myself best I could as well as gaining local knowledge & improve my French language. Quite often these venues were in very small villages isolated from the rest of The circuits could only be described as amateurish & in some cases quite dangerous to ride, as the organisers really had no idea what a motorcycle could or could not do, but they utilised what ever features were available, such as the main street made with cobble stones for a start area around a corner through the village square, into a quarry, where the descents were so steep they were very dangerous, so the job was to jump off the ledge & hope to land before the bottom. The ascents were just as difficult so a trials technique was very helpful, as a failure meant crashing backwards down the slope into whatever peril was at the bottom. Then through a few backyards where the fences had been dropped for the event, through an area set aside for “night soil” (sewerage) as there were no sewer depots in those days, so the smell was horrific, past a couple of beer gardens to entertain the heavy drinkers, through an orchard, etc. The whole exercise was to entertain & attract as many spectators as possible. None of the circuits in those days were FIM or FFM homologated, so practicality & safety weren’t on the agenda! Then on race day the big presentation of riders, National Anthems, marching girls, dignitaries, the whole 10 yards. These events could have up to 4 International riders from outside of Usually the International class riders (usually from European countries) would disappear into the lead & not put up a show at all, but I found it more fun & indeed more profitable to race with the locals, trading places all the time. Of course the very temperamental & parochial locals would get very excited about one of their locals challenging an International calibre rider & apart from all the yelling, would also throw stones & sticks at the foreigner (me) to show local support! These were before the days of body armour, so by the end of the day, I’d be showing the signs of a bullfight – blood & bruises, but it went down well with the promoters & the spectators. To cap it all off at the end of the event, the locals who’d been throwing all the debris would come to the pits & celebrate the day with me, apologising for their bad parochial habits, & sit around talking about the day, while I swallowed hard trying not to throw something back at them! Next day was clean up day for the circuit when I would hop in & help with the clean up before moving on to the next MX event, wherever that may be. I mentioned about my racing with the locals being quite profitable. At one event the then current 250cc World Champion Torsten Hallman from So behind the FFM Plaque there is more than just a story! Tim Gibbes. This story added 20 Oct., 2008. Too close for comfort with the KGB :
Tim was always resourceful & living his transient lifestyle knew that a little money was good enough to buy another meal, which at times were not frequent. Bear in mind that people from the “colonies” as they were called in those days, enjoyed freedom of speech, travel & life that few other countries enjoyed. Behind the Iron Curtain there was no freedom, just “Big Brother” itching to use his trigger finger.
On arriving at the borders from the West, the procedure was much like, but more tense, than we see in the movies. No photos permitted, long delays, barriers arranged in such a way that no “drive thru’s” could possibly happen, sniffer dogs clambering up ladders to examine everything in every vehicle passing through, which were few, incessant questioning, & even our English motor cycle papers were confiscated.
Then when at last on the road again, a leather coated “escort” would accompany each vehicle, sometimes inside it, sometimes on a motorcycle, all the time, until it left the country again. At the ISDT a couple of days into the event, a local rider had taken a liking to my English made Mk. 8 “Biggles” goggles that I rode with. He wanted to buy a set from me & I was happy to oblige. Being rather too innocent of the protocol of the local politics I foolishly handed them to him in the foyer of the hotel, where we were staying, & of course accepted his money.
 The Stadium Mk. 8 Goggles that nearly cost Tim a trip to Siberia! Off I went to have a meal with our Aussie Team in the dining room.
We had an excellent waiter, John, who although a local, had been to Australia for a few years, so knew our language, tricks & nonsense well. He was compelled to return to Czecho by the Government, under the threat of his family still in the country being harmed in a big way. John returned being a good family person.
John came to our table in a very serious manner, his face white & worried. He advised me carefully not to smile, make any jokes, & follow him.
He took me to a dimly lit room, where there were 2 KGB policemen, both with revolvers very obvious near to them, their way of showing authority. Through John as an interpreter, they told me I had made a very serious breach of the laws of their country by selling these goggles to the local rider. It was the worst sort of black market I could do, & the penalties were serious. I could see by now they were very serious.
I could also make out in the darkness behind one of the KGB men, the local rider, sitting on the cold floor, his face as white as a sheet.
The interview took a couple of hours, with John helping me make a good reason for my obvious mistake. Eventually we conjured up a story that I was selling the goggles to have some spare money at the end of the ISDT to have a party, buying some local food & drink, & shout the local boys who were helping us, to the party.
Slowly, but unwillingly, one of the KGB men, eased off, the other didn’t want to, but eventually they agreed to release me, but I would have a KGB escort for the rest of my stay – we had them most of the time any way, so that wasn’t new.
 The real Biggles of aircraft fame with his famous goggles Not a pleasant experience, & every time I visited any Communist country after that, I was shadowed by these long leather coated KGB men with a red arm band!
Regrettably, & I didn’t know till later, the local rider who bought the goggles was sent off to the Salt Mines in Siberia. His family had no idea where he had gone.
A couple of years later, when I was back in the country, riding another event, I spotted the local rider behind a crowd of people, but I knew better than to recognise or wave to him.
Sure enough a few minutes later, a piece of paper was pushed into my hand with the inevitable handshake, by a stranger. I knew not to open my hand until well clear of any prying eyes.
It was from my poor friend, the local rider who purchased the goggles. The note said words to the effect that he had been imprisoned on the spot & sent to Siberia for 2 years. His family had no idea where he was – just vanished! He was now back, but please don’t try to see him, as the consequences from the dreaded KGB would be very serious!
How much do we appreciate our freedom?
This story added 20 Oct, 2008 >>> Picnic with the Russian police – the dreaded KGB : At the same Czech Grand Prix event, (related on “Those were the days under “Elastic Bands & Iron Curtains” of “Those were the days” - Ken Cleghorn’s mother, father & sister Joan (later to become Tim Gibbes’ wife) were there. They or I should say we all - a whole horde of Aussies & Kiwis, decided to go for a picnic out a little from the capital city Prague, in the picturesque rolling hills. The Colonial atmosphere of boiling a billy over a fire was something we all missed. Mr. Cleghorn set-up his little gas stove & put the whistling kettle on, ready for that cup of tea or coffee we all cherished from our homelands. Ken’s father had just lit the little stove thing to boil the water, & we all felt that “good” feeling of a real “Ocker cup of tea”.
 The kettle was just starting to whistle indicating the water boiling, when a KGB secret policeman arrived on a Jawa motorbike, to find all the “dreaded Westerners”. At this time Czechoslavakia was behind the Iron Curtain in the Russian Zone & the cold war was still very much alive. People were not allowed to go where they wanted to. More cops arrived thinking we were sending secrets to the dreaded “West” or even worse, the Yanks. They upended the little stove, looked down the spout of the boiling kettle, searched the car and questioned everybody, because NO ONE went in the countryside to have a picnic in those Iron Curtain Communist days!
We were all lead off to the police station, still trying to find what we were doing, but eventually released, but not really a pleasant time for the older Cleghorn parents, who hadn’t come across this sort behaviour before.
Story added 11 May. 08. Plenty more to come! The Colonial riders from “down under” have all been able to form friendships, especially in England where most of us “landed” from our 4 or 5 week boat trip from our respective homes in Australia & New Zealand. These were the days between mid 50's & 60's - before aeroplanes became the "standard" transport. Of course the trips on these ships could fill a book with stories by themselves! For this almost nomadic group of racers, a base to work from, somewhere as an address for people to post our mail, somewhere to find a kind & friendly face, & some where to “drop in” to relate stories of our most recent travels, was a godsend in our life. One such family lived at Swanley in Kent, UK. Sunny Knowles & her family enjoyed us calling, hearing the stories, and writing letters to promoters of MX, mainly in France to arrange “starts” for races during the season. Sunny is still living in Kent, not far from Brands Hatch, & of course still very active., Several Aussie & Kiwi MX riders are eternally grateful to her & her family for the enormous amount of help they freely gave. “Hoppy” Hopkins – a real character American MX rider! L'isle sur Sorgue Circuit is not far from one of the current French MX GP Circuits, & located fairly well South of France. L’Isle sur Sorgue (meaning an island in the River Sorgue) was an Extra National where only 4 International of foreign rider may compete. This time it was Ken Cleghorn (New Zealand) me as an Australian, Bob Walpole – who could have changed his nationality temporarily for the event, & American Hoppy” Hopkins. Bob & Hoppy turned up fairly late, just before practice started, in an Austin “3 way”, an iconic British made van more commonly used for postal deliveries around London, but big enough to carry 2 bikes, spares & sleep uncomfortably.
The event was held very early in the season, as it was well South, so the warmer weather came earlier. It had been too cold & wet to stop on their trip from UK, even to pull of the bitumen road, so they slept & drove throwing any rubbish into the back of the van from the front.
When they arrived at the circuit & opened the back doors, it all fell out in a big heap - much to the amusement of the locals. They also had a 3 legged table, probably picked up from a tip, so when they ate meals they had to twist their legs around what was left of the table, to stabilise the whole thing! Hoppy was so late getting out to practice he asked me which way the circuit went. I told him down the straight slight turn right then a jump that swung left as you took off, so take it easy till you work it out.. Hoppy took off with a roar & of course fell off hard on that jump - needed medical attention. When I asked why he didn't listen to what I said about “the jump” he drawled - "You didn't impress me about it, so I gave it all!" Bob got the holeshot in one of the races on his TRIBSA (Triumph engine BSA frame), & was so keen to stay there he went all over the track to block us all. As well, he picked up the trackside marking ropes & dragged them along, so all the following riders had quite a challenge of Bob leading with 100 metres of rope dragging behind! It was that circuit but not sure if it was the same year that I was racing with local ace Jean Cros (a really good guy & clean rider) for the lead. Then another local decided to try to block me as we lapped him, so I hooked him over the top of a haybale in a big way!
After the race he came over to Ken’s & my van, looking for the bastard in the black pullover - fortunately Ken & I both had black pullovers, but he held up Ken's, so I pointed out Ken who was in the middle of the river cooling off. So he approached Ken at 100mph waving a 24" crescent. Ken soon dealt to him as well!
Outstanding memories! Installed here 22 April, 08 Non stop drive from Llandrindod Wells in Wales to Imola in Italy – June 1958. Distance 1,123 miles = 1,800 Kms – time taken = 33 hours including overnight ferry Dover to Dunkerque. Average speed = 34 mph or 55kph. Reason – To qualify to ride in the British Trophy Team for the ISDT 1958, I had to ride in the Welsh 3 Day Trial, based at Llandrindod Wells in Wales. This was on the Wednesday, Thursday & Friday. To fulfil a commitment to ride the World Championship 500cc Moto-cross Grand Prix Series, I had to ride the Italian round which was held that year near Imola, about the middle of Italy. Quite a run. The race transporter then was an ex-Royal Air Force Standard Vanguard pick-up, that I’d bought at an auction in the Midlands of England, probably for less than 100 pounds, as that was about the limit of my financial ability in those days. In fact this was one of several of the same model vehicle I had. Plenty of room in the back for at least 2 MX bikes, a bench seat in the drivers cabin on which to sleep – a real luxury – a flat out speed of about 85mph (135kph), very poor drum brakes, but after a while mastered the “chuck it into the corner sideways to scrub off speed” to make up for the poor brakes. This trip started off with new tyres. By the time I returned to UK about 5,000 miles (8,000 Kms) later they were bald! It was a fairly hurried trip!
 Geoff Ward, one of the 1950s greatest, toughest & competitive British scrambles/MX riders wrestles with his AJS 500. At least his throttle is still fully open! The jampot rear shocks are bending under the strain!" The British "scrambles bikes" made after WW2, when the British motorcycle industry ruled the off road race scene, were not made for the faint hearted. General specification of the rider was very big, immensely strong & willing to put the whole body at risk to achieve. While the exterior of the bikes looked like the production version available to the public, the "works" bikes had many modifications inside to overcome inherent design problems. Geoff Ward always gave 110% when he rode & his legendary races are still talked about! It wasn't unusual for Geoff's bikes to arrive back at the AMC "Comp Shop" in 3 pieces - broken frame, forks, wheels!
Short Story from Bill Brokaw (USA) about his father's racing days, about the early days of American dirt tracking >> uploaded 8 Aug., 07 These pictures are of a couple guys from my childhood. Kelly, the guy in the dust is the young guy. He came out of WW2 a Major. Jim is the fellow in the story. The story is a chapter of my writings about my dad. I thought you might enjoy it. BB Competition Any dealer worth their salt was involved in competition. Hill climbing was bigger than track racing, but even cross-country was an occasional affair. Paul figured out how to best hop up the Indians and had a cam grinding machine, offering his own grind of cams. These and detailed instructions for speed modifications were sold internationally. The cam grinding machine later was sold during the depression. His mods were largely used for hill climbing, which was plentiful around Iowa. Paul became a professional hill climber with his Indian, notching many top awards. In fact his Indian was so good he used it for two years after becoming a Harley dealer. Such was his personal competitiveness. By the time I was old enough to be aware, the head mechanic was Jim Lusk. Jim was a Canuk having lived and raced in Canada for many years. Jim’s art was half mile racing, having been the Canadian champion for several years. Jim was by then old, as motorcycle riders go, and his carved face with his perpetual stogie crammed in his mouth, looked even older. His racing days were behind him, or so he thought. Paul was putting on a half-mile race and his advertising for spectators seemed to be getting good attention, but his lineup of riders was a worry. So he went to Jim, putting the proposition to him of quickly converting a shop owned hill climber to a flat tracker. Then for Jim to enter it in the race to help fill out the program; no flashy results expected. Jim took the bait and went to work on the Harley. A knee hook was built and drop handlebars of Jims’s liking were fabricated. Gearing was lined up and they were ready to go. None had seen Jim ride a track before, they only knew he had been good. Jim, sometimes called Jimmy, dug out his old racing boots which had the heel of the left boot removed and then double soled. Paul learned that the boots were his original and so was the double sole. Strange, no steel shoe! So old Jimmy went out there just to fill in the program, but instead taught the boys how to ride half miles. He took the feature and did it feet up with his old boot tucked in next to the sliding bike and out of the way, but ready in case. Suddenly Jimmy was reliving his youth and the shop had the hottest half miler in the region. Finally, after a few short years, don’t know how many, Jim came up against Indian mounted Johnny Spiegelhoff, one of the nation’s top riders. It was a heck of a battle with Johnny laying on his steel shoe and Jimmy right with him with his boot off the track and his bike much more vertical in its slide. Jim won and guys who were following the national level riders could not believe what they had seen. Spiegelhoff was beaten by some old man on an old Harley who was a nobody. The difference, as Paul explained, was that they almost had to lift Jim off the bike after the finish while Spiegelhoff was raring to go for another race. Jim called it a career right there. He had beat the best and all the locals knew it. Paul Brokaw Motorcycles had a hero wrenching in the back room and everyone knew that. Old Jimmy, what a man, and a heck of a mechanic to boot.
Short Story uploaded March 23rd, 2007 - Bill & wife Annie Brokaw had a motorcycle dealership near Los Angeles when Tim Gibbes visited that country to race during the European winters from about 1958 to 1961. Bill was like all motorcyclists a very affable guy with loads of enthusiasm for motorcyclesport. His main "thing" was trials, and we shared his 350cc Matchless trials bike for the Southern Californian Trials Championship. Not being well mannered Tim beat Bill in the Champioship to first place! But it's good to know that Bill & wife Annie are still about, now living in Colorado, & have just completed a 2,000 Km trip through "outback" Mexico - a fair effort for a couple in their 70's riding Suzuki DR650 & DL650's. On the left is Bill Brokaw & on the right Tim Gibbes on Bill's 350 Trials Matchless - So Cal Trials Champion of the time! The no front fender was typical of the region, it never rains, so why have one? Bill & Annie Brokaw now in their 70's, still keen motorcyclists. They've just returned from a 2,000 Km trip to "outback & the wildest Mexico" often sleeping on the ground & sharing food & beds with the local animals.
Short Stories from Tim Gibbes : uploaded 5th October, 2006 : ====================================================
 The MX Circuits during the 50's were not FIM homolgated, just a series of backyards of houses & small farms connected, plus a few paddocks, streets in the small villages that hosted these annual events, & usually very "hairy", spectacular tracks, that had little to do with safety, but spectacle for the local spectators!
The Italian Cingoli MX Circuit nowadays sometimes hosts the Italian MX Grand Prix. The village of Cingoli is high up in the mountain range on the Eastern side of central Italy.
To get to the MX Circuit, it was a climb to even greater heights well into the clouds. Naturally the circuit was steep & hilly with wide & narrow sections, possibly part of a ski area in the winter.
The very parochial Italian spectators love a good close race, but always want their own to be the “vanquer” (winner).
At one event of several when I rode there, I was racing the local ace- Angelini I think on an Italian made Aer Macchi or Benelli by memory. It wasn’t uncommon for spectators, especially in Italy & France, to get very excited about who won, so if you were a foreigner leading their local ace, you could expect a few stones or sticks to be thrown at you as you raced. We got used to that, & as it was before body armour, full face helmets, & other modern day protection became available, a few bruises & cuts from the onslaughts were part of the deal!
As we raced down a steep hill where the track narrowed I was leading the local Italian racer. The spectators pushed the spectator snow fencing on the side of the track up tight so neither of us could get through, so we both crashed!
They picked up the Italian rider put him back on his bike & sent him on his way. They grabbed my bike, chucked it over the fence so I couldn't find it behind the spectators, so I had a little bit of “sorting out” to do, before recovering my bike & getting on the way again!
The organisers gave me a "gold watch" made of “fools” gold for fastest lap, possibly as a peace offering! Was that the weekend? The watch never did work!
The very strange thing about all these trackside attacks, was that after the racing was over & we’d be licking our wounds, loading our bikes, etc. the spectators would come & sit down with us, drink some of their local “vino”, then start apologising for throwing the stones & sticks, making it very clear that there partisan & excitable nature was their problem, so “please understand”. A smile of sportsmanship was all that they needed!
Bob Walpole & I travelled together to & from that event. On the way back we both got diarrhoea in the biggest way & could only run 2 or 3 paces before squirting out more - in fact I think we had to stay at the same camp spot for a couple of days to recover? A souvenir of some food picked from somewhere along the way! =============================================================================
The Kangaroo MX Circuit in France. The Moto-cross Commissioner for the FFM (French Federation of Motorcycling) was a very typical Frenchman- big, round, loved his food, drank lots of wine, loud voice, drove a Citroen 2CV & spoke some English with a very French accent. He lived in mid France not far from the famous Le Mans Road Race Circuit in a very small village called Torce-en-Vallee. The village had a rugby football oval which was also the recreation area for any sports or functions in the area.
Marcel Seery was a notable person in that village & a good guy to know if you wanted rides in MX events in France, especially around that region.
Several MX riders who had success at an MX event somewhere in Europe, would make a point of making a detour past his home, to give the winners laurel of flowers to his wife, making sure that Marcel knew of the victory, which paid dividends in him getting more events for us to ride in France during a season. Unashamedly, I was one of them! He used to get me 6 or 8 good events with good starting money per season, "Circuit de Kangaroo" at Torce-en-Vallee" :
The “flip” side of this was he wanted us to ride in his own event in Torce-en–Vallee. Not really a problem, as it was held on a public holiday, so didn’t affect the major International events that I competed in, but he didn’t pay a great deal of starting or prizemoney. Again not a problem, as it had longer term benefits.
The perimeter of the football oval was man made into an MX Circuit, & of course we were only to happy to help him make it when we had a bit of time to kill.
The track had a very deep “bomb-hole”, then several man made hills taken from the excavation, with plenty of short grass straights. A fun circuit, & unlike many French MX Circuits at that time, not stupidly dangerous.
I was one of the drifting Moto-cross riding Australians (hence its name) who helped design & construct it, & would have done some digger & dozer driving there as well, having been in earthmoving & construction machinery before I left Australia. Nearly 40 years later, when Motorcycling New Zealand (then A.C.U. of NZ) hosted the World FIM Congress in Christchurch in 1991, the French Federation asked me to go out for an evening with them. Happy to practice my French speaking again, I accepted. To my surprise they presented me with an FFM “Sportsman” Trophy for being a great helper preparing & cleaning up at many MX events around France, plus giving my best effort in all the MX races I rode in France. A pleasurable gift!
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Short Story from Tim Gibbes : Uploaded to this site 11 July, 2006 : Transport problems to get to the ISDT 1957 – “4 men in a tub”!
 The Austin A40 with "4 men in a tub" - Roy East, John Rock, Les Fisher & the photographer Tim Gibbes arrive at the Austrian - Czechoslavakian, ready to enter the Iron Curtain. Not long after this, the local Czech fuel of about 80 octane, caused more than a hiccup to the engine, as described in this short story. Before we arrived at the event, we had “slight” transport problems. All 4 of us travelled all the way from England in my 1949 Austin A40 pickup, a distance of nearly 2,000 Kms. As the front seat was really only wide enough to fit 2 people, the 4 adults across was a bit of a squeeze, necessitating a revised driving format – driver #1 pushing the accelerator & foot brake, plus some of the time steering, driver # 2 the clutch operation & shared steering duties, driver #3 or #4 who sat on #3’s knees, the gear change & general observation. When the rain stopped sometimes, one would sit in the back of the pickup, where I also had my Matchless 500cc scrambles/MX bike, as I would have inevitably arranged a race for that in Europe somewhere along the trip. We knew of the poor quality petrol behind the Iron Curtain, so filled up as much as we could in the West, but when we eventually filled up with the local brew of about 75 to 80 Octane instead of 95, the A40 engine, being well worn, couldn’t burn the petrol well enough, so a lot went past the piston rings into the oil sump. It wasn’t long before the “death rattle” became more than audible. The petrol diluted oil couldn’t lubricate the big end bearings enough, so by driving either “on” or “off”, the rattle & high wear factor was minimised. On arrival at the ISDT we put the A40 up on blocks, to worry about that 6 days later! After the ISDT was over, we went back to the 1949 Austin A40 Ute to repair the big end bearings. We had tried to contact friends in England to get more big end shells sent to us, but to no avail. Getting anything through the Iron Curtain was about impossible. So we set about running solder into the shells with the hope that with careful assembly & even more careful driving, we’d get back to UK. It wasn’t to be, the solder ran out within a kilometre or so. Our next move was one we’d heard of from the “Aussie Outback” but never tried. Shoe tongues. Between the 4 of us we had enough shoe tongues to shape into big end shells, fitted them in with many prayers. Amazing, we drove all the way back to England with the leather big end shells. In fact I used the same treatment for other old “dungers” I bought to travel around various countries several times!
----------------- Short story from Bob Walpole ----------------------- One of the strongest, fittest & toughest riders I ever came across was a French man called Paul Godey, who had a little shop at Pernes-les Fontaine in south of France (where the French MX GP is held occasionally to this day). At a Moto-Cross he would ride 3 of 250 heats of 30 minutes then ride 3 heats of 40 minutes motos. He would win the three 250 races and be on the podium for the 500cc races. At the time he was in his 40’s. I heard a number of stories about him. During the war he was a member of the French Resistance, was part of the underground to smuggle allied flyers shot down over France down to Spain to get back to Britain. He had no second thoughts about cutting a German’s throat to achieve it, which he did. At a French Moto G P in the first moto, he was in the first three on the track. He had a hard job getting past a lapped rider which cost him a place on the podium. When the riders lined up for the second moto, Paul walked along the line of riders, helmet in hand, walked up to the offending rider who was waiting patiently on the start line, gave him a “BIG BUNCH of fives”, knocking him flying head over heels off the bike. This was in front of all the FIM officials & dignitaries. Nothing was ever said or done of it! Most everyone knew what it was for. After that Paul calmly walked over to his bike put on his helmet, ready for the start - not a person to tangle with! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------Another short story from Bob Walpole ----------------- I just recalled another story, do you remember the time a “pommy MX rider” took a shoe box too all the riders in the pits and have them ShXXX in it then very fully wrap it up in a nice parcel, place it under the seat of one of the riders transport vans? When they came to the English customs and was asked if they had anything to declare and they said “NO”, the customs man found this box under the seat “what’s this?” The customs man said? Nothing the rider said would convince the uniformed man “just some SHXXX”, Obviously the Customs man not very pleased when he took it into his office and opened up the box! I don’t know how you are going to put this word “Shxx” in print! ------------------------------------------------------------ A lot of similar stories many other MX & road race riders from the antipodes will know, as we all suffered similar problems & challenges. “A day in the life of …. ”. In those days, the “OE” was full of them! We all spent time in the UK and Europe trying to eek out a living, just enough for petrol & food for the next weeks event, but who would want to change it? Bob Walpole.
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