The Launch Party

The date originally set for the Dakar Challenge Launch Party came and went. Julian Nowill, the flamboyant impresario of crap cars and breathtaking, adventurous routes, rescheduled this years event to coincide with 'Bradninch Rocks'; a music festival in a small village close to both the original farmer's field where the normalmeeting usually happens, and Cullompton. The latter has no relevance at all, it's merely thrown in for perspective. When I say perspective I mean that in comparison Bradninch makes Cullompton look like a sprawling metropolis.

We (me Sam and Bill) arrived just before noon. Tony, Gareth and Hayley (my brother and his two eldest) arrived twenty minutes later, not bad timing considering Tony left from Hull almost at the same time I left from Gosport.

At first sight the venue looked ideal, a slightly sloping,well looked after field, was already full of camper vans and a few expensive looking tents. We erected out small. lightweight affairs and began drinking as we cooked our collection of meat on experimental camping stoves.

And of course really inefficient, cheap disposable BBQ units.

It was good, really good, to meet up with Graeme and Dave again; we met and chatted last momentarily last year. They were hardy sorts and keen to push themselves as much as possible, kindred spirits in a cliched way I suppose. When we saw them over twelve months ago they were about to embark on the 'Metros to Murmansk' run, our goal next year. This year they were embarking on the Timbuktu challenge, our destination last year. We exchanged advice, very successfully. We even managed to attract a crowd of those solid, brave souls leaving for Timbuktu at the same time as Graeme and Dave.

We, Tony and I that is, related our experiences from the trip over Christmas last year, then trailed off to check out what the Bradninch Rocksfestival had to offer. Things get a bit hazy from here but I do recall that there were definitely two, perhaps three, factions present at the festival; the rally contingent, the honest, genuine, Bradninch contingent and the 'kin violent, useless, up-their-arse, chav contingent. The latter really spoiled it for all of us. I, thankfully, slept through most of the pointless, childish attacks on the honest clientele. We were saved any attention due to the fact that my brother, Tony, was so incensed at the disappearance of his daughter at 3 AM that his rage gave the underclass no doubt that if they wanted someone to fall on them like a tsunami he was it. They melted away like the pathetic cowards they are. Just as well really, for them, as they had made the event a bad memory. Tony needed retribution, in a strange way I wish the sad posturing and abuse aimed at my brother would have pushed him to the point where he would have not only sent them packing, but, sent them to hospital.

We woke, I did anyway. Start again. As the sun began to warm my small, two-man-tent and evaporate the light condensation, I openedmy eyes and light and sound began to pervade my dulled senses. The OO-OOs, as Emma (my wife) calls wood-pigeons or collared doves, made me smile and reminded me of the times I awake at our holiday home in Warsash. I was cold, uncomfortably cold,so dragged myself out of the small green tent:

(The one in the middle) and sorted the chaotic campsite out. Tony must have really scared the idiots off as I realised that my sunglasses, jacket (with car-keys), knife and Gerber multi-tool had been left not only outside the tent and car bit in full view.....THANK YOU TONY ;-)

The conclusion is that next year Julian should stick to the standard, defined, normal field and that we now, after talking to Graeme and David, have a clearer approach to the Murmansk run.

Finally; thank you Julian and crew for trying to do something different.