British countryside, British beer, and motorcycles from all over the world – the first Still Kicking event was held in blazing sunshine, and brought a style of event that can only be described a refreshing. Here is a low down on the fun and frolics from an excellent weekend of bikes and banter.
Words: Rich Orriss
Photos: Rich Orriss/ Phil Meggett
The success of some events are measured by the amount of riders that turn up, and the quality of the motorcycles that are wheeled out of sheds and workshops up and down the country. But every now and then one comes along that will be remembered for something far more important – the atmosphere.
Introducing Still Kicking – sponsored by The Girder Club.
Conceived and organised almost single-handedly by David who runs The Timing Chest, the idea was inspired by Hans Devos, Jurgen Meesschaert, The Time Bandits and their wonderful Where is Anna? gathering in Belgium.
The philosophy was refreshingly simple: motorcycle runs should be fun. Not just the ride itself, but the whole weekend. Camping, good food, a beer with friends, period clothing if you fancied it, and plenty of time to enjoy the people as much as the motorcycles. It wasn’t about racing from one checkpoint to the next; it was about slowing down and making memories with likeminded people.
The venue that David chose couldn’t have been more fitting. Bottisham Airfield Museum, just outside Cambridge, is steeped in history. Built in 1940 as a satellite for RAF Waterbeach, it later became home to the RAF, the USAAF and the Belgian Air Force during the Second World War. Today, the museum preserves that heritage from the last remaining buildings within the original airfield boundary, with a beautifully restored North American Mustang and a Tiger Moth among its exhibits. And the Mustang was the perfect backdrop for those impromptu photo opportunities.
For one weekend, though, the soundtrack belonged to side valves, open valve gear and the beat of around 100 veteran and vintage motorcycles.
I arrived on the Thursday to help put the marquees up. With temperatures nudging 35 degrees, it wasn’t exactly the easiest day for lugging poles and canvas around a former airfield. We were all grateful when the beer delivery finally arrived from a well-selected local brewery… although our celebrations were short-lived. One of the barrels promptly exploded, sending a fountain of beer several feet into the air. It wasn’t quite the welcome drink we’d imagined, but it certainly got everyone laughing. Apart from David.
Having decided to embrace the full weekend experience, I also arrived with what can only be described as a rather optimistic excuse for a tent. It was small, distinctly rickety and appeared to regard even the gentlest breeze as a personal insult, threatening to collapse with every gust of wind.
Meanwhile, others rolled in with enormous tents, awnings, outdoor kitchens and motorhomes that looked more comfortable than some hotels. I briefly questioned my life choices. Thankfully, the bar was only a short walk away, and the excellent beer on tap soon made my rather basic accommodation seem perfectly acceptable.
For anyone organising an event for the first time, little setbacks are inevitable. The planned food delivery failed to arrive on Friday, but David never looked remotely flustered. Problems were quietly solved, people carried on enjoying themselves, and his calm attitude seemed to spread across the whole site. Considering he’d organised an event of this scale almost entirely himself, it was an impressive achievement.
Around a hundred motorcycles attended the inaugural Still Kicking, with riders travelling from across Britain and overseas. Friends came from Belgium to support the event that had inspired it, while Sammy and Daiki made the incredible journey from Japan, spending the weekend riding with John Oakes (@classicbikeman) aboard his wonderful 1939 Vincent HRD and his 1938 and 1939 Nortons. It perfectly summed up what Still Kicking was all about – bringing like-minded people together from across the globe through a shared love of old motorcycles.
What struck me most was how different the atmosphere felt. Instead of arriving early on Saturday, riding a route and heading home for dinner, people settled into the weekend. There were grass-field sprints on Friday, three relaxed ride-outs on the Saturday, evenings spent around the campsite and bar, and plenty of time simply to wander around talking motorcycles. Friendships old and new seemed every bit as important as the miles covered.
I rode my faithful 1925 Sunbeam Longstroke Sport, while my old mate Adam arrived on his raucous 1915 Norton Model 9. Every time that little Norton burst into life it attracted a crowd. Flames licked from the exhaust on the overrun, followed by pops and bangs that had everyone within earshot grinning as though it was putting on its own miniature fireworks display. It was impossible not to smile whenever it passed. My ears are still ringing over a week later after riding astern of him.
It also looks every bit as challenging to ride as it sounds. With no gearbox and no clutch, slowing down relies on careful braking, retarding the ignition and the occasional use of the decompressor. Get it wrong and the engine simply stops, leaving you to perform a running start to bring it back to life. The alternative? Close your eyes and hope for the best.
The routes themselves had been brilliantly planned. Veteran machines set off first, followed by the later classes, with excellent signage and marshals where needed.
Which makes what happened next even more embarrassing. Despite all that effort, Adam and I still managed to get lost. Not just slightly lost either. Somehow we found ourselves on a dual carriageway, both of us with the throttles firmly against the stop while modern traffic swept past at rather greater speed. Looking back, it’s one of those moments that gets funnier every time it’s told, and at lunch in a very nice country pub it was nice to hear that we were not the only ones!
Friday’s informal dashes across the farmer’s field were another highlight. There was something wonderfully childish about watching old motorcycles being ridden flat out over the grass simply because everyone wanted to see what would happen.
John’s snarling Panther 250 was particularly entertaining. Fitted with road tyres, every twist of the throttle sent the rear wheel hunting from side to side as it desperately searched for grip. It squirmed, snaked and fishtailed across the field in the most spectacular fashion, much to the amusement of everyone watching.
Among the motorcycles were a couple of delightfully quirky cyclecars, including Eddie Thomas’s 1919 Grafton. Although it looks every inch a period machine, the Grafton has a fascinating story. It was conceived by master craftsman Tim Gunn in the mid-1990s as a faithful interpretation of the sort of lightweight cyclecar an enthusiastic amateur could have built in 1919, inspired by the contemporary book How to Build a Cyclecar and the famous 1913 GN-ette project. Built over six years using an ash chassis, period components and a 1919 300cc JAP side-valve engine, it has since become one of the best-known modern interpretations of the cyclecar movement.
Eddie wasn’t about to leave it parked up either. He tackled the field run with plenty of enthusiasm and, much to everyone’s amusement, managed to bottom the Grafton out on its suspension over some of the bumps. It was exactly the sort of spirited use these wonderfully lightweight machines deserve, and seeing it bouncing across the field put just as many smiles on faces as the motorcycles themselves. If you’d like to learn more about the Grafton and Eddie’s experiences with it, his YouTube channel is well worth a watch.
Steve also deserves a special mention aboard his 1901 Dart. Whenever the little engine decided a hill looked just a bit too ambitious, Steve pedalled until it was time to hop off and push as the incline became too steep. The other motorcycles rattled past, and as I checked on Steve at one point – who was dripping in sweat – I got the all clear to continue, amongst a few other choice words. That’s vintage motorcycling in its purest form – getting there however you can. To be fair; he was on the oldest motorcycle.
Hans Devos also very kindly handed me the keys to his magnificent 1912 Zenith V-twin for a lap across the field. Whether I loosened something important remains open to debate, although Hans did appear on a different motorcycle the following day…
One thing became increasingly amusing over the weekend. You’d pass another rider with the customary smile and wave. A few seconds later you’d glance behind just in time to see that smile disappear as they suddenly realised they were heading completely the wrong way. Even with superb signage, getting lost somehow became part of the entertainment, as it does with every motorcycle run!
Looking around the campsite on Saturday evening, it struck me that this was exactly what David had set out to create. A weekend where the motorcycles brought everyone together, but didn’t dominate every minute of it. There was time to sit, chat, laugh and help someone fix a broken machine.
Take for example this cracking NUT, that had some proper pedigree. One of the Belgian crew brought this motorcycle over with him, just because it was British, and just because he felt it needed to feel the British air.
It hadn’t been started in years, but the Belgian lads pulled out their spanners, wound up a few nuts, and fired up the motorcycle. NUTS are quite the rarity in standard road trim; but this one however was one another level. It is believed to be an ex-works racer and features a 500cc V Twin JAP with a twin cam arrangement. And it sounded the business.
British vintage motorcycling has never been short of excellent events, but perhaps we’ve become a little guilty of treating them as appointments. Arrive. Ride. Go home. And in many cases that works for the right crowd.
Still Kicking however reminded us that these remarkable old motorcycles are really about people. The conversations around the campsite, the laughter after another wrong turn, cheering Steve as he pedalled the Dart uphill, watching the Panther dance across the grass and standing with a smile as Adam’s Norton crackled past in a shower of flames all became part of the experience.
Before signing off, a huge thank you has to go to David for having the vision – and some serious dedication – to create something different. Organising an event of this size is no small task, and he somehow managed to keep smiling through every challenge the weekend threw at him.
Just as importantly, a thank you to every volunteer who gave up their time, whether it was helping erect marquees in blistering heat, marshalling the routes, working behind the bar, sorting out the inevitable problems behind the scenes or simply making everyone feel welcome. Events like this don’t happen by accident – they happen because good people are willing to roll up their sleeves and get stuck in.
David didn’t just organise another motorcycle run, he created a weekend, and if the inaugural Still Kicking proved anything, it’s that there is room in Britain for an event where the destination isn’t simply the finish line, but the friendships, the stories and the memories made.
Here’s to David, the volunteers, and everyone who travelled from near and far to make the first Still Kicking such a success.
Roll on Still Kicking 2027. I’ll be there… although I might treat myself to a slightly better tent.
Note: the older looking photos in this article were expertly taken by Phil Meggett on a 1936 AGFA box camera, bought by his grandfather with Co-op tokens to take his wedding photos! Phil turned up with his clan from Lincolnshire, and here is the perfect shot to end the article – the group lined up next to the Mustang.
an article by The Girder Club
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