The VX800 Owners' Rally at Steenokkerzeel, near Brussels Airport, became known as Andreville on the eu_vx800 mailing list (external) after its originator and organiser. This is good, because it was a wonderful weekend, and without Andre and his wife Veerle it would not have happened. They did a huge amount of organising, as you will see - restaurant, accommodation, tents, food, tables, chairs, cutlery, crockery, glasses, all had to be found bought, brought and arranged.
I began it early, going to my son's at Leominster on the Wednesday night in order to be on hand to have a new exhaust system fitted to my Diversion 600 in Hereford on the Thursday morning. Why Hereford? Well - we had to leave it to the last minute to be sure of getting the Motad system I wanted into stock. No-one else was able to supply and fit a Motad system in the three weeks between my realising I needed it and the rally; and my experience of D & R Motorcycles is that what they say, they will do. As indeed they did, and an oil change too; and by noon we were on the road.
"We", at this stage in the weekend, meant myself and my son Roger. Roger had my GT550 from me a couple of years ago when I gave up sidecar-ing. Unfortunately it gave a fair amount of trouble, and its fate was finally sealed when parts of the works of the engine crashed out through the side of the crankcase in two places, followed by flames and smoke. Roger said he stopped immediately, dismounted promptly and called the fire brigade from a safe distance - which means he did a full-scale crash stop from 70 and ran for it before the tank could explode! In the event, the fire went out by itself, but the incident gave Roger the excuse he needed to buy a FR750. It was this bike, then, that he rode to Belgium.
From Hereford via the M4, A4, M25 and M20 brought us without incident to Trottiscliffe, near Maidstone in Kent (pronounced "Trosley" - why??), where the eight British bikes (nine riders) were to assemble at Brian's house, and proceed to Dover for the ferry next morning. Brian showed us the way to Heavers Farm, where we stayed, then took us back to his place by car so that we could have a drink with the barbecue he kindly provided, delivering us safely back after the first of three excellent evenings.
Friday began with a splendid example of a full English breakfast - and weren't we glad of it! There's nothing like a good fry-up to keep you going in the rain. And it rained nearly all day. We loaded up and rode back to Brian's. Five bikes left there, calling at another B&B for the last three, and we all fuelled up before setting off down the A20 towards Dover.
Within minutes we had our first problem. John, riding in the middle of the line, pulled over, and all the bikes behind him followed. His engine temperature warning light had come on. (It is very important to exercise discipline when riding in a group.) I, as last man, stayed with John, and sent the others forward, partly to tell Brian what had happened, partly to get as many people as possible off the dangerous hard shoulder. John and I decided that that he would go forward carefully to the services, not far away. We caught up witht the rest of the group, waiting just before the services, but it didn't change anything - no diagnosis, so John decided to go into the services and get assistance, whilst the rest of us carried on. He was to follow us later if possible.
The motorway got steadily busier as we approached Dover, and no fun in the rain. But we were doing well, and nearly there, when the next incident occured. Pat's moving out into the wind from behind a lorry coincided with a stiff gust, which blew his tank bag up into his face. He braked hard and pulled over, the bag and its plastic cover falling into the road. The next rider dodged and also pulled over, but the event was hidden from me by the spray from the lorry, and I suddenly found myself about to run over the bag. I avoided it, fortunately, but passed the two stopped bikes before I had time to realise what had happened. So I continued to the next roundabout, and in due course they caught me up; and once again we all went to catch up with the main party. It was at this point that someone pointed out to me that the plastic rain cover of the errant tank bag had come into contact with my brand-new exhaust, melted and stuck. It pulled off easily enough, leaving a black, oily mess behind.
After all this we had missed our ferry; but we were in good time for the next one, so we boarded that. Lunch on the boat - coffee and Danish.
At Calais, Brian had a pleasanter alternative to the motorway for much of the route to Brussels. At one point one rider went off on his own, I waited, and in due course we played catchup again... Keeping the bikes together through St Omer was a little tricky. Brian pulled over by a canal to consult his map, and because of the traffic situation two of us were held up, and took the wrong exit from the roundabout. When I realised we were wrong, I stopped. The other rider didn't see, so I waited. And waited. Then I rang Brian, who had in fact made a mistake and was now back at the canal side. When the other rider came back, we went and joined him and the rest of the group. Then we set off again, by the road we'd chosen in the first place. All this in the rain. I was glad to see a bit of open road!
Cassel, Poperinge, Ieper (it always rains when I go to Ieper). Bypass Kortrijk. Then back on the motorway towards Gent where, at last, it stopped raining, and we rode on towards Brussels on a lovely evening. That didn't stop us going too far on the ring road, and getting lost. An Irishman on a BMW trailie (if you read this and recognise yourself, thank you very much) stopped to see if we were OK, and led us to our destination, where we found that everyone had arrived on time, except the British "and the French, of course". Oh well. At least it isn't taken for granted that we'll be late.
Andre had booked us all into a restaurant. He had the excellent idea of ordering the meals in advance, so there was little delay, and it provided an excellent venue for greeting old friends and meeting new ones. In all, there were to be 38 bikes and about 44 riders on the rally. During the evening, we heard that John's problem was an electrical short, and by the end of the evening he had rejoined us. A sufficient, but not excessive, intake of Leffe beer - great stuff - ensured a convivial evening and a good night's sleep.
Many of us slept in tents on Andre's lawn - eight of them? ten? I didn't actually count - some as house guests, and some in accommodation nearby (including at home, for locals).
About 8:00 next morning Andre stuck his head in the tent to get us moving - mobilising so many bikes (and some more!) is quite a business and he wanted to leave punctually. The weather had dried up. Breakfast Belgian-style is a solid affair of cereal, bread and coffee; and soon after 10:00 we were on our way, after Ko fitted his digital video camera to his handlebars to record the event. I had the pleasure of taking Valerie a-pillion, and rode in the back quarter of the line, leaving last-man duties to the three stewarding bikes - a Diversion 900, Brian's Bandit 1200 and Andre himself on a VX: all more powerful than mine two-up when it comes to chasing up the line between junctions.
To begin with we had to skirt around Brussels in traffic, but gradually we reached more rural roads, sometimes over open high land with views, sometimes twisting through valleys and pretty villages. Gradually the scenery took on a more mountainous character, and the uphills became longer and the downhills shorter as were climbed into the mountains. Towards lunchtime it drizzled a little, wetting the roads; but it was dry when we reached our lunch stop (another pic), at a restaurant by a river in a narrow valley. The restaurant was in fact a disused railway station, which I found very interesting.
During lunch it rained. Someone turned on the taps and it simply poured down. But the timing was excellent, for by the time we were ready to go it was dry and sunny again.
We got about a mile and stopped. And waited. Joppe went back, but most of us didn't know what was wrong. It turned out that Brian had a slow puncture. He couldn't do anything about it there, so we went another mile to a garage. That sounds easy, but moving so large a group takes time - and the airline at the garage was out of order. So we moved on a few more miles to a service station where some refuelled. Brian diverted to a shop which, by very good fortune, had and would fit a high-quality tyre for the Bandit, whilst the rest of us moved on, stopping later to take a rest and afternoon tea and watch the railbikes - steel contraptions with a bicycle saddle and pedals each side and a bench seat in the middle that are propelled by means of the pedals along a railway line. Weird. I asked Valerie what would happen when the train came, but she assured me that there are no trains on that line.
Brian rejoined us, and we rode along the very beautiful valley of the Meuse. The group split twice on the way home - at one stage the two sections converged at a slip road on an urban intersection; the second time, one group caught up the other on the motorway. Nevertheless, it was quite a triumph of marshalling that the group arrived back at Andre's together, no-one got lost or dropped out and there was not even the slightest accident. Congratulations to Andre, Brian and the rider of the Diversion.
The barbecue Andre provided that evening was huge, and a crowd of hungry bikers did it full justice. We talked until nearly midnight, before collapsing thankfully into bed. That was really the end of the event for Roger and me, as we were going home earlier than the rest of the British next day, he having further to go. The Belgians went home that evening, and we hear that everyone else got home safely and uneventfully next day.