BANBURY… OR BUST

Banbury then. Leaving home at 5 am with the old dog safely lashed to the trailer. It’d been dry all week and the AJS was serviced, before being polished to within an inch of its life. Fifty yards from my house it started to rain, a persistent drizzle that only stopped five miles outside Gaydon motor museum, the assembly point for the Banbury Run.

Pulling into the car park, expertly manned by volunteers, I looked around and saw dozens – no, hundreds – of other old motorcycles. This really made quite a sight and sound as they were being fired up and readied for the start. I unloaded the K9, which was now utterly covered in filthy road spray from the journey, and did my best to clean it up before riding down to the registration and assembly point. We each had an allocated space and start time,