BMW MOTORCYCLE OWNERS OF AMERICA.
FRENCH CONNECTION RALLY. 2002.
Location: Aubeterre-sur-Dronne.
Region: Charente. France.

It was May at last, which means 'The French Connection Rally". This
year it was down the West side of France between Angoulême and
Bordeaux, adding another 2,500 kms (1600 miles) onto the clock. The
old 1962 R50 was ready, thoroughly spoilt with the addition of a
12v/200w alternator conversion from the States,a new kick-start lever
and an updated ignition system. After 27 years of abuse, that is when
the bike saw fit to start within the 1st and 50th kick, which wasn't
often. The reason why the kick-start broke.

I thought that I had better see if anything could be done to improve starting now that it was on 12 volts. Steve Bullen had mentioned one way and after checking the wiring diagram for the /5 series, it seemed possible. Out went the old magneto-ignition coil, in went a very cheap oriental twin output coil from B&J's with the aid of a couple of cable ties, a short length of twin core flex, a shift of wiring in the headlamp and voilà. Okay, it might not start first time, every time but it sure is better than it was. I will play with it a bit more and try to fine tune it a little.

I took my usual route from Lincoln to Portsmouth, up to Waddo and the
A607 via Grantham, Melton to Leicester. Down the Ml to Towcester,
A43 through the road works for the Silverstone bypass, M40, A34 past
Oxford, Newbury bypass, M3, M27 and to the docks at Pompey to get
the overnight ferry. Only 5 bikes on the ferry, sorry, 4 plus a snooty
pair on a Pan European who didn't have the time to communicate with
the likes of us, with the pre 51 and 02 number plates. There were 2
French bikes, one owned by a Brit lorry driver who lives in Brittany, the
other to a young French couple. The remaining bike belonged to a
couple from Abergavenny who were touring the D-day beaches and
Normandy in general. So at least we had a couple of beers before
bedtime.

Arrived in St. Malo okay, a real boost to the holiday feeling when you are
sailing in round about 07:00 and the sun is lighting up the granite
coastline around Dinan and Dinard. It was a bit cool, should have put a
sweat shirt on under my jacket and it looked very overcast inland. I
followed the ex-pat lorry driver on his 'concours de grot' BMW bitsa with
nonstandard, possibly non-CE approved sound system doubling as an
exhaust. No chance of bumping into any wildlife crossing the road with
that setup. We stayed on the main route until Lorient where we split up
and I headed up towards Quimperlé where I was staying with a friend,
Michel and his family for a couple of days.

We had planned to travel in a group from Quimperlé early Wednesday
morning, I say 'group' because I had not expected Michel, Nathalie
(wife), Melissa and Valentin (daughter and son) plus two tents, bedding
and everything else you need, to all end up on the same bike. I thought
that I carried some kit! Michel has a series 2 frame, like my R50 but I
believe 1963, a Ri 00 engine squeezed into that and a widened Dneipr
sidecar stuck on the side. He has done all the engineering on this thing
himself, with a bit of unknowing help from the French Navy, bless 'em.
It was then to be painted in what he had hoped was going to be the
blue of the camouflage colours used by the Navy but the storeman had
given him the grey instead. It had looked blue before it was stirred but
as time was running short, he had to use it. Now, to me, it does look
blue, intact I would have called it 'Air Force Blue' or in this case, being a
BMW, 'Luftwaffe Blue'. Anyway, everytime we stopped anywhere, for a
break, for fuel, to untuel(?), people were coming up and asking him if it
was a real ex-WWll bike. Non! my Anglias friend's bike is older and
original.

Well, we arrived at the campsite safely late afternoon. The weather was
warm and dry, the sun was out, I was appy, they were 'appy, everyone
was 'appy. The tents were up in no time, especially mine as it is one of
the Khyam tents, a guaranteed erection in 30 seconds it says in the
literature. I was slower, probably because I was tired, didn't have a
headache though. There was a 'downside' to the event this year.
Usually, since my first involvement with this club at VendOme in 1994, I
have been fortunate in winning the Oldest Bike at the Rally Award but
not this year. I shouldn't have any complaints though due to the fact
that the bike that beat mine was a 1941 Ri 2 750cc side-valve and
sidecar in North Africa livery, it had also been ridden from Nantes, in the
region of at least 160 miles. In the evening, Michel and family, plus
myself, had been invited to a barbecue by the committee running the
rally. Good news, because the rally was not due to start until the next
day, Thursday 9th May, so it saved us going out to get food or finding a
restaurant. We were treated to beef kebabs, pork kebabs, chicken,
sausages, wine, beer and 'special perrier water'. Then the ex-motorcycle
gendarme running the show let us all inflate out-of-date breathalyzers.
We certainly know how to enjoy ourselves. As I was attempting to
control my sense of balance, I was suitably informed by the
aforementioned, that I was very close to the 'limit'. Having any more
would impair my ability to ride my motorcycle. I was more concerned as
to whether I could walk back to the tent when the time came. Michel
and family went to bed about 22:00 or so and I stayed talking and
drinking with a pal named 'Swiss' Chris, he's from Switzerland you
know.... At 02:30, his wife, Sylvia, came to see where he was and we
finally retired at 03:30. I slept well though.

Next day, the start of the rally, was not the best way to kick things off. It was cloudy, it was raining but it was warm and there was no wind, not a breeze. People were arriving from Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, England and of course, France. And they were arriving WET! The rain kept falling, steadily increasing in quantity. Gloom. We were all camped next to Aubeterre's swimming facility, namely the Dronne river. I wonder how much rain needs to fall for that to come to us? We didn't need to do anything other than greet old friends as they arrived, it was an easy day for us. Our tents were already set up and the ground underneath was dry, they stayed dry throughout the rally. One very strange character turned up, he was French, with what you could call an outfit, if you managed to stretch your imagination far and wide enough. In the middle of this 'thing' was the chassis, engine and rear sub-frame with seat, belonging to a R100 (1000cc). Everything else had been made by this gent. It had three car wheels, all could be driven via a high/low ratio gearbox with reverse, plus the front and rear wheel on the bike were steerable. Different or what?? The sidecar was a fair size but there again, the whole issue was a fair size. It was also pulling a trailer which, on lifting the lid(?) turned into what could only be described as a wooden tent cum caravan. It did work though as we found out the next day, when on leaving the campsite, did not use the road but went straight up a 45 deg embankment. Well, that was enough excitement for one day. Later on, we had our evening meal and stayed in the hall drinking wine and/or beer. I decide to go to bed early as it is the long ride around the countryside tomorrow. Before midnight, not bad. Slept well.

Friday. Sod it! It is the big ride out and it looks right miserable. Very low cloud, drizzle, low spirits but at least it is still warm. Again, no wind, so it looks as if we are stuck with it. We spend the next few hours riding round lanes and roads in the hope of seeing some of the local area but that is beyond our field of vision. Michel has a spectacular blow out on his rear tyre, lucky it's a combo. He limps off to a nearby garage where the owner is absolutely brilliant and can't do enough for him. Perhaps the garage owner's father had been in the Vichy French and had thought that this was the 'second coming' or something, with so many BMWs around? We all met up again at a beautiful town called St Emilion where every, or nearly every shop is a wine shop. We had to wait awhile for the pique-nique (picnic) van to turn up with the goodies but when it did, the sun came out. Magic! We all wandered off with out two French sticks full of cheese, ham and salad, as well as an apple or pear, more cheese, bottle of beer, juice or water. Now bloated enough to cause strain on my leather jeans, we all wandered off to see the local town. It is all constructed out of local sand or marl stone and stuck on the edge of a cliff. If you want another cellar, get a hacksaw blade and start cutting one out. Some of us sat down in the sun at the local cafe in the square and enjoyed a 'café au lait grand' while watching the world go by, especially if it was young and female. Just to keep us in our places, it drizzled all the way back to the campsite. But it was still warm. Come the evening and it is yet another feast. Three huge cast iron, twin handled skillets about 6 feet across absolutely full to the gunwales with paella. Prawns, mussels, chicken, squid and rice. Enough for second helpings, thirds if you could manage it! More wine and/or beer. There was also the compulsory Polynesian rowing boat song where you have to sit on the floor in a long line and pretend you are rowing this boat with a broken engine. When I got back to the tent I discovered that my jeans had worn two holes into the top of my bum cleavage. Remember one thing, do not put 'Witch Doctor" antiseptic gel with added witch hazel onto open wounds, especially near your bum cleavage. Almost an early night, in bed by 02:30 and slept well again. Must be the country air?

Saturday. Where's the rain? The clouds have thinned out and the sun is shining. It's a trick. Today we are walking around the centre of Aubeterre, yes, walking. Brits and Germans on the morning session, the French, etc., on the afternoon one. At breakfast there are rumours abound regarding the one and only American, Gregory. It is said, and I will only say this once, that he got up in the middle of the night to a call of nature, decided that he couldn't make it to the WC so went to the ditch behind his tent. One can only guess that it was a dizzy spell that had him heading down the bank towards the mud and water of said ditch. I will find out later after the walkabout. Everyone now heads towards the Tourist Office where we are met by a charming but very nervous French girl who proclaims that this is her first English tour that she has done. Absolute panic when someone mentions that the Brits are outnumbered 4 to 1 by Germans. "I don't do German!" No problem, say half a dozen English speaking Germans now acting as translators. It is a very interesting walk around this rather sleepy picturesque town with it's red tile roofs, creamy yellow sandstone walls, again it is stuck on the side of a cliff just like St. Emilion. Most are looking at the buildings and the views, some of us are watching the women in the van delivering the bread, cakes, etc. In this place, if you leave your money out, you are liable to get a trench stick stuck through you letter box as well as the mail. Even the post girl knocked on the door after she had stuck the letters through the letterbox. All peace and tranquillity with fantastic views thrown in as well. In the afternoon, Michel, Nathalie and myself, wandered around Aubeterre by ourselves, taking advantage of the fact that the sun was still out. We visited the grounds of the long gone château, an earlier owner had sold the stonework as a recycling scheme for new buildings. It was nice to walk round and besides, we had over 300 miles to get back to Brittany the next day. Besides, the effects of two helpings of chili-concarne at lunch kept us within easy reach of the toilet block. When we get back to base, Gregory has recovered enough from his ordeal with the ditch to enlighten those interested in his escapade. One first falling into the ditch, autopilot kicked in instantaneously and he managed to scramble out on adrenaline alone. Unfortunately, on standing up when reaching the top of the bank, he lost balance again and hurtled back down towards the mud and goo. Luckily, some Germans and French heard his scream and dragged him out, took him to the showers and cleaned him up then put him to bed. That evening, the 'Last Supper'

so to speak, followed the same ritual as previous years. Loads of barbecued meats, tonnes of salad stuff, a free bottle of wine and a lottery. I am never in the mood to drink a load on the last night. Everyone has to leave the next day to get home and usually I have a big ride ahead of me. So just a few glasses of wine and a couple of beers. In my sleeping bag well before midnight. I do not sleep well. Could there be a relationship between quantity of alcohol consumed and quality of sleep?

It's now Sunday morning and it doesn't know whether it should rain or shine, so it does both. Halfway through packing up it has the decency to stop. After breakfast the sun comes out and it dries the tents enough to pack. The final deed done and we are ready to leave. There is much kissing and shaking of hands with everyone that is there, wishing each other safe journeys and we will see you again next year. Waterproofs are on and we are now ready for the off. We head off out through the town, waving at everybody as they wave us all goodbye as we head towards the nearest Peage to take us home. We have decided to take the toll roads as we expect all the free roads to be packed with people returning from the holiday. On some of the roads the volume of traffic is very heavy whilst the Peage is almost empty. We make good progress and get back to Quimperle before tea. However, I don't see any food as I start being sick. No idea what caused it, certainly not food poisoning anyway. Possibly the long ride or even a chill as it had suddenly got very cold between Nante and Lorient. I hadn't wanted to stop Michel & Co as we were getting close to home. So at about 20:30, off to bed I went and didn't wake till 09:00 Monday morning but at least I felt better.

Monday was an easy day. Unpacked Michel's gear and aired it, washed and polished his bike and sidecar. I sorted some of my kit and moved things around, left the bike mucky though.

Next morning, as I had mentioned to Michel that I had seen some nice properties for sale in Brittany on the Internet, I was dragged around Quimperlé to all the Notaires/Estate Agents, to find suitable properties. Michel told one and all that gardens big or small were of no use. "His wife has three horse, she must have land!" We found one, a cottage with four bedrooms, 2 WCs, cellar, a hangar(?) and 18,918 sq. metres of land. Only 192,848.01€ (£126,500 approx.). That'll do nicely. In the afternoon, we had a drive around the boat area to see where the best places could be found. I can see why so many Brits move over to France, vast open and empty countryside with plenty of places to exercise your bike.

It was now Wednesday and I started packing to bike. Michel was still on holiday, Nathalie had a day off her work, young Valentin didn't have to go to the local infants/junior school that day and Melissa had the afternoon off college. Everyone was on site to wish me farewell as I left shortly after lunch. At the end of the lane I suddenly decided to go the scenic route rather than go the same way I arrived. So up the D790, plenty of bends, hills and no traffic. I was in no rush as the ferry didn't leave Caen until 23:30. I headed east and found some nice country roads in Normandy, finally arriving at the port at about 20:30. After a couple of hours we started boarding, this time I was the only bike. Apart from a few brief chats with various people, I just had a quick snack and got my head down. The crossing was choppy so they said but I didn't notice.

No problems with Customs, nothing to declare anyway. Through the dock gates at 06:35 Thursday morning and onto the M27 heading home. The only stop I made was for fuel south of Towcester and then headed up the A5 to join the Ml at Lutterworth. Up and around Leicester and got home for 11:00 and the welcoming committee. It took me a couple of days to get over the bike/rally-lag and I certainly didn't fancy the club run that evening, I doubt whether I would have kept awake.

Now I have to get ready for next years It will be in France but
that's all I know.

Dave Lee.