As we got closer to Stratford though we began to encounter other motorcycles haring off in all directions – except towards the site – and piloted in the main, by near naked riders. Escapees from the Bash I figured, driven near insane by the incredible weather, they’d grabbed their motorcycles and taken off in search of air-conditioning, their movement through the oven-like air causing a welcome, if hot, breeze.

Swapping motorcycles back at the gate, Andy rode directly towards the centre of the Bulldog, while I paused to put up my tent – and knock back a litre of body temperature water I’d brought in the panniers. Bliss, even though it had come out of the freezer only a couple of hours previously.

Midday sun now, I strolled off to meet up with Andy near the Custom Show marquee. It was eerily quiet, hardly a soul to be seen anywhere, only the odd, Spaghetti Western-like dust devil twisted between the massive tents at the Bulldog’s heart. Where the hell was everybody? The marquees themselves were virtually empty, though I wasn’t surprised as I poked my nose into the baking Trance Tent. Then looking deeper into the black shadows cast by the marquees, there they were, people, loads of them, and most flat out, dozing away the noon. Nothing much moved, nothing much wanted to.

Rob from Radial had a stand inside the Custom Show marquee, and it sported a very special thing – a travel fridge that he’d scored only a couple of days before from some guys doing a house clearance or something. Thirty quid well spent: he had cold, really cold, beer. I was pleased to see him, he was recovering from a nasty bike accident and it was great to see him up and about. The genuine pleasure it was to chat to him about his latest projects had nothing to do at all with the ice cold Bud in my sticky paw. Rob has an eye for an elegant engineering solution and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if many of the very neat prototypes we were shown are soon to be in our New Products pages. The spindle end caps on his new swing arm for instance – ooh, suits me!

But his was not the only fine engineering in the custom marquee. The Bulldog now boasts one of the very finest custom shows, certainly in Europe and perhaps the world. Taking on in some real way, the awesome mantle of the legendary Kent Custom Show, the organisers of the Bulldog, Hells Angels England, have managed to build their own custom show to rival anything Kent ever put up in just a few short years. All I have against it is that it’s in a bloody marquee. I understand, believe me I do, that if you’ve just invested £25,000 in building a unique custom creation the last thing you’re going to want to do is put it in a field to be covered with grit and bird shit. And I agree people can still see it perfectly well with 20/20 ambient light and indeed the impressive new spotlights – just makes it a sod to take photographs in – that’s all.

… oh, yes, okay, it was a sod that was taking the photos!

The vast majority of motorcycles on show were phenomenal examples of the art of custom building, to pick out one or the other would be pointless and I really did feel for the judges – especially having been there myself last year. What there wasn’t much of though were serious road customs: those that were at the Bulldog were parked up around the site, their owners unwilling perhaps to enter their hard working but nevertheless damn fine customs alongside such prestigious competition, which we felt was a real shame.
The Bulldog has always boasted the admirable tradition of Run Wot Ya Brung, which has become an absolutely essential part of the entire Bash experience. Maybe then to actively encourage a SHOW Wot Ya Brung element to the still developing custom show by the introduction of some new classes might be an idea to consider too. The Bulldog has never been a passive ‘okay, entertain me’ event, the active involvement of everyone who goes makes it the world beating party it is. So give out a free four-pack as a naked bribe to anyone who turns up on a bike worthy to be in the custom show … or something, I dunno.

Pretty soon after coming out of the custom show Andy and I went our separate ways: we needed our own space for a while and wanted different things out of life. I wanted to stand and gawp at big noisy metal things thrashed mercilessly up a quarter mile track in stupid heat. Andy wanted ice cream, a teepee and was seriously considering a silly hat.

I was glad I kept an eye on the track, the Run Wot Ya Brung was, as always, entertaining, sorting the Bulldog Breed from the Bullshit. Oh, yeah, while the whole idea is meant to be just you and your bike against the clock, just where is the fun in that? Eh? There’s two tracks and, of course, both are used – everyone knows that it’s really a race as well – and the organisers try very hard to find every entrant a suitable match.

While, of course, most machinery flying up the quarter mile was Japanese, and fairly standard to boot, many weren’t standard at all, by any stretch of the imagination. Assorted Brits and Italians had a go too, as did trikes and even mopeds. As usual, the Harleys made a good show, some fairly standard, perhaps recently staged and ridden by those curious to know how much real difference their Winter money had made. While other ‘Harleys’ were more likely full on drag bikes, which created some real surprise and generated an awful lot of respect.

I was also lucky enough to catch the jet-powered cars, which instead of opting for merely a demo run, instead muscled up beside each other for a real race. Just the staging, as the motors fired, was a fantastic spectacle: the afterburners in turn firing out great gouts of flame into massive palls of smoke as the cars leapt and strained to make the mark at the Christmas tree lights. Then, brakes locked full on, the two jet motors thundered up to full power and bang they were gone, indescribable noise in their wake, both cars through the quarter in less than five seconds – it had to be closer to four. "Fuh-King-Hell!" I shouted in perfect synch with the other two thousand people watching: we couldn’t have rehearsed it better. The cars well gone, we all stood and cheered the recovery crews instead, flying up the track in pursuit of the jets in knackered Transit vans.

There’s so much to do at the Bulldog, I couldn’t hope to catch everything. I didn’t do the new Adult Tent for instance – though I heard some rave reviews later from a genial gent called Fang, nor the new pool tent or the fair rides. I did however catch the Quireboys in the combined Main Stage and Beer marquee, who cooked up a storm to a massive crowd, dancing about in searing late afternoon temperatures. Then I heard the unmistakable sounds of live music in the Trance Tent and went to investigate. Inside, a lively dance/rock fusion outfit were thoroughly enjoying themselves playing to no more than four people in the vast oven-hot covered space of the marquee. There were honestly more people on stage. A shame nobody seemed to know they were there, they were bloody good. Still, the band really, really didn’t seem to give a damn how many people they were playing to … and top marks for making the booking, I’m definitely not the only biker who is sick to the back teeth with Sweet Home Chicago.

As darkness fell, I also caught the Saturday headline act, the Fun Loving Criminals, who were much, much better than I had expected and dispelled any doubt in my mind that they had earned the top honours. I wasn’t the only person who thought the FLC were anything but dynamite either, the entire marquee was overflowing with bouncing, boogying maniacs. Cleverly, the Fun Loving Criminals were up on stage mid-way through the evening, rather than the usual last thing at night, when to be honest many Doggers would be too drunk to appreciate the masterful rock-flavoured funk or, frankly, be fast asleep.

My personal partying continued, with Dave and Sue on their Avalon/Pagan Biker stand meeting old mates and meeting new ones too – with the Airborne MCC – and with mates from Leicester. On another expedition for, thankfully, freezing cold beer, I saw a tiny bit of some erotic show and checked out the Trance Tent one last time, but the cold beer, and warm companionship was much more important by this time.

I guess it was about one thirty when I finally had to admit I was too shagged to continue. Totally unacceptable "shandy-pant" behaviour, I know, but then, it had been one hell of a day. Back at the tent, my girlfriend who’d had to work, rang to find out how everything was going, was it another classic Bulldog Bash? In reply I lifted the phone into the sky and turned it towards the heart of the Bash. Two o’clock and the thunderous, unbroken roar of thousands of bikers partying like crazy was plain to be heard.

PS. There is hope yet for real road custom bikes after a stunning piece of automotive sculpture was pulled from the show when its dummy-spitting owner was told it wouldn’t be eligible for entry in the competition. Why? Because it hadn’t been ridden in. Lovely though it undoubtedly was, there was some debate as to whether it would have made it down the track in one piece. A strong signal: let’s hope it encourages greater participation. Andy