So that was it. Hamburg and Barcelona. A day on a ferry from Harwich, or a channel hop and 600 miles riding from Calais, will get you to Hamburg; alternatively 24 hours and 400 miles to make Barcelona the easy way, or else a couple of days in the saddle to make Spain’s Mediterranean coast. Hamburg is a great central gathering point for the northern Europeans including the Harley-mad Scandinavians, while Barcelona will get the latins, and give us pasty northerners the chance to catch a bit of sun.

Still, a third one offshore would’ve been nice.

Sympathetic to the plight of the Brits, Motorcycle News and Harley-Davidson UK got together and did the decent thing, and we got Butlins, in Minehead to keep us sweet. Or that was the perception at least: MCN run bike weekends at holiday camps dotted round the coast, already had the organisational infrastructure in place and could smell a buck, Butlins had unoccupied self-catering accommodation for 5,000, Harley had something worth celebrating and a brand that would pull in a big enough audience to make it worthwhile. And us? We were looking for a party.

And we came, from north, south, east and west; from over the Irish Sea, and even one or two continentals, rattling the windows in a dozen tiny hamlets on the twisting, turning roads through to a coastal town with an ill-fitting name. Like the big custom shows of the summer, the closer you got, the more bikes you saw. In roadside bars and cafes, or else filling your mirrors. The notable omissions were layers of luggage comprising tents and dossbags, for this was to be a more civilised affair, exchanging canvas and portaloos for cabins and porcelain - well, probably vitreous china, but that doesn’t scan as well.

With prices starting at seventy quid per person it wasn’t the greatest bargain going, but it was an inexpensive alternative when compared to the real cost of attending either Barcelona or Hamburg, and with trade stalls, stunt shows, a ride-in custom show and twenty bands playing between Friday night and Sunday it was set up to be a packed programme. Day tickets were available too at ten quid a head, for those who couldn’t manage the full three nights but they didn’t include access to the evening’s entertainment - which, thankfully, wasn’t the full-on Butlins family floorshow and redcoat cabaret. It has to be said, too, that if you’re going to cough up that sort of money, you’re best to commit yourself to having a good time.

I have to admit that we wimped out, found a nice little B&B and set up camp there, but then we didn’t have the luxury of the three days to party, with the deadline for this issue looking ever more likely to be another close-run thing. We also had the ignominy of arriving on four wheels rather than two because you can’t carry many magazines on a bike. Still, that must have been less daunting than turning up on any of the metric cruisers that were dotted around the site. I’m not having a go at them, in fact I was pleased to see them there, and glad they felt that the welcome was extended to include them - nothing sells a Harley more than not being on one in that sort of company - and I speak as one who turned up at York a few years ago on a VN (you really don’t want to know how few people actually realised, do you?).

Half-board deals were available, but the vast majority of people took the self-catering option, and with a major supermarket on the doorstep and cooking facilities in the accommodation you couldn’t blame them. There was also a high street burger chain on-site too - the one that isn’t struggling at the moment - and they were doing brisk trade, but you can only eat so many char-grilled main-courses in a weekend. We came across Brenda from Wayside - one of the custodians of the press fleet - and her husband, Brian, who are veterans of the MCN Skegness events, and they’ve long since worked out how best to survive these events through the judicious use of the external facilities ... I wish they’d forewarned us about the beer though. Expensive, limited in selection and almost unrecognisable in terms of flavour - a blind tasting between the Guinness, the bitter and the lager could have been interesting - and there is no excuse for offering a bad cider in Somerset. I was almost glad I was driving, except I had an aftertaste of cleaning fluid in my coke. It might have been the bars we were using and I’m being unfair, but we resorted to buying soft drinks from the on-site shop and drinking from plastic cups, and next time we would be queuing at the supermarket checkout with the better informed.

We’d arrived on the Friday with the specific intention of catching the first burst of enthusiasm as long-travelling friends reacquainted themselves after the winter recess, and to catch Doctor and the Medics who were headlining in Reds - one of the two main venues on site - having caught their enthusiastic stage show at the Welsh National Bike Show in 2002, but it was already evident as we arrived part way through the Madonna tribute band, Vogue, that there was a party thing going down. The place, while not packed, was certainly well filled which wasn’t bad for an early show and a band without a natural association with motorcycles. The dancefloor filled up between their set and the arrival of a very convincing Blondie tribute, Heart of Glass, when a varied and eclectic mix of tunes from the DJ brought people out of their shell. Eclectic? Anything from the Proclaimers through to Madness, with a bit of Robbie Williams thrown in for the kids - and there were a few. I was out of step with my peer group when Blondie was in the charts, and wasn’t allowed to listen to them on principle but, mellowed with age, I was surprised how much I’d taken in as the pocket-sized blonde bombshell did that naive little skippy dance with the windmill arm motion. Good set, good reaction, and our Derek was mesmerised by the likeness. As the stage was changed for the Doctor, the DJ upped the ante and the floor never really cleared, but with a lot of people wondering really what to expect from a band who had a solitary number one ten years before. A few drifted off, perhaps to see Bad Manners, who were headlining at Centre Stage next door, but those who remained packed the floor and jumped and shouted as a refreshingly self-effacing egomaniac, introduced himself as a Gareth Gates tribute band and then romped through an hour of stuff that was known to everyone, and went down a storm.

We’re not in the habit of doing music reviews in AmV - it’s too subjective a topic and we’ve all arrived at this point from a variety of backgrounds, so I make no apology for going to see bands I wanted to see because you’d have done exactly the same - but a good stage show transcends music: it makes a party. It didn’t matter whether you liked what they played, their enthusiasm for playing it was infectious and the grins grew broader as the exhaustion from bouncing about took its toll. By the time they left the stage, the place was hoarse from yawping and probably wondering what the hell all that was about. The reaction was great: at Builth, they crowded four deep at the barrier to cop a better look at the weird people on stage, at Minehead they boogied.

The next day, in spite of forecasts, dawned bright and the weather held, in the main. There were intermittent bursts of torrential rain to remind you that you were in England in May, but with the amount of covered areas on the vast site, there was always somewhere to run to - and generally always something to do. We reviewed the wreckage of the previous evening - manifested in the faces of a number of Harley UK staff perhaps more than anywhere else - and set off in search of the trade stands where Philip at Arlen Ness had offered us table space to sell the magazine. Yes, I know we really should have done flyers and stuck them absolutely everywhere to make sure people know the magazine exists, but it only occurred to our addled brains while we were walking about. The trading area was well away from most of the accommodation and entertainment, which gave you chance to realise just how big the site is, and generally populated by dealers - with Black Bear, especially, doing a roaring trade in clearance items. Just beyond was the Wall of Death, with its Indians, and just before was the stunt show with its Buells and funny cars, and the Dyno shoot-out area. With some spectacularly bad planning, we missed just about everything that was going on there - but not the irony of a single-seat stuntcar plastered with MG logos but which on closer inspection seemed to have a Yamaha FJ1200 motor in it. The stunt shows were preceded by downpours, but it never seems to put these people off.

Wandering round the vast site in search of photo opportunities, we bumped into many friends - and several times apiece - each time heading off somewhere to do something, and each time in ridiculously high spirits. Granted it was on the Saturday and people were still finding their way around, but I reckon that might still have been the case by the end of Sunday - and once you’d got the lie of the land, there was still the matter of thousands of Harleys to look at, from the oldest and most unusual - including Pete’s KH as seen in this very issue - in a modest exhibition in the Skyline Pavilion, through to some radical stuff in the ride-in custom show. And not forgetting an original FX Super Glide that was still resplendent in its red, white and blue colour scheme, with boat-tail seat and everything - hopefully the card I tucked into its brake lever was still there when the owner returned, and we’ll have chance to feature it properly: if it wasn’t, then hopefully this will reach them.

I don’t doubt that Harley-Davidson would have been pleased to see so many V-Rods out there, but I’m still waiting for someone else apart from Fred Kodlin to have the bottle to take the motor out of the frame and rework it, or even just paint it black, because the current crop of custom VRs are concentrating on refinishing the bodywork, or replacing the wheels (although you won’t find me disagreeing with that modification), and while it’s great that people are pushing the boundaries with creative new processes, there is so much potential there just waiting to be realised. If you’re doing something creative with your Water Hog please let us know.

I’m sure Erik, too, would’ve been pleased to see so many Buells round and about. They were generally the older, long stroke models, but it does suggest that a Harley audience is a natural market for their products - all you’ve got to do is get them to ride one.

There was also a smattering of Indians, and a solitary Vegas on the Ness stand, introducing Victory to the biggest sympathetic audience they’re likely to find, and I understand interest was high, but it remains to be seen how they are viewed by a Harley-riding hard core. There is no doubt whatsoever that no other single manufacturer could call such a gathering of people together in its name: no other motorcycle creates such a following among its riders. Whether those riders consider themselves to be riders of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, or riders of motorcycles that ride like Harley-Davidsons will be seen as the next generation of VRs roll out later this year, and more especially by what impact they make on the traditional ranges.

I have to say that I wonder how many people went to Minehead because it was the 100th anniversary of the Motor Company, and I suspect that it only acted as a catalyst to organise the event. In the same way that the regular MCN events run regularly, I would wonder whether an annual event, or even one every two years so it didn’t get too predictable, would be sustainable.

Unless it wound down significantly after we took our leave and headed back to the northlands on Saturday evening, I suspect it could - but I also suspect we’d be better prepared next time in our drinking habits, and the queues at the supermarket checkouts would be longer.