Farmyard Party
7000 rode in the valley of mud
Smoke, Mirrors & Sky-Hooks
Fry-day the fif-teenth of June. Ten-oh-six
ay-emm. Most of the housemates are in
the gar-den. Dave, Pete and Bruiser are in
the caravan.
Dave: "I feel sorry for the poor bloke in
Milan!"
Bruiser: "You're not funny."
Pete: "We've 10,000 guests coming, no
sound system and you're making jokes!"
Dave: "Look on the bright side Pete, we
won't get 10,000 through the gate, it's
pelting it down!"
Bruiser: "I'll chuck him out."
Dave: (exiting caravan) "Aaaaarrgh!"
We'd just found out from the main stage contractor that there was an events manager standing in a field just outside of Milan who had the wrong top-structures for his speaker towers. He was using the same speaker system as we had at the Farmyard. It's a very expensive piece of kit, which can only work if it's suspended vertically from two 50' high support structures. We had his top structures. Unfortunately, this meant that he had ours. And its two hours until the gates open...
The Saturday before the Farmyard Party was a good night. We all got up there during the day, established 'Base Camp' for the week and then had a barbecue and got very drunk. Sunday saw the event and camping fields being set out, Monday the power cables got buried, marquees began to arrive, fences were torn down and the fields began to take shape. Tuesday and Wednesday the hundreds of bins and toilets were positioned, 200+ fence panels went up, more cabling and barriers arrived, chairs and tables were stacked and by Wednesday night, we were on the third and final fix. And then it rained, and it rained and it rained.
All week the weather forecast had been predicting thunderstorms at the weekend but Pete thought he could make them go away by sticking his fingers in his ears and shouting "La la la la la la la!" every time someone mentioned the forecast. It didn't work. Boy did it rain, but it didn't seem to dampen the spirits of the various crews who were beavering away all over the site on Thursday and, by 7 o'clock in the evening, we'd all settled in Jol's Blue Oyster Bar for the traditional pre-event drinkathon.
As anyone who's ever worked the party will tell you, there's always an air of apprehension on the Thursday night, especially if it's raining. The pre-book ticket sales just about cover the cost of staging the event so the gate-ticket sales and bar profits make up the fighting-fund donation. Low gate sales = low attendance = low bar sales = you get the picture. Wobbling back to our tents at midnight in the thunderstorm the site was already soggy underfoot. This was going to be a very muddy Farmyard Party. As we settled down for the night, the sound of the thunder outside was drowned out by the sound of our MD, Julie, biting her nails in the next tent. Would enough partygoers turn up tomorrow?
Friday morning and we all woke up with wet bullocks. They'd got into the camping area overnight and were being herded out again by cowboys on quads. It was still raining. We gathered in the MAG stall for a well-earned cuppa and sat giggling like children as we listened to Pete next door desperately ringing around for some equipment from which to hang the main stage speakers. "How much!" he kept shouting into the phone as he paced back and forth, not a happy bunny. Dave Short then arrived on site and began un-wrapping his promotional materials bearing the new MAG logo; bunting, banners and a 10 foot high poster bearing the strap-line Are you Passionate Enough? "Where do you want that Dave?" I enquired, looking at the gigantic laminated poster. He led me outside and pointed to a piece of air above the marquee. "I thought it would look good up there." He replied, looking up at nothing. "We'll need to hang it then Dave, just pop next-door and ask Pete if he's got any sky-hooks will you?" I suggested, trying to keep a straight face. "OK" said Dave, and off he popped. (Well, you've got to have a laugh with the new boy, haven't you).
Just before twelve on Friday and Pete's sky-hooks finally arrive in the form of two massive cranes on the back of an articulated low-loader. He took the invoice from the driver, rolled it up tightly and strode off in search of the main stage contractor. (Bet that hurt). We'd opened the gates first thing Friday morning as we didn't want people sitting in the rain until lunchtime up in Helmsley square. A slow trickle would best describe Friday's influx but by late afternoon the trickle had become a steady flow as more and more partygoers arrived, reporting sunshine and showers on their various journeys over. I worked the MAG marquee all day, handing out the member's vouchers and chatting to all about the weather, the party layout and the new MAG logo. The weather didn't seem to be bothering anyone much at all; they just got on with it, as Bikers do. This year's layout seemed to appeal to everyone, once they'd got the hang of it. The idea had been to build five different streets, all radiating from a sort of town square in the centre and all with their own different types of entertainment venue and varied food outlets. It seemed to work very well. The one comment we never get about the Farmyard Party is "I didn't like the bands." There are so many different types of bands that everyone can find something they like, and with the new layout, finding your favourite venue was entertainment in itself. People came on site and spent the early evening wandering along the narrow streets, shopping, dining, and drinking in the various bars. Most got so drunk that by later that night, they'd forgotten where everything was and had to re-discover the event all over again. It didn't help that the Marshals had all agreed to give out the same set of directions, regardless of where people were trying to get to; "Back down there into the middle mate, straight across and then it's the second street on your right." This would invariably bring them back to the place they'd set out from, childish I know but the confused looks on their faces was priceless. It's hard to describe the atmosphere at the Farmyard Party to someone that's never been other than to say that it's precisely what it's called, a party. Strolling along through the crowds you're pushed to distinguish where the organised and spontaneous entertainment begins and ends. In just five minutes on Friday night I saw fireeaters, jugglers, people in pyjamas, a gorilla, and a group of large tattooed fairies dancing with Scooby Doo, and that was before I'd had a drink. It's a credit to the organising team that the illusion of madness and confusion is maintained whilst behind the bright lights of the façade, toilets are being emptied, food outlets and bars are being re-stocked, generators refuelled, and a hundred and one problems are being solved. Over 170 volunteers marshalled the party and it just wouldn't be financially viable without them, whether they did a four-hour shift or the full eightday set-up and pull-down it's thanks to them that your party happens. And then there's you, the party faithful. I can't think of a single other good cause that's funded in the way that MAG is. Ordinary people jump out of aircraft, run marathons, absail down buildings or scramble up mountains in the name of fundraising, and what do Bikers do? Ride bikes and then party all weekend! And they say we're stupid! Saturday saw a bright start and the radio crackled with reports from gate control that we were filling up with bikes loaded with camping gear. As often happens on wet Fridays, people decide to stay home and then phone their friends Saturday morning who convince them that it's worth the wet ride over. And it was. Everyone we spoke to over the weekend loved the new layout, the entertainment, the atmosphere and the huge choice of food vendors. We expected a very mixed reaction to the new MAG logo but were pleasantly surprised by all of the positive feedback we received. People were even trying to buy the logoed shirts we'd had printed for the crew in the MAG marquee (like they needed another black tee shirt). Saturday afternoon was a mixture of sun and showers which meant that the Ryedale youth swing band we'd organised to play in the centre of the custom show had to perform in the blues bar. They were playing to raise funds for the Yorkshire air ambulance but, being tucked up away from the weather, didn't raise a great deal so, when you see them next year, chuck 'em a quid. You never know when you might need that big yellow bird. The custom show was well attended and run despite the rain and attracted some very nice bikes. There were several heart stopping moments as the entrants carefully rode their pride and joy's back to the campsite through the thickening mud. Speaking of mud, a special thank you from all of the men on site to the two mudwrestling girls dressed as dominatrix-es. (Is that the correct plural for dominatrix? I wouldn't know I've only ever been able to afford one at a time).
Saturday night and the weather held off which contributed to the amazing party spirit everyone shared at all of the various bars and shows we visited. For me, the highlight of the weekend was when I realised along with thousands of other blokes that I was singing along to a rocked-up version of Celine Dion's song from the film Titanic in the middle of the main arena! It took some cahoonas to play that one at a Biker party but funnily enough, everyone knew all of the words. Bimbling back to our tent in the wee small hours of Sunday morning along a brightly lit boulevard of stalls and bars we passed someone wearing one of last year's teeshirts which read 'Farmyard Party 2006 - Higher and Drier'. If we'd known about the rain and how much you'd all love the new layout we'd have been spot-on to write on this year's tees 'Farmyard Party 2007 - Wetter, but Better!' Hope you all enjoyed the Party as much as we enjoyed putting it on. The Farmyard Crew.
Words: Dave Elrick.
Pictures: Richard, Lucy & Mutch
Ludicrous grinning: Ferg
A new boy's take
My first rally, the Farmyard I'd heard about it but that just made me more nervous, the sheer number of bikers who would be there, and me a born again fair weather biker.
We booked the tickets 4 months in advance so it seemed to take for ever to come around, all of a sudden we were packing the bike, a task in itself. I have the Suzuki intruder 800, nice bulky plenty power but for some unknown reason the back rest angles back so you lose a lot of the luggage rack, not ideal for getting the kitchen sink packed.
Thursday night and the wife decided we needed a bigger tent as she doesn't like small spaces ASDA here we go. Got a 4 man tent for £29 also a double blow up matress why ruff it? Actually it took up less space than two roll mats. A small camping stove, she likes her morning cup of tea, were is it all going to go? There would be six of us traveling, 3 plus 3 pillion Tony, my oldest mate has been a biker from the age of 17 now 44 and lynne his partner, she had the flu, still soldiered on though.
Kev and his son Ryan, Liz my better half and myself, everything was going to plan, the bike packed night before, nothing going to fall off, great. Up at 5am, dressed ready to go. First problem, kev calls, going to be a bit late, meant to leave at six so 10 or 15 min delay then Tony doesn't turn up 'till six also Liz' s bike jacket zip has been chewed by dogs, so she has to use my leather, fitted like a glove, not, but beggers cant be chosers.
Off we go, one hour in to ride we stopped for breakfast, little roadside cafe and off we go again, no problems till newcastle, then it decided to initiate me into the wet weather bikeing side of the game.It pissed down and still 100 miles to go, water running down leathers into boots what a feeling!The hundred percent jacket, not. Then remembered had waterproof trousers in bags, too late now, still faired better than Kev, the hard bastard jeans leather jacket German helmet and sun glasses, looked a bit wet to say the least , but we survive.
No rain when we arrive so tent up and beers out, then straight acroos to the army surplus tent for dry and warm kit, then more beer a look round the tents, more beer, listened to some music more beer.
A great weekend had by all, never mind the weather, everybody very frendily. Wish there was 2 Farmyards a year, 12 months is a long way away.
Mark Morris, age 44, bus driver born again and loving it
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