As I mentioned, such a long time ago now (I really should make more effort to post here), the first Land Rovering event I was asked to participate in was an ARC National Rally. These events are the biggies in the Land Rover world; they are both competitive and social occasions for the affliated clubs and as I was to learn they have to be seen to be believed. It was actually quite a big event for both me and Him Outdoors because aside from being my first such event it was the first time that he had taken part in a National since he had reached adulthood. He attended many as a child growing up among the Land Rover scene but as he got older had drifted away.
So it was 2002, the weekend of the Queen's Golden Jubilee, and with the Old Girl strapped onto a borrowed trailer behind the Isuzu Trooper (a company car and poor excuse for a 4x4) we set out for Plympton in Devon. It was a longish journey from home in Shropshire and one punctuated by regular requests for me to check that everything was alright on the trailer. We played the fun game of spotting others heading for the same event, including a lightweight we ended up camped alongside, and made good time in getting there.
The site was located part way up a bank and the first obstacle to overcome was quite a steep section of road to get up to the signing on point. Our second was the fact that we had dared to venture into the midst of a festival to all that was Land Rover in a foreign vehicle. We therefore found ourselves being led to our camping spot by a nice guy in a Ninety, trailer and all, over every bump, hump and ditch that he could find. But we were there and soon the Old Girl was off the trailer and our little camp was set up. And a little camp it was; a tiny three man tent, borrowed deckchairs and table and our prized new camping stove (still in use today!). We checked out the basic lay of the land and settled down in the sun to watch the world go by over a bottle of vodka.
Now the National is a club event and we had booked in with the only club that Him Outdoors belonged to at the time and we were camped in the same general area as the other members of that club so when the vodka ran out (about 8pm) we set out for a drunken stagger around the campsite to see who was about. The answer, sadly, was only one other member of 'our' club cooking his supper, the rest we assumed were already in their beds. Still we made a new friend that night in the guise of the man cooking his supper and still see him at Land Rover events. After a little more staggering we found our way back to base camp and into our little tent.
I had not camped since I was a small child and being under canvas was something of a novelty. It soon lost it's novelty value when the obvious side effect of all that vodka sent me out into the night in search of the portaloos (is it any wonder I now detest those things?)
We spent our first full day out and about in nearby Plymouth and got sunburnt in the process. He even got me and my fear of heights up the light house on Plymouth Hoe. And we shopped, mundanely for food because we had just a small cool box (again still in use).
I was getting quite used to things by this time even the almost constant sound of the man on the tannoy, the same man all day long from early in the morning to late at night. I had even met Him Outdoor's Aunt and Famous, in Land Rover circles, Uncle, who treated me to my first crash course in Land Rover recognition.
Sunday brought the Trailling, with a section just past the end of our camping row, and the concourse which he had entered the Old Girl in. Famous Uncle was one of the judges for this although he didn't judge our vehicle so no accusations of favouritism, not that we won anything. And we were truly having a great time, that was about to change. Monday was supposed to be about the Comp Safari and with the extra Jubilee holiday we weren't supposed to leave until the Tuesday but Monday morning dawned very early and very wet. Heavy rain that got us out of bed and the tent very rapidly when we realised that said tent was leaking. Everything out of the tent was hastily thrown in to the Isuzu and we took ourselves off to McDonalds for breakfast and to dry out. We returned to the site and even watched a little of the comp safari but the heavy rain continued and we decided to leave early.
You might think that my abiding memory of that weekend might be the rain and the leaking tent but far from it. I remember the Belgian man in the 101 parked next to us with his two fridges of beer, with a tub of butter and piece of cheese squashed into the gaps. I remember the two Germans with their shed on trailer behind their 110 and how no matter what time you walked past, it was on my way to the portaloos, they were sat in there drinking. I remember our new friend, of the drunken stagger, and his Land Rover born on the same day he was. But most of all I remember the rude awakening.
There was only the Belgian between us and the road along the edge of the camping area, the other side of which was the tannoy, and the trials section. I've mentioned that the same guy was on the tannoy all day well he started early, very early, try 6am early. And his first announcements were all about the fact that scrutineering would open at 7am. Bad enough but that road at the end of our row headed straight to scrutineering and so we were treated to a steady stream of vehicles going past. V8 Land Rovers, roaring and growling, and that is what I remember most because that was when I fell in love with the noise of the V8.
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