Elvis belted out the lyrics, calling a nation of teenagers to join a party. I must admit I prefer the female country rocker, Wanda Jackson’s version. it’s dirtier and less polished but the teenage call to arms remains the same – party, party, party. The bonnie is 50 this year – so c’mon let’s have a party!
I had swayed in my own mind whether or not to go to the Bonnie 50th Celebration event as organised by the Triumph owners motorcycle club. There had been a debate on the merits of attendance on the new bonnie owners forum. Some were ‘up for it’, others more apathetic. I fell into the apathetic camp. The bonnie and I were still in our trial separation phase. We couldn’t bear to look at each other. Eventually the increasing thought that I might miss something and the acceptance that I would have to get back on the bonnie at some point caused me to wheel her out of the garage and begin the pre flight checks (or a rub down with a bit of polish as is more appropriate to the T100).
The venue of the Motor Heritage Museum was just over an hour away. I knew the route well. An old roman road, straight as a die between Warwickshire and the Cotswolds – “The Fosse”. It was a bright sunny day and we rekindled a little bit of the passion that had died through France. She purred along beautifully. I just sat there smiling, a gentle pitch of the throttle and the occasional gear change. As I drew nearer there were a few waves from Bonnie owners of various ages. No doubt they shared my smile, a combined passion and love for an inanimate object that you just can’t help but cherish. Not smug but knowing that there is something else to the bonnie that is missing from other bikes. Dare I mention that word again “Soul”?
I swallowed the £25 admission price, a little steep for an afternoon’s entertainment but good value for those attending for the entire weekend. I’d made up my mind to just wander around. I had nothing in particular that I was looking for but I hoped to pick up the odd goodie with a twitching credit card and a weighty wallet. First stop was the main ‘arena’ and the line up of bonnies across all years. Some beautiful examples across the ages caused me to stop and stare, a photo here and there, amazed at their purity and factory brighteness but gradually my inspection moved to a purpose. I began to look at the various incarnations of the Hinckley Bonneville looking for that inspiration or small item that might suit my own tastes. They were all there to look at, race prepped, tourers, scramblers, paired down etc. A credit to their owners, some radical, some subtle. I’ve never really had a theme to my bonnie preferring to add the odd trinket and modification to suit my requirements. If I had to label it I suppose I would go for a “spor
ty inspired tourer”.Despite my inspection of the show arena and the ‘overflow’ parking field nothing particularly sprang to the fore. Single or ‘grey top’ seats caught my eye more than most, a simple mod that can alter the look of the bonnie quite radically. Perhaps that’s next year’s purchase. I was hoping to see some different rear view mirrors. I just can’t get the comment ‘Mickey Mouse Ears’ out of my mind every time I look at the stock mirrors. Lots of bar end examples to think about but I still like the aftermarket Triumph ellipse shaped mirrors even if the price is somewhat salty. It was time to have a look at the vendors’ stalls and loosen the shackles of my wallet.
Anticipation and inspiration heightened by the display areas I wanted to find a ‘jenks bolts’ or ‘mototwin’ stall full of new bonnie accessories. I was disappointed. The vendor’s area was more of an auto jumble which was fine for the event but I was hopeful of more. I’d brought an empty rucksack to fill up but at this rate it was going to go home empty and poor old SuzyQ would have to go without a birthday present. Oh well, if the bike couldn’t have anything then at least I could buy a T-Shirt or something. It was a brave man o
r woman that entered the ‘official’ Staffordshire Triumph clothing area. It was chaos, boxes on the floor, people 2 or 3 deep at the rails all searching for the essential souvenir. I entered the fray, battled my way through and emerged with a long sleeved T-shirt at a bargain half price. Stressful bit of shopping though.
r woman that entered the ‘official’ Staffordshire Triumph clothing area. It was chaos, boxes on the floor, people 2 or 3 deep at the rails all searching for the essential souvenir. I entered the fray, battled my way through and emerged with a long sleeved T-shirt at a bargain half price. Stressful bit of shopping though.Then I just wandered, looking again at the show arena, perusing the club stands and even a look at the auto jumble. The more I wandered the more I struggled to understand what the event lacked. It just felt flat. Here I was surrounded by a bike that I love, its graceful lines, sculpted tank, spoked wheels and a history to dream of, but my emotions weren’t stirred. Then it dawned on me – Music. Where was the music? Music brings events alive, it loosens inhibitions, brings people together, makes us smile. Oh for some music associated with ‘Triumph Era’ – rockers music. Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochrane, Billy Fury – all were desperately needed to lighten the atmosphere, bring people out a little, have a party. The more these thoughts passed my mind the flatter the event became for me. Even the ACE Cafe stand did not have a bit of music blaring out. I left soon after, glad I went but it could have been so much better.
Elvis though would have been disappointed. A celebration? I'm not sure, somehow it just didn’t feel like a party, it lacked the "moving and a grooving to satisfy my soul".
Music and bonnies now there is something to celebrate.
