The Lake Run Write Up
The Lake Run
I have always been fascinated by the Bass Lake run since I first read about it in Hunter S Thompson’s novel “Hells Angels”. In the summer of 1965, in Californian, the Hell’s Angels organised their annual Labour Day ride out picking the scenic Bass Lake as its destination. Their motive was simple, “To swim, hang out by camp fires and party”, after all it was their right to do so. As word got out that the run was happening there was uproar in the local community. Shopkeepers boarded their stores and armed locals patrolled the streets awaiting the arrival of the motorcyclists. It was the local police however who stopped any aggravation, they quickly came forward telling everyone that the Hells Angels had every right to enjoy the Lakes for a party as anyone else, so long as they did so within the law.
What I liked about the event was its simplicity; it was about riding motorcycles, escaping the humdrum, and enjoying the company of your comrades. Food was cooked over an open fire, musicians played in the woods and an occasional whip-rounds kept the beer runs flowing. I set about finding a similar location around a lake in a secluded location and within comfortable riding distant from London. Oh yeah, and with owners who didn’t mind over a 100 motorcyclists descending for a weekend of partying. It suddenly felt quite a challenge, especially considering the nationwide necessity of the ‘staycation’. I soon found every campsite was booked up till the end of September. Just as my expectations for finding a site had all but dwindled I came across a lead, it was perfect, I booked it straight away. I now had five weeks to make it happen, it was doable.
Paying homage to the original event and to recreate the atmosphere, the sense of freedom and community, it was important that the dynamics of the event were in keeping. This meant keeping the event free of commerce and leaving it to be communally managed. There were no cooks to man the bbqs or bar staff pouring drinks, no one to lead the ride outs, everything was left to unravel naturally. We wanted to be clear about our intentions, that the Lake Run was all about having a party, good people and good times and nothing more. Everything was offered for free for people to help themselves, seemingly endless food and drink, coffee and cocktails. Ride in, tune out, and let go – it’s what we all needed after the past 18 months.
The first motorcycles gathered at Bolt on the Saturday morning, their riders drank coffee and prepared for the ride down. Most opted for the scenic route which took in some great country roads flowing under canopies of trees and before long we had the first arrivals on site. It was a mixed bag with choppers, scooters and everything in between. To enter the site you first had to navigate ½ mile of rugged farm track before you pulled through a gate where you were met with Shepham lake in all its glory. A path circled the lake, through wild flower meadows to a small hill with a circle of woodland at its crest.
Arrivals were met with a coffee served by Tom and Dan, the bold opted for a hot toddy with Monkey Shoulder whisky. Tom and Dan having closed their store Boyds of Bedford had brought a horsebox, which they converted into a mobile coffee bar, complete with a porch seating area. They now roam the land organising bike meets as they go, it fitted perfectly with the Lake Run. Opposite the horsebox was a fleet of BBQs and a make shift kitchen full of huge tubs of marinated meats, salads and tables of chocolate and crisps. Ice baths were filled with Piston Head lager, and a bar lined with Pitchers of Sailor Jerry and Monkey Shoulder cocktails. Wit rum and whisky being the fuel of many a good party it wasn’t long until people relaxed from the ride in.
We lit the BBQ’s and people came together and got involved keeping the food and drink flowing. Everyone could find something to do, if they wanted to, and before long most people at the party had met. John who has cooked many times in the yard made a vegan paella that kept people going through till the early hours. Things were definitely running a lot smoother then they had the week before. French Tom, who builds bikes in the corner of our yard and myself had set about making two oil drum BBQs out of scrap metal we had been collecting. It’s never easy using found materials, and after a whole lot of welding; cutting and drilling later we sat back and admired the two shiny oil drums in all their glory. Our success was short lived as a few hours later Tom who had been doing all the cutting calls to tell me he is sick with the ‘Metal Flu”. Unbeknown to us the metal we had used was toxic. With only one day to go we gathered an Armada of small BBQs using everything we could find, even a wheelbarrow fitted with a grill was thrown in the mix.
The afternoon was spent laying out on hay bales by the lakeside listening to a soundtrack of cowboy rock from Zippo records. The sun had come out as we sat back and watched more groups of riders turn up and circles the lake. At the centre of the site amongst the circle of trees was to be the focus for the evening’s party. We didn't want to confine the night to a marquee; we wanted to dance under the stars, even if this did mean throwing the dice with the weather. We hoisted up a make shift ceiling made of repurposed boating sails into the canopy of trees. Uplighters shone through the woodland and strings of lights interweaved with the branches. At the centre was a dj booth made of corrugated metal like some hill billy out house. A few long blasts from the smoke machine filled the woodland, reflecting the lights and creating a psychedelic wonderland to get lost in.
As night fell we lit the fire pit down by the lakeside surrounded by an amphitheatre of bales. A line of lanterns lit the path up to the woods. People took turns on the bar and bbqs and round after round of meat rolled out washed down with a stream of cocktails and beers. The best parties have always been when we dj ourselves so the decks were shared amongst friends from Cut and Run, Zippo and Bolt. As the early hours dawned the party continued down by the fire pit with bottles of Monkey Shoulder circulating round. For some I don't think the party ever did quite stop.
It had been a week of late nights and long days building up to the event and once I had finally made it to the tent I was out for the count. I woke late on the Sunday and lay in bed imagining the aftermath of the evening before, how would this idyllic retreat have faired after a rowdy night of over a hundred bikers. I remembered my last visions of trundling up a hillside strewn with beer cans and past the kitchen in total dismay. To my total amazement as I walked through the site to see everything was immaculate; the hillside was gleaming in the morning sunshine. The kitchen was a hive of activity and the giant paella dish was now stacked high with piles of bacon and sausages. The lads from Boyds had been up since the crack of dawn pulling coffees and people back into shape. A stack of beers remained alongside just one half bottle of rum and whisky. People had drunk till they couldn’t drink any more and the bar hadn’t run dry! A massive thank you to our sponsors Sailor Jerry, Monkey Shoulder and Piston head Beer.
With the sea just a few miles away people gathered into groups and head off for a ride out along the coastal road past Beachy head. We cleared the site and were pleased to be met by the farmer who owned the land saying he was very happy with how things had gone. This is a first in the aftermath of a Bolt party and it is paramount to the respect that everyone who came showed. The Lake Run will be remembered foremost for the good people and good times it brought together.
Photographs - Torri Berr, Owen Harvey and Dan Slapp, Andrew Almond.