It seems like (and probably is) ages since we went to Ding. On Saturday, Colin Hancock and our respective families set off from Halifax to go to Ding. As it's only about 30/45 minutes drive, I, we, decided to go on some 'green lanes' to get there.

It took us about 2 ½ to 3 hours.

On arrival at the quarry we found that Gareth Almond, along with his helpers, had
almost finished marking out the comp. course. As Colin was about to see where the
course went "Ie crunch" happened to the lightweight. All he had out of eight forward ratios was two — 4th gear, high and low. Colin led the way back to Rochdale, followed by myself and David McGivern, respectively. As we came out of Littleborough on the way to Ripponden I hitched a rope on to Colin and towed him up the hill to the ice cream van at the top by the reservoir. I reckon that we came up the hill at about 35 mph but Colin and Kay said that being on the end of a 15ft rope, it seemed faster.

"I have not been up that hill in my Landrover so fast before!" After ice creams, we   all went to Colin's house for afternoon tea and biscuits and my daughter, Victoria, stayed  for tea.

Sunday was Sunday. Early morning saw me at the site relatively early, though the majority of the competitors were already there. Simon Parkin was there from Masham only to be failed at scrutineering on a duff rear spring hanger. He said: "I can only work on it  on Saturday afternoons and there aren't many between each event". Due to an oversight,  not Mick Walker's fault, there were no direction arrows in the club trailer, so the socks  that we use for trials were put into use.

After a run around to see where the course went — whatever happened to the drivers' early  morning exercise — a walk round — the action started at 11.10 a.m. with lan Bartram away first.

As I was marshalling I wandered off (before the start of the competition) to a point at the top  of a downward hill, from where Merrison fell over going down and we made him stay in to press

the foot brake when the crowd eventually got him back on to his wheels. Lindon Jackson in his lightweight fell over in the same place. I might add that both of them went on to their roofs.

Thanks must go to the spectators who put them upright again. Steve Dobbie, who used to compete in a Discovery, now was running, no charging, in Howard Beaumont's lightweight, so much that he

nearly fell over twice. Peter England in another lightweight, once pristine condition, fell on to his  side at the very bottom (we got a rope and motor to this one).

Raymond Whittaker announced the results and handed out the trophies. Apart from the wind it was a lovely sunny day throughout and Russell Holdsworth wandered home with the club trailer.

Yours caringly,

Michael Chalenor

Ding Quarry Comp Safari

After a thoroughly unpromising weather forecast on Saturday night, we set off for Ding Quarry the following morning in brilliant sunshine.

It had been five years since we were last at Ding and things were exactly the same as before, with the addition of between six inches and a foot of liquid mud on the quarry floor.

Clerk of the Course was Gareth Almond, assisted by his three lads, the youngest of whom received a swift kick up the behind to keep him under control while we awaited the arrival of the horsebox. Unfortunately, Dave Lewis, who was towing it from Raymond's

house had missed the turn and continued on the packhorse track towards Burnley. Scrutineer  Graham gave chase in his Rangey and caught him before he got stuck. Once back in the  quarry, Graham set up scrutineering and I began signing on — several complained that

I wasn't charging enough — OK, lan, I'll charge you £30 next time!

Twenty-one competitors with 19 motors (2 double drivers) signed on and I set up the finish line with Fiona Urwin assisting.

We had two new starters acquired by Ivor Hill from Harewood Hill Climb and they were brilliant — voices like foghorns and rally type whistles.

The going, in horse racing jargon, was heavy. Michael Challenor reported 2¹/2 rolls on his marshalling post — what's half a roll I ask myself? At the finish, which was a steep hill, Lindon Jackson stopped, his navigator called out his number and then they went on to do a full roll and land right side up.

Steve Dobbie (of first off road racing Discovery fame) appeared in the ex-Howard Beaumont lightweight. He really made it move and won his class. Howard will be pleased, as he usually won with it as well. Chris the mint nurse re-appeared to navigate for Clive Cocks, but despite her extra strong mints, he broke down and had to retire.

The pink "Blobby" type Landrover had teething problems and was forced to retire after a couple of laps. Mick Higson had problems with his carburettor on his first run, but he soon sorted them out and went on to win his class and also do the fastest run of the day.

Whilst the event was in progress, first aider Andy was busy modifying the Club Shop for  Heather and it should be less like a rat trap now. The weather remained glorious and everyone seemed to have had a good day; except for Gareth who got run over by a competitor who reversed and flattened him. I wondered why he was having a strip wash in the paddock!

The final indignity was for Peter Urwin who got his car stick in the mud in the paddock and had to be towed out — thought you would have known better, Peter!

Many thanks to Gareth and his team for setting up, the marshals and everyone who helped in any way and once again my thanks to Andy for my lift to and from the event.

Joy

Well, I'm back. Our new Editor didn't waste any time before he collared me into doing yet another chapter of inane drivel.

Friday night all the lads were in the Swan as usual and plans were made for Sunday morning. They all crumbled and a brand new plan evolved on Sunday morning.

Squirrel hitched up his trailer to take 1 Amp and Pete's trailer to the do. 1 Amp drove his new little white baby, I followed in the Thunderbus and Pete made up the numbers in his van.

The lads, little Rolph, Wee Willie Winky, Torchie and Craig, arranged themselves in various motors.

It was like the good old W.W.T. days. We all made our way to the petrol station, everybody filled up and I collected all the air miles. Off we went, and a short drive saw us all arrive safely at Stackstead without any major hiccups. I say without any hiccups, but my battery is a bit dicky so I had to have a little bump just to get me off the garage forecourt.

We thought it was a bit drafty down in Whalley, but when we reached the dizzy heights of Stacksteads it was blowing a gale and looking potentially very wet, so we all put on our designer boiler suits and flourescent jackets. You'll remember us, we are the ones that looked like marshals but we are not.

We all passed scrutineering and signed on. Torchie was sat in with me, Wee Willie was sat in with Squirrel, who was double entering my motor. Little Rolf sat in with his dad and Craig, the new boys' had to incur the wrath of 1 Amp.

We had the drivers brief and off we went. I think we all cleared the first section, but after  that the rot truly set in.

On the second section Squirrel was going first, he got a one, and said that the one stick was a bit iffy. Off we went, I thought I'll try a different approach. Vrumm, through the one stick, oh, oh, over we go.

The old girl fell asleep on her side. Many hands were available and we were soon back on our feet. Torchie thought it was great, anyway on to the next.

I don't know which number it was, but I set off thinking of the rough humps around the 4 stick. Anyway, let's not make excuses, I grounded it just before the 9 stick. Squirrel went next and cleared it. Just then 1 Amp buzzed past in his little toy and muttered: "I'm glad I was here to see that," and off he went.

The forth one we did had a nasty little turn through the 9 stick, I made a right bugger of it and missed the stick altogether. Squirrel had a go and failed too.

Never mind, on to the next. This was the one with the nasty little rock pile just before the lake. You could tell it was causing problems because the usual crowds had gathered, even the boys, sorry boy, and girl, in blue were watching.

We watched a few all come to grief. Phil Bailey had a dramatic attempt and actually got to the 3 stick mowing down a couple of spectators and a dog to boot.

Squirrel's turn next. Another valiant attempt, but he didn't get to the water. He muttered  in my ear that he had eased off and that I should death it if I got to the same spot.

I had in mind to follow Phil's route but missed it and ended up in the same rut as Squirrel, so I deathed it and leapt into the lake — too far though. Someone shouted shunt and I thought they're not far wrong and crawled out of the lake.

We finished 7 and 8 before lunch and then wandered back for some scran. I thought I might be in for a treat now, after all Torchie's dad is our local butcher, and I am letting him sit in with me. I thought there'll be pies and cold sausages and all sorts.
Not a bean, so I contented myself with my chicken butts. Well, I say there were no pies, but he actually snuggled himself in Pete's van with the rest of the lads and Pete. All right, were there any pies?

We started up after lunch, Squirrel and I found a quiet section to attack. I cleared it, but Squirrel clipped the 7 stick. I was gaining fast. Pete seemed to be having mechanical problems, because we bumped into him later on. His nice new fluorescent
jacket was covered in oil, so was his face and he exclaimed; "I've cracked this mechanicing job," and buzzed off to find 1 Amp.

The day wore on. We came across the section through the wall. Squirrel was on first. I waited, and I waited. No Squirrel. I had a look round the corner and there he was. Apparently Wee Willie hadn't shut the door properly and as he approached the wall
gateway it flew open. So there he was, couldn't go forward for the door, and couldn't go  back for the hill. Anyway, Michael Chalenor and I eased him out and I clapped my hands because he had acquired 10 points.

"Bloody kids," he muttered.

I cleared the wall, having given Torchie first instructions in the art of door closing, but the old girl faded to a halt at the 2 stick. Never mind I was back in front again.

We had a good day's trialling and it all rested on the last section. Everyone seemed to be here so we sat down and watched a few motors through. Three Bar Andy had joined us at this point just in time to see 1 Amp make a bugger of it at the 10 stick.

"Ney, bloody hell."

Then he backed up and crunched into a rock.

"Have I damaged my little toy," he whimpered.

"No, I assured him, "It was only the cross member". I was just glad I was here to see it."

Andy and I sat by some spectators, who from their comments, hadn't seen much trialling before. Anyway, I explained the rules. Just then another intrepid hero bit the dust on the axle twister.

Our spectator exclaimed:

"Ney, 'el, I'll go un get Suzooki and show thi ah it's done."

I replied: "No, keep it on't soopermarket car park."

Andy glowed slightly and chuckled away to himself.

"Appen it's a motorbike he chuckled."

Anyway, the time had come, Squirrel was urging me on. Two points in it. I was thinking ahead again. Thinking somewhere, anyway. Off I went into the hole where 1 Amp got stuck and did the same trick.

 Ten.

"Whoopee" shouted Squirrel. "There is a God after all."

He got on to the line, roared past the 10 stick, 9, "no more" I bawled, 8, 7, 6, 5 and stop. Bloody hell, 3 lousy points, he beat me in my own bus!

Not only that, he won the class. Never mind, back to the drawing board and well done, Mick.

So that was that. A damn good day's trialling. We packed our bags and hung around for the results.

Squirrel won our class and 1 Amp won his. Well done, and congratulations to the rest of the winners.

Usual thanks to the land owner, the marshals, and everyone who helped to make the day a good one.

See you soon

Clive Cocks

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