It's baaack! So rev your engines...

The engines revved, the air filled with the unmistakable smell of petrol, and the countryside came alive with the competitive roaring of a row of growling motorbikes.
Suddenly the green flag came down upon the muddy earth, and they were off!

Yes, the holy, almighty, oh-so-dependable-to-happen-monthly duty that is Moto X has returned.

Well, technically it's the second race of the year, but let's not get bogged down in the realities... for me it was the first.

However, this Moto X was unlike any other I'd been to before. It was based...
*Jeremy-Clarkson-style dramatic pause*
...in a field.
We're not sure why the usual woodland track of Woodside was unacceptable, but perhaps the incredibly windy conditions of the previous night had disabled it somehow. Either way, this new and randomly located track was twice as long, rather hilly, and had several blind bends which we as first aiders couldn't see unless we owned a pair of x-ray specs.
Our eyes and ears were substitued by strange men on quad bikes who clearly enjoyed racing around like maniacs without a care in the world. And when one lad did come flying from his bike at the furthest bend behind a summit, it was one of these speedy-boys who drove off without us, to locate the 'injured' one. Meanwhile, Ronnie, Ian and Christine dived into the 4x4 bouncy castle that is Red Echo 2 and meandered round the course to try and reach the casualty.
This stopped when they noticed the casualty had actually just jumped on the back of the speedy quadbike and was in fact not injured at all.
Caitlind and me had a great laugh watching RE2 - capable of conquering all terrain (ha!) - struggle back out of the dip it found itself in.

That was the only excitement of the race.

The rest of the day was spent taking immensely hilarious photos, faking fall outs on Bebo to worry people, giving me the cold shoulder for the majority of the afternoon, and finally, when it all ended, we returned to the safety of a proper road, which Red Echo 6 seemed incredibly grateful with (the poor rust bucket can't deal with hills or rough ground of any gradient without it's wheels squealing in pain - no joke).

Couple the uneventfulness with the biting wind, lack of shelter, and no chips from the burger bar because the fryer broke down, and what do you get?
A cold and hungry, but generally amusing, experience.