The first four stories in this series were originally published on the Real Classic web site ( www.real-classic.co.uk ), but can also be found on this site at the links below. Part 1:   https://oldandireland.blogspot.com/2018/11/paddock-days-part-1-getting-mobile-on.html Part 2 :   https://oldandireland.blogspot.com/2018/11/paddock-days-part-2-practical-jokes-and.html Part 3 :   https://oldandireland.blogspot.com/2018/11/paddock-days-part-3-race-day.html Part 4:   https://oldandireland.blogspot.com/2019/01/padock-days-part-4-tales-of-ice-and.html   I promise you, this really did happen. We were an irreligious lot back in the day when as spotty youf’s we hung around Bangor’s biker meeting place;’ The Paddock’.   Yet, back in the 1970’s we existed in a very religious world.   The seafront evangelists were perpetually telling us that we were headed for an eternity of hellfire and damnation (they didn’t like our attitude apparently)....

This series of articles was originally published at: http://www.realclassic.co.uk/ Part 1 can be found here:  https://oldandireland.blogspot.com/2018/11/paddock-days-part-1-getting-mobile-on.html Part 2 can be found here:  https://oldandireland.blogspot.com/2018/11/paddock-days-part-2-practical-jokes-and.html In my early days knocking around the Paddock there were still a few of the more occasional residents that I knew only vaguely.   Their bikes however were well known and a constant source of interest.     And it wasn’t just me, with meticulous nightly inspections being carried out by wandering groups or interested individuals either with or without the owners’ presence.   Walking the line of parked bikes was always something of a ritual.   Amongst a row of fairly standard and well known bikes the exceptions stood out.   A yet to be repaired scuff from meeting the tarmac, often told of recent events long before the owner had a chan...

This series of articles was originally published at: http://www.realclassic.co.uk/ The photos were taken at the Mourne Rally about 1980 or so. There is at least one urban myth about the Paddock that is still circulating in local bars.   I know this because after a recent night out with his now middle aged biking mates, my brother surprised me by recounting the story when I visited him.   What I thought had passed to the realm of a few peoples memory seems, like all good myths, to have developed a life of its own and to have grown with time and grey hair.   But I know the less exotic truth, because I was there.   Let’s call the antihero of this story Boomer, to protect the guilty you understand, for he is now a settled family man and comes complete with a wife, a daughter and a caravan.   It’s a daft name I know, but you should try finding one that hasn’t been used at some point by the myriad of souls who attached themselves to this place, and given th...