Krispy Kreme donut shop rod meet & Detonators' BBQ

Some of you are definitely more bonkery than others.

As the cars began to drift away -well, wheelspin away anyway, we turned our attention to the second meet of the day.
The Detonators car club were holding their annual barbeque at Oxleas Meadows, Shooters Hill from 2 till 6pm. Shooters Hill's the highest point in South London & was a 17 mile drive away, across the city, near Greenwich & Crystal Palace according to Archie's Google map print out.
I'd read on the Rods n Sods forum that Dave Williams was going to both events & I knew his car from his R & S forum avatar, but had no idea what he looked like. Luckily, as we were wondering how to make ourselves known to him, I bumped into my mate Toad -hotrod Toad, not bike Toad from this forum. He knew Dave & disappeared to find him for us & ask if we could tag along with him. He was soon back -Yeah, he says he knows you. You're that Minky Murky bloke. Yeah that's me.
Introductions were made & we fired up the truck again & rumbled out into the traffic, following the big blue Buick. Dave lives locally so knew all the back roads to avoid the worst of the queues. London really is a 24 hour, 7 day a week city & the roads were packed -keep your eye on that Buick Archie. Bugger, which way did he go?
Over the tram tracks at Wimbledon, through Lewisham & across towards Bexleyheath. We had no idea where we were. An endless maze of streets & junctions, a seething mass of motors & people, with the white roof of the Buick always one set of traffic lights ahead of us, disappearing into the distance, like Alice's white rabbit. Pop, don't fail me now.
The neighbourhoods got more & more ...Cosmopolitan. Lots of Afro Caribbean shops & fried chicken restaurants -where do they get all the chickens from? Maybe the same place that bloke got his sheep? We kept passing large coloured gentlemen, sitting on street corners. As we drove by they'd point at us & nod. What does that mean? Is that good? Should we nod back? Maybe that means As soon as those traffic lights turn red ah'm comin' over there to beat you with a baseball bat. Should we point back at them? Archie thought probably not -they might think we had a gun. They might fetch their brothers in the Noddie gang & the Pointer Sisters & all hell could break loose. We drove on, imagining inadvertently kicking off a major turf war & switching on the TV when we got home to find Lewisham ablaze & full of riot Police -that's weird, we passed through there half an hour before & didn't see a thing. 2 white boys in a hillbilly pick-up truck on the wrong side of the tram tracks.
We sat at a junction, opposite two guys in a big black BMW convertible. If they weren't drug dealers they'd missed a serious career opportunity. They grinned & shouted something that definitely wasn't the Queens English. You wanna swap? Why does everyone keep trying to trade for my truck?
-Yeah, I lost the Manky Boys in the traffic & when they reappeared they were driving a slammed Beemer, looking like a couple of cheap pimps.
That's weird, two coloured guys turned up here in a beat up pick-up & tried to sell us drugs.
Several very big, shaven headed coloured gents, looking like the guy with the hook in Live & Let Die, but wearing safari suits that appeared to be cut from 70s curtains -huge floral prints in vivid oranges & yellows. I guess you've gotta be seriously tough to wear kitsch soft furnishings in Lewisham.
-You laughin' at my suit bhoy? Yeah, well I'm wearing your Momma's curtains.
We seemed to drive for ever & were seriously starting to wonder how much fuel we had left. We hadn't passed a petrol station for miles. Dave's Buick's driven more than 10 miles -he must need a petrol station soon. And how the hell does he manage to find so many bloody speed bumps? The big Yank tank's wallowy suspension seemed to soak 'em up with no trouble at all, but we scraped & crunched our way over them, wincing at every one. Stoopid truck. The streets got narrower & we wondered if he'd forgotten we were behind him. Maybe we'd round a corner to find him parked on his driveway -why have you followed me home?
Finally we spotted a petrol station & pulled in. A couple of gallons of fuel & several gallons of cold water please. The Pop ran perfectly all the way across London, ticking over quite happily in the traffic, but the cab was somewhere between simmering & boiling temperature. It gets so ridiculously hot in there. Difficult to look cool when you're dissolving in a puddle of sweat. Archie checked for speed bump damage but couldn't see anything. Hopefully it sounded worse than it was. Refreshed & refuelled, we carried on & just a couple of miles further on, turned into a small side street, then down a narrow dirt track. This can't be the place can it? Then suddenly it opened out into a huge wooded park on top of a hill, with a wide meadow stretching off into the distance. Wow.
Lots of trad hotrods & classic Yanks parked up among the trees, with a really nice café perched on the brow of the hill. What a cool venue for a get-together. We were directed down into the grassy parking area & clambered out of the truck to stretch our legs & wring our shirts out. A long drive in sub tropical heat, but well worth it.