What's Your Worst Ever Away Day Following Hull?

[Jaffa82]

We've all had them. Those away days where everything goes wrong. The team gets battered, the weather is horrendous, you can't find anywhere to eat, and the drive home takes about six hours.
Mine was Gillingham away about fifteen years ago. League One, midweek, freezing cold Tuesday night in Kent. Left Hull at about 2 in the afternoon and didn't get back until nearly 2 in the morning. The ground was depressing, we lost, the town had nothing going for it, and the motorway was shut on the way back so we had to go through about forty villages to get home. Absolute nightmare.
Close second is Plymouth. Nearly five hours each way for a 0 0 draw in the rain. Home Park is at the end of the earth and while Plymouth itself is actually alright the journey is a killer. Respect to anyone who made that trip on a regular basis.
I know there'll be some good stories in here. What's the worst away day you've had following the Tige
rs?

 

[BoothferryBoy]

Torquay away in the early 2000s. Conference level ground, raining sideways, we were rubbish, and I'd spent about forty quid on petrol to get there. But you know what, I look back on days like that more fondly than some of the Premier League games. There's something about a proper awful away day that bonds you with the other fans who made the effort. The bloke next to me on the terrace that day and I still nod to each other at home games twenty years later. Never learned his name.

 

[springbank_lad]

Hartlepool. Enough said. Though actually the worst for me was an FA Cup game at some non league ground, can't even remember where it was. Roped pitch, a stand that held about 200 people, and a portakabin for the toilets. We won but it was one of those days where you question every life decision that led you to being there on a Saturday afternoon. Wouldn't change it though. That's what following Hull City is about.

 

[karlberg]

Blackpool away, Christmas 1969. Missed the one supporters bus in the morning which left from outside YEB ( ask your grandad) on Ferensway because there were no service buses into town from where I lived. So decided to hitchike which people still did in those days. My idea was to get to the game and jump on the supporters bus home. This must have been pre M62 because I remember heading for York, thinking from there Tadcaster, across the Peninnes into Lancashire, then Blackpool. Got a lift in a bakers van from Hull to York no trouble, then after taking advice, I caught a train to Manchester, and from there one to Blackpool arriving at 4.30 pm in the afternoon, remember this was a 3.00 pm kick off. Also on leaving Blackpool train station, which was shrouded in a pea souper thick fog was an 'A' board declaring 'Blackpool v Hull, match postponed' I assumed because of the fog.
I was running out of money by now, and the next train out of Blackpool back where I came from was at daft O'clock so I made my way to the bus station, again on advice, to catch a bus to Preston where from I could catch an earlier connecting train to Manchester, then hopefully Hull, all this on less than one pound in my pocket. I forgot to tell you I was about 15.
So service bus to Preston bus station only to be greeted by a gang of Preston skinheads who wanted to kick my head in. That's is what happened at away games in those days. Everyone still wore colours, so there was no hiding place. I was chased around the bus station, into the town centre, and finally made my way to the train station with my life still intact.
Questioned by the Transport Police because someone earlier had sprayed 'Hull City' across one of the station walls, it wasn't me, and I finally caught the connecting train to Manchester, with no ticket.
Hiding in the toilets and avoiding the ticket collector for the short journey to Manchester, I stayed on the right side of the barriers and located the platform for the next train to Hull, I'd had nothing to eat all day and I remember it was a freezing cold day and all I had on was a short denim jacket, ben sherman shirt, jeans of course and a City scarf, and the next train was some two hours wait.
So sat in the waiting room to keep warm and another little gang, this time Manchester City fans, who we were playing in the FA Cup the following week, spotted me and wanted to know what I was doing there, and then to punch my lights out.
A lot of pushing and shoving developed, took a couple of slaps across my head and some bravery from myself kept them at arms length till my train pulled in and I shot out of there and got on it, relieved.
Again no ticket, and the cat and mouse game with the ticket collector started again. Pulled into Paragon at some ridiculously late time, sneaked through the barriers by a route well know to young travelling City fans of that era, and into the deserted bus station, of course it was too late for a bus home, so I began the three and half mile walk home. Had better Boxing Days.