The resort towns of the Gold Coast apparently shut down around 10.00pm on a Sunday, and given that this appears to include motels, I had one of those comedy moments last night, driving back and forth up and down the coast road trying to find a place to sleep! Visions of sleeping in my little Nissan Micra loomed large in the headlights, but finally managed to find The Miami Shore Apartments and Motel! So, ceiling fans a-whumping, I cozied down in my rather institutional sets of rooms and listened to an extremely inebriated Scottish man loudly cursing a companion on the street below, before dozing off. Having braved the shower this morning, the pressure of which could easily have dowsed and fire in a high rise building (seriously, more than a few seconds beneath and I suspect it would have begun stripping the flesh off my bones!), and ventured out beneath a grumpy and grey Queensland sky to track down a coffee shop, am now refreshed and more able to reflect on what was a most extraordinary and quite humbling day yesterday. I had arranged to visit a man who was working for the NSW Volvo dealership which supported the Aussie Volvos in the Marathon. A successful competitive driver and navigator in his own right, and first class 'petrol-head' (he has a collection of 42 cars!), I arrived as planned at 10.00am before I knew it, 9.30pm came and went! In addition to his memories and extensive knowledge of the Marathon, he also described his life around cars, at one point ditching a job as a teacher in the early 60s to go and work for minimum wage in a garage, so he could be around cars. He slowly worked his way up, and by the time of the Marathon, was working for the Volvo dealership, of which one of the Marathon Volvo drivers was a director. I think it will always be with regret that although he wanted to compete in '68, and reports that he was asked, the powers-that-be felt he could not be released from his work as the owner needed him to be on the ground while he was competing himself. Regardless, he was and is a wealth of knowledge and stories, so sitting amidst piles and piles of books, magazines and model cars (!!), I sat and listened, recording everything. We eventually regrouped to the porch outside where I continued listening while also keeping an eye on a increasing number of huge butcher birds ("they like meat", Grahame winked) that began to gather on the ground by my feet and in the tree above our heads. At some point, one of them even hopped onto my bench and pecked my back! Apparently Grahame feeds them so they congregate there - cue second reference to Daphne Du Maurier in as many weeks!
During lunch in a local French cafe, my ignorance was alarmingly exposed when Grahame and the French waitress began talking about the difficulties and challenge of running a French business in Australia, owing to the hangover of anti-French feeling caused by the nuclear testing programme at Mururoa Atoll. I had no idea that Australians stopped buying all things French, and there were even examples of open hostility of French people living or visiting the country. I had no idea of the severity of ill-feeling. Also during lunch, Grahame received a call to confirm that another veteran of the Marathon would be able to join us in the afternoon - he had previously cried off owing to ill health.
All I can say is that had Bruce Hodgson not been able to come over yesterday, I would have missed the opportunity to meet and spend time with a man at once hilarious, passionate, blunt and candid about both the Marathon, Aussie motorsports in general and life/growing old. I had been forewarned that Bruce doesn't suffer fools or time-wasters, but as he got into his stride, cracking cheesy joke after joke, I was able to chuck a few sarcastic retorts back at him, and to my delight (and relief) we hit it off famaously. Now I could write another ten paragraphs about his stories, but for now will just say here was a man who had an illustrious and incredibly successful career in motorsports in Australia and internationally (look him up!), has a mischievious attitude towards life and in recent times has faced cancer, severe hypertension and a couple of life-threatening cranial subdural haematomas with the kind of devil-may-care resolve that frankly should put most of us younger folks to shame. Bruce is 80 years old.
I finally begged my leave and returned to my rental car gone 9.30pm (after having dinner in the fascinating 'Italian Australian Club'), knackered, exhilerated and thrilled to have had the chance to be in the presence of two fascinating, knowledgable folks.
Onwards to Port Macquarie today for another meeting tomorrow morning - sadly I suspect my coastal drive will be through further downpours.
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