Petrol-Headed Perfection

Tired and happy...

I have driven hundreds of miles in my little rental Nissan and visited parts of Southern Queensland and New South Wales that for any other purpose I would never have thought to.  I've driven through small towns, large towns and some cities (Cuffs Harbour, Gosford).  I have been inside a host of folks' homes, been made tremendously welcome, given food and overnight accommodation.  I've seen incredible cars, and spiders-in-the-bath that would have had most Europeans running for the nearest shot-gun.  I've slept in pleasant motels, nasty motels, a small pavilion made of recycled hardwood and a lovely guest room in a huge house 'under consruction'.  I've woken to the noisy laughter of kookaburra and the pounding of torrential rain on a wood-shingle roof.  I've nursed my car up alarmingly steep motorway inclines, and down breath-taking, winding gorges.  I've negotiated pelting rain and 'air-conditioned' my through hot sunshine. I've watched lazy black and white pelicans, been harrassed by bossy seagulls and demanding butcher birds.  And I've listened to stories - wonderful, hilarious, passionate stories about driving 10,000 miles across Europe, Asia and Australia.  I've listened to rumours, speculations, jokes, disappointments and sadnesses.  And I've met the most extraordinary group of folks imaginable - all obsessed with cars, with racing, with pushing the limit, with adventure.  All in all I haven't really stopped since last Saturday morning, and have finally found time to sit and reflect in my basic little apartment back at Bondi, almost a week since I set off to meet representatives of the Aussie chapter of those heroic folks from 44 years ago.

Gosford.  I stayed in Gosford. Now it's not my place to criticise Australian towns and cities.  After all, I'm just a visitor, a passerby... no doubt it has many qualities it only discloses to the frequent visitor.  Me?  I was struck by how much it felt like 1978.  An odd feeling for an odd 'city'.  Having time on my hands on Wednesday, I decided to get in the car and explore.  I 'did' Gosford in about 60 minutes, including the seafront.  As I ended up travelling for longer than previously planned, I needed to, shall we say, replenish my supply of 'smalls', so went in search of Gosford's finest gentleman's outfitter.  A small shopping centre led to a sense of time-warp, and it took all of my energy to find said requirements and beat a speedy exit, the echoes of late-70s 'soft rock' fading behind me, only complimented by a man in a kilt playing an accordian with many rows of older people sitting and clapping.

I then decided to drive further afield and found The Entrance.  Am still not sure whether I was 'in' The Entrance or 'at' The Entrance... regardless, a small town located at, you guessed it... and there I sat, writing and watching the waves crash beyond a spit of scrubland and sand where pelicans drifted to and fro.  A very pleasant afternoon, and I finally began writing - no doubt many 'virtual' crumpled up bits of paper lie ahead, but I have begun.  I will do more this afternoon, and where possible will now try and write everyday, as I have the germ of an idea and want to run with it.  Very interesting I must say.

Yesterday I journeyed up to Lake Macquarie to see a marathonier who, as the leader of a three-man crew, drove a significantly enhanced Australian Ford Fairlane, the enhancements being 'safety features', developed and installed as a result of a big insurance company competition in 1965-6.  So impressed was the insurance company, that two years later, it was their idea to enter the car in the Marathon.  Why not show that a car with previously unthought of safety features (we're talking padded dashboard, collapsible steering column and anti-burst door locks - sound familiar?) could cover the distance?  Said marathonier, Brian Lawler, had me in fits as he gently recounted one comedy moment after another, finishing every punchline with the phrase 'fair dinkum'.  A lovely man, an honour to meet him.

Next, down to Dural in Sydney, via a meeting up in a MacDonalds in Wairara, to see John Bryson, veteran rally navigator par excellence and father of a new champion in the field of classic car rallying.  Over MacDonalds' coffee, John regarded me suspiciously at first, but when I began to ask him all sorts of questions, he relaxed, and twinkling behind a bushy white beard, began to explain his part in 1968.  Next I was whisked over to view the car his son will drive across the US in May - now this will probably mean nothing to you, but I was confronted with a Leyland P76, bonnet (hood!) up, mechanics beavering away to make sure the car was in readiness to be shipped to the US today.  A little bit of geek heaven, the P76 has a fascinating place in the history of Australian car production.  Go look it up!  Finally, I followed John back to his home, descending down the Galston Gorge.  There was me, following a Marathon veteran down a steep, winding road full of thrilling hairpin bends, me trying hard to keep up with him.  Hog-heaven!  To his house, down a long and winding muddy track and in to meet his wife, a successful rally driver in her own right, and rally-driver son.  An entire family of petrol-heads!  And there I stayed, nattering, questioning, drinking wine and eating dinner, accepting their insistence that I stay the night.  A rare and unexpected treat and a special honour, if you ask me!

So, many miles still to go, many folks to see, but my NSW/Queensland visit has been fantastic, more than I could ever have hoped for.  Onwards to Melbourne tomorrow - who knows what lies ahead?

Oops better go move my car - parking restrictions in Bondi are shocking!