Post by tyred on Mar 10, 2011 18:13:33 GMT 12
Please read. First time pit crew at the Champs.
SALOON CAR CHAMPIONSHIPS TE MARUA MARCH 2011
We stood for a minute’s silence before the start of racing at the Saloon Championships and reflected on the loss of Jo Giles. On the track Murray Guy had his car, as a tribute, painted in Jo’s fluorescent pink. In the pits behind the track, where the cars were being prepped for the next race, and where the speaker system had not penetrated, an orchestra of engines revved ,spluttered and growled. It was a music Jo knew and loved. It did not seem out of place. The exhausts trumpeted their defiance of death and carried our silent prayers for our vibrant Jo to heaven.
We are so accustomed to noise and movement that a minute seemed an eternity. It was nevertheless too short a time to adequately reflect on the tragedy that Jo has come to represent. We will all journey in our own ways: mentally, emotionally, physically to register our grief at Jo’s untimely death.
*********************
I doffs me cap to all you drivers. As a sailor for whom an increase in speed from six knots to seven is exhilarating it seems to me that you all go too fast. There is molten lava of terror grid north of my bowels at the start of each race. I am fascinated and drawn to watch and admire you all. The track is so small, the cars so big and the engines so powerful that I cannot help thinking (although I repress the thought for the sake of my sanity) that you put yourselves in mortal danger in every lap.
I am a recent spectator of this sport and a rookie pit crew for this meet. There is so much to admire. The drivers with their dare-devilry; the pit crews with their devotion to detail and can-do attitude; the families with their unflagging support when egos and paintwork get punctured, scratched and destroyed. Camaraderie is everywhere.
I watched with sadness as the 55T car was helped off the track with a crane at each end. The front wheel was dragging to one side like a bird with a broken wing. I grieved inwardly with the thought that this would be the end of their race meeting and it was along way back home to Oamaru. Not so! There they were back on the track at the next call. How do they do that? Bend your street car like that and you are off the road for a week or a month.
There is a wonderful conflict at work in this sport. As competitors you are at the meet to win. But, as people sharing the planet with each other, you assist your fellow competitors with parts, equipment and advice. Steve working on the 58D car with torch light trying to fathom the fault in the car’s electrics only had to ask if anyone had another distributor that would fit to have one thrust into his hand in a minute. I cannot imagine an America’s Cup crew giving away their new mainsail to a competitor so they could race against each other in the next heat.
I feel particularly fortunate to have spent so much time listening to John Berryman (Jumbo) as he extolled the virtues of saloon car racing. I could not but help admiring his enthusiasm for keeping a lid on the budgets necessary to keep the sport he loves within the reach of a dedicated wage and salary earner. There is always the temptation, in any sport, to try and buy a podium finish. We have all seen what that does to international yacht racing. I am proud to say that I have never contributed money to any America’s Cup challenge and neither should anyone in my view. There are plenty of worthwhile charities deserving support if you are determined to give away your hard earned cash. Giving money so the wealthy can play with their toys is not my idea of a good time.
I admired also the language of this sport. I can’t begin to understand it. I once cleaned water from a flooded carburettor of a Model A Ford using a sixpence as a screw driver. I have fitted new injectors to my Perkins 4-108 diesel and, with help, fitted another gearbox to it: but this sport has a language that is on another plane. People seem to talk in numbers; numbers I did not recognise and cannot remember to repeat. I’m sure that a conference of brain surgeons would be as incomprehensible to the uninitiated. In the early hours of Saturday morning, after the first night’s racing, I struggled off to bed with my head swimming with nouns I had never heard of before and number combinations that sounded like codes into a bank’s vault.
What a wonderful example of dedication. There were cars from Invercargill to Whangarei and every place between. Not only did you all travel those long distances you did it twice! The first Championship meeting was rained out after the first round of heats on the Friday night so this was the second meeting starting all over again. We drove up to the track on Saturday afternoon for a second attempt at the finals by no means sure that we would need to take the car off the trailer. Even after we had arrived there was a downpour. But, as we now know, the rain maker took a break from his labour and the night’s programme went off without a hitch. I’m sure the organisers sighed with relief when the last event was run and the clouds held their water.
Racing is about winning. Racing to win is an integral element of our human nature. It is often said that if there are two sails visible on the ocean there’s a race going on. Well, we were treated to some exhilarating racing on both nights; first, the heats to get into the top twenty, and then the races to win the overall championship. Inevitably there were some hard luck stories. Chief among them would be Steve Williams, last year’s NZ1. Steve is generous to a fault in his support of saloon racing but will no doubt look back on this weekend as one to forget.
Brent McClymont, who battled with Steve last year and came second, was rewarded for consistent driving and took out the Championship this year. I watched with amazement as he and Allan Jacob battled to win the last heat. The precision with which these drivers make split second decisions, swinging and sliding side by side into the corners, accelerating down the straights, defending and attacking: I had to remind myself to breath.
The evergreen Phil Towgood was as astounding as ever and was a deserved second. I heard the announcer say he made up eleven places in the first heat. I don’t know how he does that. I’m sure many of the other drivers would like to know as well. Allan Jacob and Paul Cressy came in under the radar for third and fourth respectively; both rewarded for consistent gritty performances.
*******************
The mist and drizzle set in again after the last race. The warmth in the club rooms after packing up the cars was congenial and convivial. Races were dissected and analysed and relived. Pit crews and family compared notes with their drivers; laughing at their follies and sighing at the bloopers. As well as the adrenaline junky that Jo Giles was, this was what she thrived on. She did not need to win on the race track, she could win the after match function every time. So, at the end of a week end of thrills, my thanks go again to Murray Guy for his pink painted car and the photo of Jo on it. Jo loved being a race car driver and she loved being a woman. With her death we are all losers.
SALOON CAR CHAMPIONSHIPS TE MARUA MARCH 2011
We stood for a minute’s silence before the start of racing at the Saloon Championships and reflected on the loss of Jo Giles. On the track Murray Guy had his car, as a tribute, painted in Jo’s fluorescent pink. In the pits behind the track, where the cars were being prepped for the next race, and where the speaker system had not penetrated, an orchestra of engines revved ,spluttered and growled. It was a music Jo knew and loved. It did not seem out of place. The exhausts trumpeted their defiance of death and carried our silent prayers for our vibrant Jo to heaven.
We are so accustomed to noise and movement that a minute seemed an eternity. It was nevertheless too short a time to adequately reflect on the tragedy that Jo has come to represent. We will all journey in our own ways: mentally, emotionally, physically to register our grief at Jo’s untimely death.
*********************
I doffs me cap to all you drivers. As a sailor for whom an increase in speed from six knots to seven is exhilarating it seems to me that you all go too fast. There is molten lava of terror grid north of my bowels at the start of each race. I am fascinated and drawn to watch and admire you all. The track is so small, the cars so big and the engines so powerful that I cannot help thinking (although I repress the thought for the sake of my sanity) that you put yourselves in mortal danger in every lap.
I am a recent spectator of this sport and a rookie pit crew for this meet. There is so much to admire. The drivers with their dare-devilry; the pit crews with their devotion to detail and can-do attitude; the families with their unflagging support when egos and paintwork get punctured, scratched and destroyed. Camaraderie is everywhere.
I watched with sadness as the 55T car was helped off the track with a crane at each end. The front wheel was dragging to one side like a bird with a broken wing. I grieved inwardly with the thought that this would be the end of their race meeting and it was along way back home to Oamaru. Not so! There they were back on the track at the next call. How do they do that? Bend your street car like that and you are off the road for a week or a month.
There is a wonderful conflict at work in this sport. As competitors you are at the meet to win. But, as people sharing the planet with each other, you assist your fellow competitors with parts, equipment and advice. Steve working on the 58D car with torch light trying to fathom the fault in the car’s electrics only had to ask if anyone had another distributor that would fit to have one thrust into his hand in a minute. I cannot imagine an America’s Cup crew giving away their new mainsail to a competitor so they could race against each other in the next heat.
I feel particularly fortunate to have spent so much time listening to John Berryman (Jumbo) as he extolled the virtues of saloon car racing. I could not but help admiring his enthusiasm for keeping a lid on the budgets necessary to keep the sport he loves within the reach of a dedicated wage and salary earner. There is always the temptation, in any sport, to try and buy a podium finish. We have all seen what that does to international yacht racing. I am proud to say that I have never contributed money to any America’s Cup challenge and neither should anyone in my view. There are plenty of worthwhile charities deserving support if you are determined to give away your hard earned cash. Giving money so the wealthy can play with their toys is not my idea of a good time.
I admired also the language of this sport. I can’t begin to understand it. I once cleaned water from a flooded carburettor of a Model A Ford using a sixpence as a screw driver. I have fitted new injectors to my Perkins 4-108 diesel and, with help, fitted another gearbox to it: but this sport has a language that is on another plane. People seem to talk in numbers; numbers I did not recognise and cannot remember to repeat. I’m sure that a conference of brain surgeons would be as incomprehensible to the uninitiated. In the early hours of Saturday morning, after the first night’s racing, I struggled off to bed with my head swimming with nouns I had never heard of before and number combinations that sounded like codes into a bank’s vault.
What a wonderful example of dedication. There were cars from Invercargill to Whangarei and every place between. Not only did you all travel those long distances you did it twice! The first Championship meeting was rained out after the first round of heats on the Friday night so this was the second meeting starting all over again. We drove up to the track on Saturday afternoon for a second attempt at the finals by no means sure that we would need to take the car off the trailer. Even after we had arrived there was a downpour. But, as we now know, the rain maker took a break from his labour and the night’s programme went off without a hitch. I’m sure the organisers sighed with relief when the last event was run and the clouds held their water.
Racing is about winning. Racing to win is an integral element of our human nature. It is often said that if there are two sails visible on the ocean there’s a race going on. Well, we were treated to some exhilarating racing on both nights; first, the heats to get into the top twenty, and then the races to win the overall championship. Inevitably there were some hard luck stories. Chief among them would be Steve Williams, last year’s NZ1. Steve is generous to a fault in his support of saloon racing but will no doubt look back on this weekend as one to forget.
Brent McClymont, who battled with Steve last year and came second, was rewarded for consistent driving and took out the Championship this year. I watched with amazement as he and Allan Jacob battled to win the last heat. The precision with which these drivers make split second decisions, swinging and sliding side by side into the corners, accelerating down the straights, defending and attacking: I had to remind myself to breath.
The evergreen Phil Towgood was as astounding as ever and was a deserved second. I heard the announcer say he made up eleven places in the first heat. I don’t know how he does that. I’m sure many of the other drivers would like to know as well. Allan Jacob and Paul Cressy came in under the radar for third and fourth respectively; both rewarded for consistent gritty performances.
*******************
The mist and drizzle set in again after the last race. The warmth in the club rooms after packing up the cars was congenial and convivial. Races were dissected and analysed and relived. Pit crews and family compared notes with their drivers; laughing at their follies and sighing at the bloopers. As well as the adrenaline junky that Jo Giles was, this was what she thrived on. She did not need to win on the race track, she could win the after match function every time. So, at the end of a week end of thrills, my thanks go again to Murray Guy for his pink painted car and the photo of Jo on it. Jo loved being a race car driver and she loved being a woman. With her death we are all losers.
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