Bathurst Review 2013
Technical Adviser and Sports Writer Dave Cutting
A man who loves his cat, cars and a single malt.
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| David Cutting and his cat Percy |
Waking up on top of Mount Panorama on the morning before the
big race isn’t the most serene way to start the day. The sounds of trucks and cars going about the circuit start early. Earlier
still start the legions of fans, who crawl and stumble bleary-eyed from
their tents to make for the BBQ area via the Esky and the toilet block but not
necessarily in that order.
In the centre of the camping area, a great pyramid of
discarded beer cans risen up.
The collective boozy effort now casts quite a long shadow in
the morning light and fans in both red and blue gaze upon it with a sort of
reverent wonder as they pass by.
It’s not met with the same enthusiasm by the patrolling policemen some time later but they carry on without a fuss, all the while knowing it could take only forty-five minutes to rebuild if sabotaged.
There are rules enforced now as to how much alcohol one party can carry in on one day. One case per punter, per day. But it comes in hidden, it comes in via several trips and one enterprising race fan enlightened me to his last six weeks spent burying beer cases all over the mountain to be dug up on race day!
It’s not met with the same enthusiasm by the patrolling policemen some time later but they carry on without a fuss, all the while knowing it could take only forty-five minutes to rebuild if sabotaged.
There are rules enforced now as to how much alcohol one party can carry in on one day. One case per punter, per day. But it comes in hidden, it comes in via several trips and one enterprising race fan enlightened me to his last six weeks spent burying beer cases all over the mountain to be dug up on race day!
It’s ten to nine now, and there are regular passes by safety
cars and tyre trucks along the stretch of racetrack known as ‘Skyline’. We are
at the very top of the mountain, beside one of the fastest runs on the circuit.
Most are awake now, the chatter is growing to a rumble and smell of steaks and sausages is thick in the air. The large LCD displays are on, in just over an hour the race will start. The Bathurst 1000 is a like a yearly pilgrimage for many of the fans around me. Bryan and Tori, a couple from Mittagong in their late forties have been coming since 1993. They don’t have children, but rather a superbly restored Monaro GTS350 in lime green with a black stripe. I chatted briefly to Tori as I lusted over her car.
“It’s just what we do. It’s an Australian thing, not just a
Ford or Holden thing. These are the best people in the world. It’s almost like
a big racing family.”
Closer to ten now and the safety car is making a few final laps of the track before the supercars set out on the track. For the uninitiated, a V8 Supercar is a stripped out racing version of a road going car available to your or me. Namely the Commodore and the Falcon.
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| Craig Lowndes & Warren Luff Red Bull Racing |
Since 1995 the supercar series featured only two makes. Holden and Ford, both running five-litre naturally aspirated V8 engines (as per racing regulation) but this year we have seen the introduction of two new manufacturers, being Mercedes-Benz and Nissan racing the E63 AMG and Altima respectively. And next year, it appears Garry Roger’s Motorsport will be fielding Volvo S60’s. Originally, this kind of stock car racing was built on the condition that the cars in the race had to so similarly resemble road cars that the racers should be able to drive their cars to the track, but things (mostly safety regulations) have changed now and these modern racing leviathans are couriered to and from the track inside specially built trucks. In fact, from atop the mountain, the scores of trucks can be seen lined up behind the pits area like Tetris blocks.
Suddenly the safety car appears on Skyline with some haste and followed by the
racing pack out on a practice lap. The normally assertive Porsche Panamera now
looks like a frightened rabbit running for dear life from the gnashing jaws of
a pack of greyhounds. It’s not a race yet, but the sound of the cars coming
over the mountain is a deafening roar of mechanical thunder. In an instant the
glorious din billows through the camping area like the trade winds and carries
away with it the last shreds of my lingering hangover, so I open another can of
Victoria Bitter (tipple du jour on the mountain) and await the next passing of
the cars.
Skyline is a fast straightway with a small curve between a hill climb and descent so when the cars come back over that first crest under racing conditions, it’s a genuine spectacle.
It’s full open throttle, turn-in, hang on, stand on the brakes again all in a flash of an eye and even from behind the several safety fences, it’s immediately apparent that the drivers are working incredibly hard to keep these fire-breathing beasts on the black stuff.
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| 2013 Champions Mark Winterbottom ('Frosty') & Steven Richards |
But for all the raw excitement of seeing, hearing, smelling
and tasting the V8’s up close, it’s a little bit difficult to understand the
state of the race without continued reference to the huge LCD screen erected
beside the campground. Still, no one is looking at it and I begin to understand
exactly what it is that Tori was talking about by describing the fans as a
family. The campground now is alive with celebration. The BBQ are full and
roasting, the beers are flowing like mountain streams and the only breaks in
conversation are to turn and raise a drink to the cars as they scream by.
To follow the race, this is an event best watched at home
but to experience the true beating heart of motorsport culture in Australia,
this is a total bucket list thing to do.
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