The motorsport series - chapter 1

Ruapuna

“Pleasure and pain – again”

But first, what’s the writing style all about?

I write like I would speak.

Not just the written word.

The spoken work written.

Grammar, even spelling, might suffer.

Sometimes cryptic.

Even abstract – at times.

Philosophical. Experimental when I feel like it.

Autobiographical - no doubt.

But there is meaning there. Sometimes deep. Sometimes shallow.

But stick with it. Provoking thought, even if the meaning is illusive at first, is part of the point! Cheap thrills are cheap – and no real thrill at all.

I call it ‘scribing.

Short for ‘transcribing’ – defined as “to put (thoughts, speech, or data) into written or printed form.”  Something common to the Courtroom too – also a place of adventure for me.

Now, on with the ‘scribing….

The motorsport series - chapter 1

Ruapuna 

“Pleasure and pain – again”

BANG!
Clunk!
Dink, dink, dink.
Nothing.

Bugger.

Ignore it.
Surely not.
Are you serious?!

50 years old.
50 years of dreaming.

My own race car.
On a racetrack.
In a race.

The first corner.
Of the first lap.
Of my first race.

And bang?
Really.
That’s it?!

I pull off to the side of the track.
No power. 
No go.
No more race for me.

A full engine rebuild ahead. 
A cost greater than the cost of the car to look forward too.

Pleasure and pain.
There it goes again.

But why does pain so often come first?
And why can’t there be pleasure without pain?
I have asked those questions before.

Why can’t I choose only pleasure?

Is that even possible?

Why do I find pleasure only through pain?
Work – sport – hobbies.
It always seems to be the same.

Maybe there is no choice – for any of us.
Maybe that is the balance of life.
The yin and yang that makes us whole.

But let’s explore the dream.
Maybe we will find the answer there.
Where did this dream all begin?

Palmy Vegas.
Knowledge City.

Or Palmerston North.
Boring hole.
To others.

But not to me. 
A wonderful City to grow up in.
With wonderful family.
And wonderful friends. 

Friends for life.
Friends who started dreaming too.
Dreamt with me.

Palmy Matt. 
A friend forever.
Taught me much.
More than he could know. More than I have ever told him.

Palmy Andrew.
The same.
A friend forever.
A great friend.
More than he could know. More than I have ever told him.

I see neither now.
Nor call.
And social media is obviously out.
I wonder where they are?
What they are doing?
How they are?

But back to Palmy.

No beach.
No mall.
But no traffic either.
Easy roads.
And a square for easy skids on Friday nights in your latest build.

So it was.
Driving licence - merely weeks after turning 15.
My first car - also weeks after turning 15.
A Mk1 Ford Escort.
Perfect.

Rebuilt and hotted up engine.
By me and Palmy Matt.
Repainted in hotchild orange.
By me and Palmy Matt.
Bonnet scoop – check.
Bonnet pins – check.
Stereo – check.
Jacked up at the back with mags – check.

Enjoyed by the three of us.
Around the square.
In Palmy Vegas.

The fun and skills were built.
A complete rebuild.
With just a Haynes manual and Palmy Matt.
Uncle Google wasn’t born.
Social media wasn't spawning.
Youtube wasn't the focus of you.

One book – one mate – get on with it!

And help from Palmy Wayne – whose Dad was an AA mechanic.
He understood that resting a newly re-built engine on an axle stand was not ideal.
Opps!
But was happy to punch out the dent in the sump to stop the crank banging on the pan.

Matt’s Uncle Peter – who taught us to weld.
And the rusty Mark III Cortina that followed – with aspirations beyond our welding skills.

Father.
Who tolerated a complete automobile dismantle and rebuild in the family garage.
And the litres of oil that poured down the drive forever staining it.

Dreams are built on such things.
And a lifetime of memories too.

The origin of it all.

So, it wasn’t all pain after all.
It did start with pleasure.

Something to remember.
And remember at all times.

And so it was. And so it began.
And so it is.
Pleasure.
Some people get pleasure from collecting art.
I get pleasure from driving it.
And that is worth the pain.


And so back to Ruapuna.
And the first race.
That lasted the first corner.

Short pleasure.
Long pain.

But I still love it. 
I still want more.
Still.

Of both?
It seems so!

More to come....

Let’s go racing…!

Doing my best James Hunt impression

Setting up early and well in the pits matters!

And relaxing well afterwards matters too!!

And occasionally one makes it on to the track - sometimes not for long….