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Row,
row, row your boat! We might as well have taken part in the Cape
to Rio Yacht Race.
Most
of the regulars and a few newbies gathered in the parking area
of the Hyperama early on Friday morning. The skies were black
and looked ominous. Bradley Wishart was made to chant, “What
happens in East London stays in East London!” several times
and we started the engines. It poured with rain all the way to
East London. Doug had to change his designer outfits several
times and Bradley reminded me of a wet Cocker Spaniel, shivering
and shaking in the passenger seat of Blue Thunder! I lost a
windscreen wiper (twice) and Paddy saw the back of my car, which
is the view he normally has of Snake Eyes, break away when I
suddenly crossed a baby river on the highway. It is quite scary
when you aquaplane and then wait for tyre grip to return,
steering into nothing and desperately trying not to hit the
brakes. And then Chris Simpkin called my cellular telephone to
find out how we were doing.
We
enjoyed breakfast at Kokstad and then I led Paddy in the wrong
direction, twice! Anyway, we eventually arrived in East London
without any major mishaps, apart from a close encounter of the
animal kind when a car ahead of me took out a sheep, bounced
over it and left it on the road, right in front of my car! Who
said Cobras are not built for obstacle course driving? Snake
Eyes mounted the mangled body of the recently, dearly departed
animal with ease and, satisfied with it’s performance, neatly
leapt to one side and then back on course, none the worse for
wear. And then Chris Simpkin called my cellular telephone to
find out how we were doing. A special word of thanks to Dave
Burton who appeared like a knight in shining armour in his V8 bakkie to help and encourage, every time I stopped for some or
other reason.
Gerry
and May at the Gonubie Sun welcomed us like long lost family and
beers were enjoyed while we relaxed and took note of where we
were going to be staying.
The
Cobras and GT40s were left outside to dry (I had at least 40 mm
of water in the driver’s foot well). Paddy, Larry Wiggill and
I were allocated to The Boardwalk B&B where we were offered
a selection of executive rooms by the lovely Cynthia. As Paddy
had not been away from home for some years, he insisted on
staying with me in a double room but grabbed the best bed,
nearest to the loo. Bladder problem, he explained! After a quick
shower, we returned to join the rest of the KZN brigade and a
whole bunch of old and new friends from The Border V8 Club for a
braai at The Gonubie Sun. Our hosts really went out of their way
to make us feel welcome and all the manne gathered around the
braai fires which left me with the onerous task of chatting to
the ladies. Terrible job but someone has to do it! We didn’t
last long though and soon slinked off quietly to our beds. And
then Chris Simpkin called my cellular telephone to find out how
we were doing. My heart went out Paddy to as he cried himself to
sleep that night.
Saturday morning arrived long
before I was ready for it and, after a hearty breakfast, we
joined all the older guys to be chauffeured to the Race Track in
the bestest and nippiest Maxidoor Press Taxi you have ever seen!
Our driver Gerry, a SA Champ navigator himself, would put any
Taxi Driver in Durban to shame with his ability to chat, drive
with one hand and still keep the bloody thing on the road at
what felt like 200 kph. We had to pass a Bottle store and
decided that we might as well stock up on a few cold ales and
some boerie to enjoy at the track. The wind had been building
steadily all morning and, by the time we arrived at the track,
it was howling! Gerry’s executive lookout post provided a
perfect spot to be blown all over the place, chairs and all. We
watched Dave Burton kick some serious butt during his race and
were entertained by some of the local lads really letting it all
hang out for the spectators. And then Chris Simpkin called my
cellular telephone to find out how we were doing. A bunch of
sunburnt, windblown, tired but happy guys were eventually safely
transported, against all odds, back to Gonubie in the taxi. We
enjoyed a wonderful meal and then spent the evening chatting
about… cars!
Sunday
morning was perfect! Glorious sun and not a breath of wind. By
now the adrenalin was pumping in anticipation of a few good runs
on the drag strip! We found our cars, washed and parked, ready
for action in front of the Gonubie Sun. We then drove to the
track in convoy, causing quite a stir as usual with many a
gorgeous young maiden offering to bear our children in exchange
for a quick spin around the block. Doug was tempted but
remembered that he had the mobile video recorder in the
passenger seat and respectfully declined all offers. All our old
friends were already at the track, signing countless forms and
getting cars ready for action.
Paddy
suddenly started sucking on a piece of pipe protruding from the
filler spout of his car’s petrol tank. During this
performance, he kept up a stream of unprintable words directed
at some idiot who had mistakenly filled the Cobra with the wrong
octane petrol. About an hour later, he was apparently satisfied
that he had removed enough of the offensive fuel and headed of
to go and get “some of the good stuff”! It must have done
the trick because he set up a respectable 14.02 seconds over the
400 meters a little while later.
I
had a few runs with some of the local boys and then allowed Doug
to save some face by letting him get away rather quickly from
the lights while I entertained the crowd with a magnificent
burnout and then slowed down to have my picture taken for the
local newspaper. And then Chris Simpkin called my cellular
telephone to find out how we were doing.
Nick Carter had to bear the
brunt of my aggression when I kicked his butt a short while
later. Barry Olivier and Dave Burton had the large crowd on
their feet with blistering runs. The fastest cars belonged to
the Pieters brothers who recorded runs of just over 10 seconds.
We saw some really quick bikes and a deceptively fast go-cart,
also recording fast times of around 11 seconds.
As
usual, the day ended with the prize giving. The MSA
representative handed out some nifty prizes with most of the
spoils going to drivers from KZN. I made a mental note to speak
to our Chairman about the fact that we did not receive
certificates as in previous years, as I had already decided
where the framed memento of the trip would be displayed in my
office. We met and made some wonderful new friends and, after
assuring everybody that we would be back next year, drove the
cars back to the Gonubie Sun. A fairly relaxed evening followed
with a departure time of 08h00 on Monday morning being agreed
upon before we left for our respective B&Bs.
Come
Monday morning, come the rain! It poured down from early morning
and Paddy asked our hostess at The Boardwalk for a bucket to
bail water out of the Cobra on the return trip. She offered to
return to Durban with him as they had formed quite an attachment
to each other but Paddy wisely decided that Gayle would not be
impressed and we got out of there, fast! We met the other chaps
at The Gunobie Sun where it became evident that things would not
be plain sailing (no pun intended). Nick’s car had developed a
leak on a radiator pipe and a frantic shopping trip, led by the
ever-helpful Terry, eventually produced a suitable replacement.
Repairs done, we set off for Durban, secure in the knowledge
that nothing else could possibly go wrong… go wrong… go
wrong.
It
never stopped raining and at times, the dense mist forced us to
reduce speed to as low as 40 kph. We stopped briefly in Kokstad
for fuel and refreshments and tackled the last part of the
journey with confidence. Our two resident speed freaks, Paddy
and Ron Casteller had no trouble with the weather and
disappeared in a spray of water, heading for home. The rest of
us had, through sheer persistence and a focus on a hot shower
and dry bed, managed to float our cars steadily towards Port
Shepstone.
Brake
lights and illegal u-turns ahead of me indicated that all was
not well and we all stopped to receive the bad news from a very
nervous Ron jabbering away on his cellular telephone.
Unfortunately, they had missed the turn-off to Port
Shepstone and then encountered a really ugly piece of road that,
we think, resulted in Paddy’s car breaking a shaft on the left
rear wheel just outside Rietvlei. We quickly telephoned a
vehicle recovery company and, secure in the knowledge that they
were on the way, turned our cars around to go and assist our
lonely pals. A while later, we found them, dejectedly walking up
and down while a crowd of admirers gathered to offer help and
support. Bugs took one look at Paddy’s car and decided that a
piece of wire would be just the thing to carry out emergency
repairs and move the Cobra to a safer place while Nick and I
went looking for the local mechanic. We eventually found him and
he confirmed that he had welding equipment to repair the
vehicle. I suspect that Paddy and Bugs had already decided that
the workmanship offered might not be up to scratch and we all
agreed to rather wait for the recovery vehicle, surely now only
a few minutes away.
The
crowd of local admirers had grown considerably and a very
nervous passenger in one of the Cobras suggested (read insisted)
that we park the cars in a circle (read laager), probably so
that they could all be admired simultaneously. Several hours and
many telephone calls later, with darkness now imminent, the
recovery vehicle had still not arrived. As it turned out, the
vehicle in question had been despatched but the driver, feeling
a bit thirsty in anticipation of the hard work ahead, decided to
enjoy a few beers on the way. The local police were unhappy with
this and carted him off to a place of safe keeping while another
driver then had to be contacted to complete the rescue mission.
And then Chris Simpkin called my cellular telephone to find out
how we were doing. In the meantime, we were introduced to some
influential members of the community who came to offer
assistance, inclusive of a garage to park the car and, if we
wanted, accommodation for the night. More telephone calls
followed which resulted in the recovery vehicle eventually
arriving and the broken Cobra being loaded onto a flat bed
truck. Paddy was offered a lift by Bugs and a few minutes later,
we were on our way home. The group split into two with Doug and
I heading South, and the rest preferring to travel North in an
effort to get home as soon as possible.
What
an adventure! Surely one that we will remember and discuss for a
long time to come. We have now received our certificates, some
petrol money and an invitation to come back and kick more butts
in 2003. Paddy still cannot stop thanking all the club members
for the help during his unfortunate breakdown, (that’s what we
are here for Paddy!), and Doug found some mushrooms growing in
the carpets of his car two weeks after our return. Chris Simpkin
has had to ask his bank manager (read wife) for an overdraft
facility to pay his massive telephone account. He has decided
that he will rather make the trip next year, even if it is only
to half the expenses he incurred while not attending in 2002.
Andre’
Roodt
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