ANFA

CLARKE'S CLASSIC CADILLAC CAVALCADE OF KAOS: THE TRIP TO THE 2013 PIONEER AWARDS - by GeoffO

They roared up the driveway of my farm near Seymour at 1.30 Thursday afternoon Nov 14th. horn blaring on the '84 stretch limo Cadillac and four wide eyed grinning lunatics leapt out. Former dragster star Peter Clarke was the ring leader of this motley crew and had been unwisely joined by Funny Car legend Jimmy Walton, former Comp Bike hoon "Plastic Pete" Edwards and future front engine dragster pilot Jess Lawrence. Jess was by far the junior member of this aging crew of walking frame candidates and perhaps he wondered if we would all be warming up our Horlicks and gumming our soggy biscuit by 8.30 most evenings. In reality he was our designated bourbon and coke mixer, way into the early hours each and every night, once we had finally grown tired of drinking beer. Clarkie was beaming as he informed us that getting to the farm was the longest trip the Caddie had ever made. Uh Oh!!! Waiting with me was the very honourable Paul Hannell, who owns the ex Roy Thomas "Pincher" '70s Castlereagh front engine dragster. Paul had quite logically flown down from Brisbane to join the crew for the journey back to Sydney. Well, it sort of made sense at the time I guess!!!!!

First stop was Seymour to fill up the remarkably small LP gas tank on the thundering white behemoth. The Caddie is dual fuel but Clarkie had never tried out the petrol side of things so we'll run her LPG only, rather than set our transport on fire. When I say thundering, I'm not referring to its huge performance, more the bloody racket coming from its leaking exhaust manifolds and slipping fanbelts. Clarkies got a "she'll be right mate" attitude to these matters and on the other hand Jimmy was always on his case to do something about the problems, so there they were squabbling away for the entire journey like Statler and Waldorf, the grumpy old men from Sesame street!!!! Of course the Seymour refuel did not pass without incident, a grumpy old four score years and ten type chappie in a rooted Fairlane abused us for lingering too long at the LPG pump. Apparently he was in a tearing hurry!!! We couldn't actually work out what for; perhaps he was late for Bingo, maybe he had a hot chick with acute angina waiting at the retirement village, who knows, and even his toothless fox terrier was giving us a gum full out of the side window!!!!

Away we went, Sydney here we come. Well at least we nearly made it out of Victoria before the left rear tyre shed a huge piece of tread with a thunderous roar underneath the car. What a pity, that tyre was awfully close to its fortieth birthday!!!!! The speed and expertise with which the tyre was changed on the side of the Hume Freeway would have done a Formula One team proud. After all, we had cold beer in the Esky!!! Into Benalla for some tucker, let's make a mile and get deep into NSW before bedtime, no more mucking around. Hang on a minute, Jimmy wants us to detour off the highway at Glenrowan and visit the giant Ned Kelly statue. After a few raised eyebrows and some whispered discussions the consensus was that we couldn't very well kill him as he was an honoured guest who was expected in Sydney on Saturday night, apart from that the ground would probably be too hard, even for a shallow grave and his body would get too smelly in the boot over the weekend!!! Righto, so we detour and check out Ned and he was pretty impressive. Jimmy the tour guide strikes again!!!

Plastic Pete and I are up front, he's driving just as the last green segment on the LPG gauge suddenly turns to red, the bloody thing needs yet another drink!!! Plastic, knowing that there are lumps of rock at Stonehenge that have better hearing than Clarkie, has wisely packed a microphone operated megaphone. "Cockpit to the gentlemen's lounge, cockpit to the gentlemen's lounge...... hey Clarkie, how far does this shitheap go once it hits the red?" It's getting dark and the servos in the smaller villages will probably be shut by now, we must get to a major town. Finally, after holding our breath and going quietly for miles, we see the sign for Yass and as we take the exit the beast starts to surge. Oh faarrk!! Our luck holds, thank Christ and we splutter all the way to the Shell oasis. A quick feed and its back to the motel for a debrief. It's a nice night so we drag some chairs and the esky outside our rooms and instantly realise that we will not be the bad guys who disturb the entire motel. Directly opposite us are a team of freeway road workers who have not gone through the afternoon unrefreshed; they are roaring and cackling and bellowing at full volume!! Eventually one wanders over and he's not quite what you would expect from a road worker, he's probably better suited to being a member of the Village people. I wasn't paying attention, but Clarkie swears that the "Road Worker" thought Jimmy was quite tasty. Jim's a great bloke, but I'd never actually looked at him in that light.

Friday morning dawns and Jimmy wants to go searching for a replacement tyre. "She'll be okay", says Clarkie, "the one in the boot with the tread missing is still holding air, you worry too much Jim." Away we go, fan belts shrilling in the crisp morning air, Sydney here we come. Now to the casual observer it might seem that a group of drag racers thrown together for a long road trip might just spend their travel time drinking far too much beer, telling lurid jokes and breaking wind. Not true, although Paul Hannell's digestive system needs thorough, immediate and expert diagnosis and a barb wire pull through might be his last hope. We may put him in one of those cute little greyhound trailers for the 2014 trip!!!

It was "Plastic Pete" Edwards who took the discussions to a more intellectual plane when he directed the conversation to early Australian television history, namely the ABC's Auntie Jack Show. Peter was particularly interested in a Graham Bond skit on "How to be a homosexual" which taught gentlemen how to mince properly by walking with a Mintie between their knees while holding their limp wristed hands high above the shoulder. Now this of course generated several catch cries for the weekend if anyone left the main group for any reason whatsoever; "You're mincing nicely, but don't forget the hands", or just simply, "Hands, hands!!!" Later on in a rough working class public bar of the Colyton Hilton this drew some rather puzzled looks from the locals, trust me.

We're in Sydney quite early and basically on the right side of town, but modern technology was going to bend us over the desk. Young Jess quite correctly programmed the GPS to find 12 Great Western Highway Colyton, but we were taken right to the opposite end of Great Western Highway down in Parramatta!!! Beauty, just try to turn an eight metre stretch limo around in an old Sydney side street!!! Obviously we should have used Jimmy's hand drawn map on the back of an old envelop, sometimes the old ways are the best. Eventually, after driving every inch of the Great Western we arrived at the Colyton Hotel and did what any group of stressed, travel weary drag racers would do; we hit the bar.

Saturday morning dawns and it's off to Rocket Industries in Huntington, for Graeme Cowin's usual great hot rod and drag car show; old warriors press forward and sniff the breeze as the nitro cars roar into life. My daughter has flown in from Canberra and is very impressed with that part of the show. It's a great morning. Back to the Colyton to have a bit of a breather before the Pioneer Awards presentations at Sydney Dragway turns into exactly the opposite as we are joined by another mob of ratbags. Present are Alan Walton of "Pegasus" and "Smokin" funny car fame, Denis Bolam "Satan's Toy" FX Holden gasser, Paul Rogers senior and junior, Graeme Smith long time Calder and Heathcote starter, plus "Pommy Pete" and Maurice Allen. What followed was an instant party; men in hair caps and ill fitting wigs, telling tall tales and true, "Plastic Pete" playing the Last Post on the bugle, it's absolute mayhem and the evening hasn't even begun. Clarkie and I, unbeknown to the other revellers, have an important part in the evening's presentations and a few nervous conversations are taking place. We are to present drag racing legend Ian Splatt with his greatly deserved Pioneer Award and we don't want to stuff it up. Paul Rogers has a pen and paper and is asking a few quiet questions about Jimmy Walton's funny cars, so we figure he's got a similar role and is under the same pressure. Paul's not the only one seeking last minute information, I've asked Dave Cook to chase up the answers to three questions between Rocket and the evening presentations. We're all old mates from a wonderful period of Australian drag racing, but each of us want to do a damn good job of what may well be the last recognition these great drag racers will ever get.

Off to the track and we've decided that a fairly understated and reserved arrival is probably the best approach, no need to draw undue attention to ourselves. We arrive quietly at the marquee, pirated ANFA flags flying from the Cadillac's front fenders, horns blaring from a limo crammed full with ten blokes dressed in silly hats and wigs, bristling with stubbies and bad manners. We all pile out, roll out our special length of red carpet and then form a guard of honour for our two legends, the Pom and Jimmy. Yep, pretty understated!!!

The evening begins and Dave Cook does a very polished and professional presentation to drag racing journalist Lex Swayn. Christ, I hope they don't expect Clarkie and I to match Dave's standard. Eventually after a nerve wracking hour and a half wait Clarkie and I bumble on stage, resplendent in our silly hats, blond wigs and goggles, quiet obviously the least polished and professional of all the presenters. I can't even see the switch to turn on Clarkies microphone, but eventually we dignify our shambles by introducing Splatty. After I've spent far too long describing the finer point of the early Falcon wheel cylinder rubbers on Ian's 1964 award winning hot rod, with still another 49 pictures to go, Steve "The Stop Watch Nazi" Turner interrupts my fine technical dissertation and urges me to get a move on. Oops, probably I'd better pull my finger out!!! My allowed 6-8 minute presentation blossomed out to nearly twenty, so poor Steve Turner, who does a great job as MC, was probably on oxygen having heart palpitations by the time I finally wound it up!!! "Would you like Clarkie and I to do another presentation for you in 2014 Steve?" "Get ourselves well and truly; oh fair enough then". Anyway Splatty had a good time and hopefully the audience learned something of the great man's exploits.

The tale of our on stage hats was a bit of nonsense as things always are when Clarkie and I get together. Peter had mentioned a hat he was thinking of buying for Sydney, so the next time I came down from Shepparton it was off to Northlands Shopping Centre. Once I saw this wonderful top hat resplendent with silver flying goggles I said, "Mate you've got to buy that or I will." The deal was done, it cost a small fortune, but stupidity has its own reward. Once we got home Clarkie dug out a bowler hat, "Here, this is too big for me, but it should fit your boofhead". It did, but I needed matching goggles, so it was back to the shopping centre. "You'll never guess what happened after we left you last time" said the two lovely elderly gentlemen, with the sad puppy dog eyes, to the nice Asian lady operating the hat stall. "We sat down for a coffee and a donut in the food court and while we weren't paying attention, someone stole our goggles." We got a ten dollar discount on the second set of goggles and scampered off giggling like two naughty school boys!!

The Saturday night highlight for our Caddy team was young Jess Lawrence getting a seat in the Ross and Jude Preen "Banshee" top fueler cackle car, what a magnificent sight and sound.

Sunday morning dawned overcast and squally, but like drag racers have done for sixty years we drove out to the rain drenched, windswept track firm in our belief that the skies would clear and the meeting would go on. It was not to be of course, but thankfully Charlie Falzon and Burgers got the "Green Fing" AFX Dodge fired and we got a small nitro fix. Eventually it was back to the Colyton Hilton and we had to work out some way of entertaining ourselves. Some fool suggested that we could get an early start back to Victoria, yeah as if that was ever going to happen. Jimmy, our tour guide suggested that we might like to hop on a bus and have a bit of a look around Sydney. After he was thoroughly whipped, beaten and his bleeding semi conscious body was dragged into the public bar, I guess he came around to our point of view!!! The food waitresses at the Colyton are lovely, hard working girls and they would give you the shirt off their backs. No need to outline the full extent of the afternoon's shenanigans and bad behaviour, except to mention a rather odd purchase made by one member of our party from a vending machine in the men's toilet, which ended up on Peter Clarke's pillow in place of the customary chocolate mint.

Monday morning greeted the bleary eyed revellers and Al Walton was to be our saviour: he had a spare wheel on his beautiful '64 Chevy El Camino ute that would fit our Cadillac if we needed it and he could tow us to the nearest servo if we got stranded running out of gas. Problem solved let's go. As it turned out we didn't need the tyre, but Al towed us into two different service stations when the beast spluttered to a halt. Funny thing was that once the Caddy got back to Clarkies workshop he found that we had plenty of petrol in the bloody thing and it fired up and ran perfectly when switched over from gas. Dohhh!!!!

To write this story I rang all the boys to ask them about their individual highlights of the weekend. There were plenty of wonderful moments mentioned but probably it was best summed up by Jimmy Walton. Jimmy felt that the highlight was the whole thing; the fact that none of us are getting any younger and to get a rare opportunity to be away with the boys and relive a great period of Australian drag racing, was the real meaning of the weekend. I reckon that just about sums up the magnificent Pioneer Awards and our epic journey perfectly. We'll be back for sure.

Photographic evidence of alleged events are in this Gallery, so click on and have a look, if you dare.

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