Bathurst

So when you follow the modest signs out that sleepy side of town, there's a bit of a gate, never closed or unwelcoming, a simple-looking museum in a big shed and then you pull up and realise you are there. 

Literally rolling onto the track, where the last corner becomes the start straight. 

And you are in your car and driving and this is it, you are part of it.

Starting positions markers are etched on the road, race walls and a sand trap line the sides, a dominant red banner bridge brings focus to a slight crest that beckons the pits, the start line and a run into the near distance. 

It gets me every time, an exhilarating impact, a lump in my throat. A sleepy country road is now a track, a serious track, a revered track. 

And it is all completely open and you are now part of it.

This is no ordinary place, and words absolutely do not describe it.

 If you do or don’t care about motor racing, the reality of it is a phenomenon. 

From this flat country at the edge of town, it goes up a serious hill, then up more, then floats across the top and twists down before it straightens and lets fly. 

It really is only to be appreciated in the action of circuiting. And you can. Its open its quiet its respected. 

Just wander in and be part of it. Feel the climb load up the car, drive on the quality surface, take in the  spectacular views which quickly drop into  dramatic blind corners, imagine and feel what it means to float and skate and fly. 

As someone that connected to it over a lifetime, since a kid in a bean bag on the other side of the country, glued to a tiny tv, watching the spectacle of old regular road cars grunting and sliding, to modern performance marvels. It connects to you and overwhelms. It carries an immense sense of place, that seeps into you and into your being.

Once around twice around, sit at corners, elbows and long straights. The contrast of it being quiet and complex and majestic against the potential. Sometimes tracks are referred to as temples, and this place certainly carries that reverence, just sitting unsuspectingly at the edge of town, nestled in the ranges. 

Gets me every time.

The family wagon event.

My first visit was in 75' a family tour from Adelaide to Sydney in a P76 with a camping trailer, I adamently planned in this track visit and sat eagerly in the centre of the back seat. My Dad floored it at the starting line with the camping trailer in tow, before cruising around. Then to my despair insisted on doing a lap backwards. OMFG. Entirely plausible, as it is all regular roads, but for the shame and wrath of a 10 year old aficionado now fuming Noooooo! My next visit was an early twenty something passing traveler tasked with relocating a biggish unsteady yacht on trailer across the country. Didnt stop us puttin in couple of laps. Lol. Good tours, never diminish the dream.