Draggin Jeans
Best LetterI live in the St George area,in Sydney. Early one morning, about 2010, I was riding my Honda
350 to work, along Hillcrest Ave, approaching Hurstville. I was chuffing along at 50-60 km/h, in the
free-flowing right hand lane. Traffic was almost at a standstill in the left hand lane. I saw the 4WD in
the left lane, bristling with aerials, and I saw its front wheels turn right. It advanced a little from its
lane, then stopped. I felt sure that the driver had seen me, causing him to stay where he was. At all
but the wrong time, he suddenly pulled into my lane. All I could do was to get onto the wrong side of
the road. I was very fortunate that there was nothing coming the other way. Having missed him, I hit
the throttle, intending to round him up and gesticulate.
He must have also hit the throttle very hard, as I found myself unable to overtake. I was in the
middle of the Hillcrest and King George’s Rd intersection, on the wrong side of the road, and heading
for the now oncoming traffic. I pulled back into my lane and followed the miscreant up the hill.
Steam was coming out of my ears. I was now at the red light at the top of the hill, right behind the
miscreant. More steam. I thought “bugger it, I’m going to say something”, so I pulled around him and
parked across his bows. He blew the horn. I slowly got off the bike and fixed him with my best steely
gaze. Looking right at him, I slowly walked to his driver’s door, as all the other traffic got their green
light and departed. He lowered his driver’s window. That’s when I saw the police uniform. Nonetheless,
I said to him, with plenty of attitude in my tone...”Sir, next time you go to change lanes, why not have
a look.....first ?” He was looking right at me, but said nothing.
Trying to maintain my swagger, I slowly walked back to my bike, thinking “hell, don’t ride this
bloody bike for at least a month, they’ll be looking for you.” I rode up to the red traffic light. He got
into the lane beside me. There we were, side by side, waiting. I thought “don’t look at him, let him
go first”. He took off like a bat out of hell, driving erratically. Perhaps he wasn’t all that happy.
Naturally, I’ve retold this story many times. In time, I told a friend who is in the Force. My friend
smiled very broadly. “Phil, you road raged a copper and got away with it?” “Yeah” said I, “you might
even know him”. “Unlikely, there’s a helluva lot of us. Go on, what’s his name?” When I told him, his
eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “That’s one of the Assistant Commissioners. Wait, Maybe he has a
son who has the same name. You saw his nameplate. Do you remember the colour of the plate, and the
colour of the writing on the plate?” “Yes. White plate with black writing.” “Whoa, that’s him alright. Only
the Commissioner and the ACs have those plates. Phil, you didn’t touch his car, did you? And you didn’t
see his hands, either?” “No. What are you talking about?” “Since you approached him, one hand
would’ve been holding the gun, and the other the capsicum spray. If you’d touched the car, you would’ve
seen both, and you were being recorded.” “I bet he deleted that as soon as he could.”
As riders, we see far too much dross from other motorists. Some of their behaviour is dangerous.
Even so, it’s safer to take a more defensive and patient stance on the road, making sure that the red
mist does not take over.
This incident has certainly cured me of road rage, even though I’m very unlikely to ever lock horns
on the road with another Police AC.Phil Ward
Hurstville NSWRoad Rage
BLOW YOUR OWN
12 :OLD BIKE AUSTRALASIAheavily and the Suzuki burst into flames.Ernst lay
unconscious in the flames and before the marshals
could get to him, suffered facial burns. Frank saw the
accident and retired at the pits, something the
Japanese were not very pleased about.
For the 1964 season I was entered in the 250cc
class, though the 50cc and 125cc were my specialty.
Riding three classes on truly troublesome machines
was not wise, so vastly experienced Jolly Jack was
approached to take over the bike for the rest of the
season. Jack’s first ride was in the Isle of Man TT.
Machine speed was not a problem as the 250cc
Suzuki was timed at 141 mph and Hailwood’s 500
MV at 144mph. Jack fitted into the team straight off,he enjoyed the fairly laid-back attitude and the
relatively easy money compared to that of a private
owner. He still rode his Nortons of course.
Power was produced over 5 to 600 revs and just
six gears were hardly sufficient to keep it in the
power band. Understandably, when leaving corners
you had to be well aware of when that lethal power
would come in. My answer was to keep the throttle
open and use the rear brake to control the power
being transmitted at the rear tyre. A rotary valve
two stroke engine is quite different to any other.
Once in the power band, even at half throttle it
produces almost as much power as at full throttle,
making it difficult to control. I won many races,when my carbs were set a little rich, never having
the throttle more than three quarter open.
Jack was fast gaining the skills required to
manage the temperamental machine when that
sudden, vicious even, power band cut in at a shaded
damp patch on an uphill right hander when leaving
the Glen Helen section. Jack escaped major injury
but hit his helmet hard enough to smash it. He
courageously walked out of Nobel’s Hospital and
rode in the Senior TT. A few weeks later when on his
way to the Ulster GP in Ireland he felt very ill and
was rushed to hospital where a brain bleed was
discovered. Jack made a full recovery and following
that prang, being a man of descriptive phrases,
named the four cylinder Suzuki “Whispering Death”.
Whilst riding it, it was unusually quiet. As it
approached you as a spectator, wind and road noise
was all you heard, until it passed then the blast
from the exhaust came suddenly and painfully loud.
After finishing 2nd at the 1999 Australian 500cc
Classic Championship, Barry Sheene was 3rd, when
visiting the commentary box for a post-race
interview, I met Jack who I believe was a guest of
the organisation. “Gidday you silly bugger, what the
hell are you doing going so quick, you should have
given the game up years ago and be at home
looking after mum and the grandkids.” I wasn’t that
old. Still had to wait two years for the pension.
Jack never changed and that was a good thing.Hugh Anderson
New ZealandDon Newell:
An appreciation
Finding myselfwith some time to spare in
Brisbane about four years ago, I decided it was time
to drop in for the first time on Don Newell. Don had
given me simple directions over the phone which
included “take the Gateway Highway”. This sounded
like a few minutes drive but obviously Brisbane has
its traffic holdups and it turned out to be similar to
“take the M5 tunnel” in Sydney, without the
pollution but with all the delay. When we arrived
Don had given up on us and was leaving a note to
let us know when he would be back. This gave us
time for lunch while Don took his wife Marie to the
doctors. Later we were all together and while I have
heard lots about Don I admit to being somewhat
gobsmacked. I asked Don about his introduction to
the Bultaco clan and it turns out that he was, back
in the ‘50s and ‘60s much more a BSA and Honda
devotee. Don raced BSAs and worked at the localFor more information contact: [email protected]