@wheelsaustralia 123
king’s horses and all of his men can’t put Toby back
together again.
I decide to use the stick rather than the carrot and
point out to him that, while we’re all very proud of his
efforts so far, it’s going to be just as hard to get back.
Several more fancied entries have already failed to
proceed (only 83 of the 127 starters are still going
after day one) and he should know that if he doesn’t
make it he’ll be stuck with a new nickname, forever:
‘One Direction’.
AFTER a night of bad singing, even worse music,
fireworks explosions and percussive snoring from
several swags, we set off before dawn so we can be at
the finish line for what our team is starting to believe
might be an unfeasible triumph.
After reiterating the One-D taunt, I shake Hagon’s
clammy hand, still expecting there’s a chance I might
not see his big-toothed grin again.
Having easily and somewhat unexpectedly made it
under the minimum time on day one, the plan is to
nurse the Mazda slightly on the way home, although
that’s a bit like saying you’re going to kick someone in
the balls more gently.
Hours later as we approach the finish line to wait for
the Team Wheels entry to come home, there’s excited
gibber about Steven Bradbury from our team. Rumour
has it the top two runners in our class have either
crashed out or simply disintegrated.
The disbelief – from the trackside commentators on
the PA, the crowd, the other competitors and plenty
of us on Team Wheels for that matter – is voluble as
Hagon crosses the line in 4hr 01min 37sec. The class
leader’s flashy Pajero has indeed failed, but sadly the
team of Rachael and Darren Hille from South Australia,
in a Ford F100 with a 5.8-litre V8, has beaten us into
second place. Yes, a woman has beaten Toby, but no one
mentions that. Much.
Hagon doesn’t care. He greets me by telling me
where I can stick my One-D nickname for him, then
proceeds to gush like a One-D groupie.
“It was just awesome. The feeling even coming into
the stadium section, thinking ‘we’re going to make it’
was just incredible.
“We went past a lot of broken buggies and trucks
today [only 64 finished] and just gave them a wave
going, ‘Yep, we’re still here, in our standard car’.”
Toby’s toothy grin is in almost alarming evidence for
the rest of the day, particularly after his first beer. Not
to mention the faces of the Mazda folks, who’d dared to
believe he could achieve the implausible, and backed
the driving skills of a notoriously throttle-threatening
journalist to get the BT-50 through.
For co-driver Webb, beating the doubters had been
almost as much fun as beating the Finke track itself.
“The guys that have been through here and mocked
us at the start of the weekend are the same guys
who are coming in now and accusing us of not having
standard springs,” he laughs. “And you point under
the car and go, ‘Look, there’s a leaf spring, and there’s
a drum brake; you tell me which one of those is a
performance part and we’ll talk’.
“We’ve certainly opened some eyes this weekend.”
Frankly, like Everest, the Finke is the sort of thing
you only need to experience once, but Hagon reckons
he’s up for doing it again. Madness.