“Veni, vidi” and saw my ass or in plain English I arrived, I saw and failed miserably.
Not many things in life are easy, what should be straight forward, easy to find – like the start or beginning of something, often is a huge problem.
Few people will doubt that I have walked many miles along the motorsport roads. I have done many things, seen twice as much and succeeded only in a few.
I have also achieved the normal thing in motorsport – I made a few friends and about twenty times more enemies. That may sound quite stupid to the average man in the street – have you ever wondered if you count as “the average man in the street” or as the one being compared to whomever the normal man in the street is?
Anyway to the average Joe (the cousin of the normal man in the street) it may sound like a waste of time spending a huge portion of your life where you find it difficult even to make friends. I often smile when I see team player publicly reacting to success.
Earlier days the men almost havung sex in public after a goal was scored, belonged exclusively to soccer. These days rugby joined the making-love-on-the-field club and I often wonder if some of the more conservative players are not scared to score a try? What happens if accidental penetration takes place after having scored a trie? Will you be arrested for public indecency right there or only after the game or when you are sent off after a yellow or red card?
In boxing you do not make friends, at least not in your weight class and if you believe your opponent’s family or friends will jump into the ring after you win the fight to congratulate you, you are mistaken.
In Motorsport it is almost impossible to make real friends, simply because some day, somewhere you may just have to beat someone, you may just need a gearbox that someone who has one will not lend you, or you will not lend to someone else.
This makes me think back to a rally during the Chinese year of the Gearbox. Francois Jordaan and I were competing in one of the red “Pizza Hut” Golfs. We did not worry too much about winning our class as beating the Toyotas that revved around 10500rpm as opposed to the Golf only being capable of reaching somewhere around 7500 with the same gear ratios.
Our biggest problem however was not so much achieving the impossible, which was to beat those forking 1700cc Formula 3 powered bloody Toyotas driven by the likes of Eric Sander, Enzo Kuun and a few other not so hot but well connected drivers. The problem was to replace the Golf’s gearbox at least once per rally and sometimes even twice during service time and allowed lateness.
On this specific rally we ran out of gearboxes quite early and we knew our only option was to borrow one from someone. So the team’s main negotiator and Spinman, Francois left the camp to go and talk someone out of a gearbox.
The motivation was, that we were leading the class, Jawol and we would return this borrowed box, if and when the owner needed it back! Cross our hearts and hope to die!
He and our dear friend and main engineer, the late Lukas Snyman, father of one of the top navigators Gerhard Snyman who this year helped Mark Cronje retain his SA Rally Championship title, came back running with a gearbox between them.
I could not help but wonder if they stole the bloody thing, but did not ask questions.
This gearbox worked, it truly worked and we wondered a few times why it felt so different to the boxes (and I mean boxes with an “es”) we received from the same supplier?
We extended our lead and moved into 3rd overall in a Class B car. This was not uncommon as we won quite a few stages in the same car or cars that looked the same and both Francois and I believed, no let me rephrase, knew we could win overall if a certain man at VW had the benefit of one single clear thinking moment.
But alas, personalities, politics and some irritating friendships prevented us from ever really receiving the help we deserved. I am not ashamed to say that I believe this team – the “Red Pizza Hut Team” sold more VW Golfs than most of the chosen few put together, but although some of those involved acknowledged that, it did not help us much. I do have to add that we were supplied the cars and a fair budget and had the right to sell advertising space on the cars.
Meanwhile on the rally, while I was driving as hard as you could drive a front wheel drive Golf, Francois broke the news to me that the deal with the owner of the greatest Golf Gearbox I have ever used, was that, should he need it back – “we” promised to give it back. We looked at each other and knew that was not going to happen, not easily!
As we drove into service areas after stages we were constantly on the look-out for the owner of the box and his crew. Our service crew were instructed to park as far away as possible from them and also in a spot where we would be able to see anyone approaching from a reasonable distance.
All went well for two service breaks.
Then at the last service of the event as we stopped and got out of the car, we saw what looked like the start of that well known cowboy movie, The Magnificent Seven. The owner of the gearbox and his team were on their way to come and ask for the gearbox back!
“Forking hell” – we thought like one man and disappeared behind a service van of one of the select few. As we got around the van both Jordaan and I leopard-crawled under two service vans and then jumped up, selected sixth gear and ran like hell to the opposite side of the service park, where we stood around looking at the “real talent” having their cars rebuilt by what looked like a rugby team of chief engineers.
We kept as close as we could to the Main Man, the one who did not have a clear moment before.
We chatted cheerfully instead of trying to psyche them out – which of course was a hell of a surprise to everyone – and we could see that they all wondered if Jordaan and I had something stronger than Energade to drink.
Our service time had almost run out and we had to get back to the car to leave for the last two stages of the event. But while we were there we told the Mainpin about the stroke of luck we had to borrow a gearbox from another team.
I decided not to ask why that gearbox felt so good while ours always felt as though they used “Locktite” while assembling it? Then it turned slightly darker in the area, as the gearbox seekers walked into the lime light.
We were informed that “they” needed their gearbox back!
The Main Man stood there – I looked up at him from my slightly lower position on my knees.
“Is your gearbox broken?” mister Main asked with a frown between his eyes and his hands on his hips.
“No but I am battling to select third In the box I have in,” said the gearbox-in-our car’s owner.
“Please dear Lord” said I softly.
“Where are you currently lying overall?” the Main man asked the Gearbox owner.
“Sixteenth” I think, came the hesitant reply.
“Do you realise that Leon and Francois are currently in third position overall?” came the next question and before an answer could be given, “the gearbox belongs to VW does it not?”
“Yes, but……..”
Francois chipped in with a “ag thank you very much again. Let’s go Leon we have to clock out.” and we rushed off to go out and beat the shit out of the competiton. (Just as a matter of interest, we changed 17 gearboxes that year in 8 rallies.)
I have to admit that the only clear moment the Main Man had that season made that event special and both Jordaan and I will forever be thankful for yet another rally filled with moments, moments of fear and moments of joy!
I suppose you now know why rallying is not a sport where you make many friends.
You beat them even while using their gearboxes to do so.
Friends or no friends – I loved every moment of it, but later on, a few spanners landed in the gearboxes of the sport.
Cheque books and egos took over from characters and talent.