Speedway memories

As a young fella, Easter time couldn't come around quick enough. There was the annual visit from the rellies from the city and the Easter Egg hunt on the Sunday morning.

However the big event for me was the Speedway on the Saturday, the Port Pirie Long Track Speedway. This was part of the national racing scene and the mile long track was legendary in it's time. The excitement would begin with the usual article in the local paper, advertising the coming event. Usually accompanied with a photo of a hopeful local who was going to enter the event that year. On the big day we would be taken to the track with friends or family, and the cars would be queing up at the gate. Slowly crawling forward as the money and programmes were changing hands. Once we were past the gate the next stage was to find a park on the fence. You had to be early to get any prime positions. As you approached the track sitting in the car you could hear the roar of the bikes practicing for the coming events. The loud PA system would be heard but what they were saying was often muffled by the roar or the motors or the cheering of the spectators. Walking past the pits was heaven. There were the machines all lined up ready to race, last minute adjustments, last minute polishing. The riders clad in full leathers, often open to the waist until it was their turn to race. The smell of racing fuel, hot chips, hamburgers, and dust permeated the nose. Smells that are forever stamped in your mind. The time for the first race would come. Bikes were wheeled out to the track by the mechanics with the rider steering the bike. Once on the track the rider would straddle the machine and with a quick push the bike would fire up with an almighty roar. The mechanic would watch to see if the bike was running sweet and then vacate the track. Several bikes would be warming up, and coming to the start line.......blat blat blat blat with each twist of the throttle. The starter would line the bikes up accross the track and the roar of the bikes would increase as they were revved harder and harder ready to pounce. The crowd would be glued to the action, waiting for the jump, loudspeaker blaring unable to be heard. The roar of the motors would be at fever pitch and bang the cord would drop and they would be away. Standing there watching with the crowd a tingle would travel down your spine. The race was on in earnest and the first corner was always the most exciting as the bikes would be jockeying for positions. As the bikes sped around the sweeping bend dirt would be sprayed from the spinning rear tyres over the fence and into the crowd. No one cared the race was on. The races were usually over a 3 or 4 lap period and went for approx 3 to 5 minutes if I remember. The atmosphere was electric and the finish line was where it all ended. Crowd cheering as the local boy won, just beating the favourite from the big city...........Not all the riders had a good day, some came off their bikes, some okay some picked up by the St Johns volunteers and taken to the hospital. It was all part of the excitement.................... those were the days.