For an Old Drunk Bugger

There is one particular bend in Witbank that holds a number of fond and fender-bending memories. It’s a duel carriageway starting as 3 lanes wide and poised by a set of traffic lights. I’d come smoking it from the opposite direction, ditch the ZX (which was my old school import) into second leading up to the intersection – throw her nose straight at the curb, drop the clutch and hammered down the accelerator. 

This is long before the days of Limited Slip Diff’s and Power Over drifting – the aim was just to get the tail wagging and loosen up the back wheels. She would slide across, with the outside wheel throwing a hiffy-fit, and so as long as you gave her enough tarmac and the correct steering feed she would eventually straighten out. Do not over feed her – that just ends you up eating in a dirt bank. The same dirt bank that would soon come to panel beat my bumper into looking like she was smiling the whole time – I kind of think she was, like a naughty Japanese girl porno manga smile. But that’s another story for another time.

This story is homage to the Swartbos Sway. As I mentioned you pull off from a set of lights – cream 300m and enter a swooping right bend that goes from 3 into 2 lanes. She swoops, cambers perfectly and starts introducing curbs, trees and show rooms on either side that taunt you with endless multiple-hit combo’s style hazards if you don’t handle her with respect.

I remember my first experience – I went into that bend around 160 and the ZX lost her composure. I can’t remember who I had in the car with me that day but I do remember them squealing – because we hit the apex in all sorts of trouble. For as we went sideways and cleared the first curb, much to our surprise, there was a granny-mobile in my lane. Ted (my Guardian Angel) did the maths and told me to allow the drift to follow and once we are in line with Granny – bite left at the steering and flick her back in line. Ted is a freakin genius – we smoked past Granny, well past sideways – as my headlights aimed her door panel I flicked the ZX a hard left and held the boot. Must have looked unbelievable. I can imagine Granny pulling into her old age home fuelled by this experience – hand brake turning that Rolla and hoping out (maybe hobbling out) brushing dirt off her shoulders and s**t, popping her dentures in with a flick and busting a “Whaddup Oldies”.

That experience gave me confidence to caress the Swartbos Sway. So much so that an evening would not be complete without a hot burn through first. I first found out she felt our relationship should be monogamous the night I shared her with Cousin Brad. We pelted his BMW E30 in there at speeds unbeknown to us and that didn’t work out as well. She emitted bad Chi and slammed us into the curb side on. A second lesson from that experience is that, as it turns out, applying Fanta Grape does not miraculously mend damages to your alloys. I was sure it did. Who convinced me that? But it doesn’t. Just makes the dents purple.

It was a cold winter’s night in the Highveld. ZX loved her premium served ice cold and so we were terrorising town and assisting the tax payers by layering the roads in rubber. We ended up at bumping into a school buddy of mine whom had “lent” his parents Polo for homework or project work or whatever. He was keen for a little dice – I’m always hot for one. Just so happens that the chosen strip that lay in front of us was my lady. Now I know I have the road-holding superiority so the plan is just to get to the corner first – from there it’s not even a contest. 

Revs up to 4500, I love the way a straight six hums, clutch out slightly hanging on the handbrake (this is pre-launch control tactics) and maintain your focus on the Christmas tree. The amber turns green which sends an almost electrifying pulse through my body to ditch the clutch and smash the throttle – we are off. Up, second – 4000 – 5000 – 6000 – 6500 a quarter flick on the clutch and pump her into third. The humming turns into a schizo’ scream as we enter the bend around the 140 mark. I took the inside lane – Polo on my outside. Hold third – juicing around the 5500rpm mark and balance her into the bend. The focus is tangible. Road, line, curbs, trees, curb, line, curb, line just focus on your channel and then BOOM! 

I had noticed the flicker of headlights next to me but never realised there were not facing forward. Andrew has lost it in the bend, front wheel drive just through in the towel, and T-Boned me at 140. The force shoved me up onto the median which was lined with trees – my focus now struggling to zone in on the trees and not the cyclone of shrapnel following me on my left. ZX saved me that night – if I had hit a tree it would have been tickets. I came to a halt about 500m down the road. She was all bust up on her left flank and limping. I looked in my mirror and the Polo has just come to a stop – it rolled 5 or 6 times. Police told us that, at impact, the front left wheel collapsed from the force leading the nose to dig into the surface. That gripped and flipped the car and its three occupants – flic-flak style - with so much momentum the Polo began undressing itself. I ran up and helped Andrew and his back seat passenger out. They were ok – shaken up but ok. The front passenger was not responding. His head had been beaten open and he was limp. We couldn’t get the door open – I ran around the other side and sat in the driver’s chair – felt for a pulse…as faint as fart in a perfume factory…but it was there. Propped his head up hoping to slow the bleeding and called emergency services.

While this was happening our third passenger completely flipped out and just walked across the road, hoped over some guys’ wall and knocked on their back door. What a tool – he just disappeared completely. Andrew and I got together to make sure our story made sense to the Police before they arrived to question us. And it did. He was my mate and I will always back my mate – even if He has retarded illusions of Collin McRae. It all went well with the Poe Poe until a nearby car guard – an old white grandpa, came over to us. I don’t know why – maybe to repent for his sins. I stood there in his putrefied sherry-death odour while he laid the story straight with the five o.

For an old drunk bugger – his sight was impeccable.