Monty Suffern

A story from Monty Suffern (Thanks Monty)

“Insurance” does not always work.

I guess enough gravel has hit the underside of rally cars since this story was unfolding in real time that it can now be told.  Let me say at the outset, that despite having won the Australian Champion Rally navigator title twice where it would be assumed that I am quite meticulous in my approach to this great sport (and I was), my sense of detail is sadly lacking, especially with things which happened more than 30 years ago, but with that said, the basic story which follows is what happened.

I think it was in the 1975 Southern Cross Rally that the Nissan Motor Company decided to limit its official entry to three cars which were Datsun 710s driven by Harry Källström from Sweden, Rauno Aaltonen  from Finland, and George Fury as the local driver.  These vehicles were supposedly identical to each other, so you can imagine our mood when the cars of Källström and Aaltonen expired with engine problems (holes in pistons I recall, although the official Company press release said something less inflammatory about blown head gaskets) within the first few stages of the event – maybe even before dark on the first day, and certainly fairly close to Sydney.  We were fully expecting the same result for our car, but somehow made it through the first night and into Port Macquarie. 

Although in this particular year, it was forbidden to change engines during the event (although you could change most anything else), we had been assured by the leaders of our service crew that they would “replace the spark plugs” when we got to the end of the second night when each vehicle could be taken out of parc ferme for an hour and a half for major service items to be attended to.  We had the feeling that the replacement of the spark plugs would involve them being attached to a great hunk of metal (with pistons and stuff like that in it) but that is conjecture on our part.   Certainly there would have been something along those lines residing somewhere in one of the service vehicles.

In any case, having spent more than a few nights over the years in the Aussie bush beside a defunct rally car, we knew how cold it could get, and so on the basis of “if you have it with you, you will never need it” more than a few crews would carry a bottle of “insurance” to ward off the winter chills.  As you might imagine, it was along the lines of a thermos of tea, only better.  Well, it came to pass, that about 4:00am in the morning, our car succumbed to whatever was ailing this particular batch of rally cars that year, and we were in the middle of nowhere, although only about 11 km from the second last check point for the night. 

Although the car was undamaged (apart from the engine) we coasted to a gentle stop as far to the side of the road as possible so as not to hinder following cars.  So close were we to the edge that there was a near injury when I opened my door and stepped out down a 20 ft sheer embankment.  Having already broken my “works” pencil in half because of the engine blowup (about as much emotion to these things as I usually show) I could only offer a few profanities to the heavens as I clambered back up to the road, while my “good friend” George was pissing himself with laughter.  The last laugh was mine however, as we decided to walk the 11k to the control point, after having retrieved the insurance from the back of the car to keep us warm.  After only a small swig (or maybe two at the most) I decided I had had enough of that, so with George mumbling something about “weak bastard” we continued our walk through the bush along the rally route.

With rally cars passing us at two minute intervals (or thereabouts) we did not wish to distract them and so politely stood behind conveniently placed gum trees and out of sight while they passed.  At one point however, one of the cars skidded to a halt at a fork in the road, and it was obvious from the Japanese language emanating from the vehicle that this crew was undecided about which way to proceed.  Feeling that one of Australia’s leading navigators could be of assistance, I stepped out from behind my tree and said in a broad and loud Aussie accent “hey, can I help you guys”.  Well you have to picture this scenario in your mind to appreciate the reaction from this crew. Here they are in the middle of the Australian bush, far from home, black as the ace of spades and miles from anywhere, when they are accosted by who knows what.  Maybe they had heard the tales of bunyips or other dreaded bush animals, but the reaction was immediate and explosive as they wheelspun down the road (I think on the right one, but I cannot recall).

Well by the time we reached the checkpoint, George was feeling well and truly second hand, having polished off the bottle of port (there now I have let the cat out of the bag) more or less by himself and we got a ride back into Port Macquarie.  Being a Southern Cross Rally however, the rally headquarters, the famous (or infamous) Sandcastle was not only serving your choice of dinner, lunch or breakfast at 6:00 am (depending on where your body clock and system was up to), but also the bar was open, so we did what any decent rally crew would have done – we repaired to the bar.  I have a feeling that I might have insulted a couple of parasites who were hanging around that bar that day at Datsun’s expense, but before long, with our rally done until the next year, we were both ready to retire (in all senses of the word) for the day. 

There were a couple of sequels worth reporting over the next few days, probably involving Sake, and Japanese mechanics, and arm wrestling (which I won) but this story is long enough for now.  Before I close however, I must stress that despite this tale, I know of no rally team who would dream of imbibing while competing – it is just after the competition was over as was the situation for us in this case.  Also I confirm that our reputation for sobriety and dedication to our task was hard won and accurate as our record of results attests.

Monty Suffern