I wrote this piece sometime in the mid 1990's as a reflection of my boyhood visits to Pukekohe in the late 1960's and early 1970's. This particular celebration if you like, was about the raw assault of the Big Banger's as experienced from our usual viewing spot in the infield at the hairpin at the end of the long back straight. Here it is....

THE BIG BANGERS.

Two teenage boys huddled in a windswept paddock,
eyes straining down the adjacent narrow asphalt ribbon.
Adrenalin excitement is pumping through my veins,
as the gutteral thunder of huge American engines,
crescendo's across this plain.
"They're off!", screams the distorted megaphone voice,
lost immediately in a sweeping tidal wave of sound obilivion.
Low squat luridly coloured steel projectiles,
sweep into the back straight.
Mustangs and Camaros, Monaros and Falcons,
the "Big Bangers" bunched together unleash there,
heavy artillery down the long chute to where we await.
A wave of heavenly thunder assaults my senses.
Shaking with anticipation, my eyes still locked,
on that empty piece of road.
Wham! The sledghammer like blow in my stomach signals,
from behind the picket fences the leaders slam into sight.
Rivetted to the spot, trance like I watch,
this mass of moving metal, bearing down on me.
Bucking writhing and slamming down through the gearbox,
the velocity is stripped away.
Gosling for position and who's nerves will give way first,
the ballistic sounds of back firing V8 engines.
Sliding through this tricky little turn on their huge sticky tyres,
then get the hammer down again, as soon as its straight.
The hero's and their machines deafen, in a cloud of smoke and fury,
Disappearing into the late afternoon sky.