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| Trip to Venlo & Venray In 1998, having had such a good time getting drunk and watching stockcars, I decided to return in 1999. Again, I kept a diary and entered whatever went round in my sore head at the time. | |
| Double Dutch........................Thursday 19th August 1999 "Well, well, well, well, well," warbled Bev Greenhalf after John Lund's record equalling win at Odsal in 1997. And old Bev himself was there at Venray, commentating, trying out his "O" Level Nederlands on the unsuspecting cloggies! Dutch is a bit like German in that it contains many words familiar to us, e.g. "Ik heb een lek in de band" is "I have a puncture", or "There is a leak in the band of rubber where the air is kept". See what I mean? As is usual we went to Amsterdam for a "day" trip, consisting of 3 hours travelling and 4 hours resting, in readiness for the 3 hour journey back! In Amsterdam there is a certain area, called Dam, which attracts men in the way s*** attracts flies. In case you did not know it is called the Red Light area, because there are lots of red lights presumably! What would I know, I went on a cultural visit intending to see the Anne Frank museum along with a Dutch girlfriend but we had insufficient time so we shared a meal at a street café then briefly watched the Dam Square Street Theatre instead. MY days' entertainment was FREE unlike some I can mention. So here are their names in alphabetical order: - A for apple……….okay lads, cut the panic, only kidding heh heh!! However on their travels it may have been advantageous for them to understand these phrases. "Hoeveel vraagt U per minuut?" (How much do you charge per minute?), "Is er een prijsreductie voor studenten? (Do you give discounts for students), and one in particular "Kom snell, alstublieft!" which unfortunately may be lost in the translation but means "Please come quickly!" Hmm!! So how did the trip unfold? Pretty much like last year really; fell off the bus, got pissed, fell down, woke up, had breakfast, went to town, got pissed, fell asleep, woke up, went Stockcar racing, got pissed, fell asleep, woke up, got on the bus, fetched a drive shaft from near Maastricht……hang on a bit. We didn't do that last year! I think it would be best if I started from the beginning eh? So this being my second Stockcar trip to Nederland is Double Dutch to me, although I am more partial to a Double Jamesons! Whilst I was waiting for the bus at J35 on the M1 motorway, I watched a fox trotting across a field. Then it disappeared into a wood, and I thought "Wear the Fox Hat?" Yes? No? Okay, I’ll carry on…..! A red bus arrived 5 minutes late, and the gang who made me so welcome last year did it again this year but with a bit more familiarity. Our bus was a football team coach (no no, it was not called Brian Clough), it had card tables and a changing room area at the back which Keith, Richard (no, not the Rolling Stone) and the 2 Phils had commandeered. I was invited into the parlour and the journey began. Same agenda as last year, motorway gruel, got robbed blind again, but this time at Watford Gap. The rest of the journey was uneventful. Occasionally we were involuntarily propelled forwards, (or backwards in some cases). 1999's driver was "o'er handy wi' t' anchor" as we say in these parts! I had a couple of beers on the ferry but the drinking began in earnest on the other side of the channel. On arrival at the Campanile Hotel there was no meal, so we all went straight down into Venlo. It was going to be pretty hard not to get bladdered without any food inside us! Several Rolling Rocks later, and after a few "whoops a daisy, all fall downs", I ended up in my bed. How? I have not got the faintest idea. I awoke on the Friday morning still a little worse for wear. I forced as much breakfast down as I could, it was to be a long day, but as far as I was concerned it was my big day. I had met a girl on the Internet (sad bastard, I hear you say) and was to meet her face to face for the first time in Amsterdam at about 1045am. I think it was a mild source of amusement to many of the party but I was happy so I did not give a toss. I speculated on our arrival at 1045am, oh yeah, we were still at feckin' Eindhoven at 1045am, just as she was arriving at Amsterdam Central Station on the 1010 from Deventer. Ever so slightly optimistic methinks? As we rolled into the bus-park at Prins Hendrikkade at 1220pm no less, I spotted a small dark haired woman with a yellow coat on, heading back towards the station. She said she would be wearing a yellow coat. Yes, this was her! It had to be! I rushed off the bus and Ray (FatBastardSpice) wished me "good luck". I needed it, because a 100 metre sprint specialist I am not! I set off in a sort of gallop, in the direction of the St Nikolaaskerk, opposite the station, occasionally bellowing her name….and then a piggin' tram came between us, I spotted her again and again yelled again. Just my luck, she must be listening to a Walkman, either that or she is stone deaf! Eventually I was within catching distance and just as I was approaching her a little voice from my left said "Mick?" I had been chasing the wrong flippin' woman for half a mile. What a duck-egg! Anyway to cut a long story short, we had a wonderful day and she is flying over to stay with me for a week in October in north Sheffield. During this period I am going to explain to her the virtues of dry stone walling in the Dales and the link between Emily Bronte, black puddings, whippets and flat caps! Sorry if I have bored you, but you could always go and watch some Hot Rods if you so wish! I have been a little self-indulgent but it is my story after all, so thank you ever so much for bearing with me. The rest of the day was uneventful……..oh hang on I've just remembered something. The Red Light District, now why should I recall something I did not witness? It's gone! For a minute I thought something had happened worth writing about, but it was a non-event. Allegedly! Perhaps if you asked the Clecky Boys they may enlighten you about one of the starters at one of the tracks! The bus journey back was uneventful I am told, I was too busy daydreaming about my day. Incidentally, I was travelling with a broken finger, which I broke when our F2 trailer dropped onto it. It was fairly painful. When I went to the hospital to have it X-rayed, I enquired whether I would be able to play the trumpet with it, and the nurse said it shouldn't be a problem. I was happy to hear this, because I've never played the trumpet before in my life!! Anyway, I digress…. Friday night was party night and, quote "the Long Track atmosphere will again be obvious". I met Fat Harry (people can be so cruel) for the first time in a bar on a street corner in Venlo, a wonderful character indeed, more later. Just as we were getting ready to leave for the Long Bar he went into the "Herren". I thought it was a single bog affair, so I waited for about the time it takes to clear the track at Sheffield after a caravan race! Ages! I was plaiting my legs. I never saw him come back out. I thought he had fallen down the bend. It’s amazing what lengths people will go to avoid talking to me. All I said to him was “isn’t it your round?” As far as the Gouden Tijger went, without Pretty Boy Witts and Chris "the Kid" Lloyd (to whom we wish all the best fighting his illness) falling down on a packed dance floor, it was a pretty tame affair. A large-scale beer mat fight ensued between FWJ's table and Daddy Wainman's table, which added a few smiles, a bit of atmosphere and several direct hits! Edam, Pickering's very own dancing bear, managed to find his customary table to dance on again. On leaving the Long Bar, the Yellow Submarine seemed the best option, it had the loudest music and a hen night where the bride to be was dressed up as a tomato apparently. (Albeit not germinating until October). I must ask my dutch girlfriend about this strange Dutch custom! Most English girls dress to kill. Aha, perhaps she was a killer tomato then? She came around with a guest book for us to sign, which I duly signed in joined up Swahili! Meanwhile, Edam was putting on a tremendous show on the dance floor, but this was only because there were no tables free! Saturday morning ontbijt (breakfast) and we were not alone! A coach load of mainly overweight people, most wearing black sweatshirts with coloured fish embroidered on them, had descended on the Hotel Campanile and had beaten us down to breakfast. Not that it was too difficult to do bearing in mind the night we had just enjoyed/endured, those of us who can remember any of it! There was something very fishy going on here! And sure enough, there was. A whole bus-load of Koi carp enthusiasts had come over from the Wirrall plus a few Swedes (from Sweden, yes) to see the World Koi carp thingy something or other! Wow, we were all very impressed. Could watching those little fishies swimming about in water be as stimulating as hearing the gentle purr of Ray Witts' 530ci big block? I wonder? I wonder if they bred their fish for the table? Carp and chips perhaps? Based on how high the food was piled on their plates, they must have all been starving, the poor things. I never knew it was that bad in Merseyside. (Perhaps Ray could start to organise a raffle for food parcels?) Racked with guilt I put the bread roll I had carefully buttered, back in the basket, AND somebody took it. The greedy scouse bastard! The rest of Saturday morning had a familiar ring to it, wandering around the market until we were bored then sitting down for a drink which inevitably led to several more. A few of us were under the illusion there was racing at Venray that evening, but it was not to be. 391 aka the Bolton windmill was there again, he just loves his Stockcar racing and I enjoyed a fine afternoon reminiscing with him and Dave the Quiff about the days before FWJ! We all remember watching races, with the superstar's amber flashing lights appearing and disappearing intermittently amid maelstroms of dust, don't we? Memories of getting home in the early hours, clogging the shower up with shale dust. Going off on a tandem (as my old boss used to say, bless him) Team 913, our F2 team, decided to jet-wash the shale off the race car at the local Esso garage, after an afternoon Sheffield meeting. Consequently, we have to buy Jet now, having been banned from all Esso garages in our area for clogging up the drain. Heh heh!! Raceday had arrived. Stockcar racing is definitely addictive, it's the atmosphere, the noise and the smells, and that was just at the back of our bus! Most of us were really psyched up for it. 391 cadged a lift on our bus along with Dave the Quiff and his missus. 391 also cadged a can of Kronenberg, suddenly the bus took a fast right hander and the lager spilled all over Dave the Quiff's missus's legs soaking her jeans through. This was not too good a start for the lady, after all it was going to be a long day and stale beer is a big turn off even for a bloke with a broken nose! As this was a new track for all of us, it was something to look forward to. De Peel circuit, Venray, was a bit like Baarlo, in that it was in the middle of a wood, unlikely to upset anyone or anything. Incidently, they said that about Baarlo! Okay perhaps the local milk yield may be reduced for a day or two with the odd Friesian taking fright at the awesome noise produced by the Formula One Stockcars! At first glance the track did not look like it had any straights but the overhead view on the leaflet showed otherwise. The pit area was in a field and it took nearly a gallon of 4 star to get to and from the track. Only 6 Brits showed up, well 7 if you count Gaz Bott who sort of sauntered along for the last race. Out of the 6 Brits only 5 were officially deemed to be racing. Mark Gilbank #21 to anyone who cares, refused to change to #UK21 because the stickers would knacker his paintwork, so all his laps were ignored by the Dutch laps scorers. Good eh? Why not make all the Brits put GB or 50 mph or green "L" stickers on the back of the cab as well? And how did Kroonder get on the front row of the big race? Oh I see, he qualified last Tuesday night, first in a field of one. And why were the saloon stocks going the right way around for a change? Heh heh!! Questions, questions! The racing was very fast, Gary Castell really burned the rubber, and I think this was his and Ron Kroonder's downfall in the final. FWJ just kept on the pace until the final last 4 laps then seemingly effortlessly breezed past the two of them to take the win. Phil muttered something about "tyres" above the din, and I was inclined to agree with him. Rightly or wrongly Frankie drove a calculated race in my opinion, and gave Gary Castell a valuable albeit costly lesson in the meantime. After the race Frankie came up to the "patio" where the more sensible, no I'll rephrase that, where the less boisterous members of B.O.S.S. were seated, and gave his bouquet of weeds (or is it bucket?) to a lady. Wasn't that sweet? In return he nicked someone's beer. Fair swap in my eyes! Prior to the race I met Frans Van Soest again for a chat and then bumped into a New Zealander on top of the Mercedes Exhibition bus. He had come over with Murray Harrison. He told me his name and said he was racing at Sheffield on the 30th August. I warned him about the fence, the one that has caused our F2 Team 913 to learn how to weld, the very same one Stan Hickey calls a "magnet". He said Murray had told him to keep it tight coming out of the bends, so I wished him all the luck in the world and he thanked me. The rest is history. His name was Neil McCoard. He came 4th at Sheffield in his heat and 8th in the final, the one and only Final my mate Ian Tingle won. (I had to get it in somewhere, we are so proud). Then he came a brilliant 2nd to Lundy at Coventry in the Grand National (there must be a better name than grand National surely), then the coup de resistance, in front of a pitiful crowd at Skegness, won Heat 2 (followed by fellow Kiwi Tony McClanaclananachan), and then took the Grand National. Easily the best sequence of results ever achieved by a Kiwi in the UK, and you could not wish to meet a nicer guy! However, it was time to drown the vocal chords! I met Fat Harry again. We had a few beers I can tell you. The table had more than a few bottles on it and some little gremlins kept coming round picking up our bottles. They were on commission for the empties at 25 cents a bottle. I soon worked out that if I drank 18 bottles and took all the empties back I could get one for free! At one stage there were 30 bottles on the table none of them empty, much to the gremlins annoyance. Harry volunteered to us a few personal problems, which will stay secret, although we talked about them with him it was very difficult. I was supposed to be enjoying a Stockcar meeting. Harry is a nice enough fellah and has been around the scene for a long time and I was genuinely pleased to have met him. Sharing the same table was a large Dutch bloke with a massive grin, whom I had met last year at Baarlo, along with half a dozen of his friends, none of whom understood much English. He remembered I spoke German and we were off, just like last year. Brilliant! We had a rare old time. My German improves pro rata with my beer intake so to become more fluent I drank more and more beer. Well that's my story anyway! The beer just kept on coming, I don't know where from, well I do, it was from the bar, but you know what I mean. I bought a tray of beer and 2 more trays appeared along with chips and those sausage things and the customary mayonaisse. By this time the bottle gremlins had given us up as a bad job! It had been a good day but to all intents and purposes the weekend was over. Again the weather had been kind, and again I turned as red as the tomato I met in the Yellow Submarine. Our journey back home from Venlo included a large detour by our bus driver towards Maastricht, to pick up a drive-shaft for a minibus, at a saving of £300 no less. It took us 7 hours to get to Calais, from near Maastricht via Genk-Noord and Westerlo, in Belgium. Again the traffic around the Belgian cities of Charleroi and Antwerp was solid. And to cap it all shock, horror, we had missed our ferry! When we did eventually get on, I headed for the restaurant. Mmmm, I thought, I'll have a lamb chop with roast potatoes, peas, sweet-corn and a glass of orange. When the cashier asked for £7 you could have blown me over with the air from a Hoosier tyre!! Dammit, they were selling sheep at Banbury cattle auctions last week for £2 and that was for a whole one as well, and they were still alive (ticks and all), and that was with a free fur coat chucked in for good measure! Does this mean I was fleeced? So that’s it for another year. Hopefully the Dutch Stockcar organisation will try to put together an interesting package ( i.e. Global Challenge?) for next year to entice more of our boys over, perhaps 2 weeks prior to the World Final so the Kiwis, Yanks and perhaps even the Aussies can have a bash? Yes I know they want to practice on shale, but a more global outlook must be for the benefit of the sport, yes? The American "dream" in February could be just the tip of iceberg. Talking with BriSCA will help, that’s if BriSCA want to talk! Alternatively Mr Stockcars himself, Bev Greenhalf (the bloke I insulted on page one) could be a catalyst in this amalgam. He is quite a guy, has all the right contacts and seems to organise things smoothly. The Dutch boys put quite a lot back into our sport, and their car presentation is brilliant, so we owe it to them to grace their meetings with our presence in larger numbers. This is serious stuff isn't it, yet it is not beyond our capabilities as a viable motor sport either. Thanks again for reading my drivel, and thanks yet again for putting up with me on the Kronenberg Express. One final point, if you want to see Stockcars in your local paper, then don't wait for it to happen, make it happen. I have just organised for a photo shoot for Ian Tingle, to be published alongside some Stockcar rhetoric in the Sheffield Star, as part of the build up to the World Final, his first and Sheffield's first as far as I can remember. It will have been published by the time you have read this. Listen to this fact! There is nobody out there reporting on F1 or F2 Stockcars. You have to do it yourself. It's easy, just ring the Yorkshire Post, T & A or Skipton Daily Blah, ask for "copy" and dictate your report. Simple! Get to know the sports editors, they are only human, and they have to fill their slots with something, why not Stockcar racing? Don't try to advertise forthcoming events though, they don't like that. They like to charge for adverts! But to advertise the sport via photos and reports costs nowt! Keep it local and make it interesting, but be sure it includes someone winning something, losers and tryers unfortunately don't make good reading. Okay? Tot gauw Postscript: |
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