The Great Race

As the bright sun dawns over the vast horizon the tarmac which slowly creeps up the rugged mountain-side glistens,
The limbs of large trees which stand tall and proud within the valley below rustle then sink as a flock of birds assemble within,
Observant kangaroos skip cautiously across the road atop of the mountain; there is no traffic to hinder them at this time of morning,
However this will soon change.

As the blazing sun begins its steady incline into the sky, nature’s playground becomes overrun with people, and the majority of wildlife retreat back to their hideaways,
Soon enough the deep roar of V8 engines begin to echo though the valleys and over the mountain, this race is the holy grail of all races, this race is the Bathurst 1000.
Over the years spirits have been both broken and revived, and sometimes it is the mountain that conquers the drivers, but for one weekend of October each year, this track comes to life
For its true purpose... racing.

The smell of fresh rubber and fuel drifts through the air, and the deep 'putt putt' sound of the rev limiters follows the cars up and down the lane.
There is an abundance of colour on the main straight, the shining untainted cars liveries blend together to create a rainbow effect,
And a plethora of sponsor flags flutter in the slight breeze. As the straight is cleared in preparation for the beginning of the great race an eerie silence comes over the crowd,
All eyes are on the cars as their engines rev in anticipation, within a split second their tires are spinning and the race is underway.

The cars arrive at the infamous 'hell corner' in an instant, a sharp left hand turn then the drivers find themselves stepping on the throttle to power up 'mountain straight', above the roar of the crowd the
Cars can be heard, their sheer power already echoing throughout the countryside. Some cars step sideways throughout the cutting, there is even slight contact with the wall, with some cars losing mirrors and
Summoning sparks against the pale concrete. As the cars conclude their seemingly endless climb up the mountain they reach 'Brock’s skyline', both scenic and terrifying, the beautiful scenic outlook is truly spectacular, but the drivers do not have time to daydream, the 'esses' which lead down to 'Forest Elbow' fast approaches, as the cars begin their descent back down the mountain some curious kangaroos venture onto the track, only to be met by the colorful roaring cars, the roo skips from side to side, trying to avoid the 'monsters' that are like missiles flying towards it, as the roo becomes uncoordinated by its fear so too do the cars, they swerve every which where trying to avoid contact, the roo finds its way off the track through a small clearing, after its near death experience it retreats back into the scrub, unlikely to return to the track until it is safe once more.

As the descent down the mountain continues the track unfolds onto ‘Conrod straight’, the roar of the V8's becomes deafening as their engines are pushed to their limits reaching 300 km/h, but this is soon interrupted by the screeching of tires as a car locks its brakes and spears off the road after miscalculating the turn at 'the chase', after a short detour through the gravel trap the car returns to the track, joined too by the sound of small pebbles rattling underneath the car, flying from the tires and skipping across the road like a rock skips across the water.

161 laps later many cars are sitting helplessly upon tow trucks, their once glossy and finished appearance has been destroyed, but back on track the winner is crossing the finish line, the checkered flag is flown and the sound of the roaring engines subsides, no longer are the cars being pushed to their limits, they are idling around the track, the race winner is letting the win sink in as they flick the headlights on and off progressing around the track one last time.

The race has been won, the celebrations are underway, glistening champagne sprays from the bottles over the cheering crowd, and as the sun sets, Mount Panorama becomes isolated once again, the vigilant kangaroos and possums creep out of their hideaways, no longer hindered by the roaring monsters, they are at peace once more. Flocks of birds fly overhead, gliding, singing and twirling in the slight breeze, and in the dense scrub a kangaroo sits, licking his wounds inflicted by the sharp tarmac upon which he scrambled.