Party Circuit

By TONY WALL

'It's just an excuse for a three-day booze-up," says Gary the taxi driver (and staunch Ford man) as we cruise into Adelaide in his big — you guessed it — Ford Falcon.

Photographer Peter Meecham and I are in town for the second Clipsal 500, a motor race around the streets of inner Adelaide that has quickly become the event on South Australia's sporting and social calendar.

Even the organisers have seen fit to subtitle this event "V8 Party Adelaide."

We are about to experience three solid days of V8s, jet fighters, Victoria Bitter, hot dogs, ageing Australian rockers, good red wine, Aussie blokes, beer guts, ZZ Top beards, ferals (read bogans), rev-heads (read petrol-heads), steak sandwiches, Porsches, Ferraris, street parties, Holdens, Fords and more girls dressed in Lycra than you would find at the World Aerobics Championships.

Forget the fact that the Australian tennis team is in town playing Germany in the quarter-finals of the Davis Cup, the real action is down at the racetrack.

We are guests of the South Australian Tourism Commission, who look after us superbly while pretty much leaving us to our own devices. Our accommodation is top notch. We each have a huge apartment at the trendy Georgia Mews in Wakefield St, a five-minute walk to the racetrack and a 15-minute stroll to downtown Adelaide.

Day 1, Friday: qualifying

We arrive at the racetrack, which runs around some of Adelaide's main inner-city streets and through the racecourse, to find what appears to be the annual general meeting of the National Beergut Association in progress.

Everywhere we look, stomachs protrude over belts. If you can see your toes in this crowd, you really aren't cutting it.

Beards are also in abundance. Goatees (preferably ZZ Top-style) are the norm. The regulation outfit is jeans, T-shirt tucked into trousers (must have a reference to a motorsport or a slogan about your ability to "sink beer"), boots and a Ford or Holden cap.

I make the mistake of wearing a multi-coloured knitted sunhat to protect my fair complexion.

Almost immediately I am set on by a brash, VB-slugging Aussie bloke wearing a leather cap emblazoned with Holden logos, who less than politely informs me that I am just asking to get picked on "wearing that thing."

I refrain from commenting on his resemblance to the leather-clad biker from the Village People, instead deciding that in the interests of my own safety I should perhaps make more of an effort to blend in.

It does not take long to find an enormous tent catering for my very need.

"You want a hat? Take your pick," the Lycra-clad girl behind the Holden stand says.

I find a corduroy Garry Rogers Motorsport sunhat that should protect my delicate hide from the sun and the vicious barbs of the Feral Brigade.

We wander around the enormous race area and are simply blown away by the facilities.

There are temporary stands everywhere (seating for 17,000), great pit facilities, carnival rides, food stalls, giant screens, beer tents,
merchandising tents and even clean toilets.

We get our first glimpse of the V8s as they scream around the circuit in the qualifier to establish the grid places for the next day's big race.

But it is the production cars competing in the Nations Cup that are my favourite — Ferraris and Porsches battling it out at speeds of around 200 km/h.

We find a group of girls who are attending the Clipsal 500 for the first time. They have Holden logos painted on their faces and glasses of bourbon in their hands.

"We're here to get drunk and see the race, and that's what we're doing," they say.

We leave the track and prepare for the big social event of the weekend, the Clipsal 500 Ball to be held at the Adelaide Convention Centre with tickets at a not-too affordable $245 a head.

T-shirts make way for monkey suits as we gather to enjoy entertainment from the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra and a bunch of old rockers — including Glenn Shorrock (ex-Little River Band) and Ross Wilson (ex-Daddy Cool). The veal and beef main course is divine and South Australian red flows non-stop.

Day 2, Saturday: the first 250km

Meecham and I find a spot by the chicane to watch the start of the first 250km race.

F-18 jets roar an ear-splitting 50m above the crowd, blowing any chance we had of a quick recovery from our hangovers.

The jets compete in a mock dogfight. A couple of Royal New Zealand Airforce Skyhawks fly over — the Mini to the F-18s' V8.

Then the race starts and suddenly 30-plus cars hurtle towards us.

Up against the fence, we are almost blown over by the sheer power and speed of these machines. I've never experienced anything quite like it and would recommend giving it a go — you don't have to be a petrol-head to get a thrill.

The race is exciting as the lead changes
several times. We are rooting for the Kiwi
drivers, including Paul Radisich, Craig Baird and Greg Murphy. Ford man Radisich, "the Rat," leads the race at one stage but pit stops, accidents and faster Holdens conspire to drop him back to fifth place at the finish.

During the day we speak to a variety of colourful characters, including Victorian motorsport fanatic Gary Allman. A member of the Army Coats (dozens of Holden logos adorn his trench coat), he has been following the V8s for 20 years, he tells us, slugging on a can of VB. His son Jeff is carrying on the tradition.

We also come across a group of army boys who are on leave to watch the racing. They have spent the day filling up their cameras with shots of them with their arms around the "pit dollies" who circle the track dressed in Lycra.

These women, without an ounce of fat between them, have been recruited from modelling agencies. The Aussie blokes don't just look at them, they ogle, whistle and encourage them to "get your gear off."

That night we head into town, where the main street has been cordoned off for a party. Dozens of restaurants and pubs beckon, and it's not long before we are partying with the locals.

Day 3, Sunday: the second 250km.

This is the day the rains come. A huge thundercloud appears over the racetrack and rain soon drenches everybody. Organisers consider aborting the race but manage to get the 250km in. Then, everyone retires to the beer tents.

And the pit dollies can't be put off — they wear clear plastic raincoats so the punters can still get an eyeful.

Today I speak with the general manager of the Clipsal 500, Andrew Daniels, who says the inaugural event in 1999 attracted 162,000 people over three days. This year it's 165,000, including 7800 out-of-town visitors — 700 of them New Zealanders.

Daniels says New Zealand is the event's most significant overseas market and he wants even more Kiwis to come next year.

It's a great way to spend a long weekend, he says.

"We've got cars, girls, concerts, food and wine all in one location; the whole city buzzes. People need an excuse for a party — we're giving them that excuse."

• Tony Wall and Peter Meecham soaked up the petrol fumes as guests of the South Australian Tourism Commission and Qantas.