Victor Bray has a neat farm outside of Brisbane, complete with kangaroos and koala bears. What’s even neater is his race shop and collection of old cars.

So we went to Willowbank Raceway on Sunday, the second day of the meeting and while it had rained much of Saturday night and into Sunday morning, race officials elected to pull the plug until the next month. What inevitably happened after this decision is what we call the “Bill Bader Syndrome”. If you call the race on Saturday, the clouds will dissipate, sun will come out and not one single drop of rain will fall for the rest of the weekend.

PART 1: MAKING THE TRIP
PART 2: HANGING WITH VICTOR BRAY
PART 3: THERE'S A YANKEE [AMERICAN] IN THE WILLOWBANK PITS
PART 4: DRIVING MISS BESSIE

Victor Bray has a neat farm outside of Brisbane, complete with kangaroos and koala bears. What’s even neater is his race shop and collection of old cars.

So we went to Willowbank Raceway on Sunday, the second day of the meeting and while it had rained much of Saturday night and into Sunday morning, race officials elected to pull the plug until the next month. What inevitably happened after this decision is what we call the “Bill Bader Syndrome”. If you call the race on Saturday, the clouds will dissipate, sun will come out and not one single drop of rain will fall for the rest of the weekend.

With no racing, and in Brisbane until Tuesday, Victor decided to head back home where I hopped a ride in the rig for some old school travel and interesting riding conversation. Of course, with my body still on American time, I nodded a few times during the journey.

However, there was no napping when Victor introduced me to his first true love – a jet black, lumbering Aussie-built 1957 Chevy affectionately referred to as Bessie.

Bessie is not your average street car, especially when you consider there’s a 1400-horse, supercharged powerplant between the fenders. This is the car where Victor got his racing start.

Up until this point, I’d never ridden in a supercharged car of any time. Bessie was my first.

Victor is very selective where he drives Bessie, so we kept our journey confined to the private roads around his house.

Man, what a ride. At one point, headed down his long paved driveway, Victor nailed the throttle, filling the interior with smoke and providing me with a journey throughout the front seat.

I asked Victor if I could drive Bessie and he politely declined. This was a far cry from the gentleman who suggested once I land on the first day, pick up a rental car and drive to his house – on the wrong side of the house.

I simply refused, fearing for my life and those fearless yet unsuspecting Aussies.

Finally, after we had taken the Holden Monaro for many journeys through the field in pursuit of Kangaroos, I told Victor I would give it a shot. After all, we had full insurance on the car.

Needless to say, after a speedy ride around town which included a ride by parked cars on Victor’s side [missing by an inch or so]; he acquiesced that maybe I shouldn’t drive after all. In America, we stay closer to the outer boundary than the center line. In Australia, it’s the opposite. I drove the Monaro American style.

The usually unshakeable Victor bray was reduced to a simple comment exiting the car, “You puckered me bum, Matt. I think I need a drink.”

You know, a funny thing happened from this point; he never let me drive again.