It is said that generations are defined by the soundtrack of their youth. And that’s true. We all remember the pop songs and music as we grew up and became aware of the wider world. It’s the same with cars and with sport. We all remember our first car and those cars to which we aspired and longed for, the ones whose photographs adorned our bedroom walls. Why do you think the classic car industry has taken off so dramatically.
So too with sporting heroes. Parents and relatives influence their offspring with regard to sport and participation and we all remember our first sporting heroes and passions. Some of us stick with them, and some lose their way and take up golf or fishing. Others continue to indulge their passion for all things automotive, in this case rallying, and one man in particular. The one whose presence was so sorely missed this weekend.
I’m writing this in an empty media centre at Knockhill and the paddock outside is almost deserted. Already the images and the sounds from the weekend are but memories.
Perhaps the most difficult and poignant moment for me was surely the parade of Colin’s cars. Despite the fact that many of these cars have been shown and displayed at other events over recent years, this was the first time that we had seen them being driven in public. Not static, but moving, very moving.
I don’t know if you noticed but one car in particular had a bit of a misfire. The first rally car. The Talbot Sunbeam. Big Barry had spent all Friday trying to clean out the carbs and clear its throat. It stubbornly refused all efforts.
It wasn’t the only one here this weekend with a lump in its throat.