The art of making ginger beer

I’d been waiting for Bathurst 2006 for three long years.

Why three years? Well about 1096 days ago, plans for the Mount Panorama Resort were revealed. And those white-shoed, check-jacketed types announced the MPR would be open in time for the ’06 Great Race.

The glossy brochure used catchy words like "position, position, pole position" to drag me in. So I telexed off my request for accommodation. My telex instructed:

Dear Sir STOP
Please reserve room overlooking track for 2006 race STOP
In: October 5 STOP
Out: October 9 STOP
Please stock fridge with VB bottles STOP
Intend to relax in spa STOP
Please make sure no-one wees in it STOP
Stan the Fan STOP

After years of scrimping and saving my pennies and dragging my caravan to circuits, I was finally gonna watch the race in style.

I couldn’t sleep for weeks beforehand, so excited was I by the prospect of sitting out on the balcony overlooking The Chase.

And it made a nice change not having to tow my Viscount Ambassador to Bathurst. In fact, the drive up from Sydney was so relaxing, I even had time to stop at Katoomba and visit my three sisters. Ah, all so very relaxing...

So imagine my disappointment when I finally got to the track only to find the blasted Mount Panorama Resort hadn’t been completed yet!

At least that explained why I hadn’t received a telex or fax back from reservations at the MPR. And I thought no news was good news!

My despair only grew when I saw what had been built along Conrod Straight – a dedicated parking area for motorhomes.

So here was me, for the first time at Bathurst without my van, only to find I finally had a proper spot to park it. Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!!

There were further changes this year that greatly affected me, namely the new alcohol serving procedure.

You see, you could take grog into the camping areas, but you couldn’t consume a brewski trackside – unless you bought ’em in (and drank ’em in) dedicated fenced-off areas.

This led to an ugly moment when I was sitting trackside quenching my considerable thirst with bottles of my home brew. A burly security guard promptly came to confiscate my stash.

"Sir, I have to relieve you of those VB longnecks, as they are prohibited," he said.

"No bloody way," I responded, to his great surprise. "Get your bleeding hands off my ginger beer, you flamin’ gorilla. It’s only my home-made ginger beer inside these VB bottles."

I’m not sure what startled him more – being called a gorilla or learning that the fine art of ginger beer making was still being practiced. Regardless, he soon racked off.

Anyway, I ended up managing to convince Big Hair Nev to let me sleep on the floor of his apartment. I think me sharing my ginger beer recipe was enough payment for him.

He just loves hearing about the finer points of ginger beer making, so I gave him a detailed rundown on the artform through the night.

"Thanks Stan, for those very interesting instructions," he yawned on the Monday morning after the race. "I think Greg Ritter’s foot got more sleep than me this weekend!"

Actually, feet turned out to be something of a theme on race day. The poor Rat broke his in that massive crash, while old Skaifey boy’s made his clutch slip.

Oh, and I put mine in my mouth when I asked Steve Johnson, Anthony Tratt and Marcus Marshall just what in carnation they thought they were doing during the race.

Not surprisingly, all three of them decided to plant their feet on my backside.

Geez, I certainly won’t be inviting any of those blokes up for ginger beer and a spa when the Mount Panorama Resort is finished next year... – Stan