It’s a sad fact of life that our great sports arenas, just like our sporting heroes, don’t last forever. In Auckland alone I’ve seen the demise of both Carlaw and Newmarket Parks, international venues writ large in our sporting history.
I even shed a silent tear when they bulldozed the Manukau Super Stage – where else could you watch the stars of the WRC from the holding cells of a District Court?
But sometimes the memories and the ticket stubs provide inadequate souvenirs. When Lancaster Park was demolished after the Christchurch earthquakes, there was a steady demand from collectors for grandstand seats or sections of goalpost.
When Eden Park was re-turfed, there were queues down the street lining up for the opportunity to replant their back lawns with some of the most hallowed grass in the country (not to be confused with Coromandel Green).
So I thought – if they do it for rugby, why can’t I do it for motorsport?
The race track at Pukekohe Park has been sitting alone and unloved for six months now, since the final curtain was drawn. In my mind, this means that historic tarmac is fair game, to be carved up by the square metre and flogged off to diehard race fans keen for the ultimate in memorabilia.
Indeed, why would you lay carpet in your garage when you could re-surface it with a stretch of Turn One, or choose cobblestones when the hairpin ripple strips are going begging?
I took the NZ Autocar Bongo for a run out to Puke one evening, as I knew the horsey fraternity are notorious early risers so were unlikely to disturb my endeavours. The gates were fortunately still open, which obviated my plan to scale the security fencing with wheelbarrow and pickaxe.
I parked in the shadow of the Member’s Stand and was heading down to the Start/Finish line when a young woman’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Hi,” she said, from the saddle of her rather large horse. “Can I help you?”
“I’m just soaking in the nostalgia,” I answered. “I had some pretty special times here over the years.”
She pointed her riding crop at my array of tools. “And the shovel is for…?”
“Some memories are buried deeper than others.”
She gave a grin and coaxed her stallion down towards the track. “Well, good luck, but don’t expect to find any gold – the TAB’s got it all.”
I watched the pair head off at a brisk canter and once again marvelled at the effect a pair of jodhpurs has on my spirits. But I was not there to admire jockeys’ derrieres – I was there to excavate an abandoned circuit.
Still, something didn’t feel quite right. The racetrack looked anything but neglected.
The edges marking the track limits looked freshly painted and the verges newly mown. The length of armco liberated by souvenir hunters on the last day of racing had been replaced and the Pits area appeared pristine.
I walked out onto the centre of the track and inspected a small wet patch on the racing line. Someone had been spraying herbicide on the weeds that pop up in the tarmac from the grass seed that drifts across from the gallops course.
Curiouser and curiouser.
There’s something going on at Pukekohe Park and I don’t know what it is. I can’t see the Counties Racing Club doing an about-face and allowing the return of motor racing when they’re touting it as a full-time horse training facility.
Yet the race circuit appears in good order and ready for something motorised.
Perhaps a race school? A driver training track for the Police or luxury car market?
My investigative journalist instincts have been piqued and I will not rest until I’ve uncovered the truth (remember you read it here first).
Until then, I need to re-acquaint myself with the young lady with the whip. You never know what you might find out – straight from the horse’s mouth.
This article first appeared in the December/January issue of NZ Autocar magazine.
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