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Track officials communicate via walkie talkies as the drivers take their positions at the starting line.
The crowd buzzes, shouting encouragement to their favourite drivers and revelling in the festive atmosphere. Yet within each cockpit all is deathly still in preparation. Eyes remain focused on the finish line in the distance. Jaws set in grim determination - silent, but for three short words repeated by all but one driver.
Evie. Wood. McGuire.
The 2017 champion has been spotted prowling the pit area with a glint in her eye that screams, 'Stay out my way boys!' She's carved a reputation for fearless driving and with this, her last year eligible for the junior category, she is clearly the one to beat.
Ever since the invention of the wheel, humans have been finding ways to harness speed in an effort to out do one another. From dirt roads to the bright lights, the need for speed has been the way of death defying rebels ready to throw down on the track to see just who is the best.
There are many fine races staged throughout the world, and some of them can even be classified as great. The Indy 500, the Monaco Grand Prix, and of course, the Le Mans 24 Hour.
Yet, despite their status or prize money, none can compare to the event unfolding on a warm Sunday afternoon. For this is where the true racing happens. This is the Mount George Billy Cart Derby on NSW's Mid North Coast.
The derby began back in 2015 and has grown appreciatively, drawing spectators and competitors alike, eager to match it with the best of the locals. The program features three age categories: toddlers (3-5 years), juniors (5 -13 years) and an open age division.
Defying expectations, it is the junior division that dominates proceedings. These drivers are the true breed. Devil-may-care rookies with fire in the bellies and ice water in their veins. They care nothing of carnage, destruction and the perils of too much speed. For them, it never gets fast enough.
For the past two years the event has been on hold due to COVID, much to the disdain of drivers who've been forced to supplement their need for high stakes thrills by indulging pastimes as varied as cliff diving, crocodile wrestling, or hunting great white sharks. But this is the way of the racer. It is a lifelong affliction.
With practice runs complete and the "toddlers" out of the way, the crowd settles in for what is deemed the 'main event'.
Carts attack the downhill run like warriors in a rush to Valhalla. Wheel to wheel the run is a test of who will blink first and choose self preservation over possible glory. Collisions occur.
Tight radius corners entice fearlessness before retaliating through physics, sending carts toppling and drivers sprawling. Again and again the St John ambulance attendants scramble to drivers' assistance and in a testament to their care, keep all cases to a maximum severity of a few skinned knees and dented reputations.
But through it all one driver dominates. Evie Wood McGuire. A pig-tailed daredevil and part of the new breed of female drivers who make up approximately 40 per cent of the junior ranks. Ladies who've kicked the doors of the one-time boys club down and declared, 'Time you fellas got on home to your mummies!'
Through her heats and final rounds she flies, until once again Evie hoists the trophy aloft. Asked by the announcer how she feels, her response is a simple, "Fully sick!" before striding from the podium where she is mobbed by fans and media alike.
Later there is time for reflection. Crews break camp and debrief the day's events. Talk is about next year and more speed.
One young driver stares at the ground in solemn reflection as his chief mechanic hoists the cart into the back of the family ute. The team manager puts her arms around her progeny and consoles him with, "maybe we can stop at McDonalds on the way home".
Sometimes, even for a track weary warrior, that can be enough.
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