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Miss Goldfields, Gauloises girls and other survivors of the Speed Kills campaign

- brief pocketnotes from Welkom (and fuck Lenny Kravitz)

Toast Coetzer was going to see Lenny Kravitz, but didn't make it. He waylayed to the motorbike Grand Prix at Phakisa Freeway and the GP music festival in Welkom instead. He barely made it. Here's an account of the first of 3 days.

Last night, arrival: 4 beers, 4 balls left on pool table, 3 dogs. Allright. The Mosterts are cool people.

Day 1, 17/3 - 10:28 am, Phakisa Freeway
These be the fucking cool guys. Sitting inside the media centre, raining. 125's just went for a ride. 500s are waiting for rain to clear. Everything's so well organised, I've no idea what's happening. Efficiency is the end of common decency. It's official - Max Biaggi is fucking cool. Marlboro, Yamaha - a man needs little else. He's in his pit, king of machines.

12:00
Recce 1 complete. Perimeter safe - 9 cops, but they're not sure. 7 to 8 speedpigs are at the entrance. The digging is big, speed important. Dude to the left to journo: "Does the circuit look good or must I cut the grass?" There're tall skinny girls in red (Campari) twopieces prancing tits around. They're a real feature. Not terribly pretty, but the journos and pit crews check them out anyway. One of them's Miss Goldfields 2000. She spells her surname like so: De Clerq. Gmmf. Sun's out, hot again. The stats here are maddening. Air - 24 C. Ground - 30 C. Humidity 75%. Good to know, isn't it?

The thing about all this is that it's stupid. Stupid, but great fun. A waste of money, but great fun. The noise, the sheer speed (you want to do it too), the feeling that this is an international corporate whorehouse to sell smokes, pasolas and smart drinks. Because we are what we own (and Mozambique owns fuckall), this should be fine?

Organisation: there're black women on all parts of cicuit with brooms, no less, to sweep course inbetween races if necessary. Choppers around, might get a ride.

Re girls, overheard: "Ek ken al daai girls, ek was saam met hulle op skool gewees - wag, laat ek jou voorstel."

13:40
First man down - one of the marshalls got stung by a bee. Lady at medics tells me about last year when naked couple did a wheelie, wiped out and lost the skin on their asses. Aren't Italian accents nice? I haven't seen any liquor yet, just mineral water. Reluctantly stuck in the paddock - pass reads 'paddok'. Hungry, have a piss.

Go out on spectator banks, few people checking practice runs. Some oke from Florida (no, Jo'burg one) wants to know whether the black photographers can take photos or whether the whites must help them. I say no, they're allright. Gave some very obvious weekend bikers a lift (wear their leathers all the time). R6,50 for a boereworsroll. A joke with an obvious answer: 2 Italians and 1 Sotho urgently need to fax something. How do they do it?

With difficulty.

15:03 - GP 2000 Music fest, Central Welkom
Crisis: "Ons sukkel met die elektrisiteit." Everything needs to be earthspiked. Gauloises girls stroll in. Gmmf. Bastards didn't want to give me a hat. Black dude is wearing Battery 9 t-shirt. Tribute band? New member?

19:20 - Music fest
Notes:

  • 1) I love beergardens
  • 2) I am sunburnt
  • 3) Leery (new band): "We are ready to rock you." Which is nice to know.

    Must interview Miss Goldfields. I will ask her whether she likes gentlemen of leisure and why the fuck she spells her surname all funny.

    Weird shit:

  • 1)Entering Welkom, the sign says 'Welcome to Welkom, Grand Prix country', the back of which says 'Speed Kills' - both sponsored by Coke.
  • 2) Phakisa Freeway is opposite the cemetery.
  • 3) The Shell Garage shares premises with the Welkom Tombstone makers. Something's up.

    20:20
    Pissed, beneficiary of free backstage drinks. Slugs of War on. Good. Drunker. Bagpipes, Irish riverdancing chick (must go), from Durban. They are: Blow Job, Vomit, Porno, Whatsisface (?!) plus (?) Spiderman. PA's playing 'The Distance', "he's going for speed".

    Somewhere deep inside the heads of THC, they are THE LEVEL PLANE BENT.

    Henriėtte, Gauloises girl: 083 6370 183 (meet at 08:45).

    Dagga-Dirk is humming classical tunes. Rain, whathefuck. 206 is dropping "Radio Kombuis" samples into breakbeat, wicked. En Bloemfontein is 'n callgirl /Gauloises girl/ Kanaan/ Babilon. Plum's not sitting pretty, Boo! is unplugged & undressed & not eating biltong sandwiches backstage. I am. Insistent on being clowns to the left, jokers to the right. Carel: "Ons moerrit anyway." The vibe just grew by drink-o-pop (makes 2 litres).

    23:00 Plan X
    Koos enters beer tent. People go awry/ odd. The man is his own pedestal sunk. Beauty from within, it's called. Statue?

    00:29 Near end of Boo!s set = brilliant. Crowd inside beer tent of 50 is going like 10 000. Fuck Lenny Kravitz. Again. Welkom's sleeping, the fear not theirs. Boo!: "You are the only person I like as much as me." Is this it? Is it? Not in a million years, but it saves us from early demise. Cry going out to the far reaches of your applause. Yes, next stop - this. Chris just held a note for 30 seconds on "true love". Will have none of it. Shot.

    The actual race only happened two days later. Garry McCoy won the 500s. For detailed shit on Days 2 & 3, ask Toast, he'll recall what he can.

    (March 2000, possibly. Previously published in 'Activate')