DISCOMFORT ZONE:Environment Editor FRANK McDONALDnever learned to drive and thinks cars are a menace to society. So what will he make of the Modified Motors Live car show?
MORE CARS! More action! More babes! That’s what last weekend’s Modified Motors Live show in Rathcormac, Co Cork, promised madly enthusiastic fans of souped-up cars. And there I was, wandering in a daze around the showground at Cork Marts, on foot of a suggestion from the editor of Summer Living that this would be my discomfort zone.
I know nothing about cars. The only time I ever drove was when I was a student staying with a doctor in Grosse Pointe, a wealthy suburb of Detroit, and he let me cruise his Cadillac up and down the cul de sac. It was an automatic, with a lever that had P for park, D for drive and R for reverse – easy for a novice.
I have never learned how to drive. What put me off initially was a gut feeling that I’d never be able to coordinate putting my foot on the clutch pedal while changing gears. Then I realised that I didn’t really need a car; I live within walking or cycling distance of everywhere I need to go to on a regular basis.
It was only later that I realised that cars were a menace to society, especially in cities. That was in the 1980s, when Dublin Corporation’s engineers were slicing up linear chunks of the inner city to create dual-carriageways to cater for cars coming in from the suburbs; High Street, Clanbrassil Street and Parnell Street are among their dubious legacies.
Whenever Top Gear appears on the TV screen, I flick on to the next channel. I can’t stand Jeremy Clarkson and the whole macho culture he promotes because I find it so nauseating. Donald Clarke got it right on the button earlier this month when he wrote in this newspaper that this “liberal-baiting, green-bashing, petrol-guzzling” jamboree really is an alpha-male thing.
Escaping from traffic is pure bliss. Last year, when I was privileged to be a press fellow at Wolfson College in Cambridge, myself and a Sikh friend spent a few hours walking an old Roman road to the Wandlebury Ring. When we finally emerged on the A1307, I was really shocked by the noise car wheels make on tarmac.
So here I was at the Cork Marts, which had been transformed into a fantasy fairground for those who have a fetish about cars. Not ordinary cars, mind you, but ones that had been fitted inside and out with all sorts of gizmos – angel eyes and carbon lights, Ganador mirrors and Alpine speakers and, of course, engines that could easily “do the ton”.
I realised that I didn’t know the language. What are angel eyes anyway? Or vented wings, induction kits, HKS manifolds, racing headers, lightened flywheels, weltic suspension, 18-inch RS5 black alloys and trimmed GTL bucket seats? About the only thing I could take in was that one of the cars had “166mph recorded on the dyno”.
The Modified Motors website promised that the show’s “trade village” would be packed with all the latest parts and accessories – “from wheels and sound systems to bodykits and performance parts”. You could also “check out the latest gadgets and ‘must have’ products for your everyday life, whether it’s the latest phone or games console”.
This was a whole new world to me. I remember being taken as a child to see stock-car racing in Shelbourne Park, where cars bashed each other to bits. But what was happening at Cork Marts was altogether different. Here, the cars were pampered objects of desire, in spick-and-span condition for the best show and shine contest.
There were eight trophies “up for grabs” on the day. Apart from best show and shine, awards were given for best performance car, best in-car entertainment, best interior, best Euro (for cars made in Europe), best Jap (that’s Japanese to you), best club stand and a public vote for best in show. A bit like Crufts, but without all the fluff.
It was a family day out, or rather a dads-and-sons thing. The cars in the car park in front of Cork Marts’s spanking new building were surprisingly ordinary, with fewer SUVs than I expected. All the souped-up cars were out at the back, many without registration plates – indicating that they’re not capable of being used on the open road.
Tristan Wheeler, who ran the ticket office (adults €20, children €12), explained that it was all about “drifting” in controlled conditions, a “grassroots motor sport” that originated in Japan. “It’s a hobby, these guys displaying their cars,” he said. “They might buy a second-hand car for €1,500 and spend €8,000 to €10,000 on it, maybe more.”
Loud techno music blaring out of speakers around the Live Action Arena – an area of tarmac enclosed by crowd-control barriers and huge blocks of concrete – could barely compete with the “vroom, vroom” of cars screeching and swerving, their back wheels spinning wildly, burning so much rubber that there were clouds of acrid smoke.
Aaron Nixon, a mechanic from Greystones, Co Wicklow, offered me a free passenger ride in pro-drifter Mike Dean’s car, and I couldn’t really refuse. So after donning a huge helmet, I got in – and found there weren’t even safety belts. Instead, as Dean said with a knowing grin, we’d be protected by the steel frame if the car “toppled over”.
By the time I got out, after less than 10 minutes of daredevil drifting, I was dizzy. Young Alex Lawlor (eight), from Ballyduff, Co Waterford, who was with his dad Terry, an old friend, and had been watching the stunt intently, took one look at my face as I removed the helmet. “Don’t get sick on me,” he exclaimed. I’m delighted to report that I didn’t.
Aaron Nixon wanted to know if I had enjoyed the ride, and told me Mike’s younger brother, the aptly named James Dean (17), was Ireland’s champion drifter, having started out at 14. Like Tristan Wheeler, he was keen to explain that they weren’t to be confused with “boy racers” or joyriders; this was sport, not just done for cheap thrills.
Wheeler said competitors are judged on who has the most style. The next pro-drift event is on August 2nd in Mondello Park, followed by an amateur competition in Nutts Corner, Co Antrim, on August 3rd. Modified Motors Live gathers again at Punchestown on October 11th.
What about the “babes”? Well, there were four of them, all with terracotta tans – two wearing skimpy black dresses, with pink leg-warmers and high-heeled shoes, and the other pair in black sequined tops, pink feather “skirts”, fishnet tights and high-heels. They posed for photographs, draping themselves over the prized show cars.
Naturally, I had to pose with them, and one of the more spectacular cars, which had gull-wing doors reminiscent of John DeLorean’s ill-fated DMC-12, but much more colourful. Afterwards, I asked the two scantily clad models if they weren’t feeling a bit cold, and one of them – from Northern Ireland, with goose pimples – said she was “foundered”.
A new word for the times we live in?
