Midnight Run

Numb. Pulled over alongside a pitch-black section of road, you are deafened by the sound of your heart beating in your throat. Mouth dry and both hands are stuck on the steering wheel. You stare forward blankly through the windscreen and the heavy black drops of rain. The engine is still on and the car remains in third gear. Both feet remain firmly planted on both the clutch and brake pedals. In the darkness of the night, the area around you is rhythmically illuminated with the beating red and blue lights from behind. You dare not look in the rearview mirror.

After what felt like an eternity, you remember to breathe out. You close your eyes momentarily. Your hands loosen from the wheel and you put the car into neutral. You turn the key to the off position. The engine shuts off. The engine lets out a hiss, almost like a sigh and the brakes are creaking as it dissipates heat from the spirited driving. The sound of a door opening and a foot steps on the cold gravel street break the silence as it moves towards you.

It’s all over. You think.

Earlier that night

The Text Message

It’s 12 midnight and your phone buzzes alive. It’s a text message from Kevin. We’re on for tonight. Meet at the local Hungry Jacks. See you in 15. You feel a surge of excitement and turn off your Xbox console mid-game. This is what you were waiting for. Finding the nearest set of clean clothes in the dark, you fumble and quickly get dressed. You switch off your cheap Ikea bedside lamp to deaden the room. You grab the eagerly awaiting keys from your dresser table as you pass it. Quietly leaving the warmth of your bedroom and you slink past your parent's room and ever so carefully tip-toe down the solid timber stairs. You know which steps to avoid, especially the ones which creak to not alert the slumbering family.

Making it outside the home, you’re immediately greeted by a dark and icy cold night. You remember you have to disarm your car alarm first. You take a deep breath and press the hard rubber disarm button on your remote. BEEP BEEP. The car flashes brightly, lighting up the small bushes in amber and you pray your parents don’t notice, or worse, have them think a car is being stolen. A mixture of fear and adrenaline jolts through you. You stay quiet for a moment and listen carefully for any movement from upstairs. The house remains quiet and no signs of anybody having woken up.

You open the low and wide black car door, and carefully lower yourself into the cosy bucket seats. The side bolsters welcome you back. Taking a firm grip of the small but mildly worn sporty leather Momo steering wheel, you swing your legs into the car. You gently close the door with minimal force. Inserting the key into the ignition, you turn it one click, then two and see your dash light up. Your eyes quickly scan the symbols. No issues. But remembering that you have a slightly obnoxious “race” exhaust, you hesitate once more. You look over your shoulder and see the driveway is clear, the gate is open and the road is empty as you’d expect past midnight. You clutch in, place the gear into neutral and gently lower the handbrake, with one arm over the passenger seat and looking backwards. The car begins to roll backwards.

You’ve been here before. You know the drill. Using the momentum of the car rolling down the sloped driveway, you don’t touch the brakes. Bump. The rear wheels leave the driveway. You turn the wheel left. Bump. The whole car is now on the street and it’s far enough. You tap the brakes. the car is now facing down towards the slope of the road. Letting off the brake, the car rolls forward down the street. Away from home, away from your slumbering parents. Being four homes away now, you turn the ignition to start and the engine ignites to life. Your moment of fear is quickly replaced with excitement and relief.

You place your hand on the titanium shift knob, cool to the touch, and place it carefully into first gear. You keep the revs low and drive it gently for the first few blocks. Keeping it under 3000rpms. Each gear shift is deliberate, smooth, and careful. You perform this ritual to reacquaint yourself with the feel of the car and give it the time and space to warm up. The heft of the gear shifter becomes familiar again and part of the palm of your hand. The weight and precision of the steering wheel start to sink in once more.

Stopped at the first red light on the main road, you notice the water temperature gauge needle is now where it needs to be. Warmed up. This is when the fun begins. You glance at all your mirrors, will yourself to see as far ahead as possible and take a bet the long straight road is clear. No cops, you hope. The light transforms to green. You floor it in first gear and the revs launch up the range towards the redline. The engine lets out an obnoxiously louder roar after 5500 rpm. You then hammer it into second gear and drop the clutch almost violently.

The Meeting Spot

You pull into the Hungry Jacks store which is now closed but the car park is littered with cars and a few people as if it were still open. You spot a mix of familiar and new cars. This was a favourite meeting spot because it’s next to a petrol station. Especially handy when you need to fill up, pump the tyres and ensure the car is ready for a late-night adventure. The checking of tyre pressure was really the only ounce of being responsible this whole night to come.

You step out of the car and are reminded of the biting cold night as it pierces into your skin. Closing your door you hear a familiar voice from your left “Hey man, what’s up bro? Come check this out”. Your good mate Kevin calls you over to a small circle huddling around a Montego Blue RX-7 FD that you’ve not seen before. After introductions, you learn the owner’s name is Peter and that he’s just imported the car and tonight was one of the first nights out with it. You spot the car has an impressive set of BBS LM wheels. As you walk around the car with hands in your pocket in an attempt for warmth, you notice the RX-7’s very aggressive camber setup on the rear and the signs of worn tyres. Before you can make a comment and not wanting to be rude, you’re beckoned over to meet the rest.

You eventually make the rounds and meet the new faces and the new rides. You count a total of 7 cars. Your DC2R, Kevin’s S15, Peter’s RX-7, Tony’s EK4, Kwa’s Evo 9, Alan’s Golf R and Scott’s Supra. Whilst there was an electric feeling of excitement in the air, you couldn’t help but spot a few yawns and little energy to make anything more than small talk. Some of the new faces spent time just scrolling through their phones until there was a motion that we were about to head out.

A few of the cars opted for a petrol or tyre air refill at the adjoining petrol station. Once all the cars were ready, you and Kevin round up the guys to roll out. All the remaining cars fire up and each makes their way towards the exit of Hungry Jacks, forming a queue. A symphony of burbly exhausts, throaty intakes, turbo noises, gearboxes engaging and squeaking brakes can be heard as the group moves. Somehow you end up being the front car in the convoy. It might have been due to your eagerness to get moving. But it also helped that you are familiar with the route.

In spite of the freezing and slightly wet night, you wind down your driver-side window to soak in all the upcoming sounds. You power off the radio. Once all the cars were in line, you put the car once again into first gear and leave the petrol station. Surveying the quiet main road, you leave the parking lot and floor the accelerator and hit the speed limit almost immediately. Filling the atmosphere with your car’s loud VTEC noise. You let off the accelerator to coast and purposely listen out for each subsequent driver. Without fail, each car leaves the parking with a first-gear pull. The night has begun.

The Convoy

With the convoy in motion, the cars spread out over both lanes of the highway. Whether it was the exhilarating air of the night, the fact that it was 12:30 am, or the collective petrol heads on the road, what was meant to be a simple convoy drive became full of mischief.

Every traffic light became an invitation. Everybody purposely drove slower to catch red lights and used them to line up alongside one another, including yourself. Pulling up beside Kevin’s pearl white S15, you wind down the remaining passenger side window and look over to your left with the biggest grin and look forward at the red light. Playfully tapping the throttles to rev the engines, and windows down in both cars, the silence is broken with the flutter of Kevin’s blow-off valve and growls from your Mugen cold air intake. Green. Both clutches drop and the accelerator pedals slam down in unison. The sweet roar of exhausts and naturally aspirated engines mixed with turbo notes. Intoxicatingly addictive.

The flurry of cars switches lanes without indicating, and shuffling around as if the road were our own private playground. Now lined up against Peter’s Montego Blue RX-7 for the first time, you could hear that classic rotary lumpy idle. Off the mark, the RX-7’s power was clearly not stock, leaving you behind as if you stood still. As the RX-7 effortlessly pulled away you noticed the tail of the car wiggle and struggle with traction. Once more you shrugged it off. It must be the power.

The novelty of the mucking about wore off as you realised that the convoy hadn’t made much ground by this point and the drive ahead was still long. You wind up both windows and pick up the pace with no further lane switches. The group got the hint and formed back into a line and followed suit. About fifteen minutes in as you turn off into another connecting motorway, a wash of sleepiness fall over you and the darkness of the night does nothing to help. You can see the collection of headlights in your rearview but ahead is dead as far as the eye can see. Nothing but the reflectors of the road and signs for turn-offs. You wind down your windows partially this time to use the icy cold winds in hopes it will awaken you. You also switch your radio back on, on loud.

The Spirited Drive

After a relatively sensible stretch, the group arrives at the entrance to Royal National Park and each car pulls over along the left side of the gravelly road. Just up ahead is the park entry ticket office, but they have no lights on and shutters lowered. A light drizzle had set in during the drive and all the cars were speckled with millions of dark bubbles of water. Each car put on the hazard lights as the road was dark with no street lights. The collective flashing of our blinkers lights up the dark stretch of road and the trees bordering the street are awash in amber. You get out to walk to the other cars, and most drivers opt to remain inside their vehicles. Quickly moving from car to car, there’s a quick agreement that the first leg is to the Stanwell Park lookout point.

You quickly jog back to your car which is idling in front of the convoy of cars. You turn off the hazards, indicate right to leave the kerb and you see all the flashing lights die out quickly. Once more you wind down the window, switch off the radio and let the cold wet air in. You start the pace by revving the car out in 2nd gear and hear a series of loud pops, bangs, turbos and induction noises from behind as the group roars behind you to chase.

This was your first time as a leading car on such a drive. Unsure how to set pace, you charge ahead into the dark road not wanting to embarrass yourself. This was only the 3rd time being there ever, for some remote reason you choose a pace that signals that you know the place and are not scared. You’re greeted with the first bright yellow street sign - windy road for 10kms. Your eyes sharpen focus on the road in preparation for series of corners and fast turns to come.

You glance upwards in the rearview mirror and try to judge the distance between the car behind. It’s Peter’s Montego Blue RX-7. Trusting that your car is a known entity and that Peter’s still acquainting himself with the car, you are quietly confident. Corners are where your car shines, so you push harder as you head into the first corner. Your ego tries to increase the gap from Peter’s RX-7.

Your left hand effortlessly finds the shifter, ready for the first downshift. The first corner. A hair-pinned right turn. You heel-toe and downshift into second gear. Giving more gas than required to give out a loud bark of the exhaust. The shift is smooth and the momentum is carried through, the heavy steering gives you a precise idea of your placement on the road and the traction available. You turn right and hunt for the first apex. You hit the apex and see the corner exit. You let the engine wind out once more and your heart races as the noises echo off the nearby trees and the speed feels amplified in such confined quiet roads.

The next corner. You seamlessly perform the ritual of manipulating brakes, clutch, gear, steering and throttle. After several turns, you glance at your rear-view mirror and notice the gap between you and the RX-7 has grown. However, on the straight, the gap is closed immediately. The bright white HIDs from the signature pop-up headlights grow in your rear review mirror.

The next stretch of road flows between tight corners, sweeping high-speed curves and some dark straights. With the initial windy stretch of road over, you now are met with a straight road. The only things you can see are the white lane markers and reflectors stretching into the dark distance.  Without much to do other than feather the throttle to maintain speed, another wave of exhaustion washes over your brain. A yawn escapes your mouth and your eyelids begin to feel heavier. Trying once more to shake it off, you gear down into 3rd and floor the throttle. 90. 100. 110. 120. 130.

You glance at the dash clock. 1:13 am. Adrenaline is keeping you awake.

You spot the next street sign, Overtaking lane ahead. A few seconds later a second lane materialises on the right. This is the part all drivers were anticipating most. Like the highway, the group instantly broke out from a single formation and each raced up the mountains, side by side. Peter’s RX-7 immediately cuts to the right lane and boosts past you recklessly, with the car continuing to struggle for traction as it hits full throttle.

Faster everybody went like nobody was watching. Or at least everybody thought. A feeling of relief hits you as you no longer have to be the lead driver of the group. The focus and pressure was starting to get tiring, and particularly hard to concentrate when you were not chasing anything or anyone. You let yourself fall the back of the pack.

With every passing second on the two-lane section, the entire group grew increasingly daring. Most cars no longer stuck to the lanes and even cut into the oncoming lane. Cars were tailgating without any regard for potential sudden brakes. The speed limit signs were just for show. Now having cars ahead to chase, you also pick up the pace, gearing down once more and flooring the accelerator up the hill to catch up with the pack.

Oddly Peter’s RX-7 had fallen almost to the end of the pack and you’re now closely tailing behind. You can see the cars ahead darting about still. A final sign appeared Left Lane Ends Merge Right. Peter was driving significantly slower. You interpret this as a cue for an overtake, you switch the right lane to pass him. Full throttle in 3rd gear and almost hitting 120km/hr.  The next blind corner arrived sooner than you were expecting. Sooner than your sleep-deprived ego was ready for. You brake hard. Being front-wheel drive, this, fortunately, works in your car’s favour as it places more weight on the front tyres and provided more traction to turn and follow the corner.

However, for Peter, this was not the case. Peter was caught by surprise. You immediately see the pop-up headlights begin to sway from left to right. You hear it. A violent guttural sound of metal on metal crashing was heard behind. You immediately lose sight of the pop-up headlights from your rear-view mirror to the blind corner.

Back to the present - 1.37 am

You immediately pull over on the first straight you find and sit in stunned silence. Feeling numb, you can’t even begin to process the emotions or thoughts swirling in your head. The group ahead remained completely unaware of the chain of events. You don’t have Peter’s number. You think of turning back on the tight mountain roads. All whilst you were thinking, a police car pulls out from a side street you passed after the corner.

Tap. Tap. On your driver-side window.

You move the key one click in the ignition and lower your window. “Hey mate, what are you doing pulled over here in the middle of nowhere on your own?” the cop questions. Unsure of how to respond you remain silent, paralysed by fear. “Hey mate, did you hear my question? Are you part of that group of drivers we’ve received a bunch of noise complaints about?” the cop presses again.

You take a deep breath to start admitting to what had just happened. Just before you utter your first words, a single light in the rearview approaching with speed. One single working pop-up headlight. You hear the unmistakable rotary noise. You are dumbfounded and relieved. However the speed kept increasing and the rotary engine roared past, and the cop steadied himself on your car as you feel a violent gust of wind. At least 160km/hr is your guestimate. This was enough for the cop to leave you and sprint back to this car and make chase.

Leaving you alone alongside a pitch-black section of road. With nothing but your car, a cloud of emotions, unprocessed thoughts and Montego blue.