Rattletrap — Feature Article

Rattletrap

Once a year, hot rodders and bike lovers make a pilgrimage to a sleepy coastal town called Crowdy Head, soaking up the sounds of roaring big block V8s at an infamous beach race.

WORDS & PHOTOS – JAMES BOURBON

EVEN PAST, THE INTO WINDOW A IS “RATTLETRAP RACERS DRESS” WAY THE THE TO DOWN

As a kid who grew up in hot rod clubs, I spent countless weekends travelling to show and shines, drag races and car runs, trudging past row after row of cars in the summer sun, listening to old mates with ciggie stained beards arguing over who was putting the most horsepower out at the wheels. Most of the time I ignored what was going on at these events. I was too busy doing slappys in the carpark or daydreaming about dumb shit like who’d win in a fight between Stone Cold or Ripster from Street Shark, or more importantly, where my next dagwood dog was coming from. Much to my dad’s dismay, I started dodging car shows as a young teenager to do my own thing instead, but I guess you can take the kid out of the hot rod but you can’t take the hot rod out of the kid – or some bullshit like that, because I recently ended up driving six hours to check out Rattletrap.

For those who’ve heard of The Race of Gentlemen in the US, Rattletrap is the smaller, Aussie equivalent with better views and thankfully, less James Dean wannabes. Imagine a pristine NSW beach, somewhere between Port Macquarie and Forster, and a mix of hot rods, rat rods, some things that look like they’re straight out of an episode of Wacky Races, and a bunch of vintage motorcycles racing up and down the beach.

Yeah, I know, it probably doesn’t sound that much different to the usual car events but everything about the Rattletrap is a window into the past, even down to the way the racers dress in muscle tees, mechanic’s overalls and even the occasional kooky steam punk glasses – all to fit the pre-‘60s theme. There are no safety barriers, no trophies for the fastest time and heck, some of the vehicles look like they can barely even make it up the beach. But it puts the love of racing for the sake of racing back at the forefront. No fancy bells or whistles, just vintage vehicles and the same feeling that has been fuelling petrol heads’ passion for decades.

Of course, there’s no escaping the Darryl Kerrigan-esque punters wandering around the carpark dreaming of a three-window coupe (cue that ZZ Top playlist), the old mates at the surf club sinking a few too many, and the father-son duos sporting cringey pompadours and bowling shirts perched at the starting line, phones in hand, snapping away furiously as the cars and bikes scream across the beach. But it’s very unlike the typical burnouts, beer bongs and ‘tits out for the boys’ crowd you’d expect at the Summernats. While the event fortunately dodges the typical dickhead male bravado factor of car events, it still holds true to the things that make the scene unique.

Thanks to a hectic tide earlier in the week, half of the beach was washed away, which meant there were some dicey times as the racers were skidding along shallow bits of water. It would eventually force all the vehicles to depart the beach earlier than expected. At the time, I was pretty bummed out about this, but to be honest, it worked out for the best. Watching everyone have to gun it to exit the beach was a true show in itself. Just picture all the old bikes and rods spitting piles of dirt off their back wheels into the crowds as they tried to navigate the chopped-up sand tracks. All the while they had to maintain enough speed to avoid getting bogged. Not everyone was lucky enough to make a smooth exit but even those who didn’t provided the crowds with some great entertainment. Whether it was the time one of the T bucket drivers had to yank his steering wheel hard as he skimmed up the side bank and the crowd had to dodge him; or the numerous times a four-wheel drive had to help pull a rod out of the bog with random bystanders lending a hand to push; or the poor old mate who fell off into the sand and was quickly helped out of there by the crowds. While the laid-back style of the Rattletrap isn’t for everyone, I can only see it continuing to get bigger and better every year. After all, it’s the only event of its kind in Australia. Even if you aren’t into cars, it’s a great way to soak up the sun, sand and some superchargers. Better vibes than Summernats, no question. “IT’S VERY UNLIKE THE TYPICAL BURNOUTS, BEER BONGS AND ‘TITS OUT FOR THE

THE AT EXPECT YOU’D CROWD BOYS’ SUMMERNATS."