Dick Johnson: The autobiography of a true-blue Aussie sporting legend by Dick Johnson & James Phelps

Author:Dick Johnson & James Phelps [Johnson, Dick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SPORT/BIOGRAPHY
ISBN: 9781742759784
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 2012-01-14T14:00:00+00:00

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It was utter hysteria when I arrived in Tasmania for the first championship round of 1981. Before Bathurst I was a nobody privateer and now I was being mobbed by the media and fans, which was all a bit hard to take.

The first race of the year was at Symmons Plains and when I got to the track, I was greeted by hundreds of people, pens and posters in hand. I had signed a few autographs in my time, but mainly in Queensland, where I was a local boy. This was something new altogether. The media were also relentless. For the first time in a while, they realised they had a driver capable of taking it to Brock, and a backstory that was an editor’s dream. Brock and I were front-page news and they didn’t give the other drivers a chance. To be honest, the media were probably right. The rest of the field was way off the pace. No one in a Falcon could match it with me, and Brock was by far the best of the Holdens. It was going to be a two-man show.

I didn’t really like the extra attention, but I figured it just came with the deal. Fame also had an upside. For years I’d been battling away in the mud, preparing my car in the worst possible facilities, usually at the track. But even before I arrived in Tasmania, I got a call from a bloke who offered me his workshop for the week. It was a coup to land a proper facility before the race.

I unloaded my car at the garage owned by John Dixon and John Walker and went about preparing for the race there. I would end up being great mates with both men, and I still stay at Dixon’s house whenever I’m in Tasmania.

I was nervous as hell when I rolled the car out to qualify, fearing I could not live up to the hype. All eyes were on me and I didn’t want to let anyone down. For years I didn’t have the backing or support, but I had both now and it was up to me. I told myself it was just another race and went and stuck the thing on pole.

I sat on the front row next to Brock. Of course. The small yet challenging track, set in a rugged rural terrain about 20 kilometres from Launceston, was heaving with spectators. The publicity of my clash with Brock had drawn in a record crowd, but I tried to forget all that and focused on my job at hand – getting off the line and taking the lead.

I thundered away and got to the first right-hander, a slight high-speed corner, in front. I then took the huge hairpin and powered down the straight. It was my race to lose and I knew the only way that would happen was if I fried my brakes because the hairpin was absolutely brutal after the flat-out section before. I went all out for a couple of laps until I knew exactly where Brock was, and felt that I had his measure.

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