Media | Articles
Against All Oddities: A Falcon in Upside-Down Car Land, Part 2
Where did we leave off Part 1 of “A Falcon in Upside-Down Car Land”? I believe it was 2006. I had just moved to Australia as a study-abroad student with big dreams. My ambitious goals included amassing 14 credit hours, traveling, general cultural immersion, and executing big burnouts from the right-hand side of a locally produced four-door. In service of three of those goals, I had purchased a cheap Ford Falcon.
From my first days with the Falcon, it proved to be solid transportation. Whether it was a quick drive to the beach, a jaunt to the national park, or just cruising around to listen to the throaty six-cylinder, it excelled at the basics while drawing confusion and ire from everyone who saw it.
“An EA?! Why?!” they would ask, arguing that a better, EB-generation Falcon would have only set me back a few hundred more. “Exactly!” I’d exclaim, like the wide-eyed American I was.
One of my goals for my time in Australia was to get an internship at a V8 Supercar team in the Melbourne area. Unfortunately, my lack of a work visa would keep me from making anything over zero dollars per hour. A better path to getting a taste of Australian motorsport would have to be time trials. In my area, they ran at Winton, Phillip Island, Sandown, and a handful of other places. The Class One time trial license was relatively attainable, with little to no vehicle preparation necessary. Perfect for me, because I wasn’t exactly up for welding in a cage from the comfort of the university “car park.”
Race prep was straightforward: a battery kill switch, a red triangle indicating where the shutoff is, a secured battery (a first for a car in my care), suitable tires, capable brakes, and functioning seatbelts. Oh, and no major oil leaks. After inspecting my tires and noticing they were retreads, I gasped in horror and calmed myself by consulting the Trading Post. A set of 15-inch five-spokes from an EB-model Falcon shod in track-ready tires were listed an hour from me. I swapped out brake for something with a bit more bitey and resistant to melting down. I handled the oil leaks with two or three cans of brake cleaner, paper towels from the cafeteria, and a baking sheet.
Marketplace
Buy and sell classics with confidence
My first event was Phillip Island, and I had no other option but to camp there. I had signed up for a backpacking class as part of my university course credits, so that afforded me at least a tiny tent and a Trangia stove. A couple of beers, a cheap toolset, and ramen noodles rounded out the rest of my accommodations. I fortunately rolled into my campsite after dark—where it was a balmy 42°F—before the rain came. After the second hour of frozen downpour, I was sleeping in a lake. I crawled into the back seat of the EA and let it idle for the next five hours with the heat blasting. It was a matter of life or… extreme discomfort. When the morning came, I found myself completely unrefreshed but nevertheless excited beyond belief. The ocean views of Phillip Island in the morning light sure beat the infield views at Rockingham or Kershaw from my U.S. track day experiences.
To my surprise, I breezed through trackside inspection. The next order of business was to cruise the paddock. This was an actual competitive event, not just a track day, so some proper race cars were in attendance. My worn-out 17-year-old family sedan was seeming extra worn out. I was in a class of 3.5 liters and above, or 2.0 liters or more with forced induction. That’s it. No stock, no modified—displacement only. At 3.9 liters and 3200 pounds on street tires, I wasn’t anticipating a good performance from my Falcon.
I surveyed one of my competitors, Jason, whose VL Turbo Holden made something like 700 hp. Jason was more than supportive of my foolishness, offering choice advice, and I conversed with some Ford of Australia engineers who provided me with valuable technical insights into just how crap my car was. Great! Let’s hit the track!
If a new course wasn’t unfamiliar enough, I was befuddled trying to figure out how to hit apexes while seated on the opposite side of the car. I missed entry points by an Aussie-rules-football-field-wide margin. Gear changes were not Vegemite-smooth.
My first run was a slog. In my downtime between sessions, I sprayed more brake cleaner on my leaks and drew a small track map on some notebook paper, sticking it in my instrument panel. I was much more comfortable on my second run, and the improved lap times reflected my progress. Aside from being nowhere close to the top performers in the pack, there was a group of cars down at the bottom of the ranks that I could scrap with pretty well. Finally finding the limit and the line, I finished 10th out of 18. And the car didn’t blow up!
The camping did suck mightily, though.
Through the next track days—one at Sandown, two at Winton—I was much more prepared, knew the car better, and became comfortable with the luxury of an $80 hotel room.
In addition to time trials, the Falcon continued its daily business with gusto. Driving 24 hours straight through to Queensland for spring break? No problem. Picnics in Bunyip Forest? Damn right.
The only issues I encountered were, one: an alternator that took all of 30 minutes to change, and two: losing my keys on my 21st birthday. I figured my best shot for a new set of keys was heading to Oakleigh Auto Wreckers. It was just a short walk down the road from my dorm room in Melbourne, and they had Falcons stacked outside two or three high. I walked through the front door to meet the proprietor, who looked like a member of a struggling middle-aged death metal band. I explained my predicament, and he confirmed that I was indeed in a major pickle. Ford lock cylinders didn’t wear out like Holden units, the latter of which you could just start with a ten-cent coin. In addition to trying to sell me some other stuff—like an acrylic shift knob with a dead poisonous spider inside it—he let me walk away with a box of hundreds of Falcon keys. With that collection, I could’ve easily stolen at least five Falcons in Melbourne.
I jingled back to my dorm room and tried every single key over the course of a half-hour. Nothing worked. I returned the box of keys to the scrapyard, promised that I did nothing nefarious with them, and walked back in defeat. The following morning, the RAs showed up with my lost lanyard and key; I promptly had a bunch of copies made. Eight hours later I lost the lanyard again, so I guess I can’t blame the birthday festivities.
By the time my scholastic obligations had been completed (specifically passing Dynamics, Thermo I, Differential Equations, and Backpacking), it resolved to scope out other missions for the Falcon. I called a friend from back home who was itching to visit. He booked his flights for Down Under, and I pushed my return to the States by a handful of months. I had to be out of my dorm a week after finals, so when he arrived in Melbourne we packed what we could into the Falcon and pushed the rest of my stuff—including my stock wheels with retreads—under Stairwell 8 at Roberts Hall.
The plan? Drive north across Australia until it was no longer possible, then west through the Outback until no longer practical.
***
Matthew Anderson is a North Carolina native, professional engineer, car storage landlord, and devoted crapcan connoisseur. He owns a Holden, a Citroën, a Hobby 600 camper, a Moskvich, a Studebaker, an Isuzu, and he thinks that’s it. We don’t ask him too many follow-up questions. –EW
Last time I saw a left-hand drive sticker like the one on the back of the GTO, it was on the back of a CT5 headed over the Great Alpine Highway
Part two was just as good as part one ! Loved it
Hey you survived and hopefully the wildlife didn’t try to kill you. Those Spiders, nightmare fuel.
If there’s anything Dad loved more than serenity, it was a big two stroke engine on full throttle!
I’d trade for the Holden Sandman next to the Valiant myself. At least I think the sedan delivery is a Sandman
Great Part II, Matthew! Other than the specific Aussie models, I love the 1978ish 280Z next to the GTO and the X1/9 on the track – cool!
…now, on to Part III – like a good book, I don’t want this story to end! 🙂