Opinion: How growing up in a rural town helped make me a better driver

“Do you want another go of the go-kart?” At barely six years old, it’s my earliest memory. And of course, it was more of a statement from my father because he didn’t really require an answer. My response was never going to be anything other than yes. However, this time would be different. The reason for that is because my third earliest childhood memory is being raced to hospital in the back of a white MkII Ford Escort.

I’ve skipped the second flashback for a reason. It involves me, in a dirt go-kart, racing around our makeshift track and ending up under the front of a dune buggy. If this was an episode of Seconds from Disaster, the critical point is failing to notice both off-road toys set off in opposing directions on a certain collision course. In an effort to shield my head (despite wearing a helmet), I raised my right arm and broke it in four places below the elbow. I have the steel pin and gnarly scars to prove it.

Now, this might all sound like a massive negative – and dangerous. However, in an upbringing filled with motorised goodies, it was the only hiccup. Actually, I broke my other arm on the flying fox in P.E. at primary school the next year. In reality, those formative years proved invaluable for developing my skills behind the wheel and learning car control on varied surfaces.

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From the age of seven I started ‘proper’ go-kart racing, competing until I was 14. My brother and I were racing, so it got too expensive and time consuming for the family to continue. That was mixed in with a few paddock bashers, one being a Corolla wagon with enough fake sponsorship stickers to make any modern team jealous, before progressing to the aforementioned dune buggy. All the non-competitive antics were done on dirt and, like any loose-grip surface, provided the perfect foundation.

I was driving my mother’s KE30 Toyota Corolla before the age of 10 – also a benefit of being tall from a young age. Like the beloved paddock basher, the well-kept Corolla had a four-speed manual and was rear-wheel drive. So when it came time to get my licence, instead of doing the test, slapping on L-plates at the appropriate age and being green with parental tuition alone, I had the act of working a motor vehicle down pat.

Apart from finer nuances of navigating roundabouts and merging with traffic onto a highway for example, I was good to go. In fact, my very first on-road experience started with my mother saying, “off you go”. That’s it.

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This couldn’t be more different to the stories of friends and colleagues who grew up in the hustle and bustle of a big city. Quite often their first experience in a car was on a busy street just outside a registry office with myriad obstacles and traffic to contend with. Or in an empty supermarket car park with stray trolleys. I was afforded the luxury of space, of empty paddocks to slide rear-wheel-drive vehicles in a measured, but carefree way.

I’m not sure I’d have enjoyed my emergence into motoring if it was an anxiety-filled city experience like my peers. My driver training was conducted with room for trial and error. Despite the early incident, the antics of my brother and I were always overseen by an elder. Ultimately, the lessons learnt racing go-karts on track and in various paddocks at home have transferred to my current state as a driving enthusiast – and all for the better.

I used to lament the fact I grew up in ‘the country’. But now, with mature eyes and a truck-load of hindsight, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Given my unquenchable thirst for driving, it couldn’t have been a better entry point to a life behind the wheel. In fact, if it hadn’t been for those trips out in the dune buggy, endless fun in paddock bashers and racing go-karts, I’m not sure I’d be here at MOTOR today.

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