Two-minute warning

Sunday, April 20th, 2014

Tapes up at Belle Vue stadium, Manchester, on Good Friday

Back in the mists of time, when I was a twentysomething at university (so long ago that it was in the last millennium), I used to regularly go to the speedway. I studied in the north-east, in Darlington, and travelled over to Middlesbrough to watch the home meetings for the speedway at Cleveland Park.
I got into it through a friend on my uni course who was a lifelong speedway fan, and one night he asked if I'd like to go along. I was going through a particularly tough period at university at this time (around 1995) and was grateful of anything that got me away from the student digs I was sharing.
Going to the speedway sort of saved me, and I'll forever be grateful to my friend Steve ("Beardo"!) who took me along. We used to travel over from Darlington to Middlesbrough in a rackety old three-door car driven by Steve's speedway-obsessed friend who barely registered my presence because he was too busy talking about the various injustices that had happened in the speedway world that week, or which riders had been chosen (or not chosen) to take part. He wasn't rude, he was just a fanatic (and I wish I could recall his name).

These bikes have no brakes

People who know me these days might find it hard to believe I like speedway. After all, it's a little-known, sadly ailing sport which exists in a very masculine, "blokey" world - not the sort of thing expect me to be into. But not all gay men are into Barbra Streisand, Kylie Minogue and RuPaul's Drag Race; some men do defy the stereotype!
What do I love about speedway? I love the atmosphere at a meeting, the smells and sounds. The smell of the oil mixed with the dusty gravel of the track, and the burgers and chips; the compelling roar of the four bikes' engines as they rev up in unison, then step up to top gear simultaneously before the tape rises; the excitement mixed with trepidation as the riders approach and negotiate that first bend, where they could either steam ahead past competitors, or topple over and skid at high speed into the barriers.
It's not a complicated sport: four bikes from two teams compete in 15 races, each of four laps. The winner gets three points, the second placed gets two, third place gets one, and last place diddly-squat. Add all the points up at the end and plug it into a league table. And that's it, simple.
But I'm not into the stats, I'm into the sheer excitement of watching the racing. I couldn't do it myself - I mean, the bikes don't have brakes, for goodness sake! - but the thrill of watching the ride is enough.
I stopped going to the speedway in 1996 when the Cleveland Park track closed; the following year I left Darlington and I've never been to a speedway meeting since. The number of speedway teams has plummeted in the intervening years, and there aren't so many left these days, certainly not in the north-west.

Belle Vue stadium

But on Good Friday I made a "pilgrimage" back to my speedway days - 18 years since I last attended a meeting, I finally got to go to Belle Vue stadium at Manchester to watch the Aces take on the Wolverhampton Wolves. And it was amazing. The excitement just flooded back with the smell of the oil and the roar of the engines.
It's a pity Belle Vue Aces usually hold their home meetings on Monday nights - a time I find virtually impossible to be there for - but once a year they have a family day on Good Friday, and this year's was packed out due to the sweltering Easter weather.
I had a great time and feel sad that I can't go to the speedway more often. Maybe if I ever get to move Manchester-way, I'll be able to attend more meetings.
But until that time the joy and adrenaline of my speedway days will live brightly in my memory. Memories of the Boro Bears at Cleveland Park and the Aces at Belle Vue.

Happy with my programme