My first visit to the Loxton Show was in December 2005. It wasn’t far from where I stayed that year. I was living in the farmhouse at Gileamskuile and working on the 300 wind pumps in the area.
It was hot on show day. The dust that was hanging over everything offered a degree of protection against the sun. During the motorbike race at the showgrounds, I rode right over Joe van Wyk, who had fallen in front of me. I couldn’t see him in all that dust, but afterwards everyone got a chance to witness the black rubber marks on his chest.
That evening, I took the co-op manager’s daughterleft feet, I’d ever manage to get a girl. That was when I decided all the heat and dust and humiliation just weren’t worth a bit of motorcycling, and that would be the last time the Loxton Show saw me.
