Home ground support
At the end of 2012 Shane declared his time in Supercars over, preferring to take a sabbatical rather than race for Betty Klimenko’s Erebus Motorsport and campaign privateer Mercedes-amg E63s.
But Shane ended up returning to the category in 2013, racing for Tekno Autosports in a Triple Eight Holden. It was a controversial transition and the fall-out was spectacular.
Klimenko’s legal action was only settled in mid-2014, but late last year she claimed van Gisbergen didn’t want to race for her team because he was sexist.
“The racing was still fun, we had an awesome car and team, but off-track it was shit,” says Shane of 2013-14. “But I had pretty good people around me dealing with it. Dad was awesome for taking most of it off my shoulders.”
For Robert, watching on as his son’s Supercars dream died and was reborn, that experience defined his role as manager.
“It’s not about money or whatever, it’s his well-being and what he wants to do,” Robert says. “I’ll give him my advice and Shane will always ask for my opinion, but at the end of the day it’s Shane’s decision what he does.”
While his team-mate, Jamie Whincup, the six-time series champion, made a succession of errors, van Gisbergen displayed almost flawless, blazing speed.
But Shane does make mistakes, and he does not cope with them well. When he crashed on oil while leading in Tasmania early in 2016, he refused to talk to waiting journalists post-race. He is, for the media, undoubtedly, one of the most opaque personalities to deal with. No driver loves PR and press work, but Shane can just be contrary. At Bathurst last year a New Zealand TV journalist asked him what it would mean to win the Great Race. “300 points” came the reply.
Robert had parked the spanners by the time Shane made it to Supercars. Their relationship evolved to one of manager, mentor, adviser, and closest confidant. During practice he stands out on the corners, assessing his son’s lines and speeds against his rivals, jotting his thoughts down in a notebook.
In-car cameras have made it clear just how much influence Robert has had over Shane’s driving. Rivals took note when footage first showed Shane dialling the brake balance fore-aft to tackle different corners.
Some drivers already did it, but nowadays every driver in Supercars has to do it. Shane got the idea from his father. “I used to always drive the rally car on bias,” Robert explains. “To me each corner has got a different brake attitude and when I was rallying on the fast stuff I’d adjust the bias and when I came to some tight, windy stuff I’d wind it again. I was always trying to maximise what I had in my rally car.”
The arrival of Fox’s multiple cabin cameras curtailed another van Gisbergen trick, driving in socks to improve pedal feel. Robert used to insist that no cameras pointed into the footwell for that very reason. “I did it for years,” Shane laughs. The van Gisbergen property cascades down a ridge. A spectacular multi-storey home sits at the highest point, offering views in all directions. Downstairs is a shrine to Shane’s racing, filled with framed photographs and trophies. The rest of the land is paddocks and bush, interlaced with trails that Shane and Robert spent years racing around.
Robert is a Ford fan. A Blue Oval flag flutters outside the house. He rallied Escorts until about five years ago when he broke his back while operating a bobcat on his property. He’s nearly recovered and is building up a Mk2 Escort to go rallying once more. Needless to say, Shane’s success as a Holden driver is a bone of contention.
The driveway starts behind the family home, curls deeply downhill between a bank on one side and pine trees and a drop-off on the other, to a small paddock and stables. It then does a 180 and comes straight back up the same hill to the finish line. It’s maybe 1.5km all up. Robert taught Shane and his mates to drive here, educating them in the gentle art of drifting.
Watching them practice is to watch an exercise in egg shells ... the car slithers, slips and slides
“We used to have the fence just there and we just kept taking it out, so we had to move it back,” explains Shane as we take a slow lap of the course.
“Every Wednesday we used to have race night. On the big nights there would be 30 people here, then there would be a barbecue afterwards. There were some big crashes.”
As the rain has bucketed down, the driveway surface has been churned to the consistency of molasses by practice laps. Kiwi legend Greg Murphy owns the Barina, and he seems, ahem, apprehensive about what’s about to transpire.
Watching Robert and Shane practice is to watch an exercise in egg shells. The car slithers, slips and slides, braps, brays, and growls and hunts for traction. Robert gives a fence a whack, but nothing serious.
Shane’s working it all out. He’s asking Greg about brake bias and the tyres, takes the car for a quick blat up the public road to get a feel for it. Robert is a step behind. He’s never driven a sequential ’box before and is having trouble heeling and toeing the pedals.
This is a cool little device. It’s powered by a 1.8-litre version of the Astra VXR’S turbo engine, produces 260kw/556nm at the flywheel and sends it to all four wheels through a six-speed Sadev gearbox, with Aussie Supashock suspension.
“The car is brilliant,” enthuses Robert. “The thing is I am used to pulling 9000rpm and this thing here you just pull a gear and it’s a tractor. It just pulls.”
Adds Shane: “It’s so muddy out there yet it sticks brilliantly when you get on the throttle with the fourwheel drive.”
The build-up to the showdown takes ages. Filming and photographing goes on and on. Robert is getting tense. His competitive instinct is huge and there’s a race to be won. Shane is more relaxed, more likely to laugh when the director calls for a steely stare down the barrel.
They interact like a couple of big, boofy mates rather than relations; there’s good-natured digs, a bit of push, and shove, and an obvious sense of rivalry. But Shane defers. His father is top dog, no matter what the result this afternoon.
And then, when it happens, it’s all over in minutes. A warm-up run, then the real thing. Shane goes first with Robert timing. It’s hard to see much once the car leaves the line until it appears through the trees, swivelling around and headed back uphill.
They interact like a couple of big, boofy mates... but Shane defers. His father is top dog, no matter what the result this afternoon
Shane’s 52.1sec practice is the fastest we’ve seen all day. But then when it counts, he slips out of the ruts and records a 52.2.
“The road got slipperier and slipperier,” he reports. “I think my run was alright.”
Then its Robert’s turn. He completes his practice run without fuss. Then he’s off from the flying start. We listen to the rise and fall of the throttle and then he bursts back in view. Shane looks at the stopwatch and smiles.
Moments later he delivers the news. “You’ve done a 51.9.”
Robert does his dance and his leap. He’s lost the overall challenge by three tenths but he’s elated to have retained his driveway crown.
“I’m pretty proud of that crown,” he smiles. “That was a good day. It was close, very close. Shane had a bit of an off on his money run and went out of the tracks. But he’s been pretty impressive all day.”
And then there’s a pause and a thought. “I won’t win it next time.”
Shane is not sure about that: “Dad is a pretty awesome driver.”
Like father like son.