Thanks heaps, Lowndesy

WELL Lowndesy, farewelling the sport in 11th wasn’t exactly what you wanted. Or deserved.

But remember that even Don Bradman was bowled for a globe in his last time out.

While Iron Mike Tyson quit on his stool against Irish journeyman Kevin McBride. And still, their legends endure. As will yours. So thanks, mate. Thank you for your 23 years of scraping, banging, balls-to-the-wall bitumen battles.

Thanks for your three championships, your more than a century of wins, and those staggering seven Bathurst 1000 titles.

King of the Mountain? No, that mantle was taken.

But just like mate and mentor Brocky, your legend is secured thanks largely to taming, over and over, our toughest and most iconic tracks.

And, sure, like Peter Perfect wasn’t, so your own life has endured a handful of blips. But to be fair, find us a fella whose hasn’t.

Better, your standing among those on the hill, among those wearing double pluggers, or sat atop motorised Eskies, has never wavered. With helmet on, you were an animal.

Drivers likened those three fat ladies appearing in their rearview mirror — 888 — with that pair of piano keys starting up in Jaws. And off the track? You smiled, won hearts, then smiled some more. So popular that not even the Mt Panorama queues for beers — or a slash — could match yours at autograph time. So again, thanks Lowndesy. Thanks for moments like when you spotted a mate of mine taking your picture during a Supercars grid walk.

When despite him being maybe the millionth to do so, you looked up from behind your steering wheel, smiled — of course, you smiled — and gave a thumbs up. “G’day, mate,” you said. Which was nothing. And everything.

For how many times, we wonder, have you done that little bit more to make a motorsport fan think: Wow, Lowndsey cares. Like driving 300km/h, it’s a skill. And you boast both in bucketloads. Which is why, when you made that farewell walk along pit lane yesterday, every team emerged to applaud.

Farewelling a rival they loathed, loved and so respected, Chaz Mostert requested you sign his racesuit. As for your farewell drive? Well, inside a Holden aptly coloured gold, you qualified 12th, scrapped to seventh, dropped back, then fought again. Eventually, across the line at No.11. Not that this yarn was about numbers — even after a career boasting 107 wins, 166 podiums and 42 poles.

No, Lowndsey your greatest strength has always been how you take the sport up and over the concrete walls, out into the crowd, to the everyman.

So, from all the blokes in doublepluggers, and plenty more ... thanks, mate.