A champion off the racetrack, too

By ALASTAIR SLOANE

You meet all sorts of good people on the road. One, on a train in Germany, was a balding American with glasses and suede jacket, about 60.

I can't remember his name but he said he was the organ player for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He'd taught organ all over the world and played with great artists.

He'd given a private recital at a university in Berlin and was on his way to Venice via Munich to stay with an Italian maestro.

For two hours between Frankfurt and Stuttgart he talked of his love of music, great orchestras, the snow in Boston at Christmas, ice hockey, his dog, his wife and family, the music studio he added on to his house, and the beauty of St Patrick's Cathedral in New York.

"Ya gotta do something before you die and that's go to St Patrick's for Christmas Eve," he said. "Doesn't matter what religion you are. No better place in the world to listen to the organ and choir."



He was a fascinating character. Passionate. Funny. Warm. Loved everything about music, it's history, it's future. He especially liked teaching.

Another good man was Ashley Stichbury. He was passionate, funny and warm, too. Sometimes he could be intense, impatient. The brain haemorrhage that eventually killed him last week at age 30 no doubt made him angry that the headache wouldn't go away. He probably swore at it.

"Stich" was a champion race driver. Learned in go-karts in Hawkes Bay. Went on to win a whole bunch of titles in all sorts of cars. Raced in New Zealand, Germany, Britain, Australia. A German motorsport bloke reckoned he was as good as Ayrton Senna.

Stich told a lot of good stories about racing. Mostly funny and mostly against himself. Everyone liked him. He was that sort of bloke. Good, strong, decent, respectful.

In recent years he had combined racing with driver training. He wanted to use his public profile to teach technique, to improve standards. He wanted proper driver-training centres established. There were too many bad drivers.

"I get scared on New Zealand roads," he once said. "Some of the things you see are unbelievable."

People warmed to Stich. "The reaction we [race drivers] get when we do 'drive days' with members of the public is brilliant," he said.

"They respect us. They listen. They fire questions at us. They want to know their skill level. We don't have a problem telling them. Sometimes they don't like it - but they take it in."

A couple of weeks ago Stich turned up at Middlemore Hospital to chat to Invercargill teenager Roger McKernon, badly burned in a go-kart accident.

"Getting burned is a racing driver's biggest fear," said Stich. "It is really heartening to see the progress that Roger is making, considering the nature and severity of his accident."

He said something else, years ago when we met in the cockpit of a Lamborghini at Pukekohe. I'd heard it before, from a motorcyclist. But Stich said it differently. Simpler.

"You've only found your way into a corner when you've found your way out of it."