"Is it raining?" Club100 managing director John Vigor pauses, mid-flow. I glance towards the clubhouse windows - now streaming - and turn back in time to see a pained expression cross his face.
"Right. We'll come to that in a minute..."
Another day, another windswept, rain-lashed kart circuit. Whilton Mill, near Northampton, is the venue for BRKC 2013's final bow. From what I've seen so far, it looks like we'll be going out with a bang. Several bangs, in fact.
Club100 is often lauded as the UK's highest form of rental karting, its fleet of 115cc, two-stroke, direct drive karts considered by many to be the best in the business. They're certainly the fastest.
We're racing them today courtesy of Club100 frontrunner and long-time friend of the BRKC Chris Powell, who has kindly - or could that be mischievously - organised for a mix of two-stroke virgins and old hands to meet on track. The word 'carnage' is being bandied about.
My two-stroke karting experience is mainly limited to a single Daytona 24 Hours in a DMax kart (predictably scoffed at by the Club100 cognoscenti) but I did, once, try a Club100 kart many years ago. My memory is of a screaming, intimidating beast with switch-like power, minimal grip and zero feel through steering, pedals or chassis. Both I and the Club100 fleet have moved on in 13 years, but the butterflies are fluttering as I try to assimilate a welter of information in the briefing.
The rain swirls under my open visor as I walk out to the grid for my 15 minute practice session, the clouds pressing lower than ever, and it's with a mix of nerves and heavy heart that I clip my lead ballast, transponder and number plate to my kart.
Early this morning, the motorsport world was rocked by tragic news: Maria de Villota, who suffered horrific injuries in a freak testing accident at the wheel of a Marussia F1 car in July 2012, has been found dead in Seville. Despite the loss of her right eye, she'd fought on, committed to her motorsport work and a return to racing. Her bravery, dignity and love of life were an inspiration to millions, including me, and I'm desperately saddened by her loss.
(As I write, the death of Porsche Supercup frontrunner and Nurburgring 24 Hours winner Sean Edwards has turned an already grim week into one of the darkest I can remember.)
But the race beckons. As the pusher kart takes up its position behind me, a wave of adrenalin sweeps everything else away. As it always does.
A jerk, a chunter, a rattling buzz, and I'm underway, the engine smoothing out as it begins to scale its huge revband. I tiptoe through the saturated first corner, straighten out, aim the nose at the distant right-hander at the top of the hill, and squeeze the throttle as if my own testicles resided beneath.
The revs erupt from insect buzz to diablo scream, the rear tyres instantly spinning, skipping the tail out thirty degrees; the breath jams in my throat as I whip the wheel three-quarters of a turn to the left and narrowly avoid firing myself off the circuit.
Jesus.
By treating the brake pedal with similar restraint, I manage to negotiate the sharp right-hander, and the rest of my out lap, without further incident. I'm recalibrating all the time, beginning to anticipate the wheelspin as the engine reaches its powerband; by the end of my second lap, I wonder if I'm being too cautious on the brakes.
Nope.
Into the sequence before the pits, I'm two metres later on the left pedal; everything goes quiet as the rear wheels lock, stalling the engine. I'm a passenger, the slick tyres floating on the film of water which covers the tarmac, the kart pirouetting into the grass. There's no shame - this is what practice is for, and I'm far from the first to go off - but dragging the kart back onto the tarmac, pointing it the right way, and waiting for a push, is time-consuming.
Once on the move again, I reel off eight more laps without any more excursions, gradually gaining in confidence, and take the flag with a firm plan for the two points-scoring heats to come. Assuming it stays this wet, my best approach is to trundle around, take no risks, and let everyone else visit the scenery.
In the warmth of the clubhouse, newbies and old hands alike are wide-eyed, overalls streaked with telltale green-brown flecks of cut grass and mud. At least, I hope it's mud. The clamour almost drowns out the shriek of two-stroke engines as drivers swap stories of folly. There's a common theme: it's a mite slippy.
With 48 drivers and 24 on track at any time, there will only be four heats. I'm starting 16th on the grid for heat one; with the second practice session half gone, it's nearly time to gear up and face the music. The sight of at least two karts mired in the grass or buried in a tyrewall at any given time doesn't fill me with confidence.
Getting a field of direct-drive karts underway and lined up for a rolling race start is not the work of a moment. The three pusher kart drivers are swift and efficient, but a combination of torrid conditions and drivers unused to the format makes for heavy work and many rolling laps behind the pace kart before everyone is lined up in the correct position.
Finally, we're away; slow to realise, I lose five metres to the kart in front - which probably gains me ground, since at least half the field sails wide into turn one. I hug the inside, manage to avoid any contact as we concertina into the uphill braking zone for turn two, and end the first lap unscathed.
The race whirls by in a flurry of opposite lock, held breath and tapdancing on the pedals; I finish it tenth, six up on my grid slot. My 'trundle around' strategy seems to be working: at least three of my places were gained from others' overexuberance. It's not fast, but it is effective.
I'm next on in heat three, which gives me enough time to gulp down a granola bar and half a bottle of water. The rain has died off a little but it's still cold and miserable; laptimes are static, for now, at a whopping 25 seconds slower than dry pace.
Twenty minutes later, having watched (and pointed and laughed) as another hapless group slithered their way around, the joke's on me. Tenth on the grid: this is my chance to make an impression.
It goes down the toilet almost immediately. Halfway around my second rolling lap, while trying to force my way through the pack to my starting position, the driver in front gets sideways at all of 10mph. I've nowhere to go; beside me, Tyler Mays (I think) stalls as well.
As the rest of the field disappears into the distance, the pusher karts get to work. My engine fires, I hold the right pedal around half throttle, as instructed... but after stuttering for thirty metres, the bloody thing stalls again. By the time I get moving, the field is two thirds of a lap ahead; I push as hard as I dare to catch up but am directed around the full lap (instead of the shortcut used for the rolling laps) and only manage to catch the rear of the field before the start lights blink green.
I'm at least eight places behind my designated slot, cursing... on lap two, having made up several places, another mid-pack spinner takes me out and drops me to the back again. I finish the race 16th - not bad considering the setbacks, but I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered.
Back in the paddock, the tantalising smell of grilling meat wafts from the burger van. As the final heat gets underway I buy a cheeseburger and a cup of tea from the nice ladies behind the counter. Both turn out to be rather good; my mood lifts a notch.
It's lifted again when the grids for the final are posted. I've made the A final by the skin of my teeth: 22nd and last qualifier. The top four finishers in the B final will start behind me. All but the unluckiest of the Club100 regulars have made the A final, along with a fair few familiar names: Vangeen, Bayliss, Weddell, Fitchew, Nitch-Smith...
The rain has finally stopped, the clouds lifting, and we watch the laptimes tumble in an entertaining B-final. It's won by Rhianna Purcocks, closely shadowed by David Whitehouse; as I feared, I'll have the two of them hunting me down in the A final.
With the circuit drying, it's far easier for everyone to drop into their grid position, and we're underway without a hitch. The laptimes are a full fifteen seconds faster than they were an hour ago, and I'm having to relearn the circuit on the fly.
The kart isn't helping. All day I've found the seating position uncomfortable but manageable, but in this particular kart I'm so close to the pedals that I can't rotate my ankles far enough back to modulate them properly. I discover later that they're adjustable; my ankles, sadly, are not.
I muddle through somehow, slow but steady, until the penultimate lap, when a clumsy stab of throttle from my burning right ankle flicks me into a spin just short of the pit entry. I drag the kart around as the field flashes by, and take the flag in what I presume is last position.
I fail to take account of the fact that plenty of people have been off - including Alex and Andrew Bayliss, who seem to have taken each other out at least twice. I've finished 20th overall out of 48. Mediocre by recent BRKC standards, but not too disastrous.
I'm late for a practice session at Formula Fast in Milton Keynes - the venue for BRKC 2014 - so am forced to miss the podium ceremonies. It's no surprise to see the experts - George Lovell, Chris Powell, Anwar Beroual-Smith, Lee Hackett - at the sharp end.
But the standout performance has to be Michael Weddell's: sixth overall and novice winner on his first day in a two-stroke kart. Worth the long trip from Edinburgh, I hope.
For me, a mixed day. It's always a pleasure to catch up with the BRKC regulars, but the weather and tragedy elsewhere in motorsport has - for me at least - cast a pall. Club100 is friendly and expertly run, and I've no doubts over the parity of the karts. But I haven't taken much pleasure from driving them.
If someone would start an equivalent championship using their own fleet of top-quality prokarts, I'd sign on the dotted line...
Saturday 19 October 2013
Monday 2 September 2013
British 24 Hours, Teesside, 23-25 August 2013 (part 3)
The Race: the final 12 hours
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
Sunday 25 August
"Have you been sleeping?" Brad asks. I nod. "That's a bit gay. We've been working here..."
It's midnight. The circuit has been silent for nearly three hours. The rain has died away to drizzle; when I return to the awning, there's evidence of standing water, with gear and food piled on every inch of the table and chairs. But the puddles are draining. The track looks driveable as far as I can tell.
But there's still no driving, because part of the timing loop - metal strips buried under the tarmac just short of the fast chicane - has failed, meaning that some karts aren't registering as they pass. It's a showstopper. No timing, no race.
Frantic efforts have been going on behind the scenes to restore it, and a makeshift solution has been implemented: the marshals are installing plastic barriers on the circuit before the chicane, narrowing the entry and forcing karts two metres to the left - over the working section of the timing loop.
Finally, engines begin to fire; we're told that the field will do five slow laps under yellow flag conditions to test the solution; if all is well, then the race will be green flagged and we'll be underway again. Alex is in the kart; they were just about to pit Lee when the race was red flagged.
As the field gets moving, Lauren brings me up to speed: there's another problem. The kart is on vapour. It had run two full hours before the red flag; now, while the timing system is being tested, we're not allowed to pit for fuel. We'll just have to hope for the best.
Armed with a radio, I head around to the pits with Ferhat. We've decided to bring Alex in as soon as we can. The minutes trickle by; after a couple of tweaks, the timing system is declared fit for use and the engines roar as green flags wave around the circuit. I'm flooded with relief as Alex peels into the pits to feed our starved kart. The fuel bay is clear, and as we won't be changing drivers, this should be a quick stop.
He's turned around quickly and soon appears through the gate. I run forward to meet the kart, find the pullcord on the left engine in the dark; it snaps instantly into life.
At this point, three experienced (though admittedly tired) karters simultaneously forget the first rule of all things electrical.
If it doesn't work, first check that it's switched on.
The right engine refuses to start; after three or four attempts, Ferhat steps in and stops Alex.
"You're flooding it..."
He keeps trying it while I run back into the fuel bay for help. It takes me ten seconds to convince one of the staff to accompany me; by the time we return to the pit road, Alex is accelerating away. I thank the fueller and turn to Anwar, who has appeared out of nowhere and looks thunderous.
"The ignition was turned off..."
Oops. It cost us perhaps a minute - not a disaster in the greater scheme of things - but that was a silly blunder for a crew that prides itself on its pitstops. I will kick myself daily for a long time, and I'm certain that neither Alex nor I will ever make that particular mistake again.
Red-faced, we return to the awning. The smartphone Race Monitor app - which has worked only intertmittently this weekend - shows us 11th in class, exactly where we were before the red flag. Rather than lose time, we've wasted a chance to gain it. Damage done. Move on.
On the camping stove, blue and yellow flames gutter beneath the kettle, whipped by a stiff breeze. As Alex's stint wears on I cup my hands around steaming mugs and eat whatever comes to hand. But there's no chance to relax; thirty minutes in, Lauren reports that Alex can't hear her. She hears him intermittently, but he's pointed at his head a couple of times as he's passed us. Either he's lost his marbles or his radio has failed.
Thankfully, he and Lauren have brought along the fluorescent blue lollipop that they originally made for the 2012 race. If we stand somewhere prominent enough, Alex will - we hope - recognise it. Because he'll have to do a full lap before pitting, we'll have to take our chances with the fuel bay. Here, an awful lot can change in 80 seconds.
With over an hour to go before he's due in, I wander upstairs to the cafe, post a Twitter update and watch the timing screens. Alex has been complaining all weekend that he isn't quite on it, that he should be quicker. I know the feeling, but the laptimes don't lie. His pace is very good, and his consistency is even better.
James Auld leans against the window nearby, looking a little pale, staring blearily out at the circuit. I ask him how he's doing.
Tired smile. "Personally, or teamwise?"
"Both."
He shrugs. "Absolutely destroyed, mate. Kart's had loads of issues, too..."
I note from the screen that Squadra Abarth BRKC - Kettlewell and the Scots - are back near the sharp end after a messy first few hours. Mike was knocked into a spin on the opening lap; Ryan has admitted to losing it at the bottom of the hill and beaching the kart in the gravel twice; Allward and Weddell have each had the odd moment too. But their pace is very strong; if they can hold it together they have a shot at the class win.
Chris and Lee have finally retired to their van for some rest; Chris has been a solid, reassuring presence ever since Friday morning. I gather that he's robustly defended our realm on more than one occasion, too. The muddy conditions have turned our awning - erected over the tarmac path which runs along the barriers - into something of a thoroughfare. We've been as accommodating as we can - moving chairs and gear out of the way - but there's been some unnecessary rudeness from the odd passerby. Marianne tells me that Chris has reduced at least one ill-mannered driver to a quivering lump of jelly. I'd like to have seen that...
The timing of Alex's radio problem gives us an added headache: it's time for our maintenance stop. Every kart must have one of these - a five-minute checkover in the garage - between 2 and 4.30am. We think Alex knows this, but we can't be sure. We'll have to tell him on the fly.
Just before 2.40am, Anwar is suited up and waiting at the maintenance garage as Marianne waves the giant blue lollipop from the most visible position we can find - behind the barriers at turn 1. Alex spots it first time; relieved, I run back around the catchment fences to wait for him in the pitlane. We're in luck: the fuel bay is clear, and the marshals have opened the gate to the paddock. Lauren is there, and manages to signal Alex while the kart is being refuelled. He drives straight down the hill without passing through the pitlane, and a precious thirty seconds is saved.
Our kart is the only one in the garage - finally, some luck - and the mechanics turn it around quickly: within three minutes, Anwar is on his way. The whole team has done exceptionally well to get through this tricky phase, and I hope we've gained some ground on the rest of the field.
Alex looks tired; Lauren hands me the headphones and the pair of them head off for a well-earned couple of hours' rest. I head back to the timing screens and keep Anwar updated. Experienced as he is, this is his first 24 hour race, and I think he's struggled a little with the particular demands it makes - the peaks and troughs, needing to be fed and rested at odd hours of the day. But he's scintillating on track, as ever, lapping at frontrunning pace on the still-drying track.
The weather remains undecided - misty and occasionally drizzly - but there's no sign of impending downpour. Fourteen hours in, I'm simultaneously struck by graveyard shift fatigue - the three-way battle between adrenalin, caffeine and body clock - and by the realisation that I'm out next. My second stint has been delayed three hours by the stoppage; I'll be on track in the pre-dawn hours, arguably the most difficult time for drivers.
I train very hard for this race, and the next hour or so reminds me why, as I drag my flagging body and spirits up towards something approaching race-readiness. Sugar saves the day, as does the discovery that the changing rooms are open. If you have to put on damp overalls, having a nice warm room to do it in makes all the difference. I've been wearing a 2.25kg weight strapped around my left ankle for each session, to be sure that I'm over the 210kg minimum for kart and driver. It stretches my overalls to tearing point and transforms my gait into half John Wayne, half Ministry of Silly Walks.
Lee has returned, looking chipper (by 4am standards); in between stints on the headphones, Marianne and Ferhat have been sharing a miniature bottle of red wine which mysteriously found its way into her rucksack. As Anwar drags us into the top ten in class for the first time since hour 3, the good cheer flows; suddenly I'm sky high and raring to go.
4.40am. The mist hangs lower than ever. Anwar, Lee and I execute our slickest changeover of the race - I even manage to slot my seat insert in without delay - and I'm rocketing down the pitlane in no time. Anwar was lapping in the low 1.23 bracket at the end of his stint, which is three seconds away from dry pace, so I'm expecting a greasy surface.
And how. There's a dry line, but it's barely a kart's width in places. Venture outside it - to pass someone, for instance - and you're instantly scrabbling for grip. The Esses are poorly lit, as usual; with the kerbs in shadow it's difficult to place the kart accurately. With only one line through, this should be among the dryest sections of the circuit, but it doesn't feel that way. From the outset, the kart is particularly snappy over the bumps at each apex, and I'm forced to gather up a heart-in-mouth tankslapper in the braking zone for the hairpin. Any lingering cobwebs are long gone: this is seriously challenging.
And not just for me: halfway through the stint, an errant owner-driver knocks me into a spin at the entry to the final corner. And, reluctantly, I must admit to an unforced error. While passing a fellow Club Hire at the top of the corkscrew, I take a tight line on entry, which pushes me wide at the exit. Suddenly the loaded left tyres are off the dry line and I'm understeering straight towards the wall. I catch it - just - and lose a couple of seconds fishtailing along the concrete run-off before rejoining the tarmac. It will stand as my only (driving) mistake of the weekend - but since I haven't driven in full wet conditions, that's still one too many.
As the first grey smudges of dawn start to creep in beyond the floodlights, Marianne's on the radio to tell me I'm lapping in the 1.20s. There's been no drizzle for a while, but that's still a pleasant surprise - with dawn comes dew, and individual corners seem to be changing from lap to lap.
By the time I get the 'box' command it's almost fully light, and I'm sad to end a tricky but rewarding stint. We've moved up a place to ninth in class; as Lee powers away after another clean pitstop, I'm nodding in quiet satisfaction. It wasn't perfect - it never is - and my driving has 'safe pair of hands' written all over it. But I've given my absolute best, and my best is just about good enough.
From under our awning comes the most enticing smell in the world ever. Lauren is frying bacon for breakfast and turns out to have a rare talent for creating the perfect bacon bap - doubly impressive since she never touches pork. For a strung-out, exhausted, half-starved driver, it's manna from heaven.
I wind down slowly as the race passes three-quarters distance; in full daylight now, with the sun beginning to burn through the mist, the circuit is finally drying properly. Lee is lapping in the 1.19s, consistently among the fastest in class. Barring a miracle, we're more or less resigned to finishing around the fringes of the top ten now; although we've been slowly reeling in the frontrunners since our disaster in hour 3, the Club Hire teams are too closely matched and the gap too big.
But anything's possible, and though a top ten finish is scant consolation for a team that should be challenging for the win, it's better than nothing. So we keep pushing. At 8.30am, we bring Lee in - capping off a stellar weekend's work from him - and send Alex out. I briefly feared that the mid-race stoppage might have wiped out my third stint, but as time wears on it becomes clear that I'll have a shortened run of an hour or so to the flag.
With too little rest and not much to fight for, Anwar looks reluctant to take his usual position in the driver order following Alex; I consider swapping our stints. But he's soon kitted up and ready to go and our penultimate pitstop - in hour 21 - goes like clockwork despite the permanent loss of radio comms with Alex.
On track, Anwar's instantly flying; depending on the pitstop schedules of other teams, we have half a chance of eighth place. Anwar doesn't know it - and we elect not to tell him for fear of distraction - but his entertaining dice with another quick Club Hire driver is for position, with both karts on the same lap.
As we start the twenty-third hour, I'm expecting a repeat of my earlier struggle to raise my energy levels, but it never materialises. I've no idea how I'm still standing - caffeine will only get you so far - but as my final stint approaches I'm fresh as a daisy. Maybe sheer frustration - knowing that once again our talent and commitment won't get the reward it deserves - is spurring me on.
In a way, the shambles that is our final pitstop comes at exactly the right time, for in the end it loses us nothing and teaches us a great deal. It's routine enough to begin with: Anwar is in on cue, refuels, pushes the kart around, I jump in while he and Alex start the engines... but when I get the GO command, the kart feels reluctant to move. I hesitate, but there's a shout from behind which I take to be along the lines of 'what are you waiting for?'; the rush to rejoin the race takes over, and I accelerate away.
The slope of the pit exit masks the problem to some point, but by the time I'm on level ground, it's obvious that only one engine is pushing the kart. Either the other has stalled or wasn't started; swearing, I drive as quickly as I can to the safest spot I can find - out of the way against the barriers before the Esses - and jump out to investigate.
Both engines are running, which points to a bigger problem. The nearest marshal runs over.
"One of your clutches is knackered, get yourself back to the pits."
I jump back in and gesticulate at him to move the plastic barriers and allow me through; pulling out into 70mph traffic on one engine is a recipe for a plane crash. He's slow to acquiesce, but finally gets it; wondering how a clutch could have failed so suddenly, I manage to get back to the pitlane without collecting anyone.
In the garage, the others crowd around; it takes five seconds for a mechanic to spot the real problem.
"One of your throttle cables is off!"
He clips the springloaded cable back into its slot, and in seconds I'm gunning it back up the hill towards the pits with pedestrians diving out of the way, absolutely furious. It turns out that whoever started the engine accidentally popped the cable out while blipping the throttle. I had no idea such a thing was even possible, and curse my technical ignorance while mentally flagellating myself for not stopping as soon as I felt a problem.
Back on track, I tell myself to clear the red mist and focus on the job. Crashing will not help our cause. The sun blazes down from clear skies, track conditions are the best they've been all weekend, and I channel all of my frustration into speed, into turning in with the loaded tyres nibbling on the ragged edge, on finessing the brake pedal just so, on picking the perfect line through the fast chicane.
With grip off-line, it's much easier to pass slower traffic than earlier in the race, and I'm scything through with good rhythm and judgement. The feedback from the pitwall is confusing though: all of my senses tell me I'm going faster than ever, but the laptimes are middling. The kart feels fine, but I wonder if it's ailing slightly; maybe the straight-line speed is down a little?
Mid-stint, I'm passed by Michael Weddell in the number 48 Squadra Abarth kart. He's been mighty quick all weekend, but has a definite advantage on the straights. It's not dramatic, but it's contributing to the half-second laptime deficit. I put everything I have into keeping him in sight, and the gap waxes and wanes as we carve through traffic, but he slowly pulls away. It matters little: he's eight or nine laps ahead.
BRKC regular Ed White is hereabouts too, going very quickly in his usual unruffled style; we have an entertaining but ultimately pointless dice for several laps. He's on his way to fourth in class; I'm mired in tenth, with no hope of promotion unless another team has a catastrophe.
As 1pm approaches I become increasingly hypersensitive to the pulse of the kart, taking extra care with kerbs, trying to minimise the stress. Marianne tells me my laptimes are solid - low 1.20s, with the leaders in the high 1.19s - and metronomically consistent.
And suddenly, we're being shown the last lap board, suddenly I'm holding my breath through turn 2 for the final time, threading the needle at 70mph through the Esses, dodging backmarkers through the final sequence of corners, accelerating towards the chequered flag.
It's over. On the slow down lap I wave at the marshals, clap when I can, trying to show my appreciation for the essential job they do. There's much mutual congratulation between competitors too; we've all brought it home. And for the first time since I first raced here in 2011, we've come through a difficult, dangerous 24 hours with no injuries. Good result or not, that's something to celebrate.
As we file into the pitlane, the rest of the Corporate Chauffeurs BRKC crew - Alex, Anwar, Lee, Marianne, Lauren, Chris and Ferhat - cheer us from the pitwall. I'm overcome with admiration for them all. For spirit, commitment and sheer hard work they - we - are peerless. That a team with such talent, dedication and breadth of experience will not stand on the podium is a travesty.
There are sorry tales for a couple of other teams we know, too. Stuart McKay's BHP Project team has had an awful time in the Standard Hire class - struck by multiple reliability problems and a suspected case of food poisoning for poor Stuart.
We've been rooting for Squadra Abarth to win in our absence. On the road, that's exactly what they've done. But a questionable penalty applied hours after they allegedly gained an unfair advantage - through no fault of their own - has dropped them to third. Still a great result given that three of the four drivers were making their British 24 Hour debut, and they're philosophical about it. Michael Weddell is chuffed with his trophy for fastest lap in Club Hire, and rightly so.
In the owner class, Baron Racing has finished third for the second year in a row. Not the win they were hoping for, but I know that Brad will have driven that kart faster than strictly should be possible.
Both the solo drivers and the Kartforce team have made the finish, and the biggest cheers are reserved for them. Beside their achievements, ours pale into insignificance.
I was hoping to avoid another blog about our fightback, but that's how it crumbled. Though we weren't flawless - mistakes were made, and we will address them - it was reliability that scuppered us. Again.
But regardless of the result it was a very special event to be part of, as it always is. Our support, both within the team and remotely, was fantastic and heartily appreciated. On a personal note, it was a surprise and a delight to have complete strangers compliment me about my scribblings.
For Teesside 2013, that's about it. We're already looking to 2014, with exciting plans in motion. More than ever I'm privileged to be part of this great team, and I'll work harder than ever to be worthy of my spot.
There'll be no giving up. Endurance racing gets in your blood. The British 24 Hours is the glittering prize.
And we can taste the bubbly.
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
Sunday 25 August
"Have you been sleeping?" Brad asks. I nod. "That's a bit gay. We've been working here..."
It's midnight. The circuit has been silent for nearly three hours. The rain has died away to drizzle; when I return to the awning, there's evidence of standing water, with gear and food piled on every inch of the table and chairs. But the puddles are draining. The track looks driveable as far as I can tell.
But there's still no driving, because part of the timing loop - metal strips buried under the tarmac just short of the fast chicane - has failed, meaning that some karts aren't registering as they pass. It's a showstopper. No timing, no race.
Frantic efforts have been going on behind the scenes to restore it, and a makeshift solution has been implemented: the marshals are installing plastic barriers on the circuit before the chicane, narrowing the entry and forcing karts two metres to the left - over the working section of the timing loop.
Finally, engines begin to fire; we're told that the field will do five slow laps under yellow flag conditions to test the solution; if all is well, then the race will be green flagged and we'll be underway again. Alex is in the kart; they were just about to pit Lee when the race was red flagged.
As the field gets moving, Lauren brings me up to speed: there's another problem. The kart is on vapour. It had run two full hours before the red flag; now, while the timing system is being tested, we're not allowed to pit for fuel. We'll just have to hope for the best.
Armed with a radio, I head around to the pits with Ferhat. We've decided to bring Alex in as soon as we can. The minutes trickle by; after a couple of tweaks, the timing system is declared fit for use and the engines roar as green flags wave around the circuit. I'm flooded with relief as Alex peels into the pits to feed our starved kart. The fuel bay is clear, and as we won't be changing drivers, this should be a quick stop.
He's turned around quickly and soon appears through the gate. I run forward to meet the kart, find the pullcord on the left engine in the dark; it snaps instantly into life.
At this point, three experienced (though admittedly tired) karters simultaneously forget the first rule of all things electrical.
If it doesn't work, first check that it's switched on.
The right engine refuses to start; after three or four attempts, Ferhat steps in and stops Alex.
"You're flooding it..."
He keeps trying it while I run back into the fuel bay for help. It takes me ten seconds to convince one of the staff to accompany me; by the time we return to the pit road, Alex is accelerating away. I thank the fueller and turn to Anwar, who has appeared out of nowhere and looks thunderous.
"The ignition was turned off..."
Oops. It cost us perhaps a minute - not a disaster in the greater scheme of things - but that was a silly blunder for a crew that prides itself on its pitstops. I will kick myself daily for a long time, and I'm certain that neither Alex nor I will ever make that particular mistake again.
Red-faced, we return to the awning. The smartphone Race Monitor app - which has worked only intertmittently this weekend - shows us 11th in class, exactly where we were before the red flag. Rather than lose time, we've wasted a chance to gain it. Damage done. Move on.
On the camping stove, blue and yellow flames gutter beneath the kettle, whipped by a stiff breeze. As Alex's stint wears on I cup my hands around steaming mugs and eat whatever comes to hand. But there's no chance to relax; thirty minutes in, Lauren reports that Alex can't hear her. She hears him intermittently, but he's pointed at his head a couple of times as he's passed us. Either he's lost his marbles or his radio has failed.
Thankfully, he and Lauren have brought along the fluorescent blue lollipop that they originally made for the 2012 race. If we stand somewhere prominent enough, Alex will - we hope - recognise it. Because he'll have to do a full lap before pitting, we'll have to take our chances with the fuel bay. Here, an awful lot can change in 80 seconds.
With over an hour to go before he's due in, I wander upstairs to the cafe, post a Twitter update and watch the timing screens. Alex has been complaining all weekend that he isn't quite on it, that he should be quicker. I know the feeling, but the laptimes don't lie. His pace is very good, and his consistency is even better.
James Auld leans against the window nearby, looking a little pale, staring blearily out at the circuit. I ask him how he's doing.
Tired smile. "Personally, or teamwise?"
"Both."
He shrugs. "Absolutely destroyed, mate. Kart's had loads of issues, too..."
I note from the screen that Squadra Abarth BRKC - Kettlewell and the Scots - are back near the sharp end after a messy first few hours. Mike was knocked into a spin on the opening lap; Ryan has admitted to losing it at the bottom of the hill and beaching the kart in the gravel twice; Allward and Weddell have each had the odd moment too. But their pace is very strong; if they can hold it together they have a shot at the class win.
Chris and Lee have finally retired to their van for some rest; Chris has been a solid, reassuring presence ever since Friday morning. I gather that he's robustly defended our realm on more than one occasion, too. The muddy conditions have turned our awning - erected over the tarmac path which runs along the barriers - into something of a thoroughfare. We've been as accommodating as we can - moving chairs and gear out of the way - but there's been some unnecessary rudeness from the odd passerby. Marianne tells me that Chris has reduced at least one ill-mannered driver to a quivering lump of jelly. I'd like to have seen that...
The timing of Alex's radio problem gives us an added headache: it's time for our maintenance stop. Every kart must have one of these - a five-minute checkover in the garage - between 2 and 4.30am. We think Alex knows this, but we can't be sure. We'll have to tell him on the fly.
Just before 2.40am, Anwar is suited up and waiting at the maintenance garage as Marianne waves the giant blue lollipop from the most visible position we can find - behind the barriers at turn 1. Alex spots it first time; relieved, I run back around the catchment fences to wait for him in the pitlane. We're in luck: the fuel bay is clear, and the marshals have opened the gate to the paddock. Lauren is there, and manages to signal Alex while the kart is being refuelled. He drives straight down the hill without passing through the pitlane, and a precious thirty seconds is saved.
Our kart is the only one in the garage - finally, some luck - and the mechanics turn it around quickly: within three minutes, Anwar is on his way. The whole team has done exceptionally well to get through this tricky phase, and I hope we've gained some ground on the rest of the field.
Alex looks tired; Lauren hands me the headphones and the pair of them head off for a well-earned couple of hours' rest. I head back to the timing screens and keep Anwar updated. Experienced as he is, this is his first 24 hour race, and I think he's struggled a little with the particular demands it makes - the peaks and troughs, needing to be fed and rested at odd hours of the day. But he's scintillating on track, as ever, lapping at frontrunning pace on the still-drying track.
The weather remains undecided - misty and occasionally drizzly - but there's no sign of impending downpour. Fourteen hours in, I'm simultaneously struck by graveyard shift fatigue - the three-way battle between adrenalin, caffeine and body clock - and by the realisation that I'm out next. My second stint has been delayed three hours by the stoppage; I'll be on track in the pre-dawn hours, arguably the most difficult time for drivers.
I train very hard for this race, and the next hour or so reminds me why, as I drag my flagging body and spirits up towards something approaching race-readiness. Sugar saves the day, as does the discovery that the changing rooms are open. If you have to put on damp overalls, having a nice warm room to do it in makes all the difference. I've been wearing a 2.25kg weight strapped around my left ankle for each session, to be sure that I'm over the 210kg minimum for kart and driver. It stretches my overalls to tearing point and transforms my gait into half John Wayne, half Ministry of Silly Walks.
Lee has returned, looking chipper (by 4am standards); in between stints on the headphones, Marianne and Ferhat have been sharing a miniature bottle of red wine which mysteriously found its way into her rucksack. As Anwar drags us into the top ten in class for the first time since hour 3, the good cheer flows; suddenly I'm sky high and raring to go.
4.40am. The mist hangs lower than ever. Anwar, Lee and I execute our slickest changeover of the race - I even manage to slot my seat insert in without delay - and I'm rocketing down the pitlane in no time. Anwar was lapping in the low 1.23 bracket at the end of his stint, which is three seconds away from dry pace, so I'm expecting a greasy surface.
And how. There's a dry line, but it's barely a kart's width in places. Venture outside it - to pass someone, for instance - and you're instantly scrabbling for grip. The Esses are poorly lit, as usual; with the kerbs in shadow it's difficult to place the kart accurately. With only one line through, this should be among the dryest sections of the circuit, but it doesn't feel that way. From the outset, the kart is particularly snappy over the bumps at each apex, and I'm forced to gather up a heart-in-mouth tankslapper in the braking zone for the hairpin. Any lingering cobwebs are long gone: this is seriously challenging.
And not just for me: halfway through the stint, an errant owner-driver knocks me into a spin at the entry to the final corner. And, reluctantly, I must admit to an unforced error. While passing a fellow Club Hire at the top of the corkscrew, I take a tight line on entry, which pushes me wide at the exit. Suddenly the loaded left tyres are off the dry line and I'm understeering straight towards the wall. I catch it - just - and lose a couple of seconds fishtailing along the concrete run-off before rejoining the tarmac. It will stand as my only (driving) mistake of the weekend - but since I haven't driven in full wet conditions, that's still one too many.
As the first grey smudges of dawn start to creep in beyond the floodlights, Marianne's on the radio to tell me I'm lapping in the 1.20s. There's been no drizzle for a while, but that's still a pleasant surprise - with dawn comes dew, and individual corners seem to be changing from lap to lap.
By the time I get the 'box' command it's almost fully light, and I'm sad to end a tricky but rewarding stint. We've moved up a place to ninth in class; as Lee powers away after another clean pitstop, I'm nodding in quiet satisfaction. It wasn't perfect - it never is - and my driving has 'safe pair of hands' written all over it. But I've given my absolute best, and my best is just about good enough.
From under our awning comes the most enticing smell in the world ever. Lauren is frying bacon for breakfast and turns out to have a rare talent for creating the perfect bacon bap - doubly impressive since she never touches pork. For a strung-out, exhausted, half-starved driver, it's manna from heaven.
I wind down slowly as the race passes three-quarters distance; in full daylight now, with the sun beginning to burn through the mist, the circuit is finally drying properly. Lee is lapping in the 1.19s, consistently among the fastest in class. Barring a miracle, we're more or less resigned to finishing around the fringes of the top ten now; although we've been slowly reeling in the frontrunners since our disaster in hour 3, the Club Hire teams are too closely matched and the gap too big.
But anything's possible, and though a top ten finish is scant consolation for a team that should be challenging for the win, it's better than nothing. So we keep pushing. At 8.30am, we bring Lee in - capping off a stellar weekend's work from him - and send Alex out. I briefly feared that the mid-race stoppage might have wiped out my third stint, but as time wears on it becomes clear that I'll have a shortened run of an hour or so to the flag.
With too little rest and not much to fight for, Anwar looks reluctant to take his usual position in the driver order following Alex; I consider swapping our stints. But he's soon kitted up and ready to go and our penultimate pitstop - in hour 21 - goes like clockwork despite the permanent loss of radio comms with Alex.
On track, Anwar's instantly flying; depending on the pitstop schedules of other teams, we have half a chance of eighth place. Anwar doesn't know it - and we elect not to tell him for fear of distraction - but his entertaining dice with another quick Club Hire driver is for position, with both karts on the same lap.
As we start the twenty-third hour, I'm expecting a repeat of my earlier struggle to raise my energy levels, but it never materialises. I've no idea how I'm still standing - caffeine will only get you so far - but as my final stint approaches I'm fresh as a daisy. Maybe sheer frustration - knowing that once again our talent and commitment won't get the reward it deserves - is spurring me on.
In a way, the shambles that is our final pitstop comes at exactly the right time, for in the end it loses us nothing and teaches us a great deal. It's routine enough to begin with: Anwar is in on cue, refuels, pushes the kart around, I jump in while he and Alex start the engines... but when I get the GO command, the kart feels reluctant to move. I hesitate, but there's a shout from behind which I take to be along the lines of 'what are you waiting for?'; the rush to rejoin the race takes over, and I accelerate away.
The slope of the pit exit masks the problem to some point, but by the time I'm on level ground, it's obvious that only one engine is pushing the kart. Either the other has stalled or wasn't started; swearing, I drive as quickly as I can to the safest spot I can find - out of the way against the barriers before the Esses - and jump out to investigate.
Both engines are running, which points to a bigger problem. The nearest marshal runs over.
"One of your clutches is knackered, get yourself back to the pits."
I jump back in and gesticulate at him to move the plastic barriers and allow me through; pulling out into 70mph traffic on one engine is a recipe for a plane crash. He's slow to acquiesce, but finally gets it; wondering how a clutch could have failed so suddenly, I manage to get back to the pitlane without collecting anyone.
In the garage, the others crowd around; it takes five seconds for a mechanic to spot the real problem.
"One of your throttle cables is off!"
He clips the springloaded cable back into its slot, and in seconds I'm gunning it back up the hill towards the pits with pedestrians diving out of the way, absolutely furious. It turns out that whoever started the engine accidentally popped the cable out while blipping the throttle. I had no idea such a thing was even possible, and curse my technical ignorance while mentally flagellating myself for not stopping as soon as I felt a problem.
Back on track, I tell myself to clear the red mist and focus on the job. Crashing will not help our cause. The sun blazes down from clear skies, track conditions are the best they've been all weekend, and I channel all of my frustration into speed, into turning in with the loaded tyres nibbling on the ragged edge, on finessing the brake pedal just so, on picking the perfect line through the fast chicane.
With grip off-line, it's much easier to pass slower traffic than earlier in the race, and I'm scything through with good rhythm and judgement. The feedback from the pitwall is confusing though: all of my senses tell me I'm going faster than ever, but the laptimes are middling. The kart feels fine, but I wonder if it's ailing slightly; maybe the straight-line speed is down a little?
Mid-stint, I'm passed by Michael Weddell in the number 48 Squadra Abarth kart. He's been mighty quick all weekend, but has a definite advantage on the straights. It's not dramatic, but it's contributing to the half-second laptime deficit. I put everything I have into keeping him in sight, and the gap waxes and wanes as we carve through traffic, but he slowly pulls away. It matters little: he's eight or nine laps ahead.
BRKC regular Ed White is hereabouts too, going very quickly in his usual unruffled style; we have an entertaining but ultimately pointless dice for several laps. He's on his way to fourth in class; I'm mired in tenth, with no hope of promotion unless another team has a catastrophe.
As 1pm approaches I become increasingly hypersensitive to the pulse of the kart, taking extra care with kerbs, trying to minimise the stress. Marianne tells me my laptimes are solid - low 1.20s, with the leaders in the high 1.19s - and metronomically consistent.
And suddenly, we're being shown the last lap board, suddenly I'm holding my breath through turn 2 for the final time, threading the needle at 70mph through the Esses, dodging backmarkers through the final sequence of corners, accelerating towards the chequered flag.
It's over. On the slow down lap I wave at the marshals, clap when I can, trying to show my appreciation for the essential job they do. There's much mutual congratulation between competitors too; we've all brought it home. And for the first time since I first raced here in 2011, we've come through a difficult, dangerous 24 hours with no injuries. Good result or not, that's something to celebrate.
As we file into the pitlane, the rest of the Corporate Chauffeurs BRKC crew - Alex, Anwar, Lee, Marianne, Lauren, Chris and Ferhat - cheer us from the pitwall. I'm overcome with admiration for them all. For spirit, commitment and sheer hard work they - we - are peerless. That a team with such talent, dedication and breadth of experience will not stand on the podium is a travesty.
There are sorry tales for a couple of other teams we know, too. Stuart McKay's BHP Project team has had an awful time in the Standard Hire class - struck by multiple reliability problems and a suspected case of food poisoning for poor Stuart.
We've been rooting for Squadra Abarth to win in our absence. On the road, that's exactly what they've done. But a questionable penalty applied hours after they allegedly gained an unfair advantage - through no fault of their own - has dropped them to third. Still a great result given that three of the four drivers were making their British 24 Hour debut, and they're philosophical about it. Michael Weddell is chuffed with his trophy for fastest lap in Club Hire, and rightly so.
In the owner class, Baron Racing has finished third for the second year in a row. Not the win they were hoping for, but I know that Brad will have driven that kart faster than strictly should be possible.
Both the solo drivers and the Kartforce team have made the finish, and the biggest cheers are reserved for them. Beside their achievements, ours pale into insignificance.
I was hoping to avoid another blog about our fightback, but that's how it crumbled. Though we weren't flawless - mistakes were made, and we will address them - it was reliability that scuppered us. Again.
But regardless of the result it was a very special event to be part of, as it always is. Our support, both within the team and remotely, was fantastic and heartily appreciated. On a personal note, it was a surprise and a delight to have complete strangers compliment me about my scribblings.
For Teesside 2013, that's about it. We're already looking to 2014, with exciting plans in motion. More than ever I'm privileged to be part of this great team, and I'll work harder than ever to be worthy of my spot.
There'll be no giving up. Endurance racing gets in your blood. The British 24 Hours is the glittering prize.
And we can taste the bubbly.
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
Friday 30 August 2013
British 24 Hours, Teesside, 23-25 August 2013 (part 2)
The Race: the first 12 hours
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
Saturday 24 August
1 MINUTE. The marshal lowers his board.
There's no chatter now. Just the clatter of 73 idling karts. We're all behind the barrier except Lee and Alex, who will help Lee on his way.
30 SECONDS. I daren't blink. The Union Jack flag is raised... five lifetimes pass... and it drops. Lee is sprinting across the track, slightly ahead of the rest I think... smoothly into the kart, Alex pushing him... and he's up and away, in amongst the owner karts, disappearing over the crest at turn 1 as the rest of the field streams past. The world goes eerily silent for a few seconds before the leaders appear from behind the hill, streaking down through the Esses and into the hairpin for the first time. There's a bit of jostling, but they're all cleanly through and onto the back straight.
We breathe, take stock. Pulses drop a little. With five laps gone, Lee and the polesitter are dicing hard for the lead, which swaps frequently. Exciting stuff, and encouraging too, but the race is long. We've learned to take it one lap at a time.
Marianne force-feeds me a cheese sandwich as Alex keeps Lee informed on the radios. As hour 1 comes to a close Lee runs a close second; I post a Twitter update and control the mounting butterflies. We're closing in on our first race pitstop, and an awful lot can go wrong.
In a change to the rules, only one person can assist during pitstops, in an attempt to avoid crowding in the pitlane. I wait behind the catchment fences, with a view of the circuit, fuel bay and pit entry; it's essential that we don't put Lee in a queue of traffic for fuel. Wearing the headphones, Anwar also watches the fuel bay.
After a couple of false starts, we bring Lee in just before 2.40pm; I run around to help Alex and arrive with seconds to spare. Lee pushes the kart under the gate and we go to work: I spray lubricant onto the chains as Alex starts the engines and jumps in. It's a clean stop, and I breathe a sigh of relief as he rockets away.
Lee's done a great job to keep us in touch with the lead, and I tell him so as we walk back to the awning. The pitstop has dropped us to fourth, but Alex is reeling in the third placed driver and passes him just as the clock ticks past 3pm. Two hours down, 22 to go. We relax a little, watch the track and screens. The adrenalin seeps away.
Then, at 3.40pm, it spikes again. "Problem! Problem!" Lauren, wearing the headphones, spins away from the pitwall as we converge. She holds up a hand to halt our questions and listens, shakes her head.
"I can't tell what he's saying... but he's coming in."
Shit.
We run down to the Club Hire garage; Alex is already out of the kart and talking to the mechanics. It's a loss of power; they quickly diagnose a blocked carburettor and get to work stripping it down and blowing pressurised air through it. I feel the laps slipping between our fingers and shake my head in disgust. Why do these things happen to us?
Alex refuelled on his way down to the garage; in an attempt to minimise the time loss, we cut his stint short and send Anwar out as soon as the kart is ready. But within minutes he's on the radio, complaining of a lack of corner exit speed. The laptimes hold steady to begin with, but Anwar can feel the kart worsening with every lap; finally he's forced to pit again. The problem is so bad that he can't make the left turn to head down the hill to the garage; the mechanics have to lift him around.
Again, we're back in the garage with the kart up on stands. Lee is in there with them, checking the stub axles on the front wheels... initially they think one of these is broken, but soon spot a much more serious problem.
The chassis is cracked.
"That's our race over, guys." Lee looks gutted; I don't blame him, but I don't believe him either. We've been here before, and we've invested far too much blood, sweat, tears and money to give up now.
The solution is a no-brainer: we need a new kart. Luckily there are spares sitting outside the garage; Lee and the mechanics waste no time in swapping our steering wheel, transponder and front panel across; once Lee has double-checked that the throttles are in sync, Anwar is back in and accelerating up the hill towards the pitlane.
The mechanics are mumbling about accident damage, but even they don't sound convinced. For the second year running, we've been issued with a faulty kart. Impressed, we are not.
The timing screens tell an all too familiar story. We're last in class, a couple of laps behind the next stragglers, and 13 laps behind the leaders. About the only good news is that we're barely three hours in. But we face an almighty battle to get anywhere near the sharp end.
The weather has been toying with us, intermittently moistening the track and making conditions particularly difficult to judge. But Anwar is flying in the new kart, and within the hour we've caught the back of the field. As 5pm passes and I post the hour 4 update, I'm already focusing inward. It's been such a draining day already, and I've yet to turn a lap in the race.
By 5.40 I'm suited, booted, padded, radioed, caloried, hydrated and practically hopping from foot to foot. Our woes are forgotten; I'm here to make this racing machine sing, and it's a huge relief to cast everything else away and drive.
Anwar is in the pits bang on cue; Alex gets busy behind the kart as I leap in. Again, my seat insert snags on the steering wheel, but no time is lost. At least I've remembered it this year... I'm still velcroing the radio button to the steering wheel spoke as I get the GO! command and thread my way between the throng before booting it.
I'm straight out into a gaggle of owner karts, as is so often the case, but the circuit instantly feels grippier than I feared. Just an occasional sprinkling of drizzle on my visor - which I force myself to ignore - and sections of damp tarmac through the flat-out banked right hander at the bottom of the circuit. Which are impossible to ignore.
I'm correcting all the way through as the kart's tail constantly steps out of line at over 60mph... the slow left hander which ends the lap is wet on the entry too; it takes me a couple of laps to find the sweet spot through there.
But the kart is a joy - just as poised and biddable as the original - and I'm blasting past Standard Hire karts and slower Club Hires with confidence. Three laps in, Lee crackles in my headset.
"How's the kart?"
"AWESOME!" I shout.
After a pause, Lee's back.
"Did you say awesome, or awful??"
I discover later that there was some consternation on the pitwall at this point - partly alleviated by Marianne, who assured Lee that I wouldn't normally use the word 'awful'. I don't attempt to clarify for fear of causing more confusion; Lee asks me for a hand signal, and I raise my arm high with thumb up. Confusion averted.
My day is made when, five or so laps later, my headset crackles again.
"Good news Andrew. You're currently fastest in class. Keep it up."
Fantastic! My confidence soars even higher. But years of experience sound a warning. Don't get cocky and bin it...
I spot a couple of familiar helmets on track, passing Matt Curtis in his Standard Hire kart with a wave at the exit of the corkscrew, and jumping out of my skin as Brad blasts by with inches to spare into the Esses. That, Mr Philpot, was a little close... no harm is done, and he apologises later.
Marianne has taken over on the radio, and informs me that my laptimes are down in the 1.22s - still a couple of seconds away from dry pace - and that I'm still consistently second fastest in class. The first hour of my stint has passed in a blink and as the light begins to fade from grey to black, track conditions subtly worsen. I'm in an entertaining dice with a fellow Club Hire kart when we find ourselves embroiled in a chain of slow owner-driver karts.
They're slower in the corners but faster on the straights, which makes them tricky to deal with, especially in the greasy conditions. We're all working hard as we slip into single file for the Esses, bearing down on a lone Standard Hire kart at the thick end of 70mph.
The Standard Hire driver stamps on his brakes, and time slows into split-second beats.
The Esses are taken flat out in the dry, and near-flat in the wet. There is only one line through, with vicious saw-toothed kerbs on either side. You do not brake there. Not ever.
The rear of the owner kart in front of me snaps right as he slams on the brakes, instantly a passenger as his kart ramps off the kerb to the left; I brake as lightly as I dare, trying not to lock up, but still catch the Club Hire driver behind me unawares. For a millisecond I'm staring into his eyes, wide behind his visor, as he spins past me, his kart smashing backwards over the kerb, heading for the tyre wall. Then the owner driver is spinning across my path having bounced off the tyre wall to my left; I just avoid the now-crawling Standard Hire kart and lightly rap the owner kart as I pass, braking for the hairpin.
Then I'm through, out of danger, exiting the right hander onto the back straight. I key the radio.
"Holy fuck."
There's a short pause before Marianne replies, sounding breathless.
"Well done!"
For not killing myself or - I hope - anyone else, I presume. I'm concerned for the Club Hire driver that went into the wall, but by the time I next pass the spot, the yellow warning flags have been withdrawn and the circuit is clear. Marianne tells me later that the stricken Club Hire kart was pushed through a gap in the tyre wall and driven into the pits. I'm more than a little relieved; in an accident like that it wouldn't have taken much bad luck to put two drivers in hospital.
It seems like seconds later that Marianne is on the radio again, asking me to check the fuel level. As far as I can tell there's about five centimetres sloshing around in the tank; it takes a couple of laps of shouting into the microphone and some emphatic hand signalling to get the message across.
Soon afterwards, she's back to give me a fifteen minute warning and an apology for leaving me out for so long. I've absolutely no idea how long I've been out here, but note that it's nearly dark; they must be trying to stretch my stint as long as possible. Just like old times... soiled underwear moment aside I'm perfectly fine and in no hurry for the stint to end.
But end it must; I get the 'box' command as I exit the final turn and am already detaching my radio cable as I slow for the pitlane. I remember to turn sharp left and stop on the weighbridge before moving forward, stopping the engines and leaping out in the fuel bay. The fuel crew are cheerful and efficient as usual; in seconds I'm pushing the filled kart around the U-bend and along to the pit exit. As always, the driver must do this unassisted.
Lee and Alex descend as I pass through the gate; I'm expecting to start the right engine, as we planned, but Alex does it for me. Lee's using my seat insert so I leave it in place; the engines are fired up and he's gone without delay. Great stop.
I reckon I've driven a reasonable stint, and it's good to have Anwar and Alex confirm it. We've made up a couple of places and are lapping much faster than our immediate competition. The frustration of our reliability problems has faded to grim determination. Come what may, we'll make the best of what we have.
Back in the paddock, the atmosphere is buzzing. I swap stories of awe and bravado with Marianne as other drivers - Ryan, Michael, Ben, Brad, Jonny Elliott - come and go. Ryan's parents Neil and Diane are about too, though I've barely had time to catch up with them. Like last year, the girls have made a couple of sorties to nearby Asda and seem to be feeding half the field. Our complement has swelled, too - Anwar's dad Ferhat has come to support us. I've yet to meet a more passionate, heart-on-sleeve karting parent: his enthusiasm is just what we need.
"Hang on... we've suddenly dropped to 20 laps behind the leaders!" Alex is frowning, staring down at his phone. Having triple-checked the timing screens, he stomps off to Race Control with a face like thunder, and returns with the news that we've been given a 10 lap penalty for being underweight. My insides turn to ice - as the most recent driver on the weighbridge, I must be the culprit - but I've been carrying extra weight which pushes me well over 80kg. With the kart, that should be 212kg at least - comfortably over the 210kg minimum. There must be a mistake.
Five minutes later we're sighing with relief. The staff member on weighbridge duty mistakenly had the minimum as 220kg. We've been credited our lost laps and restored to our rightful position.
As the race roars on under the floodlights, I switch off a little, tuck into a bowl of chicken curry and cous cous, and let the noise and chatter flow over me. It's eight-thirty in the evening; as we approach one third distance, the intermittent drizzle turns to rain, the rising wind whipping it into waves under the sepia lights.
The wetter it gets, the faster Lee goes. By nine o'clock, the majority of the field is lapping in the 1.40 bracket - but Lee is constantly in the 1.38s, between two and four seconds a lap faster than virtually everyone else on track. In fifteen years of karting I've never seen anything like it.
Reluctantly, I drag myself away to the tent for some rest. I'm next on around 2am, and need to be back on top of my game by then. As I lie down, it's as if a giant tap has been turned on outside; I'm fully expecting the tent to come apart above my head, but mercifully it holds together. I worry that the awning might be flooding, wonder if I should go and help - but decide that I'm better off staying put. The others are perfectly capable of dealing with it.
Moments later, the PA system blares. I don't get the full message, but gather that the race is going to be red-flagged. I assume it's because the weather is too bad for safety, but hear something about the timing system. Maybe water has got into the electrics somewhere.
As the circuit falls silent, Marianne joins me in the tent. She has no more information; with the sense that I'm not missing much - for a change - I drift off.
But the clock ticks on. Nine hours down, fifteen to go.
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
Saturday 24 August
1 MINUTE. The marshal lowers his board.
There's no chatter now. Just the clatter of 73 idling karts. We're all behind the barrier except Lee and Alex, who will help Lee on his way.
30 SECONDS. I daren't blink. The Union Jack flag is raised... five lifetimes pass... and it drops. Lee is sprinting across the track, slightly ahead of the rest I think... smoothly into the kart, Alex pushing him... and he's up and away, in amongst the owner karts, disappearing over the crest at turn 1 as the rest of the field streams past. The world goes eerily silent for a few seconds before the leaders appear from behind the hill, streaking down through the Esses and into the hairpin for the first time. There's a bit of jostling, but they're all cleanly through and onto the back straight.
We breathe, take stock. Pulses drop a little. With five laps gone, Lee and the polesitter are dicing hard for the lead, which swaps frequently. Exciting stuff, and encouraging too, but the race is long. We've learned to take it one lap at a time.
Marianne force-feeds me a cheese sandwich as Alex keeps Lee informed on the radios. As hour 1 comes to a close Lee runs a close second; I post a Twitter update and control the mounting butterflies. We're closing in on our first race pitstop, and an awful lot can go wrong.
In a change to the rules, only one person can assist during pitstops, in an attempt to avoid crowding in the pitlane. I wait behind the catchment fences, with a view of the circuit, fuel bay and pit entry; it's essential that we don't put Lee in a queue of traffic for fuel. Wearing the headphones, Anwar also watches the fuel bay.
After a couple of false starts, we bring Lee in just before 2.40pm; I run around to help Alex and arrive with seconds to spare. Lee pushes the kart under the gate and we go to work: I spray lubricant onto the chains as Alex starts the engines and jumps in. It's a clean stop, and I breathe a sigh of relief as he rockets away.
Lee's done a great job to keep us in touch with the lead, and I tell him so as we walk back to the awning. The pitstop has dropped us to fourth, but Alex is reeling in the third placed driver and passes him just as the clock ticks past 3pm. Two hours down, 22 to go. We relax a little, watch the track and screens. The adrenalin seeps away.
Then, at 3.40pm, it spikes again. "Problem! Problem!" Lauren, wearing the headphones, spins away from the pitwall as we converge. She holds up a hand to halt our questions and listens, shakes her head.
"I can't tell what he's saying... but he's coming in."
Shit.
We run down to the Club Hire garage; Alex is already out of the kart and talking to the mechanics. It's a loss of power; they quickly diagnose a blocked carburettor and get to work stripping it down and blowing pressurised air through it. I feel the laps slipping between our fingers and shake my head in disgust. Why do these things happen to us?
Alex refuelled on his way down to the garage; in an attempt to minimise the time loss, we cut his stint short and send Anwar out as soon as the kart is ready. But within minutes he's on the radio, complaining of a lack of corner exit speed. The laptimes hold steady to begin with, but Anwar can feel the kart worsening with every lap; finally he's forced to pit again. The problem is so bad that he can't make the left turn to head down the hill to the garage; the mechanics have to lift him around.
Again, we're back in the garage with the kart up on stands. Lee is in there with them, checking the stub axles on the front wheels... initially they think one of these is broken, but soon spot a much more serious problem.
The chassis is cracked.
"That's our race over, guys." Lee looks gutted; I don't blame him, but I don't believe him either. We've been here before, and we've invested far too much blood, sweat, tears and money to give up now.
The solution is a no-brainer: we need a new kart. Luckily there are spares sitting outside the garage; Lee and the mechanics waste no time in swapping our steering wheel, transponder and front panel across; once Lee has double-checked that the throttles are in sync, Anwar is back in and accelerating up the hill towards the pitlane.
The mechanics are mumbling about accident damage, but even they don't sound convinced. For the second year running, we've been issued with a faulty kart. Impressed, we are not.
The timing screens tell an all too familiar story. We're last in class, a couple of laps behind the next stragglers, and 13 laps behind the leaders. About the only good news is that we're barely three hours in. But we face an almighty battle to get anywhere near the sharp end.
The weather has been toying with us, intermittently moistening the track and making conditions particularly difficult to judge. But Anwar is flying in the new kart, and within the hour we've caught the back of the field. As 5pm passes and I post the hour 4 update, I'm already focusing inward. It's been such a draining day already, and I've yet to turn a lap in the race.
By 5.40 I'm suited, booted, padded, radioed, caloried, hydrated and practically hopping from foot to foot. Our woes are forgotten; I'm here to make this racing machine sing, and it's a huge relief to cast everything else away and drive.
Anwar is in the pits bang on cue; Alex gets busy behind the kart as I leap in. Again, my seat insert snags on the steering wheel, but no time is lost. At least I've remembered it this year... I'm still velcroing the radio button to the steering wheel spoke as I get the GO! command and thread my way between the throng before booting it.
I'm straight out into a gaggle of owner karts, as is so often the case, but the circuit instantly feels grippier than I feared. Just an occasional sprinkling of drizzle on my visor - which I force myself to ignore - and sections of damp tarmac through the flat-out banked right hander at the bottom of the circuit. Which are impossible to ignore.
I'm correcting all the way through as the kart's tail constantly steps out of line at over 60mph... the slow left hander which ends the lap is wet on the entry too; it takes me a couple of laps to find the sweet spot through there.
But the kart is a joy - just as poised and biddable as the original - and I'm blasting past Standard Hire karts and slower Club Hires with confidence. Three laps in, Lee crackles in my headset.
"How's the kart?"
"AWESOME!" I shout.
After a pause, Lee's back.
"Did you say awesome, or awful??"
I discover later that there was some consternation on the pitwall at this point - partly alleviated by Marianne, who assured Lee that I wouldn't normally use the word 'awful'. I don't attempt to clarify for fear of causing more confusion; Lee asks me for a hand signal, and I raise my arm high with thumb up. Confusion averted.
My day is made when, five or so laps later, my headset crackles again.
"Good news Andrew. You're currently fastest in class. Keep it up."
Fantastic! My confidence soars even higher. But years of experience sound a warning. Don't get cocky and bin it...
I spot a couple of familiar helmets on track, passing Matt Curtis in his Standard Hire kart with a wave at the exit of the corkscrew, and jumping out of my skin as Brad blasts by with inches to spare into the Esses. That, Mr Philpot, was a little close... no harm is done, and he apologises later.
Marianne has taken over on the radio, and informs me that my laptimes are down in the 1.22s - still a couple of seconds away from dry pace - and that I'm still consistently second fastest in class. The first hour of my stint has passed in a blink and as the light begins to fade from grey to black, track conditions subtly worsen. I'm in an entertaining dice with a fellow Club Hire kart when we find ourselves embroiled in a chain of slow owner-driver karts.
They're slower in the corners but faster on the straights, which makes them tricky to deal with, especially in the greasy conditions. We're all working hard as we slip into single file for the Esses, bearing down on a lone Standard Hire kart at the thick end of 70mph.
The Standard Hire driver stamps on his brakes, and time slows into split-second beats.
The Esses are taken flat out in the dry, and near-flat in the wet. There is only one line through, with vicious saw-toothed kerbs on either side. You do not brake there. Not ever.
The rear of the owner kart in front of me snaps right as he slams on the brakes, instantly a passenger as his kart ramps off the kerb to the left; I brake as lightly as I dare, trying not to lock up, but still catch the Club Hire driver behind me unawares. For a millisecond I'm staring into his eyes, wide behind his visor, as he spins past me, his kart smashing backwards over the kerb, heading for the tyre wall. Then the owner driver is spinning across my path having bounced off the tyre wall to my left; I just avoid the now-crawling Standard Hire kart and lightly rap the owner kart as I pass, braking for the hairpin.
Then I'm through, out of danger, exiting the right hander onto the back straight. I key the radio.
"Holy fuck."
There's a short pause before Marianne replies, sounding breathless.
"Well done!"
For not killing myself or - I hope - anyone else, I presume. I'm concerned for the Club Hire driver that went into the wall, but by the time I next pass the spot, the yellow warning flags have been withdrawn and the circuit is clear. Marianne tells me later that the stricken Club Hire kart was pushed through a gap in the tyre wall and driven into the pits. I'm more than a little relieved; in an accident like that it wouldn't have taken much bad luck to put two drivers in hospital.
It seems like seconds later that Marianne is on the radio again, asking me to check the fuel level. As far as I can tell there's about five centimetres sloshing around in the tank; it takes a couple of laps of shouting into the microphone and some emphatic hand signalling to get the message across.
Soon afterwards, she's back to give me a fifteen minute warning and an apology for leaving me out for so long. I've absolutely no idea how long I've been out here, but note that it's nearly dark; they must be trying to stretch my stint as long as possible. Just like old times... soiled underwear moment aside I'm perfectly fine and in no hurry for the stint to end.
But end it must; I get the 'box' command as I exit the final turn and am already detaching my radio cable as I slow for the pitlane. I remember to turn sharp left and stop on the weighbridge before moving forward, stopping the engines and leaping out in the fuel bay. The fuel crew are cheerful and efficient as usual; in seconds I'm pushing the filled kart around the U-bend and along to the pit exit. As always, the driver must do this unassisted.
Lee and Alex descend as I pass through the gate; I'm expecting to start the right engine, as we planned, but Alex does it for me. Lee's using my seat insert so I leave it in place; the engines are fired up and he's gone without delay. Great stop.
I reckon I've driven a reasonable stint, and it's good to have Anwar and Alex confirm it. We've made up a couple of places and are lapping much faster than our immediate competition. The frustration of our reliability problems has faded to grim determination. Come what may, we'll make the best of what we have.
Back in the paddock, the atmosphere is buzzing. I swap stories of awe and bravado with Marianne as other drivers - Ryan, Michael, Ben, Brad, Jonny Elliott - come and go. Ryan's parents Neil and Diane are about too, though I've barely had time to catch up with them. Like last year, the girls have made a couple of sorties to nearby Asda and seem to be feeding half the field. Our complement has swelled, too - Anwar's dad Ferhat has come to support us. I've yet to meet a more passionate, heart-on-sleeve karting parent: his enthusiasm is just what we need.
"Hang on... we've suddenly dropped to 20 laps behind the leaders!" Alex is frowning, staring down at his phone. Having triple-checked the timing screens, he stomps off to Race Control with a face like thunder, and returns with the news that we've been given a 10 lap penalty for being underweight. My insides turn to ice - as the most recent driver on the weighbridge, I must be the culprit - but I've been carrying extra weight which pushes me well over 80kg. With the kart, that should be 212kg at least - comfortably over the 210kg minimum. There must be a mistake.
Five minutes later we're sighing with relief. The staff member on weighbridge duty mistakenly had the minimum as 220kg. We've been credited our lost laps and restored to our rightful position.
As the race roars on under the floodlights, I switch off a little, tuck into a bowl of chicken curry and cous cous, and let the noise and chatter flow over me. It's eight-thirty in the evening; as we approach one third distance, the intermittent drizzle turns to rain, the rising wind whipping it into waves under the sepia lights.
The wetter it gets, the faster Lee goes. By nine o'clock, the majority of the field is lapping in the 1.40 bracket - but Lee is constantly in the 1.38s, between two and four seconds a lap faster than virtually everyone else on track. In fifteen years of karting I've never seen anything like it.
Reluctantly, I drag myself away to the tent for some rest. I'm next on around 2am, and need to be back on top of my game by then. As I lie down, it's as if a giant tap has been turned on outside; I'm fully expecting the tent to come apart above my head, but mercifully it holds together. I worry that the awning might be flooding, wonder if I should go and help - but decide that I'm better off staying put. The others are perfectly capable of dealing with it.
Moments later, the PA system blares. I don't get the full message, but gather that the race is going to be red-flagged. I assume it's because the weather is too bad for safety, but hear something about the timing system. Maybe water has got into the electrics somewhere.
As the circuit falls silent, Marianne joins me in the tent. She has no more information; with the sense that I'm not missing much - for a change - I drift off.
But the clock ticks on. Nine hours down, fifteen to go.
(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
Thursday 29 August 2013
British 24 Hours, Teesside, 23-25 August 2013 (part 1)
The buildup
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
Friday 23 August
"Vangeen... Andrew is faster than you. Do you understand?"
From the pitwall, a familiar voice rings tinnily in my head. I can't quite place it, but assume it's one of my teammates. Alex Vangeen's reply from a few metres behind me on track is slightly garbled and extremely colourful; as I exit the right hander onto the back straight, throttle pedal pinned to the stops, I'm chuckling inside my helmet.
I discover later that the mysterious voice was that of 2012 teammate Stuart McKay, who had commandeered our radio.
It's lunchtime on day one of the biggest race weekend on the calendar, and life is almost as rosy as can be. The sun is shining, the engines are roaring and I'm five laps into my reunion with this monster of a circuit.
Wind back four hours, to the calm before the storm.
With over a day to go until the race start, the Teesside paddock is coming to life. Team motorhomes and vans jostle for position on the hard standing areas behind the main buildings; along the start/finish straight, awnings are beginning to appear.
Ours is already in situ; we were among the first to set up this morning. The usual suspects - Marianne and Alex's wife Lauren - have already made it our home for the weekend, with a table, chairs, and furtively repositioned picnic bench. We're joined by Lee Hollywood's father Chris, a man of few words and infinite racing experience.
With testing not due to start until 10am, we take the opportunity to walk the circuit. It's a chance to show Marianne the mindblowing back section, which is hidden from the pitwall; I also want to take a closer look at some of the kerbs, which we'll later be approaching at over 60mph.
Lee comes along for the walk, which takes us down the hill past the pits - not nearly as steep on foot as it seems in a kart, oddly - through the white-knuckle right-hander, along the short back straight, and through the tricky 'corkscrew' left-right which takes you back uphill. Parts of me are already aching at the thought of the trial to come: the hundreds of passes over the rutted kerbs, the neck-straining full-throttle exit onto the long infield straight.
I said in the preview that Teesside attracts BRKC regulars like moths to a flame, and by late morning they're flooding in: Connor Marsh, Matt Curtis and Jordan Donegan have set up their awning beside ours; they'll be competing in the Standard Hire class. Our former teammate Stuart McKay is captaining his own team this year, also in Standard Hire. His team are our other neighbours.
Returning to the paddock, we pay a visit to Team Squadra Abarth BRKC, looking chipper under their awning fifty metres down the straight from ours. Podium finishers in Standard Hire last year, like us they've moved up to Club Hire for 2013, and feature a fascinating driver lineup. Old hand Mike Kettlewell leads the Scottish BRKC contingent: Michael Weddell, Ryan Smith and Ben Allward. They're assisted by David Hird, another Teesside regular. The Scots absorb the usual jibes about racing in kilts with typical good humour. It's great to have them here, and I'm looking forward to seeing how they get on in their first 24 hour race.
When we return to our awning, BRKC founder Bradley Philpot is already there making a nuisance of himself; once again, he will race for top owner team Baron Racing, and has a real shot at the outright win this weekend. James Auld is here too, racing for Team Lambo in the owner class. He has, by all accounts, had a long week already and is slightly less than his usual chipper self.
As the clock counts down towards my 1pm test session I spend ten minutes fitting the radio gear to my helmet, and a fruitless forty trying to change visors. My Arai motorcycle lid is a quality piece of kit, but the visor system is a fiddly nightmare: clear visor it is, then.
1.05pm. I'm on track, five minutes into my allotted forty, and only the kart I've drawn for testing clouds my sunny mood. It has all the grunt of a vacuum cleaner and feels as if its right and left halves are in different time zones. I consider pitting to change it, but there's no guarantee of improvement: the test day karts are the dregs of the fleet, with the freshly fettled race karts saved for tomorrow.
It doesn't really matter. I'm out here to check the radio gear and get comfortable, not tear up the tarmac. And by the time I pit after 25 or so laps, all is well: judging from the constant chatter between my teammates, the radios work perfectly. My seat insert, rib protector and padding are comfortable, and my new gloves fit me like, er, gloves.
I hand the kart over to Lee Hollywood along with my gloves: in the rush to fit his radio gear, he's forgotten his. A minor lapse today, but a disaster in the heat of a mid-race pitstop; it's a reminder that we'll need to be on top of our collective game for every second of the next 48 hours.
There's no official timing on Friday, but I'm keen to see what Lee can do in the kart I've just vacated: he's new to the team and comes with a stellar reputation. But I'm disappointed: he's back in the pits after a lap to change karts. He's used to racing his own, carefully prepared karts, and his standards are clearly higher than mine.
Back under the awning, the kettle is on. I munch crisps, man the stopwatches and watch the action on track. As Anwar rockets past on an early sighting lap and Marianne dons the headphones for a spell on the radio, I reflect that despite the new faces we're already a team. And a quietly confident one at that.
We wrap for the day at 3pm with all the boxes ticked and the sky beginning to darken: there are reports of an amber weather warning for Friday night and Saturday morning. As we congregate for dinner and watch rain lash the restaurant windows, I'm emptying my mind of all but the essentials. There's no point in worrying about things I can't control. As ever, the combination of circuit, world-class competition and fickle North Yorkshire weather is going to pelt us with challenges over the next two days.
But we've worked hard for this. After months of preparation, it's almost time to turn a wheel in anger.
Saturday 24 August
Race day. After a rushed breakfast, we wave a wistful goodbye to clean sheets, soundproofing and toilet paper, and arrive at the circuit just after 8am.
The Met Office weren't kidding. There's a lake at the first apex of the fast chicane. Turning a wheel, in anger or otherwise, is going to have to wait. As we empty a bathload of water from the awning - still standing, amazingly - circuit owner Bob Pope booms over the PA system. Practice and the race start will be pushed back an hour, to 1pm; a sweeper will be along shortly to clear the circuit of standing water.
I'm not disappointed at the delay; being ready for practice at 9am is always a rush. Now there's more time to check over our race kart, to fit our steering wheel and lap timer - both borrowed from Brad. Number 49 sits in the pitlane, resplendent with its blue 'bigfoot' steering column cover and a small yellow sticker with 'Racing with Jamie' printed thereon. Every kart wears one, in honour of a seriously ill young Teesside employee. It's just one of several good causes this weekend, and a sobering reminder. Carpe diem.
Lee, Chris and Anwar have already fitted the suede-lined wheel - a far nicer thing to hold than the plastic standard item - and are attaching the digital display. As Alex and I look on, Alex notices a neighbouring hire kart having its air filters changed - by its drivers. This is a blatant rules breach, and the team in question is swiftly apprised of the error of their ways. It leaves a sour taste, though I'm cheered by the thought that if you're boneheaded enough to cheat in plain view of all your competitors, your chances of coming through a 24 hour race unscathed are minimal.
At 9.30am the PA system summons us to the circuit infield, where Bob and the other stewards run through the usual Teesside briefing. Obey the flags, stay off the high kerbs, respect other drivers. At this blue riband event, it's assumed that we know what we're doing; how refreshing to be treated as a racing driver, not a feeble-minded muppet on a corporate jolly (take a bow, Daytona Milton Keynes).
There's a huge cheer for the fundraisers: two drivers will be attempting the entire 24 hours solo and have raised tens of thousands for charity. And we applaud the Kartforce team, an owner-driver crew of wounded veterans. For us, this race is the sternest test there is; I have neither words nor imagination to grasp how tough it will be for them.
And suddenly, as if a switch has been flicked, time speeds up. The giant yellow sweeper lorry (and its terrifying giant of a driver) leaves the circuit, kart engines begin to fire up, the PA system blares unintelligibly... it's intimidating for the newbies, but in our third year I've learned to shut it all out and focus on my first run. It'll be the fastest kart I've ever driven here, in typically damp, drizzly conditions, and I'll need my wits about me.
We've decided that Lee and Anwar, as the more mechanically literate half of the team, will take the first runs. As Lee rolls out of the pits in number 49 to start our race weekend in earnest, I'm offering up my usual prayer for speed and reliability.
Forty minutes later, I await my turn in the pitlane, listening in to the radio traffic, overheating in my wet weather race suit as the sun breaks through overhead. Aside from the throttles engaging out of sync and glazed brake pads - both swiftly remedied - the kart is running well. Both Lee and Anwar have pronounced it 'okay' which is usually the highest praise you'll get from a driver.
Anwar peels into the pits, stops on the weighbridge - which we must all remember to do every time - and drives around the U-bend and through the gate to the pit exit road. As he jumps out I'm already fumbling my seat insert into place - it catches on the steering wheel, and I take note - and attaching my radio push-to-talk button to a steering wheel spoke. With a thumbs-up from the others, I'm gone, accelerating hard as soon as I clear the throng of pedestrians and stopped karts.
The circuit is still damp in places, but drying fast, the standing water a distant memory. I'm expecting to take time to come up to speed, but it takes me all of two corners to realise that this is the sweetest kart I've ever driven. It's a revelation: powerful, grippy, feelsome, predictable, poised... I'm pushing hard on my first flying lap and loving every second.
The laptimes are plummeting, and I'm more or less keeping up. By the time I pit (reluctantly) after my allotted fifteen minutes and hand the kart over to Alex, we're hovering around the top five in class. I'm happy with that: Lee will doubtless go faster, but I'm dialled in and comfortable. I elect not to waste mileage by going out again.
By the time Alex has completed his run, the circuit is virtually dry; Lee heads out again to bang in a qualifying time, and rises to the occasion: his blistering 1.19.4 is only narrowly pipped for pole. It's a far cry from our woes at this time last year, and Alex and I are delighted. We decide to change our driver order to take full advantage of our grid position: Lee will start, followed by Alex, Anwar and I. It means that I won't be on track again until early evening, but it's the right way to go.
I get changed under the awning as Alex brings the refuelled kart around to the grid. As usual, the start will be old-school Le Mans, with the karts lined up on the left side of the track, drivers opposite; when the flag is dropped, the drivers will dash across to their karts, jump in and go.
We're all caught out by our grid position; used to being somewhere near the back, we're actually almost directly in front of our awning, in the top twenty overall. As the karts form up and teams throng the grid, Marianne snaps away with the camera. Anwar and I lift the front of the kart as Lee unbolts the sensor and cabling for the lap timer, which refuses to work. With that complete, there's little to do but wait.
The air itself seems to be humming as excitement ratchets up towards critical mass. On the infield, the start marshal holds up a board, black print on white.
10 MINUTES.
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
Friday 23 August
"Vangeen... Andrew is faster than you. Do you understand?"
From the pitwall, a familiar voice rings tinnily in my head. I can't quite place it, but assume it's one of my teammates. Alex Vangeen's reply from a few metres behind me on track is slightly garbled and extremely colourful; as I exit the right hander onto the back straight, throttle pedal pinned to the stops, I'm chuckling inside my helmet.
I discover later that the mysterious voice was that of 2012 teammate Stuart McKay, who had commandeered our radio.
It's lunchtime on day one of the biggest race weekend on the calendar, and life is almost as rosy as can be. The sun is shining, the engines are roaring and I'm five laps into my reunion with this monster of a circuit.
Wind back four hours, to the calm before the storm.
With over a day to go until the race start, the Teesside paddock is coming to life. Team motorhomes and vans jostle for position on the hard standing areas behind the main buildings; along the start/finish straight, awnings are beginning to appear.
Ours is already in situ; we were among the first to set up this morning. The usual suspects - Marianne and Alex's wife Lauren - have already made it our home for the weekend, with a table, chairs, and furtively repositioned picnic bench. We're joined by Lee Hollywood's father Chris, a man of few words and infinite racing experience.
With testing not due to start until 10am, we take the opportunity to walk the circuit. It's a chance to show Marianne the mindblowing back section, which is hidden from the pitwall; I also want to take a closer look at some of the kerbs, which we'll later be approaching at over 60mph.
Lee comes along for the walk, which takes us down the hill past the pits - not nearly as steep on foot as it seems in a kart, oddly - through the white-knuckle right-hander, along the short back straight, and through the tricky 'corkscrew' left-right which takes you back uphill. Parts of me are already aching at the thought of the trial to come: the hundreds of passes over the rutted kerbs, the neck-straining full-throttle exit onto the long infield straight.
I said in the preview that Teesside attracts BRKC regulars like moths to a flame, and by late morning they're flooding in: Connor Marsh, Matt Curtis and Jordan Donegan have set up their awning beside ours; they'll be competing in the Standard Hire class. Our former teammate Stuart McKay is captaining his own team this year, also in Standard Hire. His team are our other neighbours.
Returning to the paddock, we pay a visit to Team Squadra Abarth BRKC, looking chipper under their awning fifty metres down the straight from ours. Podium finishers in Standard Hire last year, like us they've moved up to Club Hire for 2013, and feature a fascinating driver lineup. Old hand Mike Kettlewell leads the Scottish BRKC contingent: Michael Weddell, Ryan Smith and Ben Allward. They're assisted by David Hird, another Teesside regular. The Scots absorb the usual jibes about racing in kilts with typical good humour. It's great to have them here, and I'm looking forward to seeing how they get on in their first 24 hour race.
When we return to our awning, BRKC founder Bradley Philpot is already there making a nuisance of himself; once again, he will race for top owner team Baron Racing, and has a real shot at the outright win this weekend. James Auld is here too, racing for Team Lambo in the owner class. He has, by all accounts, had a long week already and is slightly less than his usual chipper self.
As the clock counts down towards my 1pm test session I spend ten minutes fitting the radio gear to my helmet, and a fruitless forty trying to change visors. My Arai motorcycle lid is a quality piece of kit, but the visor system is a fiddly nightmare: clear visor it is, then.
1.05pm. I'm on track, five minutes into my allotted forty, and only the kart I've drawn for testing clouds my sunny mood. It has all the grunt of a vacuum cleaner and feels as if its right and left halves are in different time zones. I consider pitting to change it, but there's no guarantee of improvement: the test day karts are the dregs of the fleet, with the freshly fettled race karts saved for tomorrow.
It doesn't really matter. I'm out here to check the radio gear and get comfortable, not tear up the tarmac. And by the time I pit after 25 or so laps, all is well: judging from the constant chatter between my teammates, the radios work perfectly. My seat insert, rib protector and padding are comfortable, and my new gloves fit me like, er, gloves.
I hand the kart over to Lee Hollywood along with my gloves: in the rush to fit his radio gear, he's forgotten his. A minor lapse today, but a disaster in the heat of a mid-race pitstop; it's a reminder that we'll need to be on top of our collective game for every second of the next 48 hours.
There's no official timing on Friday, but I'm keen to see what Lee can do in the kart I've just vacated: he's new to the team and comes with a stellar reputation. But I'm disappointed: he's back in the pits after a lap to change karts. He's used to racing his own, carefully prepared karts, and his standards are clearly higher than mine.
Back under the awning, the kettle is on. I munch crisps, man the stopwatches and watch the action on track. As Anwar rockets past on an early sighting lap and Marianne dons the headphones for a spell on the radio, I reflect that despite the new faces we're already a team. And a quietly confident one at that.
We wrap for the day at 3pm with all the boxes ticked and the sky beginning to darken: there are reports of an amber weather warning for Friday night and Saturday morning. As we congregate for dinner and watch rain lash the restaurant windows, I'm emptying my mind of all but the essentials. There's no point in worrying about things I can't control. As ever, the combination of circuit, world-class competition and fickle North Yorkshire weather is going to pelt us with challenges over the next two days.
But we've worked hard for this. After months of preparation, it's almost time to turn a wheel in anger.
Saturday 24 August
Race day. After a rushed breakfast, we wave a wistful goodbye to clean sheets, soundproofing and toilet paper, and arrive at the circuit just after 8am.
The Met Office weren't kidding. There's a lake at the first apex of the fast chicane. Turning a wheel, in anger or otherwise, is going to have to wait. As we empty a bathload of water from the awning - still standing, amazingly - circuit owner Bob Pope booms over the PA system. Practice and the race start will be pushed back an hour, to 1pm; a sweeper will be along shortly to clear the circuit of standing water.
I'm not disappointed at the delay; being ready for practice at 9am is always a rush. Now there's more time to check over our race kart, to fit our steering wheel and lap timer - both borrowed from Brad. Number 49 sits in the pitlane, resplendent with its blue 'bigfoot' steering column cover and a small yellow sticker with 'Racing with Jamie' printed thereon. Every kart wears one, in honour of a seriously ill young Teesside employee. It's just one of several good causes this weekend, and a sobering reminder. Carpe diem.
Lee, Chris and Anwar have already fitted the suede-lined wheel - a far nicer thing to hold than the plastic standard item - and are attaching the digital display. As Alex and I look on, Alex notices a neighbouring hire kart having its air filters changed - by its drivers. This is a blatant rules breach, and the team in question is swiftly apprised of the error of their ways. It leaves a sour taste, though I'm cheered by the thought that if you're boneheaded enough to cheat in plain view of all your competitors, your chances of coming through a 24 hour race unscathed are minimal.
At 9.30am the PA system summons us to the circuit infield, where Bob and the other stewards run through the usual Teesside briefing. Obey the flags, stay off the high kerbs, respect other drivers. At this blue riband event, it's assumed that we know what we're doing; how refreshing to be treated as a racing driver, not a feeble-minded muppet on a corporate jolly (take a bow, Daytona Milton Keynes).
There's a huge cheer for the fundraisers: two drivers will be attempting the entire 24 hours solo and have raised tens of thousands for charity. And we applaud the Kartforce team, an owner-driver crew of wounded veterans. For us, this race is the sternest test there is; I have neither words nor imagination to grasp how tough it will be for them.
And suddenly, as if a switch has been flicked, time speeds up. The giant yellow sweeper lorry (and its terrifying giant of a driver) leaves the circuit, kart engines begin to fire up, the PA system blares unintelligibly... it's intimidating for the newbies, but in our third year I've learned to shut it all out and focus on my first run. It'll be the fastest kart I've ever driven here, in typically damp, drizzly conditions, and I'll need my wits about me.
We've decided that Lee and Anwar, as the more mechanically literate half of the team, will take the first runs. As Lee rolls out of the pits in number 49 to start our race weekend in earnest, I'm offering up my usual prayer for speed and reliability.
Forty minutes later, I await my turn in the pitlane, listening in to the radio traffic, overheating in my wet weather race suit as the sun breaks through overhead. Aside from the throttles engaging out of sync and glazed brake pads - both swiftly remedied - the kart is running well. Both Lee and Anwar have pronounced it 'okay' which is usually the highest praise you'll get from a driver.
Anwar peels into the pits, stops on the weighbridge - which we must all remember to do every time - and drives around the U-bend and through the gate to the pit exit road. As he jumps out I'm already fumbling my seat insert into place - it catches on the steering wheel, and I take note - and attaching my radio push-to-talk button to a steering wheel spoke. With a thumbs-up from the others, I'm gone, accelerating hard as soon as I clear the throng of pedestrians and stopped karts.
The circuit is still damp in places, but drying fast, the standing water a distant memory. I'm expecting to take time to come up to speed, but it takes me all of two corners to realise that this is the sweetest kart I've ever driven. It's a revelation: powerful, grippy, feelsome, predictable, poised... I'm pushing hard on my first flying lap and loving every second.
The laptimes are plummeting, and I'm more or less keeping up. By the time I pit (reluctantly) after my allotted fifteen minutes and hand the kart over to Alex, we're hovering around the top five in class. I'm happy with that: Lee will doubtless go faster, but I'm dialled in and comfortable. I elect not to waste mileage by going out again.
By the time Alex has completed his run, the circuit is virtually dry; Lee heads out again to bang in a qualifying time, and rises to the occasion: his blistering 1.19.4 is only narrowly pipped for pole. It's a far cry from our woes at this time last year, and Alex and I are delighted. We decide to change our driver order to take full advantage of our grid position: Lee will start, followed by Alex, Anwar and I. It means that I won't be on track again until early evening, but it's the right way to go.
I get changed under the awning as Alex brings the refuelled kart around to the grid. As usual, the start will be old-school Le Mans, with the karts lined up on the left side of the track, drivers opposite; when the flag is dropped, the drivers will dash across to their karts, jump in and go.
We're all caught out by our grid position; used to being somewhere near the back, we're actually almost directly in front of our awning, in the top twenty overall. As the karts form up and teams throng the grid, Marianne snaps away with the camera. Anwar and I lift the front of the kart as Lee unbolts the sensor and cabling for the lap timer, which refuses to work. With that complete, there's little to do but wait.
The air itself seems to be humming as excitement ratchets up towards critical mass. On the infield, the start marshal holds up a board, black print on white.
10 MINUTES.
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)
Wednesday 21 August 2013
British 24 Hours 2013. Teesside. Preview.
Every sport has its crowd favourite. Tour de France, Grand National, Monaco Grand Prix, Le Mans.
For endurance karting, this is it. Seventy ace teams featuring some of Europe's finest drivers in four classes of owner and hire karts; once around the clock on the longest, fastest kart circuit in the world.
In 2012, the winners completed over 1050 laps of 2.1 kilometres each. London to Malaga at an average speed nudging 60 mph, on a twin-engined rollerskate designed with one purpose: to go fast. No windscreen, no seatbelts, no power steering, no suspension.
If it sounds slightly unhinged, that's because it is.
There are other 24 hour kart races on circuits with legendary names - Spa Francorchamps, Le Mans - but nothing matches the sheer scale of Teesside. It's one of the greatest challenges - and one of the most coveted prizes - in our sport.
Much as we love it, Teesside hasn't been kind to the Corporate Chauffeurs BRKC team. In 2011 - our debut - we lost third place in class to a kart failure with less than an hour to go. In 2012, a litany of mechanical problems left us stone last after ten hours; following a kart change, we dragged ourselves back into the midfield and made up six laps on the leaders by the end.
Heroic stuff, but it's time we got our hands on some silverware.
What started in 2011 as a middling team has evolved into the strongest I have ever been part of. Three years of top-quality competition in the British Rental Kart Championship has sharpened founder team members Alex Vangeen and I from mediocre to solid. We won't set the world alight, but we have the pace and experience to be competitive.
We were disappointed to lose the superb wheel skills and hardwired racing brain (and indecipherable Brummie accent) of founder member Lee Jones earlier this year. But Alex has secured some serious talent to fill our two vacant seats. Multiple champions Anwar Beroual-Smith and Lee Hollywood bring huge speed, technical savvy and boundless enthusiasm. There'll be much to learn from these two.
We've moved up to the Club Hire class this year, which brings quicker machinery and a minimum weight limit of 210kg for kart and driver combined. The karts weigh 132 kg, which means that the driver must weigh at least 78kg.
I'm right on the bubble, which has required a significant change to my race preparation. Instead of starving myself I've been loading up on protein, trying to put some muscle on my weedy runner's frame. My cardiovascular fitness is good, but mustering the strength to hang on through Teesside's warp-speed corners has always been a challenge.
In its third season, the BRKC continues its love affair with the British 24 Hours. Besides ours at least three other teams bear the BRKC name; several more include BRKC drivers past and present. We'll all be focused on our own races, but in quieter moments we'll be keeping tabs on friends and rivals. Tough competition on track combined with cameraderie off it is part of the appeal of this very special event.
Once again, our team is kindly sponsored by Corporate Chauffeurs, courtesy of family Vangeen. At our third British 24 Hours, I think we're better placed than ever to reward their loyalty with a result.
Previously I'd have said that no matter how good the team, in a hire kart your fate lies in the hands of the reliability gods. That's still true, but I sense that experience and an injection of knowledge has shifted the balance. I think we're better placed to make our own luck than ever before.
Testing for the British 24 Hours starts on Friday 23 August. The race starts at midday on Saturday 24 August. For regular updates, follow me on Twitter: @ajrduff. Messages of support and/or abuse will be gratefully received.
To everyone competing this weekend: good luck, and stay safe.
I believe the technical term is 'Game On'.
For endurance karting, this is it. Seventy ace teams featuring some of Europe's finest drivers in four classes of owner and hire karts; once around the clock on the longest, fastest kart circuit in the world.
In 2012, the winners completed over 1050 laps of 2.1 kilometres each. London to Malaga at an average speed nudging 60 mph, on a twin-engined rollerskate designed with one purpose: to go fast. No windscreen, no seatbelts, no power steering, no suspension.
If it sounds slightly unhinged, that's because it is.
There are other 24 hour kart races on circuits with legendary names - Spa Francorchamps, Le Mans - but nothing matches the sheer scale of Teesside. It's one of the greatest challenges - and one of the most coveted prizes - in our sport.
Much as we love it, Teesside hasn't been kind to the Corporate Chauffeurs BRKC team. In 2011 - our debut - we lost third place in class to a kart failure with less than an hour to go. In 2012, a litany of mechanical problems left us stone last after ten hours; following a kart change, we dragged ourselves back into the midfield and made up six laps on the leaders by the end.
Heroic stuff, but it's time we got our hands on some silverware.
What started in 2011 as a middling team has evolved into the strongest I have ever been part of. Three years of top-quality competition in the British Rental Kart Championship has sharpened founder team members Alex Vangeen and I from mediocre to solid. We won't set the world alight, but we have the pace and experience to be competitive.
We were disappointed to lose the superb wheel skills and hardwired racing brain (and indecipherable Brummie accent) of founder member Lee Jones earlier this year. But Alex has secured some serious talent to fill our two vacant seats. Multiple champions Anwar Beroual-Smith and Lee Hollywood bring huge speed, technical savvy and boundless enthusiasm. There'll be much to learn from these two.
We've moved up to the Club Hire class this year, which brings quicker machinery and a minimum weight limit of 210kg for kart and driver combined. The karts weigh 132 kg, which means that the driver must weigh at least 78kg.
I'm right on the bubble, which has required a significant change to my race preparation. Instead of starving myself I've been loading up on protein, trying to put some muscle on my weedy runner's frame. My cardiovascular fitness is good, but mustering the strength to hang on through Teesside's warp-speed corners has always been a challenge.
In its third season, the BRKC continues its love affair with the British 24 Hours. Besides ours at least three other teams bear the BRKC name; several more include BRKC drivers past and present. We'll all be focused on our own races, but in quieter moments we'll be keeping tabs on friends and rivals. Tough competition on track combined with cameraderie off it is part of the appeal of this very special event.
Once again, our team is kindly sponsored by Corporate Chauffeurs, courtesy of family Vangeen. At our third British 24 Hours, I think we're better placed than ever to reward their loyalty with a result.
Previously I'd have said that no matter how good the team, in a hire kart your fate lies in the hands of the reliability gods. That's still true, but I sense that experience and an injection of knowledge has shifted the balance. I think we're better placed to make our own luck than ever before.
Testing for the British 24 Hours starts on Friday 23 August. The race starts at midday on Saturday 24 August. For regular updates, follow me on Twitter: @ajrduff. Messages of support and/or abuse will be gratefully received.
To everyone competing this weekend: good luck, and stay safe.
I believe the technical term is 'Game On'.
Wednesday 7 August 2013
Individual endurance. Thruxton. 4 August 2013
The world is pain.
I can't decide which part of me hurts the most. Shoulders, ankle, ribs, neck... rivers of fire seem to ebb from limb to weakening limb. As I turn into the flat-out left-hander which ends the lap, the kart straining against its overloaded right front tyre, the chequered flag is waving. I pass it and lift off with a mix of relief and apprehension.
That was only practice.
I have not driven every kart circuit in the UK. So I can't conclusively state which exacts the heaviest physical toll on drivers. But I'd like to offer Thruxton's national circuit as a contender. Certainly, nowhere in my experience comes close.
Back in the pitlane, there's a much-appreciated breather before the start of our 45 minute race. One of Thruxton's occasional Individual Endurance events, it's turned into a BRKC mini-meet. I'm joined by BRKC regulars Alex Vangeen, Anwar Beroual-Smith, Matt Curtis, Jordan Donegan and Martin Cleaver. Oli Nitch-Smith - whose idea this was - is sadly absent, having broken his heel the evening before. It's disastrous news - he'll be in plaster for six weeks and will miss the British 24 Hours as a result.
Alex, Anwar, Jordan, Matt and I will all, Fate willing, be competing at Teesside, and today is a chance to sharpen our technique and assess our fitness ahead of the big race. After seventeen laps of practice, the general consensus on fitness is 'must try harder'.
Aside from the six of us the rest of the field consists of a family party; we've locked out the front few rows of the grid, as expected. But the polesitter is a surprise. Jordan Donegan has a weight advantage and has undoubtedly drawn a good kart. But you've still got to go out there and put in the laptime, and he's taken full advantage: his pole lap is over half a second clear of everyone else's. I'm second, a few hundredths clear of Anwar, with Matt and Alex behind.
Kart parity is poor today, and Alex has taken the brunt of the bad luck. Having swapped karts in practice, he's forced to do so again during the race. When we raced together at Milton Keynes last month, I was lumbered with dire machinery while he won; it looks like our fortunes are reversed today.
Rehydrated and rejuvenated, we take to the track for the standing start. I'm on the right and know from experience that even numbered grid slots can be tricky here, with a high risk of being hung out to dry around the outside of turn 1. And although I've managed to outqualify Club100 and F6 superstar Anwar, I'm under no illusions about the task of keeping him behind.
I manage about five metres. At the green light, my kart goes nowhere - I noticed as soon as I left the pits that it was slow away from a standstill - and Anwar is immediately alongside, with Matt glued to his bumper. Both are through into turn 1 and I'm cursing, chopping across a driver in Thruxton overalls as we stream down the hill.
The first of the two infield left handers is difficult at the best of times, and carnage often ensues on the opening lap: Jordan and Matt both slide wide. I nip inside and regain third place; Anwar scrapes ahead of Jordan and leads us under the bridge for the first time. But nobody's out of the woods. Matt comes right back at me, and Jordan is alongside Anwar as we rocket along the gently curving back 'straight'.
With a big spread of experience across the field, backmarkers have a starring role today. We're upon the first of them within four laps; I catch her in the worst possible place - just before the pit entrance - and lose crucial momentum: Matt is alongside on the pit straight and past into turn 1. I harry him all the way through the infield until we come upon another straggler, coasting along in the middle of the track. We're exiting the left hander onto the back straight; Matt goes right, around the outside; I squeeze through on the left, brushing the rubber bollard, past the pair of them. This time, it sticks: I don't see Matt again.
Up ahead, Jordan and Anwar are still squabbling over the lead; Anwar's left tyres kick up a pall of dust as Jordan tries to squeeze him into the fast chicane. Anwar is using all of his considerable skills to stay in touch, but after some early lairiness, Jordan is getting it together and exerting his significant straight line speed advantage. Once back in the lead, he begins to pull inexorably away. As is so often the case in rental karting, today the best driver will not win.
I'm doing what I can to make sure he doesn't finish second, either. My 8kg weight advantage more or less cancels out the talent deficit; kart differences notwithstanding, our raw pace is virtually identical. But while my consistency is good, his is outstanding. While I lose crucial fractions of a second lapping backmarkers, he cuts through like a scalpel through jelly. Both of us have one 'incident' with the stragglers - I'm forced almost to a stop by two particularly blinkered backmarkers early on, and Anwar's knocked into a half-spin in the closing stages.
By which time everybody's hanging on by the tips of their fingernails. The workrate here is simply huge, the anti-clockwise layout and abundance of high-speed left handers sapping the strength in our arms and necks. I'm in good physical condition, but racing here is a stern reminder that you can never be fit enough.
After a brutal 53 laps I take the flag in third place, seven seconds behind Anwar and a whopping twenty behind Jordan. It's a solid morning's work. I love this circuit, and with competition of this calibre, you always learn something. I've identified some areas for improvement, and we've all had plenty of opportunities to practice cutting cleanly through backmarker traffic - skills which will stand us in good stead at Teesside.
With a little over two weeks to go, the British 24 Hours looms large, and excitement is building across our online community. As has happened every year, we've had a late driver substitution. Sadly, George Lovell has had to withdraw and leaves big shoes to fill. But Anwar has stepped in; we're delighted (and more than a little relieved) to have found such an excellent driver so easily.
A proper preview of the big race will follow nearer the time. For now, we train, and we wait. The clock is ticking.
I can't decide which part of me hurts the most. Shoulders, ankle, ribs, neck... rivers of fire seem to ebb from limb to weakening limb. As I turn into the flat-out left-hander which ends the lap, the kart straining against its overloaded right front tyre, the chequered flag is waving. I pass it and lift off with a mix of relief and apprehension.
That was only practice.
I have not driven every kart circuit in the UK. So I can't conclusively state which exacts the heaviest physical toll on drivers. But I'd like to offer Thruxton's national circuit as a contender. Certainly, nowhere in my experience comes close.
Back in the pitlane, there's a much-appreciated breather before the start of our 45 minute race. One of Thruxton's occasional Individual Endurance events, it's turned into a BRKC mini-meet. I'm joined by BRKC regulars Alex Vangeen, Anwar Beroual-Smith, Matt Curtis, Jordan Donegan and Martin Cleaver. Oli Nitch-Smith - whose idea this was - is sadly absent, having broken his heel the evening before. It's disastrous news - he'll be in plaster for six weeks and will miss the British 24 Hours as a result.
Alex, Anwar, Jordan, Matt and I will all, Fate willing, be competing at Teesside, and today is a chance to sharpen our technique and assess our fitness ahead of the big race. After seventeen laps of practice, the general consensus on fitness is 'must try harder'.
Aside from the six of us the rest of the field consists of a family party; we've locked out the front few rows of the grid, as expected. But the polesitter is a surprise. Jordan Donegan has a weight advantage and has undoubtedly drawn a good kart. But you've still got to go out there and put in the laptime, and he's taken full advantage: his pole lap is over half a second clear of everyone else's. I'm second, a few hundredths clear of Anwar, with Matt and Alex behind.
Kart parity is poor today, and Alex has taken the brunt of the bad luck. Having swapped karts in practice, he's forced to do so again during the race. When we raced together at Milton Keynes last month, I was lumbered with dire machinery while he won; it looks like our fortunes are reversed today.
Rehydrated and rejuvenated, we take to the track for the standing start. I'm on the right and know from experience that even numbered grid slots can be tricky here, with a high risk of being hung out to dry around the outside of turn 1. And although I've managed to outqualify Club100 and F6 superstar Anwar, I'm under no illusions about the task of keeping him behind.
I manage about five metres. At the green light, my kart goes nowhere - I noticed as soon as I left the pits that it was slow away from a standstill - and Anwar is immediately alongside, with Matt glued to his bumper. Both are through into turn 1 and I'm cursing, chopping across a driver in Thruxton overalls as we stream down the hill.
The first of the two infield left handers is difficult at the best of times, and carnage often ensues on the opening lap: Jordan and Matt both slide wide. I nip inside and regain third place; Anwar scrapes ahead of Jordan and leads us under the bridge for the first time. But nobody's out of the woods. Matt comes right back at me, and Jordan is alongside Anwar as we rocket along the gently curving back 'straight'.
With a big spread of experience across the field, backmarkers have a starring role today. We're upon the first of them within four laps; I catch her in the worst possible place - just before the pit entrance - and lose crucial momentum: Matt is alongside on the pit straight and past into turn 1. I harry him all the way through the infield until we come upon another straggler, coasting along in the middle of the track. We're exiting the left hander onto the back straight; Matt goes right, around the outside; I squeeze through on the left, brushing the rubber bollard, past the pair of them. This time, it sticks: I don't see Matt again.
Up ahead, Jordan and Anwar are still squabbling over the lead; Anwar's left tyres kick up a pall of dust as Jordan tries to squeeze him into the fast chicane. Anwar is using all of his considerable skills to stay in touch, but after some early lairiness, Jordan is getting it together and exerting his significant straight line speed advantage. Once back in the lead, he begins to pull inexorably away. As is so often the case in rental karting, today the best driver will not win.
I'm doing what I can to make sure he doesn't finish second, either. My 8kg weight advantage more or less cancels out the talent deficit; kart differences notwithstanding, our raw pace is virtually identical. But while my consistency is good, his is outstanding. While I lose crucial fractions of a second lapping backmarkers, he cuts through like a scalpel through jelly. Both of us have one 'incident' with the stragglers - I'm forced almost to a stop by two particularly blinkered backmarkers early on, and Anwar's knocked into a half-spin in the closing stages.
By which time everybody's hanging on by the tips of their fingernails. The workrate here is simply huge, the anti-clockwise layout and abundance of high-speed left handers sapping the strength in our arms and necks. I'm in good physical condition, but racing here is a stern reminder that you can never be fit enough.
After a brutal 53 laps I take the flag in third place, seven seconds behind Anwar and a whopping twenty behind Jordan. It's a solid morning's work. I love this circuit, and with competition of this calibre, you always learn something. I've identified some areas for improvement, and we've all had plenty of opportunities to practice cutting cleanly through backmarker traffic - skills which will stand us in good stead at Teesside.
With a little over two weeks to go, the British 24 Hours looms large, and excitement is building across our online community. As has happened every year, we've had a late driver substitution. Sadly, George Lovell has had to withdraw and leaves big shoes to fill. But Anwar has stepped in; we're delighted (and more than a little relieved) to have found such an excellent driver so easily.
A proper preview of the big race will follow nearer the time. For now, we train, and we wait. The clock is ticking.
Monday 17 June 2013
BRKC round 6. Ellough Park Raceway, 9 June 2013 (part 2)
(click here for part one)
Third heat. Third on the grid. Last chance saloon.
I have only Nathan Bellows and a red-clad driver I don't recognise ahead of me. I have no idea who's behind. It doesn't matter. Grip the wheel, watch the lights, wait.
It's a long wait - so long, in fact, than when the lights blink red my foot twitches on the throttle. I slam on the brakes to stop the kart moving - just as the lights go green. Not my finest start... but the kart pulls away well, and I hold position through turn one, already hassling Nathan as he gets a little wide of the double apexes at turn two. I'm half alongside as we approach the slow left-hander at turn three; Nathan isn't expecting me, turns in, bounces off my right front bumper and disappears.
I'm through into second and wondering if my pass was too marginal, if the marshals will decide that I pushed Nathan out of the way... but as I approach the start/finish line, there are no flags or warning boards. A glance behind reveals Nathan still in third. I breathe, and focus forward again.
After two tough, combative heats I'm hoping for a nice boring points-banker to finish. And I get it. The red-clad local pulls slowly away, and I maintain a three-second gap to the chasing pack. The kart livens things up by snapping sideways over anything resembling a bump; it's by far the most difficult I've driven today. It's so twitchy that I make a rare unforced error into turn six, sliding well wide of the apex.
But I keep it pointing in the right direction, and take the flag in second place. It caps off a strong run through the heats: I've gained places from my grid slot in all three qualifying races, which should set me up well for the final.
There's a lull while the numbers are crunched. With three finals split roughly evenly across 41 drivers, I'm expecting to be somewhere around the A/B-final split. When Sian lays out the list on the reception desk, there's a scrum as people crane their necks to read it.
At first, I can't find my name - because I'm looking in the wrong place. I'm 9th overall, at least five places higher than I expected, and pleasantly gobsmacked. A-final it is, then. With the championship still up for grabs, all of the main protagonists for the top three places - Lee Hackett, Sean Brierley, Sam Spinnael, Connor Marsh, Ryan Smith - will be present and correct at the sharp end. Continuing his physics-defying crusade, Anwar will start from pole and has a real shot at embarrassing the lightweights.
"Yeah! C-final is where it's at!" Weddell does a celebratory jig after possibly his worst day ever in the BRKC; he seems to have an enviable ability to put disappointments behind him. I wish I had such a positive outlook.
As the C-finalists roll out of the pits and we crowd the pitwall to watch, I'm excited and nervous and tired, as usual. But there's a touch of end-of-term sadness, too. These are the final races of an amazing season which has taken most of us from one end of the country to the other, and a very large part of me doesn't want it to end.
I'm not sure that Michael would agree with me at this moment. The story of his C-final is the story of his day: strong start, blistering pace, places gained hand over fist... BANG! Hit from behind and spun to the back. Square one. He ends up a resigned - and wholly unrepresentative - 33rd overall.
Back in the pitlane, there's a bit of gesticulating between Jamie Harrison and Daryl Warren, which blows over very quickly and ends with a handshake... possibly expedited by the formidable presence of Mr Harrison (Senior).
The B-final grid contains some quick names. Endean, Mays, Fitchew, Vangeen, Sam Joseph, David 'Brickwall' Whitehouse... BRKC debutant Ashley Higham has had a solid run through the heats, too. It's often the most exciting of the finals and doesn't disappoint; today, in a minor change to the format, the top two will progress to the A-final. It's fun to watch heavyweight rivals Alex, James and David duking it out - with David the winner of that particular battle. I'm a little hazy on the frontrunners, but seem to remember Chris Brookshaw and Lee Henderson taking the honours and the last two grid slots for the A-final.
And then, suddenly, it's my turn. It's the final race of the 2013 championship, and I'm proud to be taking part. In my second A-final of the season, I can't quite match the devil-may-care attitude of the first one. The benchmark has changed; I'll be disappointed not to make the top ten.
Aiming to disappoint me will be the likes of Rhianna Purcocks, Ben Allward, Ed White, Chris Brookshaw... as I take my grid slot, I daren't look back. I concentrate on the unfamiliar suit of Alex Ready in seventh; he splits Ryan and Dan Truman. Anwar, on pole, is only twenty metres up the road. Anything's possible...
Green light. I rocket off the line and claw back at least two metres on the three in front; Dan jinks smartly right to cut me off on the dash down to turn 1. We run line astern through turns two and three; Dan's a little slow out of three and I get my nose alongside, but run out of room and settle for harrying him all the way through the flat-out left and right. He's early on the brakes into six and catches me unawares; I rap his rear bumper and earn myself an irritable hand-flick. I'd have waved in apology if he could see me, and if I wasn't hanging on for dear life.
Across the start/finish line for the second time, Dan moves to the inside again; I try the Wall of Death but run out of room; suddenly Ed White is almost alongside and I'm forced to defend hard into turn three.
Again we concertina into six; I go right on the exit, trying to scoot down the inside into turn seven, but Dan anticipates. I lift - and this time Ed makes it stick, barrelling past to my left. I take the wide line into turn 7, aiming for a quicker exit - and very nearly lose another place to a red-helmeted driver. I made exactly the same mistake at Raceland last month. If my feet weren't separated by the steering column I'd be kicking myself.
It's all a bit too lairy; I tell myself to calm down and regroup. My pace is good, and there are plenty of laps left.
Over the next lap I close back up to Ed and pass him in a straightforward move into turn one. He comes right back at me, getting his nose alongside as we approach the flat-out left-hander at turn four... but I scrape through in front. While I've been tussling, Dan has opened up a two second gap; I focus on reeling him in.
As we exit the final turn to start lap 5, I notice that it's Ryan, not Alex Ready, in front of Dan; he looks to be struggling a little. After ducking left and right for a couple of corners, Dan squeezes through; I try to follow but am not quite close enough. Ryan slams the door, and it's like the Matchams A-final all over again.
I'm fractionally quicker over the whole lap, but Ryan is a model of precision as usual: there are no mistakes, no chinks to dive into. I'm carrying a small weight penalty - 5kg or so - which, lack of talent notwithstanding, is probably just enough to prevent me getting alongside down the start/finish straight.
I get close though. Oh, so tantalisingly close... time and time again, Ryan takes the inside line and forces me to go the long way round, but three laps from home he's a little tardy shutting the door and I get half the kart alongside. We turn in as one, two inches apart, my right wheels up on the kerb... I have the line, but his momentum is better; I can't make it stick. It's great racing, great driving, and I'm sad to see the chequered flag.
I take it a metre behind Ryan with a mix of emotions. I've driven well, held onto my starting position... but I so nearly had him.
Needless to say I haven't had much chance to follow progress at the front; back in the pitlane I learn that the laws of physics eventually caught up with Anwar, who finished a still-superb fourth - annihilating the heavyweight field in the process. The ever-impressive Ed White finished a couple of places behind me to take the second heavyweight spot; they're joined on the podium by local expert Lee Henderson.
The overall race podium mirrors the championship top three. Which makes Lee Hackett the double BRKC champion, with Sean Brierley and Sam Spinnael the runners-up. Brilliant drivers, all - they thoroughly deserve their accolades and the prizes that come with them.
My ninth place moves me up to a finishing score of 69 points and 13th in the championship. It's easily the best of my three seasons in the BRKC. I worked hard to raise my game in 2013, and am delighted to see my efforts bearing fruit.
With the champagne showers over, it's usually time to say our goodbyes and go our separate ways. But Brad has an announcement that throws new significance on today's event.
In 2014, the BRKC is to change from a six round, multiple-venue championship to a single, weekend-long, tournament-style event modelled on the Kart World Championships. Much as we love the current format, it rests on the shoulders of Brad alone and is unsustainable without a major injection of cash or manpower or both.
The 2014 venue is to be a new state-of-the-art indoor circuit currently under construction in Milton Keynes. I'll be there of course, along with the usual suspects, but I will shed a tear or two for the current format which took me to places I never dreamed I'd be.
The racing has been sensational. But just as special to me are the friends I've made, and the huge support for my post-race scribblings. They'll continue of course: the big race at Teesside is only ten weeks away, and the BRKC will reconvene for the 0-plate at Whilton Mill in October. Graduating from heavy, wheezy four-stroke karts to the scalpel-like Club 100 two-stroke machines will be a baptism of fire for some of us. Can't wait... I think.
Before that, there are exciting times for several of the regulars: Sean Brierley, Anwar Beroual-Smith and Michael Weddell leave shortly for California to compete at the Sport Kart Grand Nationals. I've no doubt they'll wipe the floor with the Yanks.
And the countdown to the Kart World Championships is well and truly on. Both champions will be there along with Team GB stalwarts Bradley Philpot, James Auld and Jonny Elliott. Denmark won't know what hit it...
For BRKC mark 1, that's all she wrote. I'm doubly chuffed to have competed in the last A-final of the current era.
Roll on mark 2!
Third heat. Third on the grid. Last chance saloon.
I have only Nathan Bellows and a red-clad driver I don't recognise ahead of me. I have no idea who's behind. It doesn't matter. Grip the wheel, watch the lights, wait.
It's a long wait - so long, in fact, than when the lights blink red my foot twitches on the throttle. I slam on the brakes to stop the kart moving - just as the lights go green. Not my finest start... but the kart pulls away well, and I hold position through turn one, already hassling Nathan as he gets a little wide of the double apexes at turn two. I'm half alongside as we approach the slow left-hander at turn three; Nathan isn't expecting me, turns in, bounces off my right front bumper and disappears.
I'm through into second and wondering if my pass was too marginal, if the marshals will decide that I pushed Nathan out of the way... but as I approach the start/finish line, there are no flags or warning boards. A glance behind reveals Nathan still in third. I breathe, and focus forward again.
After two tough, combative heats I'm hoping for a nice boring points-banker to finish. And I get it. The red-clad local pulls slowly away, and I maintain a three-second gap to the chasing pack. The kart livens things up by snapping sideways over anything resembling a bump; it's by far the most difficult I've driven today. It's so twitchy that I make a rare unforced error into turn six, sliding well wide of the apex.
But I keep it pointing in the right direction, and take the flag in second place. It caps off a strong run through the heats: I've gained places from my grid slot in all three qualifying races, which should set me up well for the final.
There's a lull while the numbers are crunched. With three finals split roughly evenly across 41 drivers, I'm expecting to be somewhere around the A/B-final split. When Sian lays out the list on the reception desk, there's a scrum as people crane their necks to read it.
At first, I can't find my name - because I'm looking in the wrong place. I'm 9th overall, at least five places higher than I expected, and pleasantly gobsmacked. A-final it is, then. With the championship still up for grabs, all of the main protagonists for the top three places - Lee Hackett, Sean Brierley, Sam Spinnael, Connor Marsh, Ryan Smith - will be present and correct at the sharp end. Continuing his physics-defying crusade, Anwar will start from pole and has a real shot at embarrassing the lightweights.
"Yeah! C-final is where it's at!" Weddell does a celebratory jig after possibly his worst day ever in the BRKC; he seems to have an enviable ability to put disappointments behind him. I wish I had such a positive outlook.
As the C-finalists roll out of the pits and we crowd the pitwall to watch, I'm excited and nervous and tired, as usual. But there's a touch of end-of-term sadness, too. These are the final races of an amazing season which has taken most of us from one end of the country to the other, and a very large part of me doesn't want it to end.
I'm not sure that Michael would agree with me at this moment. The story of his C-final is the story of his day: strong start, blistering pace, places gained hand over fist... BANG! Hit from behind and spun to the back. Square one. He ends up a resigned - and wholly unrepresentative - 33rd overall.
Back in the pitlane, there's a bit of gesticulating between Jamie Harrison and Daryl Warren, which blows over very quickly and ends with a handshake... possibly expedited by the formidable presence of Mr Harrison (Senior).
The B-final grid contains some quick names. Endean, Mays, Fitchew, Vangeen, Sam Joseph, David 'Brickwall' Whitehouse... BRKC debutant Ashley Higham has had a solid run through the heats, too. It's often the most exciting of the finals and doesn't disappoint; today, in a minor change to the format, the top two will progress to the A-final. It's fun to watch heavyweight rivals Alex, James and David duking it out - with David the winner of that particular battle. I'm a little hazy on the frontrunners, but seem to remember Chris Brookshaw and Lee Henderson taking the honours and the last two grid slots for the A-final.
And then, suddenly, it's my turn. It's the final race of the 2013 championship, and I'm proud to be taking part. In my second A-final of the season, I can't quite match the devil-may-care attitude of the first one. The benchmark has changed; I'll be disappointed not to make the top ten.
Aiming to disappoint me will be the likes of Rhianna Purcocks, Ben Allward, Ed White, Chris Brookshaw... as I take my grid slot, I daren't look back. I concentrate on the unfamiliar suit of Alex Ready in seventh; he splits Ryan and Dan Truman. Anwar, on pole, is only twenty metres up the road. Anything's possible...
Green light. I rocket off the line and claw back at least two metres on the three in front; Dan jinks smartly right to cut me off on the dash down to turn 1. We run line astern through turns two and three; Dan's a little slow out of three and I get my nose alongside, but run out of room and settle for harrying him all the way through the flat-out left and right. He's early on the brakes into six and catches me unawares; I rap his rear bumper and earn myself an irritable hand-flick. I'd have waved in apology if he could see me, and if I wasn't hanging on for dear life.
Across the start/finish line for the second time, Dan moves to the inside again; I try the Wall of Death but run out of room; suddenly Ed White is almost alongside and I'm forced to defend hard into turn three.
Again we concertina into six; I go right on the exit, trying to scoot down the inside into turn seven, but Dan anticipates. I lift - and this time Ed makes it stick, barrelling past to my left. I take the wide line into turn 7, aiming for a quicker exit - and very nearly lose another place to a red-helmeted driver. I made exactly the same mistake at Raceland last month. If my feet weren't separated by the steering column I'd be kicking myself.
It's all a bit too lairy; I tell myself to calm down and regroup. My pace is good, and there are plenty of laps left.
Over the next lap I close back up to Ed and pass him in a straightforward move into turn one. He comes right back at me, getting his nose alongside as we approach the flat-out left-hander at turn four... but I scrape through in front. While I've been tussling, Dan has opened up a two second gap; I focus on reeling him in.
As we exit the final turn to start lap 5, I notice that it's Ryan, not Alex Ready, in front of Dan; he looks to be struggling a little. After ducking left and right for a couple of corners, Dan squeezes through; I try to follow but am not quite close enough. Ryan slams the door, and it's like the Matchams A-final all over again.
I'm fractionally quicker over the whole lap, but Ryan is a model of precision as usual: there are no mistakes, no chinks to dive into. I'm carrying a small weight penalty - 5kg or so - which, lack of talent notwithstanding, is probably just enough to prevent me getting alongside down the start/finish straight.
I get close though. Oh, so tantalisingly close... time and time again, Ryan takes the inside line and forces me to go the long way round, but three laps from home he's a little tardy shutting the door and I get half the kart alongside. We turn in as one, two inches apart, my right wheels up on the kerb... I have the line, but his momentum is better; I can't make it stick. It's great racing, great driving, and I'm sad to see the chequered flag.
I take it a metre behind Ryan with a mix of emotions. I've driven well, held onto my starting position... but I so nearly had him.
Needless to say I haven't had much chance to follow progress at the front; back in the pitlane I learn that the laws of physics eventually caught up with Anwar, who finished a still-superb fourth - annihilating the heavyweight field in the process. The ever-impressive Ed White finished a couple of places behind me to take the second heavyweight spot; they're joined on the podium by local expert Lee Henderson.
The overall race podium mirrors the championship top three. Which makes Lee Hackett the double BRKC champion, with Sean Brierley and Sam Spinnael the runners-up. Brilliant drivers, all - they thoroughly deserve their accolades and the prizes that come with them.
My ninth place moves me up to a finishing score of 69 points and 13th in the championship. It's easily the best of my three seasons in the BRKC. I worked hard to raise my game in 2013, and am delighted to see my efforts bearing fruit.
With the champagne showers over, it's usually time to say our goodbyes and go our separate ways. But Brad has an announcement that throws new significance on today's event.
In 2014, the BRKC is to change from a six round, multiple-venue championship to a single, weekend-long, tournament-style event modelled on the Kart World Championships. Much as we love the current format, it rests on the shoulders of Brad alone and is unsustainable without a major injection of cash or manpower or both.
The 2014 venue is to be a new state-of-the-art indoor circuit currently under construction in Milton Keynes. I'll be there of course, along with the usual suspects, but I will shed a tear or two for the current format which took me to places I never dreamed I'd be.
The racing has been sensational. But just as special to me are the friends I've made, and the huge support for my post-race scribblings. They'll continue of course: the big race at Teesside is only ten weeks away, and the BRKC will reconvene for the 0-plate at Whilton Mill in October. Graduating from heavy, wheezy four-stroke karts to the scalpel-like Club 100 two-stroke machines will be a baptism of fire for some of us. Can't wait... I think.
Before that, there are exciting times for several of the regulars: Sean Brierley, Anwar Beroual-Smith and Michael Weddell leave shortly for California to compete at the Sport Kart Grand Nationals. I've no doubt they'll wipe the floor with the Yanks.
And the countdown to the Kart World Championships is well and truly on. Both champions will be there along with Team GB stalwarts Bradley Philpot, James Auld and Jonny Elliott. Denmark won't know what hit it...
For BRKC mark 1, that's all she wrote. I'm doubly chuffed to have competed in the last A-final of the current era.
Roll on mark 2!
Thursday 13 June 2013
BRKC round 6. Ellough Park Raceway, 9 June 2013 (part 1)
"I think," says Bradley, "that we have a clear winner for 'prettiest race director of the year'."
It's a backhanded compliment given the standard of competition (Brad has Matchams owner George Lovell as runner up), but Ellough Park's club secretary Sian De Waal makes quite a first impression. At the sign-in desk in reception, drivers are either mumbling shyly at their race boots, or cracking even more puerile jokes than usual.
I slurp a much-needed cup of tea and watch the usual suspects drift in. It's 10.30am and morning practice is drawing to a close. Out on track, familiar helmets are tearing around. The Scots are here in force: red, white and blue for Ryan Smith, blue and white for Michael Weddell, yellow, red and green for Ben Allward. They're jinking and swerving between a group of ten-year olds in cadet karts. The closing speeds are huge. If the little'uns aren't afraid, they should be.
Round 6 has got off to a slow start in chilly, blustery Suffolk, but those of us new to the Ellough Park way of doing things are getting into the swing. It's unusual for us to be testing with non-BRKC drivers on track, and the rolling arrive and drive format is a little de-constructed, too. But it works. The marshals are friendly and efficient, the karts quick and - on initial impression - fairly consistent across the fleet.
The circuit is old-school. Fast, bumpy, concrete run-off areas, variable grip, a fascinating mix of corners. It feels lived-in: a little frayed at the edges, but brimming with character. And it's no pushover. Every lap demands pinpoint precision and delicate feel. There are places where a minor slip will send you facefirst into a plastic bollard filled with bricks and cement.
In other words, it's bloody brilliant.
After 45 minutes of practice – nearly 50 laps – the idiosyncrasies of circuit and karts are beginning to mesh, to form a cohesive whole which forms the basis of fast, consistent lappery. I’m a few tenths away from the ultimate pace as usual, but the tingle is there; the four hour drive from Winchester is starting to feel worth it.
I’m not sure Marianne agrees, especially as both Becca and the new Mrs Vangeen are absent. But she knows plenty of the regulars and is amusing herself taking pictures from Ellough’s excellent vantage points. I’m delighted that she’s here.
At a little after 11am, Sian summons us for a driver's briefing in the paddock. It’s not quite the usual routine: we’re not used to being talked through the circuit corner by corner, for instance. There’s a bit of sniggering at the very notion that BRKC drivers need coaching. Grow up, boys and girls. There’s always something to learn.
We’re distracted by the late arrival of Russell Endean – to general applause – and by the sight of a small plane which barely clears the circuit floodlights on its final approach to the airfield half a mile away. The area is a skydiving dropzone: during the day we become accustomed to the sight of multiple canopies dotting the sky. Along with the skydive aircraft: a larger plane which seems destined for a fiery end in the car park every time it roars overhead. We gather from Sian that its pilot aims to beat his passengers back to terra firma every time.
Just like at Raceland last month, the grids are bigger than usual here: with 41 drivers signed in and 14 in each race, we’ll have just eight heats and three finals. And just like at Raceland, two of my heats are consecutive. I’m in two, seven and eight.
We each have five minutes of free practice, which proves useful: I find a better line through the tricky, off-camber left hander at turn 3, and test – with mixed results – a couple of overtaking points.
As the heat one drivers roll out onto the wide start-finish straight with its overhead gantry and white-painted grid markings, I’m already tuning out, focusing inward. I’m 15th in the championship and determined to hang onto my position at the very least. As a result I miss most of the first heat, but am dimly aware of carnage in the first two corners and some fist waving. I’m more concerned about the spots of rain which are starting to speckle my visor.
Ten minutes later, as I take my eighth grid slot, it’s still spitting, and it’s going to be a Magical Mystery Tour into Turn 1. I tell myself not to worry about it, and concentrate on making up places regardless. I was far too courteous last time out, and got shunted left, right and centre for my troubles.
This time, there will be no prisoners.
Green light; I’m away quickly, sidling up to Alex Vangeen's rear bumper and following him through turn 1 - both of us taking a wide line to avoid the anticipated bottleneck at the apex. There's a bit of pushing and shoving, but as we approach the end of lap one we're all more or less where we started: Lee Henderson and Rhianna up front, followed by Anwar's dad Ferhat, Ben Allward and Chris Brookshaw, and a gaggle of four: Alex, Ian Sandison, myself, and Connor Marsh.
As we turn into the right-hand hairpin before the pits, Ian is up on the kerbs, looping into a spin; Alex and I avoid him but Connor is delayed, and passed by Jonathan Carty. I'm better out of the final corner, alongside Alex on the approach to turn 1. Up ahead, the frontrunners concertina at the apex; focused on holding my line and not sliding into Alex, I’m light on the brakes and give the kart in front a hefty clout.
Luckily I hit him square on: he shoots forwards instead of sideways, but I'm slowed - Jonathan scoots past on the inside, and I sense someone else close behind. We’re three abreast into turn 2 with me in the middle. I shut the door on the kart to my right, already correcting for the inevitable rap at my right-rear corner, and hold my position through the double-apex right-hander. Alex is still on my left; I edge him out onto the wide flat kerb; he’s forced to back off or hit the wall.
But I'm baulked by traffic ahead into turn three, and Alex is still there with the inside line as we barrel into the flat-out turn four. I give him space, hang on for dear life around the outside, ride the bumpy kerb at turn five and somehow get it all slowed down for turn six without hitting anything (much).
Like I said. No prisoners. In the pitlane, Brad and Marianne are watching proceedings with raised eyebrows. “Andrew’s getting stuck in, isn’t he…?”
Around this time, Anwar breezes past me as if I'm driving a pedal kart, and summarily dispatches his Dad into the hairpin at turn seven. I follow him through and, over the next lap, catch Jonathan Carty. After a couple of attempts I pass him into the final corner with most of the kart over the inside kerb.
By lap four of eight I’ve pulled a small gap to the chasing pack, and am tracking Chris Brookshaw and Rhianna Purcocks, embroiled in spirited battle for fourth place. I’m fractionally quicker over a lap, but can’t get my nose ahead where it counts; as the laps count down I’m hoping they’ll collect each other and exit stage left. But despite some very close calls, they both keep it on the road. I finish right behind Chris in sixth place, two up from my grid position. It’s a solid start.
Anwar has won from dead last on the grid, overtaking Lee Henderson for the lead on the very last corner. But the Powers That Be have declared the move illegal, and demoted him to second place.
With at least forty minutes in hand before my double-header of heats, I catch up with my wife, ingest caffeine and sugar, and watch the action from the raised platform above turn seven. This offers a panoramic view of the whole circuit; we're joined by Ed White's dad Geoff, and Brad, who has paid a visit to the ice cream van. He's eating a weird concoction called a Witches Hat - essentially an ice lolly rammed into a Mr Whippy. I've never heard of such a thing, and apparently haven't lived.
On this championship-deciding day, so far, there are no upsets at the top of the leaderboard. Lee Hackett cruises around in his customary devastating way; Sean and Sam Spinnael are right there as well, and Anwar is defying the laws of physics. Business as usual.
Poor Michael Weddell, however, is having the Race from Hell. Somehow I manage to miss all of his incidents, but every time I turn around he's facing the wrong way or embedded in the wall. Ryan - having a solid day himself - assures me that it's not Michael's doing. He's been bundled off the road in two of his three heats.
Anwar dominates the heavyweights, but Lee Henderson is doing well at his home circuit, ahead of James Fitchew and double champion Russell Endean - who might be suffering from his shortage of practice time.
Marianne and I chat to newlyweds James and Heather about the merits of Lanzarote, from where they're recently returned. Hot and sandy is the general consensus - with a charmingly Mediterranean disregard for health and safety. Karting in flip-flops? No problem. You want a helmet? Really? Okay, but real men don't wear them...
Tick tock. With heat six already underway it's time to flush my brain of all but the essentials. I've got better at this over the last couple of years, having initially struggled to cope with the mental peaks and troughs of a sprint event.
I'm thirteenth on the grid for heat seven, with only Alex and Chris Brookshaw behind; up ahead I've got a motley crew to content with: Smith, Beroual-Smith, Whitehouse, Carty, Warren, Curtis, Eccles... I can't wait.
My start isn't quite as lightning-fast this time, but I hold my position through the first two turns and focus on the group in front: Daryl Warren, Jonathan Carty, and a driver in red whose name escapes me.
After a clean first lap, they all tangle at the exit of turn one on lap 2; I pick my way through the fallout, gain three places, and set about closing down the pack, which has opened a small gap. I'm briefly held up by Liam Brierley, but pass him into the final turn and take another place along the start/finish straight. Three laps in, I'm up to eighth place. So far, so good.
Then, unfortunately, I come up against a brick wall, known to most of us as David Whitehouse. I get alongside out of turn three, take the inside line for the flat-out left hander that follows, and expect that to be that. But I'm forced over the kerb, getting a little out of shape, and David's there to take advantage as I lock up in the bumpy, downhill braking area for turn 6. He passes me into the penultimate corner and holds me at bay for another lap. I'm faster, but can't find a way by.
Next time through I'm quicker out of the final corner, but David jinks to the right and forces me into a Wall of Death around the outside at turn one. I'm past, but again he's cleverly kept himself in contention by forcing me to compromise my line.
His next move is less clever: as we turn into the first of the double apexes, he makes hard contact with my right rear corner, pushing me wide enough that Rhys Eccles squeezes through as well. Irritated, I chase hard, but succeed only in sideswiping Rhys at the exit of turn six, earning a colourful hand gesture for my efforts.
As we're shown the last lap board, I'm trying everything I can but getting nowhere. And to make matters worse, our squabbling has allowed Jonathan Carty to close right up; he clobbers me unceremoniously out of the way at the apex of turn six, half a lap from the flag. Now it's my turn for fist waving.
Needless to say I'm not happy; as we cruise around to the pits I'm simultaneously shaking my head and telling myself to move on. I need my mind clear for my crucial final heat. In the pits, Marianne is sympathetic but philosophical: the leaderboard shows me tenth, better than I realised. But I ran as high as seventh, and that rankles like an itch you can't reach.
In moments Sian is in the pitlane with her clipboard, calling our driver numbers, and everything else falls away as I walk out to my kart. This will be the last heat of BRKC 2013.
Best make it a good one.
(click here for part two)
It's a backhanded compliment given the standard of competition (Brad has Matchams owner George Lovell as runner up), but Ellough Park's club secretary Sian De Waal makes quite a first impression. At the sign-in desk in reception, drivers are either mumbling shyly at their race boots, or cracking even more puerile jokes than usual.
I slurp a much-needed cup of tea and watch the usual suspects drift in. It's 10.30am and morning practice is drawing to a close. Out on track, familiar helmets are tearing around. The Scots are here in force: red, white and blue for Ryan Smith, blue and white for Michael Weddell, yellow, red and green for Ben Allward. They're jinking and swerving between a group of ten-year olds in cadet karts. The closing speeds are huge. If the little'uns aren't afraid, they should be.
Round 6 has got off to a slow start in chilly, blustery Suffolk, but those of us new to the Ellough Park way of doing things are getting into the swing. It's unusual for us to be testing with non-BRKC drivers on track, and the rolling arrive and drive format is a little de-constructed, too. But it works. The marshals are friendly and efficient, the karts quick and - on initial impression - fairly consistent across the fleet.
The circuit is old-school. Fast, bumpy, concrete run-off areas, variable grip, a fascinating mix of corners. It feels lived-in: a little frayed at the edges, but brimming with character. And it's no pushover. Every lap demands pinpoint precision and delicate feel. There are places where a minor slip will send you facefirst into a plastic bollard filled with bricks and cement.
In other words, it's bloody brilliant.
After 45 minutes of practice – nearly 50 laps – the idiosyncrasies of circuit and karts are beginning to mesh, to form a cohesive whole which forms the basis of fast, consistent lappery. I’m a few tenths away from the ultimate pace as usual, but the tingle is there; the four hour drive from Winchester is starting to feel worth it.
I’m not sure Marianne agrees, especially as both Becca and the new Mrs Vangeen are absent. But she knows plenty of the regulars and is amusing herself taking pictures from Ellough’s excellent vantage points. I’m delighted that she’s here.
At a little after 11am, Sian summons us for a driver's briefing in the paddock. It’s not quite the usual routine: we’re not used to being talked through the circuit corner by corner, for instance. There’s a bit of sniggering at the very notion that BRKC drivers need coaching. Grow up, boys and girls. There’s always something to learn.
We’re distracted by the late arrival of Russell Endean – to general applause – and by the sight of a small plane which barely clears the circuit floodlights on its final approach to the airfield half a mile away. The area is a skydiving dropzone: during the day we become accustomed to the sight of multiple canopies dotting the sky. Along with the skydive aircraft: a larger plane which seems destined for a fiery end in the car park every time it roars overhead. We gather from Sian that its pilot aims to beat his passengers back to terra firma every time.
Just like at Raceland last month, the grids are bigger than usual here: with 41 drivers signed in and 14 in each race, we’ll have just eight heats and three finals. And just like at Raceland, two of my heats are consecutive. I’m in two, seven and eight.
We each have five minutes of free practice, which proves useful: I find a better line through the tricky, off-camber left hander at turn 3, and test – with mixed results – a couple of overtaking points.
As the heat one drivers roll out onto the wide start-finish straight with its overhead gantry and white-painted grid markings, I’m already tuning out, focusing inward. I’m 15th in the championship and determined to hang onto my position at the very least. As a result I miss most of the first heat, but am dimly aware of carnage in the first two corners and some fist waving. I’m more concerned about the spots of rain which are starting to speckle my visor.
Ten minutes later, as I take my eighth grid slot, it’s still spitting, and it’s going to be a Magical Mystery Tour into Turn 1. I tell myself not to worry about it, and concentrate on making up places regardless. I was far too courteous last time out, and got shunted left, right and centre for my troubles.
This time, there will be no prisoners.
Green light; I’m away quickly, sidling up to Alex Vangeen's rear bumper and following him through turn 1 - both of us taking a wide line to avoid the anticipated bottleneck at the apex. There's a bit of pushing and shoving, but as we approach the end of lap one we're all more or less where we started: Lee Henderson and Rhianna up front, followed by Anwar's dad Ferhat, Ben Allward and Chris Brookshaw, and a gaggle of four: Alex, Ian Sandison, myself, and Connor Marsh.
As we turn into the right-hand hairpin before the pits, Ian is up on the kerbs, looping into a spin; Alex and I avoid him but Connor is delayed, and passed by Jonathan Carty. I'm better out of the final corner, alongside Alex on the approach to turn 1. Up ahead, the frontrunners concertina at the apex; focused on holding my line and not sliding into Alex, I’m light on the brakes and give the kart in front a hefty clout.
Luckily I hit him square on: he shoots forwards instead of sideways, but I'm slowed - Jonathan scoots past on the inside, and I sense someone else close behind. We’re three abreast into turn 2 with me in the middle. I shut the door on the kart to my right, already correcting for the inevitable rap at my right-rear corner, and hold my position through the double-apex right-hander. Alex is still on my left; I edge him out onto the wide flat kerb; he’s forced to back off or hit the wall.
But I'm baulked by traffic ahead into turn three, and Alex is still there with the inside line as we barrel into the flat-out turn four. I give him space, hang on for dear life around the outside, ride the bumpy kerb at turn five and somehow get it all slowed down for turn six without hitting anything (much).
Like I said. No prisoners. In the pitlane, Brad and Marianne are watching proceedings with raised eyebrows. “Andrew’s getting stuck in, isn’t he…?”
Around this time, Anwar breezes past me as if I'm driving a pedal kart, and summarily dispatches his Dad into the hairpin at turn seven. I follow him through and, over the next lap, catch Jonathan Carty. After a couple of attempts I pass him into the final corner with most of the kart over the inside kerb.
By lap four of eight I’ve pulled a small gap to the chasing pack, and am tracking Chris Brookshaw and Rhianna Purcocks, embroiled in spirited battle for fourth place. I’m fractionally quicker over a lap, but can’t get my nose ahead where it counts; as the laps count down I’m hoping they’ll collect each other and exit stage left. But despite some very close calls, they both keep it on the road. I finish right behind Chris in sixth place, two up from my grid position. It’s a solid start.
Anwar has won from dead last on the grid, overtaking Lee Henderson for the lead on the very last corner. But the Powers That Be have declared the move illegal, and demoted him to second place.
With at least forty minutes in hand before my double-header of heats, I catch up with my wife, ingest caffeine and sugar, and watch the action from the raised platform above turn seven. This offers a panoramic view of the whole circuit; we're joined by Ed White's dad Geoff, and Brad, who has paid a visit to the ice cream van. He's eating a weird concoction called a Witches Hat - essentially an ice lolly rammed into a Mr Whippy. I've never heard of such a thing, and apparently haven't lived.
On this championship-deciding day, so far, there are no upsets at the top of the leaderboard. Lee Hackett cruises around in his customary devastating way; Sean and Sam Spinnael are right there as well, and Anwar is defying the laws of physics. Business as usual.
Poor Michael Weddell, however, is having the Race from Hell. Somehow I manage to miss all of his incidents, but every time I turn around he's facing the wrong way or embedded in the wall. Ryan - having a solid day himself - assures me that it's not Michael's doing. He's been bundled off the road in two of his three heats.
Anwar dominates the heavyweights, but Lee Henderson is doing well at his home circuit, ahead of James Fitchew and double champion Russell Endean - who might be suffering from his shortage of practice time.
Marianne and I chat to newlyweds James and Heather about the merits of Lanzarote, from where they're recently returned. Hot and sandy is the general consensus - with a charmingly Mediterranean disregard for health and safety. Karting in flip-flops? No problem. You want a helmet? Really? Okay, but real men don't wear them...
Tick tock. With heat six already underway it's time to flush my brain of all but the essentials. I've got better at this over the last couple of years, having initially struggled to cope with the mental peaks and troughs of a sprint event.
I'm thirteenth on the grid for heat seven, with only Alex and Chris Brookshaw behind; up ahead I've got a motley crew to content with: Smith, Beroual-Smith, Whitehouse, Carty, Warren, Curtis, Eccles... I can't wait.
My start isn't quite as lightning-fast this time, but I hold my position through the first two turns and focus on the group in front: Daryl Warren, Jonathan Carty, and a driver in red whose name escapes me.
After a clean first lap, they all tangle at the exit of turn one on lap 2; I pick my way through the fallout, gain three places, and set about closing down the pack, which has opened a small gap. I'm briefly held up by Liam Brierley, but pass him into the final turn and take another place along the start/finish straight. Three laps in, I'm up to eighth place. So far, so good.
Then, unfortunately, I come up against a brick wall, known to most of us as David Whitehouse. I get alongside out of turn three, take the inside line for the flat-out left hander that follows, and expect that to be that. But I'm forced over the kerb, getting a little out of shape, and David's there to take advantage as I lock up in the bumpy, downhill braking area for turn 6. He passes me into the penultimate corner and holds me at bay for another lap. I'm faster, but can't find a way by.
Next time through I'm quicker out of the final corner, but David jinks to the right and forces me into a Wall of Death around the outside at turn one. I'm past, but again he's cleverly kept himself in contention by forcing me to compromise my line.
His next move is less clever: as we turn into the first of the double apexes, he makes hard contact with my right rear corner, pushing me wide enough that Rhys Eccles squeezes through as well. Irritated, I chase hard, but succeed only in sideswiping Rhys at the exit of turn six, earning a colourful hand gesture for my efforts.
As we're shown the last lap board, I'm trying everything I can but getting nowhere. And to make matters worse, our squabbling has allowed Jonathan Carty to close right up; he clobbers me unceremoniously out of the way at the apex of turn six, half a lap from the flag. Now it's my turn for fist waving.
Needless to say I'm not happy; as we cruise around to the pits I'm simultaneously shaking my head and telling myself to move on. I need my mind clear for my crucial final heat. In the pits, Marianne is sympathetic but philosophical: the leaderboard shows me tenth, better than I realised. But I ran as high as seventh, and that rankles like an itch you can't reach.
In moments Sian is in the pitlane with her clipboard, calling our driver numbers, and everything else falls away as I walk out to my kart. This will be the last heat of BRKC 2013.
Best make it a good one.
(click here for part two)
Thursday 23 May 2013
BRKC round 5. Raceland, Edinburgh, 11-12 May 2013 (part two)
(click here for part one)
7.25am.
I snap awake, staring at the underside of a coffee table, momentarily unsure of where I am. Then I remember. Dunbar. The Smith residence. Five minutes until my alarm goes off... something else has woken me. I lift my head - and sure enough, Maggie sits a foot away, watching me balefully. She gives me a toothy miaow, bats her head against my hand - and BRKC day is up and running.
Ryan and I neck mugs of tea and wolf bowls of, respectively, porridge and chocolate Weetabix. By 8.30am we're piled into the car with Neil and Diane, heading back along the increasingly familiar stretch of the A1 towards Raceland.
The reception area is already buzzing with a queue of drivers signing in, tea and bacon butties flying out of the kitchen. I find an oasis of calm to get changed and prepare for my two short practice sessions. I'll have twenty laps or so to apply everything I learned yesterday.
In the paddock, BRKC banners are flapping in the wind, the benches and tables cluttered with race gear, helmets in a hundred colours. Both sky and distant sea are more blue than grey today, the forecast ranging from bluebird to torrential rain. That'll be early May in Scotland, then.
Ryan suggests a track walk, and I jump at the chance. On foot, the circuit's gradient is far more noticeable - essentially you spend the first half of the lap dropping down the hill, the second half climbing back up - and it's clearer to see why the entry to the hairpin and the bogey turn 4 are so tricky. Ryan gives me some useful nuggets on the hairpin and the tight left-hander that follows - my weakest areas of the circuit - and the defensive line out of turn 5. At walking speed, the kerbs don't look any more inviting.
Graham summons us for a succinct briefing, by 9.15am we're rolling out of the pits. Within a lap I'm feeling the benefits of yesterday's lessons and a good night's sleep. These karts have quite tricky brakes, with a few millimetres of dead travel and a very sensitive engine cutout mechanism to stop you standing on both pedals and destroying the clutch. They're grabby, too. After falling foul of them repeatedly yesterday, I've found the right progression in the two main braking areas.
Ryan's tips are helping too, and the whole lap is starting to feel less like a frenzied sequence of improvisation and more like a flow of anticipated, controlled inputs. I'm still too slow through the infield left-hander though; Ryan drops me by three metres between entry and exit.
By the end of two sessions I've set a low 1.02, over six tenths of a second faster than yesterday; after the final, untimed session before racing starts I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Which isn't quite ready enough. During the long gap between morning practice and the event itself, I had a long chat with Becca and Brad about misfortune versus making one's own luck. I try to remember the positives and revive my flagging confidence.
Before the racing starts, there's a short interlude which puts everything else in perspective. Earlier in the week we received the very sad news that 2012 BRKC regular Martin Stone had passed away after battling a brain tumour for several months. Known throughout karting for his charity work, he was instantly popular in the BRKC: excellent company off track, and a strong, fair competitor on it.
Instead of the traditional minute's silence, Brad asks us for a minute's applause in front of the podium. It's very fitting and very moving; I think Martin would have appreciated it. I suspect he'd have also wanted us to get on with the racing.
The field is 48 strong - one more than Matchams last month, and superb given the location. We're used to starting grids of 8 or 10 for each heat; here it will be 16, which means far fewer heats than usual - just nine, in fact. I'm not thrilled to find myself in consecutive heats - three and four - but at least there's a decent gap afterwards to my final heat - nine.
We crowd the pitwall for the start of heat one. I don't recognise the polesitter, but don't envy his task - he has perennial frontrunners Sean Brierley and Sam Spinnael right behind him. As the Saltyre drops Sam steals second place from Sean, but there are few more opportunistic drivers in the BRKC than Sean: as Sam squeaks past the polesitter at turn 5, Sean follows him through, holds the inside line through the following sequence of left-handers, and takes the lead. Sam chases, but Sean pulls out a small gap: that, we think, is that. He'd been complaining of a lack of consistency and confidence yesterday; today, the regular Brierley service looks to be restored.
But midway through lap 4 there's a collective gasp: Sean gets wide at the treacherous exit of turn four and slams headfirst into the tyres. Sam, close behind, can't quite avoid him and smacks him broadside into the incoming traffic; unsighted, Rhys Eccles T-bones him at high speed. From the pitlane - a hundred and fifty metres away - the full impact is lessened, but over the past day every driver has had a heart-stopping moment down there; we're concerned for Rhys and Sean.
But both get going again; Sean manages to claw back some of the lost places before the flag. All three drivers are bruised but in one piece; Sean is mystified as to how it happened.
"I didn't do anything different..."
My turn. The clouds have thickened overhead, the odd spot of rain speckling my visor as we roll out to the grid. As we found yesterday, this circuit will hold a surprising level of damp without giving up any laptime. But conditions here change like the flick of a switch, from one corner to the next.
I've drawn the Heat from Hell. Virtually all of the Scottish BRKC contingent join me on the grid, along with Alex, several other quick regulars, and a couple of local experts in Raceland garb. I'm starting quite far back - 12th or so - with Ryan, Matt Hamilton and Ben Allward behind me. Just hanging on to my grid slot will be something of a victory.
Away we go; I navigate the inevitable scrum at the hairpin with reasonable success, and by lap two have lost a couple and gained a couple. I'm locked in a tight battle with Alex, Ryan and one other whose identity escapes me. Alex leads; all three behind are quicker, but his defending is as robust as ever. Ryan eventually scrapes through, but Alex hangs on for grim death and the three of us cross the line side by side. With a very short run from start/finish line to first corner, I run out of room after the flag and spin gracefully onto the grass. No harm done, and I've finished ahead of my grid slot in 10th position.
I'm last back to the pits, and step straight out of one kart into another for heat four. I'm starting in third position, my best chance for some serious points.
My start is near-perfect, the best I've made all weekend, and I slot into second behind Daniel Truman. There's pressure from behind, but I hang on as we rocket through turn 1 for the second time. At which point it all goes horribly wrong.
Rain is still spitting, the track starting to feel slick in places; wary of locking up, I'm tentative under braking for the hairpin - and another kart is half alongside, the driver clambering over the kerb, sliding, and clobbering me broadside. It's a clumsy move, and I'm deep onto the runoff as four karts sweep by, swearing.
A couple of laps later my race descends into farce. The two drivers ahead are an accident waiting to happen, side-by-side through turn one; I'm openmouthed as the driver on the left deliberately shunts his rival onto the grass - then lose sight of them both as I focus on the hairpin.
But at the exit, I meet the out-of-control kart coming the other way, am forced to lift and avoid, and lose yet more places. As I take the flag, more than a little disgruntled, I'm remembering the conversation earlier. Am I failing to make my own luck, or just downright unlucky?
I resolve not to feel sorry for myself, and stuff my face instead. A Raceland cheeseburger and a proper Scottish cup of tea do much to restore my good mood; with some time before my final heat I take stock and watch the action on track. By now the rain is whipping my face, spray hanging in the air over the start-finish straight. I watch Ryan take an assured victory in his second heat, before the heavyweights take charge.
Anwar Beroual Smith (or Arwal Beronal Smit, as the leaderboard knows him today) looks smooth, unhurried and fearsomely quick, sailing to a comfortable win in one of his heats. He's followed home by Alex Vangeen - who, for all his balls-to-the-wall commitment in the dry, has always demonstrated a delicate touch in the rain. They're both a joy to watch. David Whitehouse is also showing well and has a shot at the A-final.
There are mixed fortunes for the other regulars. Michael Weddell has been more or less untouchable on his home circuit - but Lee Hackett has kept him honest; Steven Dailly, Sam Spinnael and Ryan are all thereabouts. Dan Truman and Rhianna Purcocks have each racked up a solid haul of points, too. But Sean's day has not improved. Confidence knocked by his huge shunt, his following two heats have yielded slim pickings: he looks destined for the B-final.
And so, barring a miracle, do I. The rain has stopped as we roll out to the grid for heat 9; because of its exposed position and constant wind, the circuit dries very quickly. As we discover on a Magical Mystery Tour first lap, some parts dry quicker than others.
I keep it out of the wall and make up a couple of places from my lowly starting position. Not a disaster, but hardly spectacular; the pre-final leaderboard shows me 27th overall. With the first 19 making the A-final, I'll be 8th on the grid for the B-final.
After a short break the C final gets underway in more or less dry conditions. I stand in the pitlane, shut out the world for a moment... and jump as my hand is grabbed. It's Anwar, wishing me luck.
"Oops, sorry to interrupt your nap..."
As I thread my kart between the tyrewalls towards the circuit for the twelfth and final time, I feel suddenly weary. It's been a tough weekend's racing. Not physically - the sum total of track time over two days barely adds up to a single British 24 Hours stint - but the mental effort and peaks of adrenalin have taken their toll. I summon the tingle for one last push.
As the flag drops I'm already jinking across the track, cutting off Matthew Curtis at the entry to turn one and earning myself a hefty clout for my troubles. We're tidy - by recent standards - through the hairpin and left hander; into the white-knuckle turn 4 I'm closing on the three in front - Aaron McManus, a Raceland blue suit and a red suit I don't recognise. As they barrel into turn 5, Blue Suit is on the inside. I can follow him through, or try a Wall of Death around the outside. I choose Wall of Death...
...and go the wrong way. Blue Suit sweeps back onto the racing line, cutting me off - and suddenly Sean is clambering up the kerb to my right. I hang on, edge back in front through the apex of turn six... but my line pushes me wide and he's through. Up ahead, there's contact between Aaron and Red Suit; Aaron fishtails onto the runoff.
Matthew has squeezed past behind Sean, and I chase him, Aaron and Red Suit. Down to the hairpin for the second time, Sean is harrying Red Suit as Matthew goes for an imaginary gap, creams straight through Red Suit, and presumably ends up somewhere in Northumberland. Left with a clear track, Sean takes advantage; Aaron is caught up as well, and I manage to squeeze past the three of them. For me at least, things are looking up.
Over the next couple of laps I get the hammer down and catch the Raceland Blue Suit. After a short but entertaining battle, I pass him into turn 4. At which point things turn rather less entertaining.
Contact both accidental and deliberate has been far too big a factor this weekend for my taste. I know the powers that be are dealing with it by docking points from offending drivers and awarding them to the victims - I suspect I've been a beneficiary at least once. But it hasn't improved the behaviour on track.
Next time around, as I brake for the hairpin, Blue Suit doesn't. With his front bumper against my rear bumper, he shoves me two metres past the apex, turns in, and takes the place. I pass him again a lap later, and this time have to gather up a high speed tankslapper as he deliberately raps my right-rear corner into turn 4, trying to put me in the wall on the exit. He fails - but I'm treated to a steady stream of nudges through the fast corners at the end of the lap. And as I turn into the final corner, he sideswipes me deep onto the bricked runoff at the exit. I avoid the tyres - just - but he's through. And frankly, I've had enough.
This isn't racing as I understand it. This is far more like Dodgems.
With a couple of laps to go, Aaron passes me with a neat move into turn 6, having recovered from his early misfortune. While I'm never happy to be passed, it's refreshing not to be rammed. And in terms of points it makes no difference - everybody between 20th and 30th overall will score 10 points. It's a sensible system, borrowed from the Kart World Championships, that helps mitigate the consequences of a bad kart or other misfortune.
I'm ninth at the flag, irritated, and tell myself to keep my mouth firmly shut until I've calmed down. It's far too easy to lose your rag at a time like this.
We crowd the grassy bank which overlooks the pit straight for the start of the A final. Having won the B final from tenth on the grid - a brilliant recovery from a nightmare start - Sean starts at the back. Neil Macinnes and Steven Dailly share the front row, with Michael Weddell third and Anwar an impressive fourth; Sam Spinnael and Lee Hackett have also done brilliantly to get in amongst the Scots.
We're expecting a nailbiter, and we get it. It's the longest 15 laps any of us can remember; God knows what it's like on the circuit. After the usual first-lap mayhem, Michael and Neil trade the lead, pulling a tiny gap over Lee and Steven Dailly. Having started fifth, Ryan is struggling with a tardy kart - again - and falls prey first to Sam, then Neil Ferrier.
For lap after lap, Lee hangs on to third by the skin of his teeth - but Steven's local knowledge finally bears fruit, and he squeaks through. But he's kept honest: one slip will put Lee back on the podium. In the midfield, there's an almighty scrap between Sean - who has rocketed up from his last-place start, Rhianna, Matthew Hamilton, Scott Winter... it's impossible to take it all in.
As they start the final lap, Michael leads; we're holding our breath as they disappear out of sight into turn 7... and Michael is still in front as they brake for the penultimate corner. He's a little slow on the exit, Neil all over him into the final turn... and from our elevated vantage point, all twenty of us see the contact. Neil hits Michael's right rear corner, pushing him wide onto the runoff and squeezing his nose in front before the line.
As the engines fall silent, there's muttering of a change to the result. Brad even shows the management a video of the incident. But they rule, quite rightly, that if they watched video footage of every on-track incident, we'd still be here next summer. It looked clear-cut to me, but I'm not the race director. The result stands; Michael, to his great credit, is philosophical about it. Moaning won't change it, and his second place moves him up to seventh in the championship.
There's a big cheer for heavyweight winner Anwar, who has been mighty today, and an even bigger cheer for the popular David Whitehouse, who has taken full advantage of the mixed conditions to take third position. They're joined on the podium by local expert Gavin Love. Russell Endean's fourth place has secured him the heavyweight title: richly deserved after a brilliant season.
We scatter quickly, most of us facing a long trip home... but not before some important good wishes. After months of preparation, Brad will be racing for Peugeot in one of the world's biggest motorsport events - the Nurburgring 24 Hours - just seven days from now. And two weeks from now, Alex and Lauren will finally be tying the knot. Exciting times.
And that's about it except for the Fat Lady. As I wait for my delayed flight south, I have plenty of time to reflect. Although I wasn't impressed with some of the driving this weekend, there's much to celebrate about the BRKC's first foray north of the border. Friendly people, a great circuit, strong karts... and crucially, excellent tea. It was certainly worth the trip, and I very much hope that Raceland stays on the BRKC calendar for 2014.
But it's time to turn our attention to the finale. I know nothing about the venue other than it's highly regarded and buried in the depths of Suffolk. The ninth of June can't come soon enough.
Ellough Park, show us what you got.
Thanks
Sean Brierley and Anthony and Tyler Mays for their video footage, which helped revive my flagging memory.
7.25am.
I snap awake, staring at the underside of a coffee table, momentarily unsure of where I am. Then I remember. Dunbar. The Smith residence. Five minutes until my alarm goes off... something else has woken me. I lift my head - and sure enough, Maggie sits a foot away, watching me balefully. She gives me a toothy miaow, bats her head against my hand - and BRKC day is up and running.
Ryan and I neck mugs of tea and wolf bowls of, respectively, porridge and chocolate Weetabix. By 8.30am we're piled into the car with Neil and Diane, heading back along the increasingly familiar stretch of the A1 towards Raceland.
The reception area is already buzzing with a queue of drivers signing in, tea and bacon butties flying out of the kitchen. I find an oasis of calm to get changed and prepare for my two short practice sessions. I'll have twenty laps or so to apply everything I learned yesterday.
In the paddock, BRKC banners are flapping in the wind, the benches and tables cluttered with race gear, helmets in a hundred colours. Both sky and distant sea are more blue than grey today, the forecast ranging from bluebird to torrential rain. That'll be early May in Scotland, then.
Ryan suggests a track walk, and I jump at the chance. On foot, the circuit's gradient is far more noticeable - essentially you spend the first half of the lap dropping down the hill, the second half climbing back up - and it's clearer to see why the entry to the hairpin and the bogey turn 4 are so tricky. Ryan gives me some useful nuggets on the hairpin and the tight left-hander that follows - my weakest areas of the circuit - and the defensive line out of turn 5. At walking speed, the kerbs don't look any more inviting.
Graham summons us for a succinct briefing, by 9.15am we're rolling out of the pits. Within a lap I'm feeling the benefits of yesterday's lessons and a good night's sleep. These karts have quite tricky brakes, with a few millimetres of dead travel and a very sensitive engine cutout mechanism to stop you standing on both pedals and destroying the clutch. They're grabby, too. After falling foul of them repeatedly yesterday, I've found the right progression in the two main braking areas.
Ryan's tips are helping too, and the whole lap is starting to feel less like a frenzied sequence of improvisation and more like a flow of anticipated, controlled inputs. I'm still too slow through the infield left-hander though; Ryan drops me by three metres between entry and exit.
By the end of two sessions I've set a low 1.02, over six tenths of a second faster than yesterday; after the final, untimed session before racing starts I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Which isn't quite ready enough. During the long gap between morning practice and the event itself, I had a long chat with Becca and Brad about misfortune versus making one's own luck. I try to remember the positives and revive my flagging confidence.
Before the racing starts, there's a short interlude which puts everything else in perspective. Earlier in the week we received the very sad news that 2012 BRKC regular Martin Stone had passed away after battling a brain tumour for several months. Known throughout karting for his charity work, he was instantly popular in the BRKC: excellent company off track, and a strong, fair competitor on it.
Instead of the traditional minute's silence, Brad asks us for a minute's applause in front of the podium. It's very fitting and very moving; I think Martin would have appreciated it. I suspect he'd have also wanted us to get on with the racing.
The field is 48 strong - one more than Matchams last month, and superb given the location. We're used to starting grids of 8 or 10 for each heat; here it will be 16, which means far fewer heats than usual - just nine, in fact. I'm not thrilled to find myself in consecutive heats - three and four - but at least there's a decent gap afterwards to my final heat - nine.
We crowd the pitwall for the start of heat one. I don't recognise the polesitter, but don't envy his task - he has perennial frontrunners Sean Brierley and Sam Spinnael right behind him. As the Saltyre drops Sam steals second place from Sean, but there are few more opportunistic drivers in the BRKC than Sean: as Sam squeaks past the polesitter at turn 5, Sean follows him through, holds the inside line through the following sequence of left-handers, and takes the lead. Sam chases, but Sean pulls out a small gap: that, we think, is that. He'd been complaining of a lack of consistency and confidence yesterday; today, the regular Brierley service looks to be restored.
But midway through lap 4 there's a collective gasp: Sean gets wide at the treacherous exit of turn four and slams headfirst into the tyres. Sam, close behind, can't quite avoid him and smacks him broadside into the incoming traffic; unsighted, Rhys Eccles T-bones him at high speed. From the pitlane - a hundred and fifty metres away - the full impact is lessened, but over the past day every driver has had a heart-stopping moment down there; we're concerned for Rhys and Sean.
But both get going again; Sean manages to claw back some of the lost places before the flag. All three drivers are bruised but in one piece; Sean is mystified as to how it happened.
"I didn't do anything different..."
My turn. The clouds have thickened overhead, the odd spot of rain speckling my visor as we roll out to the grid. As we found yesterday, this circuit will hold a surprising level of damp without giving up any laptime. But conditions here change like the flick of a switch, from one corner to the next.
I've drawn the Heat from Hell. Virtually all of the Scottish BRKC contingent join me on the grid, along with Alex, several other quick regulars, and a couple of local experts in Raceland garb. I'm starting quite far back - 12th or so - with Ryan, Matt Hamilton and Ben Allward behind me. Just hanging on to my grid slot will be something of a victory.
Away we go; I navigate the inevitable scrum at the hairpin with reasonable success, and by lap two have lost a couple and gained a couple. I'm locked in a tight battle with Alex, Ryan and one other whose identity escapes me. Alex leads; all three behind are quicker, but his defending is as robust as ever. Ryan eventually scrapes through, but Alex hangs on for grim death and the three of us cross the line side by side. With a very short run from start/finish line to first corner, I run out of room after the flag and spin gracefully onto the grass. No harm done, and I've finished ahead of my grid slot in 10th position.
I'm last back to the pits, and step straight out of one kart into another for heat four. I'm starting in third position, my best chance for some serious points.
My start is near-perfect, the best I've made all weekend, and I slot into second behind Daniel Truman. There's pressure from behind, but I hang on as we rocket through turn 1 for the second time. At which point it all goes horribly wrong.
Rain is still spitting, the track starting to feel slick in places; wary of locking up, I'm tentative under braking for the hairpin - and another kart is half alongside, the driver clambering over the kerb, sliding, and clobbering me broadside. It's a clumsy move, and I'm deep onto the runoff as four karts sweep by, swearing.
A couple of laps later my race descends into farce. The two drivers ahead are an accident waiting to happen, side-by-side through turn one; I'm openmouthed as the driver on the left deliberately shunts his rival onto the grass - then lose sight of them both as I focus on the hairpin.
But at the exit, I meet the out-of-control kart coming the other way, am forced to lift and avoid, and lose yet more places. As I take the flag, more than a little disgruntled, I'm remembering the conversation earlier. Am I failing to make my own luck, or just downright unlucky?
I resolve not to feel sorry for myself, and stuff my face instead. A Raceland cheeseburger and a proper Scottish cup of tea do much to restore my good mood; with some time before my final heat I take stock and watch the action on track. By now the rain is whipping my face, spray hanging in the air over the start-finish straight. I watch Ryan take an assured victory in his second heat, before the heavyweights take charge.
Anwar Beroual Smith (or Arwal Beronal Smit, as the leaderboard knows him today) looks smooth, unhurried and fearsomely quick, sailing to a comfortable win in one of his heats. He's followed home by Alex Vangeen - who, for all his balls-to-the-wall commitment in the dry, has always demonstrated a delicate touch in the rain. They're both a joy to watch. David Whitehouse is also showing well and has a shot at the A-final.
There are mixed fortunes for the other regulars. Michael Weddell has been more or less untouchable on his home circuit - but Lee Hackett has kept him honest; Steven Dailly, Sam Spinnael and Ryan are all thereabouts. Dan Truman and Rhianna Purcocks have each racked up a solid haul of points, too. But Sean's day has not improved. Confidence knocked by his huge shunt, his following two heats have yielded slim pickings: he looks destined for the B-final.
And so, barring a miracle, do I. The rain has stopped as we roll out to the grid for heat 9; because of its exposed position and constant wind, the circuit dries very quickly. As we discover on a Magical Mystery Tour first lap, some parts dry quicker than others.
I keep it out of the wall and make up a couple of places from my lowly starting position. Not a disaster, but hardly spectacular; the pre-final leaderboard shows me 27th overall. With the first 19 making the A-final, I'll be 8th on the grid for the B-final.
After a short break the C final gets underway in more or less dry conditions. I stand in the pitlane, shut out the world for a moment... and jump as my hand is grabbed. It's Anwar, wishing me luck.
"Oops, sorry to interrupt your nap..."
As I thread my kart between the tyrewalls towards the circuit for the twelfth and final time, I feel suddenly weary. It's been a tough weekend's racing. Not physically - the sum total of track time over two days barely adds up to a single British 24 Hours stint - but the mental effort and peaks of adrenalin have taken their toll. I summon the tingle for one last push.
As the flag drops I'm already jinking across the track, cutting off Matthew Curtis at the entry to turn one and earning myself a hefty clout for my troubles. We're tidy - by recent standards - through the hairpin and left hander; into the white-knuckle turn 4 I'm closing on the three in front - Aaron McManus, a Raceland blue suit and a red suit I don't recognise. As they barrel into turn 5, Blue Suit is on the inside. I can follow him through, or try a Wall of Death around the outside. I choose Wall of Death...
...and go the wrong way. Blue Suit sweeps back onto the racing line, cutting me off - and suddenly Sean is clambering up the kerb to my right. I hang on, edge back in front through the apex of turn six... but my line pushes me wide and he's through. Up ahead, there's contact between Aaron and Red Suit; Aaron fishtails onto the runoff.
Matthew has squeezed past behind Sean, and I chase him, Aaron and Red Suit. Down to the hairpin for the second time, Sean is harrying Red Suit as Matthew goes for an imaginary gap, creams straight through Red Suit, and presumably ends up somewhere in Northumberland. Left with a clear track, Sean takes advantage; Aaron is caught up as well, and I manage to squeeze past the three of them. For me at least, things are looking up.
Over the next couple of laps I get the hammer down and catch the Raceland Blue Suit. After a short but entertaining battle, I pass him into turn 4. At which point things turn rather less entertaining.
Contact both accidental and deliberate has been far too big a factor this weekend for my taste. I know the powers that be are dealing with it by docking points from offending drivers and awarding them to the victims - I suspect I've been a beneficiary at least once. But it hasn't improved the behaviour on track.
Next time around, as I brake for the hairpin, Blue Suit doesn't. With his front bumper against my rear bumper, he shoves me two metres past the apex, turns in, and takes the place. I pass him again a lap later, and this time have to gather up a high speed tankslapper as he deliberately raps my right-rear corner into turn 4, trying to put me in the wall on the exit. He fails - but I'm treated to a steady stream of nudges through the fast corners at the end of the lap. And as I turn into the final corner, he sideswipes me deep onto the bricked runoff at the exit. I avoid the tyres - just - but he's through. And frankly, I've had enough.
This isn't racing as I understand it. This is far more like Dodgems.
With a couple of laps to go, Aaron passes me with a neat move into turn 6, having recovered from his early misfortune. While I'm never happy to be passed, it's refreshing not to be rammed. And in terms of points it makes no difference - everybody between 20th and 30th overall will score 10 points. It's a sensible system, borrowed from the Kart World Championships, that helps mitigate the consequences of a bad kart or other misfortune.
I'm ninth at the flag, irritated, and tell myself to keep my mouth firmly shut until I've calmed down. It's far too easy to lose your rag at a time like this.
We crowd the grassy bank which overlooks the pit straight for the start of the A final. Having won the B final from tenth on the grid - a brilliant recovery from a nightmare start - Sean starts at the back. Neil Macinnes and Steven Dailly share the front row, with Michael Weddell third and Anwar an impressive fourth; Sam Spinnael and Lee Hackett have also done brilliantly to get in amongst the Scots.
We're expecting a nailbiter, and we get it. It's the longest 15 laps any of us can remember; God knows what it's like on the circuit. After the usual first-lap mayhem, Michael and Neil trade the lead, pulling a tiny gap over Lee and Steven Dailly. Having started fifth, Ryan is struggling with a tardy kart - again - and falls prey first to Sam, then Neil Ferrier.
For lap after lap, Lee hangs on to third by the skin of his teeth - but Steven's local knowledge finally bears fruit, and he squeaks through. But he's kept honest: one slip will put Lee back on the podium. In the midfield, there's an almighty scrap between Sean - who has rocketed up from his last-place start, Rhianna, Matthew Hamilton, Scott Winter... it's impossible to take it all in.
As they start the final lap, Michael leads; we're holding our breath as they disappear out of sight into turn 7... and Michael is still in front as they brake for the penultimate corner. He's a little slow on the exit, Neil all over him into the final turn... and from our elevated vantage point, all twenty of us see the contact. Neil hits Michael's right rear corner, pushing him wide onto the runoff and squeezing his nose in front before the line.
As the engines fall silent, there's muttering of a change to the result. Brad even shows the management a video of the incident. But they rule, quite rightly, that if they watched video footage of every on-track incident, we'd still be here next summer. It looked clear-cut to me, but I'm not the race director. The result stands; Michael, to his great credit, is philosophical about it. Moaning won't change it, and his second place moves him up to seventh in the championship.
There's a big cheer for heavyweight winner Anwar, who has been mighty today, and an even bigger cheer for the popular David Whitehouse, who has taken full advantage of the mixed conditions to take third position. They're joined on the podium by local expert Gavin Love. Russell Endean's fourth place has secured him the heavyweight title: richly deserved after a brilliant season.
We scatter quickly, most of us facing a long trip home... but not before some important good wishes. After months of preparation, Brad will be racing for Peugeot in one of the world's biggest motorsport events - the Nurburgring 24 Hours - just seven days from now. And two weeks from now, Alex and Lauren will finally be tying the knot. Exciting times.
And that's about it except for the Fat Lady. As I wait for my delayed flight south, I have plenty of time to reflect. Although I wasn't impressed with some of the driving this weekend, there's much to celebrate about the BRKC's first foray north of the border. Friendly people, a great circuit, strong karts... and crucially, excellent tea. It was certainly worth the trip, and I very much hope that Raceland stays on the BRKC calendar for 2014.
But it's time to turn our attention to the finale. I know nothing about the venue other than it's highly regarded and buried in the depths of Suffolk. The ninth of June can't come soon enough.
Ellough Park, show us what you got.
Thanks
Sean Brierley and Anthony and Tyler Mays for their video footage, which helped revive my flagging memory.
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