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.

BRKC round 5. Raceland, Edinburgh, 11-12 May 2013 (part one)

(click here for part two)

"We can swap seats if you like...?"

I snap out of my reverie and drag my eyes away from the view. The white-haired lady sitting in the window seat is smiling indulgently at me. I remember that I'm not eleven any more, and that it might not be good form to stare out of the window past a complete stranger.

In my defence, it's a hell of a view. We're banking steeply, five hundred metres over the whitecaps in the Firth of Forth, and Edinburgh is laid out before us - a patchwork of green and stone in a thousand shades; the greystone castle dominating the streets from its rocky promontory. A mile inland, the mossy crags of Arthur's Seat loom through a cloudy, blustery May morning.

This is Britain's finest city in my opinion, and some of my happiest memories are rooted here. I know its museums and galleries, its eateries, its parks, tourist traps, nooks and crannies better than any other city in the world.

As we touch down I feel a thrill of excitement; a familiar tingle, but not the usual sense of homecoming I get when arriving here. This weekend is different, and then some. No candlelit dinners or arm-in-arm strolls, no cultural enrichment. Just a windswept kart circuit overlooking the North Sea and a pure, sustained rush of adrenalin.

After months of anticipation, the BRKC has come to Raceland.

Local racer Ryan Smith's parents Neil and Diane have very kindly offered to fetch, carry and house me this weekend. It takes away much of the stress and bother associated with a trip like this, and is much appreciated. They welcome me to their house in Dunbar, and we while away a pleasant couple of hours over tea and bacon rolls. Ryan is absent: recently employed at the circuit, he'll be marshalling our practice race later on. Maggie the cat looks me over and makes it clear that although I'm not Ryan, she will tolerate my presence for now.

3pm. As I sign on the dotted line in Raceland's cosy reception area, familiar faces are beginning to appear. Brad, Becca, Alex Vangeen, Michael Weddell, the usual crowd of devoted parents and precocious offspring: Purcocks, Hackett, Truman, Mays, Marsh... the lethargy of an early start begins to fall away.

Raceland's diner and reception area overlooks a cavernous indoor circuit, but it's the full-fat 930 metre outdoor circuit that we'll be competing on. For the weekend, the BRKC will base itself in the trackside paddock with its spectator area and clubhouse, with regular forays into the diner for refreshment. The facilities are very good, the food menu particularly impressive for a kart circuit.

But we haven't come all this way for the cuisine. As race director Graham Nairn welcomes us and the engines begin to clatter into life outside, it's time to focus inward. There are no championship points for today's race, but it serves as a crucial prelude to the main event. We'll have a practice session, three heats and a final - 45 laps or so - to find the sweet spot of this fast, challenging circuit and the fleet of single-engined Sodikarts.

Given that some of the competition have been racing here since they were in nappies, fighting near the front will be an even tougher ask than usual. But I'm trying not to confuse realism with pessimism; as Becca reminds me, anything can happen.

The ten-minute practice session is one of the most emphatic displays of raw talent that I've even seen in karting, the difference between the great and the merely very good clearly shown on the leaderboard. Local driver Michael Weddell is near the top, as you'd expect. But after just nine dry laps, both BRKC champion Lee Hackett and Bradley Philpot have gone faster, with most of the rest of us half a second or more off the pace. I'm a full second slower, struggling to keep the nose of the kart from washing wide in the fast corners.

With a maximum of 20 karts on track at once - more than we're used to - all of us will race in every heat today. As usual, the computer has allocated our starting positions in such a way that we all have the same opportunities (in theory) over the three heats. I've been allocated a third place start, one near the middle and one near the back.

There's almost no opportunity to feel what's underneath you before the race starts: we roll straight out of the pitlane onto the track. There are no lights, just a marshal wielding a Saltyre flag. A scene from Braveheart pops into my head and is swiftly banished.

I'm moving as it starts to drop; a good start, but I've nowhere to go. The 90 degree right hander at turn 1 is upon us; we muddle through, three abreast, and rocket downhill to the hairpin. Now, I know it's the very first race, most of us are new to the circuit, and the field is bigger than usual - but everyone seems to have forgotten what the left pedal is for. It all goes a bit Demolition Derby. I take to the outside to avoid the worst of the carnage, but am clattered hard onto the bricked runoff at the exit, and lose several places. Come on you lot, I think. We can do better than this.

And, over the following three races, we do. As the afternoon darkens, wind whipping the thickening clouds overhead, the frontrunning pace slows perceptibly as track conditions worsen. My laptimes hold steady, to the tenth of a second - indicating a net gain. On track, the carnage lessens. But there are some wild moments, including a sphincter-clenching moment for Alex and I: three abreast into the fast right-hander at the bottom of the hill, I'm baulked by the third driver, lift, and am tapped by Alex. Suddenly we're both out of control at fifty miles an hour with the tyre wall looming...

Somehow, we manage not to hit the barriers or each other. But I'm glad I bought a spare set of underwear.

You have to be very sure of yourself when passing here. I'm normally good in hairpins, but this one has me swearing. I'm either too slow or too sideways, and while it looks like the best opportunity to pass, it's far easier to find yourself barrelling into a narrowing gap. Half alongside Rhianna under braking, I lock up and clout her at the apex. I manage to give her the place back without losing another. Lesson learned. Impossible as it first seems, it's actually easier to pass in the faster corners.

There's a short break in between each heat, and the mood in the clubhouse is very positive. The circuit is receiving rave reviews: we're loving the white-knuckle ride at the bottom of the hill, the need to be inch-precise through the high-speed turns with their vicious saw-toothed kerbs. By and large, the karts are good, although the tyres are well past their best. These, we're promised, will be refreshed before the main event tomorrow.

I'm improving, though the results don't reflect it. My style doesn't suit this circuit/kart combination, and I'm having to improvise. Blessed with limited natural gift compared to a Hackett or Philpot, that's taking some time. I can already see that my biggest problem is a lack of raw aggression; I'm too tentative in wheel-to-wheel combat.

I finish 13th. The result counts for nothing, and I've taken on a wealth of vital information, but it's impossible not to be disappointed. I remind myself that I was dog-slow at Hereford in the Saturday race, and nabbed a B-final podium the following day. There'll be work to do in practice tomorrow before I'm fully confident, but I'll get there.

Ominously for the Scots, Brad and Lee have remained at the sharp end right to the flag. They won't have Brad to contend with tomorrow, but Lee is, as ever, a very real threat. There's honour at stake here: only a local winner will do.

Throughout the afternoon, Ryan has been stationed on the infield marshal's post, dressed in marshal's garb and wellies instead of his usual Power Ranger red overalls. With the race over, he has a few more chores to attend to. As the BRKC drivers pack up and disperse, Neil, Diane and I wait for him in the diner. I eavesdrop on the chatter, and am heartened to hear that the marshals are impressed with our pace. In the final, the entire 18 kart field was covered by less than 15 seconds.

One marshal remarks to Brad (insert Cod Scottish accent here):
"Some of your laddies are bloody quick..."

And I'm thinking, you ain't seen nothing yet.