BRKC round 5. Teesside, 12-13 May 2012 (part two)

(Scroll down for part one)

Now it's real.

8.15am on Sunday. It's a beautiful spring morning at Teesside, and the adrenalin is beginning to flow. The circuit is quiet, the chatter a little less boisterous than yesterday. The atmosphere itself seems to hum with purpose.

I've slept briefly but well, and half a pint of Premier Inn coffee is doing its thing. After yesterday's practice debacle I seriously considered going to bed in my kneepads, but I've settled for arriving early and making sure all my ducks are in a row. Yesterday's 28-strong grid has swelled to 46 for the main event, and I catch up with some of the regulars: reigning champion Chris Hackworth, whom I've not seen since Round two at PFI, and Alex Vangeen (who watched but didn't compete on Saturday) among others.

Bob and Bradley conduct the briefing which runs us through the format for the day: we've been split into two groups, each of which will do a 15 minute qualifying session followed by a 15 lap race. The top 11 finishers from each group will form the grid of the 15 lap A final, with the rest in the B final; as a bonus, the top eight B final finishers will progress to the back of the A final grid.

I'm in group two, which suits me fine: having used the fast chicane in front of the pits on Saturday, we're bypassing it today, which significantly changes the entry to turn one. As qualifying gets underway I'm at the pitwall, watching intently. It's quickly obvious that this corner shows up driving styles in minute detail: Chris Hackworth is turning in on the nose, letting the rear of his kart slip wide as he tries to manhandle it through without lifting. Andrew Bayliss and Lee Jones are marble-smooth, hardly seeming to steer at all. Rhianna Purcocks' hands are a blur of steering correction but she looks very quick, keeping both the front and rear tyres nibbling on the ragged edge.

After their allotted fifteen minutes they line up on the grid, three abreast, with most of the usual suspects - Chris, Rhianna, Hereford winner Lee Hackett - near the front. And almost from the moment the flag drops, it's clear that today's winners and losers will be separated by the tiniest of margins. After fifteen breathless laps, Chris wins by the skin of his teeth - the top five covered by less than three quarters of a second.

Our turn. I've been allocated kart 65, which has just finished 19th in the hands of Chris Bate. I'm praying that it's the driver rather than the kart that's off the pace, but sense as soon as I reach the infield that the power delivery is flatter than the kart I drove on Saturday. It's not disastrous, and the handling is fine; I could change it, but risk ending up worse off.

I qualify 16th of 23, exactly a second away from pole. Some of that is down to weight - I'm nearly 80kg kitted up today - but it's not good. At least I've got the inside line for turn 1.

The flag lifts, drops, and we're away. I gain a place in turn 1 but am hung out to dry in the traffic jam at the hairpin and lose at least two places. Years of experience have taught me not to lose heart at times like these, but I face a battle to keep my race from going down the toilet. Matters aren't helped when, squeezed three abreast into the right hander at the end of the banking, I run out of room and tap the driver to my left into a spin. I raise a hand in apology and race on, half expecting to be black-flagged - but nothing happens.

I knuckle down and focus on the electric-blue suit of Alex Vangeen, two places and five metres ahead. The driver in between is a little slow out of the last corner and I catch him as we reach the start-finish straight. Right on his bumper, I lift a fraction to avoid hitting him - and am passed into turn one by the two drivers behind. Momentum is everything at Teesside, and I've just been reminded the hard way.

But I'm still in touch with Alex; over the remaining twelve laps the gap waxes and wanes as we both fight our way through the field - but although I get close, I can't pass him and take the flag 14th. After a terrible start it's not too bad: I'll be 6th on the grid for the B final.

Bob announces a breather before the finals; I chat briefly to Stuart Lindsay and the Hacketts. Lee is having another strong day, despite suffering from an upset stomach, and his father Lawrence confesses to having printed out every post of this blog. I'm impressed at his commitment - even I've never done that - and am delighted to hear that people enjoy my ramblings.

As I roll into my grid slot - on the far left of the second row - I notice that Alex is directly in front of me again, his kart angled aggressively towards the right. The inside line for turn one is vital; we'll be at a slight disadvantage at the start.

As the flag drops I rocket away - this kart (no 18) far stronger off the line than the last one - and slot into fifth position as we sweep into turn one. Alex is a little wide into the infield hairpin; I close up to his bumper and dispatch him as we exit the right-hander onto the back straight. This is more like it.

Round two winner Aaron McManus is just ahead with Chris Brookshaw and Ben Allward fighting tooth and nail for the lead in front of him. They draw slowly away - but I'm keeping Aaron honest while steadily dropping the chasing pack. There's half a chance of a coveted BRKC podium, and I drive the most inch-perfect race of my season in pursuit of it - but it's not to be. Aaron makes no mistakes, the front two hold it together and I cross the line a still-satisfied fourth.

But there's no time to rest - we're allocated new karts and sent straight out for the A final. Along with the three that finished ahead of me, Alex and Lee have scraped in as well. Our karts are the leftovers from the 30-strong fleet, and have been sitting in the pitlane all day. I'm praying for a rocketship but am not hugely optimistic. That's a good thing, because having lined up 26th, I'm stone last by the end of the first lap. Alex is just ahead: clearly we've both drawn badly. Although it's probably only 5-6 tenths of a second slower than my B final kart, this one feels horrible: gripless and gutless. 

I drag it round to 27th, ahead of only Alex and two very unlucky front runners: Rhianna Purcocks and Daniel Truman. A little disappointing - mid to high teens would have been representative - but the BRKC's clever scoring system means I've come away with ten points. Although I'm disappointed with my raw pace, my consistency has been very good, often enabling me to beat faster drivers. T'was ever thus...

Back in the pitlane, it's mayhem as usual, and it takes a little while to get to the heart of the story at the front. The big - nay, huge - news is that Sean Brierley has won, having kept his head under huge pressure from Chris Hackworth, among others. And Ben Allward has surely produced one of the drives of the weekend to finish third overall, having finished second in the B final and streaked through from 24th on the grid.

A little more digging reveals that poor Rhianna has been desperately unlucky again. Having led for several laps, she was tagged in turn 1 by Chris, who sportingly let her repass him and almost certainly cost himself a win in the process. But shortly afterwards she suffered a puncture and had to pit, dropping to 29th overall. She is understandably upset - but I know I'm not alone in believing that her time will come, and soon.

For now, it's time to cheer the podiums; as Sean takes the top step, someone nearby is heard to mutter, "Oh God, Facebook is going to be a nightmare now..."

Andrew Bayliss has, on the quiet, done an excellent job to win the heavyweights ahead of Lee, while Alex notches up another podium despite his A-final woes.

We leave Alex and Sean chasing each other around the paddock armed with their bottles of bubbly, and begin to disperse. It's been another epic BRKC weekend - and incredibly, deep into our second season, we still don't have a repeat overall winner. Bob and the Teesside crew have done us proud and I look forward to returning.

I say my goodbyes and while away a pleasant afternoon on the North York moors before heading back to Leeds for my flight. Flybe eventually did come up with the goods, and I arrived home to a mountain of food, courtesy of my lovely wife. Exhausted though I was, sleep had to wait, for there was a Grand Prix to catch up on. It was 2am before I crawled into bed, still buzzing from a day which had seen two new winners crowned. And a welcome return to the top step for one of F1's great teams.

I can't wait to get going again, and mercifully the wait is short: the BRKC finale is just 17 days away. Birmingham here we come...

BRKC round 5. Teesside, 12-13 May 2012 (Part one)

"Flybe regret to announce a delay to the departure of flight 176 to Southampton..."

It's 8pm on Sunday evening at England's highest airport. The wind is moaning through the roof girders, flapping exposed wires in the half-finished terminal extension. Beyond the windows, a Ryanair 737 bucks and yaws as its pilots try and wrestle it onto the runway in a thirty mile-an-hour crosswind.

There are perhaps fifty passengers left in the terminal, and we're feeling more abandoned by the second. Around us, shutters are being pulled across restaurant fronts, lights powering down, staff evaporating. There's nothing left to eat except Pringles. The departure board says our plane will be here in an hour and a half. But we're not optimistic. Idly, I calculate how long it would take to walk the 250 or so miles home.

Four days, I reckon. Might be quicker than waiting...

Wind back 31 hours, and I'm feeling pretty smug about my decision to fly north for BRKC round 5. Middlesbrough is a seven-hour drive from Southampton on a good day; instead, I've spent a relaxed hour in a departure lounge overlooking the airfield at Southampton, followed by fifty minutes on a plane and an hour and a quarter's drive. Even factoring in a rental car mixup, it's taken me four hours, door-to-door - and I've arrived at my Premier Inn in time for qualifying at the Spanish Grand Prix. Result.

There's nothing like the tingle of arriving at a race track, and nowhere gets the nerves jangling more than Teesside. It's the longest, fastest kart circuit on the planet; although we'll be using a shorter configuration this weekend, its high-speed sweepers thrill like nowhere else.

The place is buzzing, literally - the air filled with the tinny scream of two-stroke engines. As I head for the pitlane, they're drowned out by a V8 thrum. An Audi R8 rumbles into the car park and glides into a spot beside a Lamborghini Gallardo. I search for familiar faces and wonder vaguely at the supercar count.

In the pitlane, Lee Jones is just getting into a fearsome-looking kart with steering-wheel paddles and front brakes, while Sean Brierley - also suited up - looks on. BRKC founder Bradley and his (long-suffering) other half Becca fill me in: they're taking turns to test BRKC driver Martin Stone's 125cc gearbox kart. On track, karts are turning into the fast right hander - the first corner on the shorter circuit - at huge speed; in my fascination I completely miss the main attraction behind me.

A slicked-back photographer squats in front of a scarlet Ferrari over which a tall brunette is draped. I try not to stare - the poor girl looks embarrassed enough as it is - but I get the impression that there's a pretty lass somewhere beneath the makeup, fake eyelashes and unflattering painted-on pantsuit.

Becca hits it on the head, as usual. "There's a proud father out there somewhere..."

Lee has kindly stored some of my bulky gear in between races; I retrieve it as the circuit falls silent. In the briefing room, 28 drivers assemble for our Iron Man practice event: a 20 minute practice session followed by a 40 minute race. Circuit owner Bob Pope runs through a typically succinct Teesside briefing, and time suddenly speeds up: drivers are already out in the pitlane for practice, and I'm not ready. My plethora of padding takes time to fit, and I've frittered away priceless minutes gabbing.

"Are you racing?" Bob asks with a grin, as I realise that I've put my right elbow pad on my left knee. Everyone else is sitting in the karts, ready to go; I dial back the panic and tell him not to wait. It's a long session, and I can afford to miss a lap or two.

Two minutes later I'm in my kart, without my rib protector, and still with mismatched pads. And thirty seconds after that, my mind is emptied of all but the essentials: hang on tight and go very fast. It's nine months since we came tantalisingly close to a debut podium in the British 24 Hours, and it feels wonderful to be back. Even without its breathtaking back section this circuit is a wild ride.

In twenty or so laps I get back in the groove; the kart feels punchy enough and I'm overtaken only once: by Bradley Philpot, who sails by with his customary wave. As we line up and wait our turn to be called forward to the grid, I'm moderately confident. But the sinking feeling sets in quickly: I'm 19th, out of 28. There are some talented lightweights about, but I expected better.

Still, it's a long race. As the Union Jack flag drops I'm away well, the field remarkably clean through the fast chicane. Instead of carrying on past the pits we turn right, into a long, fast 180 degree sweeper which leads straight into the Esses with their notorious razor toothed kerbs.

Up ahead, Sean Brierley is locked in battle with one of the Scottish contingent (I think); a little ambitious into the hairpin, he has the door shut in his face and spins into my path. I jink right to avoid him and wonder if a repeat of Hereford is on the cards: crash on Saturday, podium on Sunday...

Either I've suddenly found some pace or the drivers who qualified ahead have lost theirs; after four laps I've made up several places and find myself in clear air, three seconds behind the familiar blue suit of Andrew Bayliss. Andrew's an occasional BRKC entrant - in the heavyweight class - and tends to be at the sharp end when he turns up. Over the next thirty laps I push hard, make no mistakes, but can do no more than maintain the gap. He's embroiled in a tight battle with a white suit - whose name escapes me - and I wait in vain for them to trip each other up.

I've learned not to look behind if I can avoid it, so I'm a little surprised to be nudged under braking for the infield hairpin. Over the next lap the nudging increases in violence, and peaks with a hard rap into the right-hander before the back straight. It's enough to push me wide; when I turn to glare (through my tinted visor) at the culprit, I'm shocked to see Rhianna Purcocks inching her way past. She waves a hand in apology and makes a remarkably expressive gesture which I take to mean that she was being nudged herself.

Sure enough, she's followed through by a dark-suited tailgater, and I realise that for many laps I've been at the head of a long train of karts. I tuck back in and give chase, but run out of time; I'm 14th at the flag, a little disappointed to lose places so late, but happy enough with my efforts.

We disperse to various hotels and reunite for dinner at a nearby restaurant. At eight o'clock on a Saturday night it is, predictably, heaving; there's no obvious space for a table of 20. Over the next hour, as grumbling stomachs begin to drown out the chatter, organiser David Hird starts to look a little hunted. He and Becca and I look daggers at the occupied table which we think is ours, and debate turfing them out. But half of them are children, and Hell hath no fury like a six-year old parted from a chocolate brownie sundae.

Finally we're seated, and I find myself next to Andrew Bayliss. It's my first real opportunity to talk to him, and I discover that a) karting is only the tip of his motorsport iceberg, and b) he's rather good at impressions. I'm under strict orders not to name names, but one particular Rory Bremner has me choking on my lasagne. Across from us is newcomer Adithyan Ellan, who looks to be enjoying himself, although he's a little wide-eyed at the level of competition on track. I don't blame him.

It's nearly 11pm when the lights dim and 'Happy birthday' rings out over the loudspeakers, and the staff present Becca with an ice cream sundae complete with candle. As the applause dies down, she pipes up.
"If you think this is going to make up for you going karting on my birthday..."

It's time for bed. I accept a kind offer of a lift home from Lee - and shortly afterwards, we remember that there are two Premier Inns called Stockton on Tees. Ah, well. Everyone ends up in the right beds eventually. It's an early start tomorrow but as ever, sleep comes fitfully. Playtime is over...