(click here for part one)
I've won a race or two before, but I've never had a reception like this.
In the paddock, people are shaking my hand, clapping me on the back, kissing my cheek (I think that was my wife, but you never know with this lot) - before James guides me out of the melee and points the microphone at me. This time I'm even less coherent, but I don't really care. Moments like this don't come around too often.
A little later, Marianne hands me a bacon buttie as more cheers erupt from the pitlane. BRKC regular Jordan Donegan has followed my first ever heat win with his own - arguably more impressively, since he managed it from third on the grid. Great stuff. It seems to be turning into a day for the underdogs.
The championship leaders - Hackett, Boutens, Brierley, Endean, Spinnael - are there or thereabouts as you'd expect. But there are one or two surprising names near the sharp end of the leaderboard. James Fitchew is having a superb day, as is the often unlucky Daniel Truman. Ed White looks to be delivering on his early promise. And from the outset I've noticed Oli Nitch-Smith setting impressive laptimes; he, too, looks destined for the B final. Liam Brierley has been on a vertical learning curve since his baptism of fire in the BRKC a year ago, and is improving in leaps and bounds - though we all wince as he unceremoniously bundles Alex out of the way on track. I'm sure Alex deserved it.
Sadly, it's not a great day for the girls. Rhianna has had an up-and-down time - including a scary crash which sent her under the tyres at the exit of the middle hairpin - and is out of the A-final. Annelien has been very fast ever since she first took to the track on Saturday afternoon, but hasn't managed to convert that speed into points. I haven't had a chance to follow her progress on track, but know from experience that it doesn't take a lot of bad luck to send you tumbling down the order.
With buttie devoured and tea downed, it's time to clear my brain for heat 17. I'm sixth on the grid for my final heat, and though a second win is a tall order, I'm still riding the high of my earlier triumph. As we roll out of the pits I spot the familiar red, white and Saltire of Ryan Smith's helmet; Josh Overhill is there too.
I'm on the right hand side of the grid, on the racing line - which can be a slight disadvantage at the start as drivers to your left hang you out to dry in the tunnel - but I'm away cleanly, and slot into position as we brake for the hairpin. The driver behind is very quick on the exit, and gets alongside as we shoot over the bridge - but I have the line for the corkscrew, and regain my place. For a lap, the order stays static; up ahead, Ryan is harrying someone - Josh, I think - and I close down the gap.
The next sequence of events is a little hazy. I think that Ryan overtakes into turn 1, decides that he's gained an unfair advantage, and moves to give Josh his place back. Either way, I approach the first hairpin to find them side-by-side, with Ryan waving Josh through. Surfing what is now a wave of over-confidence, I put two wheels on the grass and barge past the pair of them - realising half way through the move that I'm going to run out of space at the apex.
Sure enough, there's a scrape on my left bargeboard, but less than I feared - and as we exit the second hairpin all three of us are still facing in the right direction. But it was a marginal move, particularly on Ryan; if I'm at risk of a penalty I have a couple of corners to give him the place back. I decide that it's legal and stay put; as Ryan and I cross the finish line, nose to tail, the warning board is out - but no penalty. Chris Powell seems to be pointing at Ryan which surprises me.
Ryan certainly isn't happy - I can tell that much from the gentle and not-so-gentle rubbing of my rear bumper - and I don't blame him. He's quicker - I'm hanging on by my fingernails just to keep him behind - but to his great credit, he doesn't try anything silly. Like putting two wheels on the grass, for instance... I keep my nose in front and cross the line fourth.
Back in the paddock, I find Ryan and apologise. At this point I've no idea that I've inadvertently trampled on his race weekend twice: I only discover that much later. Our first coming together was pure racing incident, but the second... there's a fine line between fair and unsporting, and with hindsight I feel I've crossed it. I should probably have given him back his place, but there's nothing I can do about it now except learn from the experience and move on.
With the heats complete, the circuit falls silent as Chris and his team work out the grids for the six finals. My name lies 14th on the leaderboard with 23 points from my three heats; that should put me fourth on the grid for the B final. We crowd around the clubhouse wall as Chris pins up the lists. Sure enough, I'm fourth - and clock the name in fifth with sinking heart. Michael Weddell. Again. That's the second time this year that I've had the blue-clad Scot hunting me down in the final. There are a smattering of local experts - James Kimbley ahead of me in third, Oli Nitch-Smith behind Michael in sixth - plus a couple of unknown quantities. Even before Rhianna wins the C final and progresses to the back of the B final, I know I face a huge battle to hang on to my fourth place.
The first four finals - F to C - fly by, providing their usual entertainment. After his torrid run through the heats, Alex finally turns his day around with a dominant win in the D final - setting a scintillating 33.507 second lap in the process. I watch and cheer and try to ignore the chill in the pit of my stomach.
But as we roll out of the pits for the final time, I'm ready. I've occasionally battled to keep my focus over an entire day of sprint racing, but there's no such problem today. The tingle is there. I know what to do.
The start is even more crucial than usual: Michael has weight, youth and talent on his side. If he gets his nose in front, nothing less than a miracle will stop him disappearing into the distance.
The light blinks green and we're away; I sweep across to the left, shutting the door into the tunnel, and get a smooth run through the hairpin and corkscrew. Michael is a couple of metres back as we lift for turn 1; ahead of me, James is a little sideways at the exit and I sense an opportunity. He takes the defensive line up the straight towards the hairpin; I go left with half a notion of repeating my Wall of Death move from earlier on - but James jinks back towards the racing line as he brakes. I dart into the gap, Michael right on my bumper, and squeeze James wide at the apex. It's probably the best pass I've made all day.
Unfortunately, Michael has found his way past James as well, and still hounds me as we start lap 2. Just ahead, polesitter Sam Joseph and Russell Endean are battling tooth and nail for the lead, but I'm too busy dealing with the threat from behind to pay much attention - until I encounter Sam beached on the kerb at the first hairpin. Endean leads, and I'm second.
The laps are inching by in split-second beats; Russell is slowly pulling away, but I'm driving the sprint final of my life. One tiny slip will throw it away, but all that practice is bearing fruit: always quick in the hairpins, I've finally dialled out my vulnerability through turn 1 and the corkscrew. Michael ducks, dives, nudges, occasionally gets his front bumper alongside my rear wheels - but he can't find a way past.
The chequered flag waves for Russell, two seconds ahead; as Michael and I cross the line nose to tail, I'm punching the air for the second time today, and simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief. For the first time ever, I will stand on a BRKC podium.
Back in the pits there are more congratulations, another kiss - I could get used to this - before we line the pitwall for the main event. Having won the B final, Russell progresses onto the back of the grid for the A final. He joins no less than three other heavyweights - James Fitchew, Anwar Beroual-Smith and the impressive Ed White. It's a new record: the first time four heavyweights have made the A final. Russell is on a roll and has a real shot at the heavyweight win; beside me his girlfriend Sophie is practically hopping from foot to foot. "My heart's going about a million beats a minute..."
Lee Hackett is in his customary pole position, with Connor Marsh - who has looked blisteringly quick all weekend - behind him. We're getting used to seeing Sean Brierley near the sharp end; he starts third. Dan Truman is in his second consecutive A final, the Belgians Boutens and Spinnael are there, as expected... and aside from the heavyweights, there's a surprising name on the grid: Chris Brookshaw. Chris was a consistent points scorer in 2012, but his 2013 season got off to a slow start. His results are improving exponentially though. 65th at round 1, 36th at round 2, A final at round 3...
We're expecting Lee to drive off into the sunset, but as they get underway it's clear that he has a fight on his hands: Connor and Sean are pushing him hard, and for the first five laps they're inseparable, slowly pulling away from the chasing pack. Russell gets off to a great start and is fighting his way through the field; Sophie can barely contain herself. The middle pack is locked in battle, at one point barrelling three abreast into the middle hairpin; but the driving is exceptional and everyone keeps it out of the wall.
Inexorably, in his usual unhurried style, Lee begins to pull out a gap as Connor comes under increasing pressure from Sean. Finally, two laps from home, Sean makes a neat move into the first hairpin. And there they stay - Lee takes the flag ahead of Sean, Connor, Sam Spinnael, Ruben Boutens and Chris Brookshaw. We reserve a huge cheer for Russell, who has produced one of the drives of the day to fight his way up to 7th overall - and winning heavyweight!
I always stay for the podiums, but it's especially sweet to be part of the celebrations... I'm proud to accept my medal and take my place beside Russell and Michael. It's easily my best ever day in the BRKC, and I'm touched that people seem so pleased for me. Marianne takes the credit for bringing me luck; the flipside, of course, is that she's now essential at every BRKC round...
On this day of firsts, Connor Marsh adds another: his maiden podium. After a blip at round 2, Sean has re-established himself as a championship contender... but Lee just keeps on racking them up. There are some hugely talented drivers in this series, but to maintain this level of consistency despite the vagaries of circuits and rental kart fleets takes something very special. To quote Lawrence Hackett: "If I had a spare twenty million quid I could get him to F1..."
The champagne erupts, we scuttle away to avoid the fallout, and scatter our separate ways into the freezing night. Another great race weekend consigned to history; as ever, we owe its success to Brad and Becca, to Chris and his team, to James' commentary. It's immortalised in thousands of photographs, hours of video, a half-dozen driver blogs.
But we're already looking forward to the next challenge. Bumps, twists, the odd exposed tree root. More bumps... did I mention that it's bumpy?
To Matchams, then. I'm counting the hours...
Friday, 15 March 2013
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
BRKC round 3. Herefordshire Raceway, 9-10 March 2013 (part 1)
(click here for part two)
"My husband," says Marianne, "is so going to whip your arse."
I shut my eyes and briefly contemplate the wisdom of bringing my shy and retiring wife along to a BRKC event. The recipient of her comment - the unwhippably quick Russell Endean - gives me a 'do you know this woman?' look.
Nope, never set eyes on her before...
Marianne is no stranger to kart races, having put in some serious hard time at Teesside during the British 24 Hours over the past couple of years. But this is her first BRKC race and I love having her here, misguided confidence and all. I grin at Russell and we laugh it off. But, of course, I'm going to have a serious go at whipping his arse.
Wind back 24 hours. Saturday afternoon at Herefordshire Raceway is blustery and leaden, the circuit damp in places. But the weather can't dampen the mood. A cross-section of BRKC regulars and international visitors have gathered to kick off our race weekend a day early. It's such a pleasure to be back at this compact, tricky circuit with its postcard setting and wood-framed clubhouse, and I can't wait to get going in our 90 minute team endurance race.
I'm teamed up with the excellent Michael Weddell - a former A-final winner in the BRKC - and I'm counting on him to make me look good. We're up against some serious competition: circuit owner Chris Powell and one of his marshals; BRKC founder (and newly signed Peugeot race driver) Bradley Philpot with reigning BRKC champion, local lap record holder, and marshal Lee Hackett; the nearly-as-daunting combo of Kart World Championship superstars Ruben Boutens and Sam Spinnael. There's also Ted Monfils with Ruben's younger sister Annelien, BRKC returnee Andrew Bayliss with Ryan Smith, and a smattering of others including the Brierley brothers Sean and Liam, and local heroine Rhianna Purcocks with Tyler Mays.
I get off to an inauspicious start in practice; not known for binning it, I fit a visit to the scenery and a quick spin into seven minutes. Always tight and twisty, the circuit is also cold and greasy; our kart feels punchy enough but I'm struggling with the light steering and pronounced understeer. Luckily, Michael keeps it on the island and qualifies us a respectable 6th out of 10.
And there we stay. The rules dictate that we must make five pitstops, meaning six stints of 15 minutes each. We play it simple - Michael starts and we alternate every quarter of an hour. Our raw pace isn't overly fast but we're consistent, error-free and lightning-quick in the pits. A puncture at two-thirds distance necessitates a change of kart, but the powers that be take pity and credit us the lost lap.
I've never seen a circuit that fits so much character and complexity into such a short tour; after over 80 laps at the wheel I'm still not stringing it all together consistently. My best time - a low 35 - is four tenths slower than Michael's, and a huge 1.4 seconds slower than Lee Hackett's. I was reasonably quick here last year - in grippier conditions - and there'll be work to do tomorrow in practice before I can rediscover my form.
But as we say our goodbyes and retire to our hotel (the excellent Portway Inn on the Brecon Road), I'm content. The rust from two months out of a kart is gone; I have data to go on, and Marianne to give me feedback. I've had a good feeling about round 3 for a while, and can't wait to turn a wheel in anger.
Sunday dawns as Saturday waned: dull, overcast, just about dry - but even colder. The temperature is hovering around freezing, with snow in the air. We arrive at 9.30am, warmed by a fine breakfast, to find some of the regulars already in situ. As are the two resident Jack Russells, who greet every new arrival with a chorus of barks.
I'm on track in the first practice session to try and iron out the kinks; today we're using a fresh fleet of karts, and I'm happier straight away. The understeer is still there, but I'm learning to trust that the kart will turn in, using the brakes to ease the nose into the hairpins. Marianne is my spotter: watching carefully from the clubhouse balcony, she's noting differences in driver technique, giving me pointers to try in my second session. I'm still struggling with the notorious corkscrew right-hander off the bridge.
By the end of my allotted half-hour - two sessions - I've found a whopping 1.5 seconds since last night. The benchmark time is faster - a 33.2. But at 33.8, I'm much closer to the pace. While I've been focusing on track, the clubhouse has become a hive of activity: the best part of a hundred drivers and spectators throng its two floors. BRKC banners have appeared; bacon butties and steaming paper cups are flying out of the kitchen. Marianne and I defrost ourselves with cups of tea and compare final notes. After 140 laps since yesterday afternoon I'm still not quite as fast as I'd like, but I've found the rhythm. I'll be able to adapt quickly to the differences between individual karts.
Dare I say it, I'm starting to feel quietly confident.
Marianne knows long-suffering other halves Rebecca and Lauren from Teesside, so it's no surprise to find them gravitated together. No doubt they're swapping horror stories about their respected beloveds. They're joined by Russell Endean's girlfriend Sophie, whom I've not met before. Like Marianne, she's a rare visitor to BRKC events. I leave them to it and catch up with the usual suspects.
Brad is flitting about looking particularly chipper - having won a shootout to race for Peugeot in the upcoming Nurburgring 24 Hours, he's sporting a natty Peugeot Sport jacket ("he hasn't taken it off in a week," says Becca). James Auld, who did sterling work commentating at rounds 1 and 2, is back for a third stint at the microphone. Clad in his shiny red Daytona jacket, he's already booming over the tannoy and accosting hapless drivers for interviews.
Ther ever-committed (or should that be 'certifiable') Scots are back in force: Weddell, Smith, Dailly, Allward... although after a run of bad luck, Matthew Hamilton is absent which is a shame. Ryan Smith and I compare the merits of various helmet designs; I particularly like his red, white and blue, and Anwar Beroual-Smith's pale green. Apparently many of the drivers have used the same helmet painter, who charges around £250 depending on the design. I've never been too bothered about changing the colour of my plain black Arai, but that's cheaper than I expected. Interesting...
At midday, Chris Powell takes over the microphone for the driver's briefing, and at five past, the engines are fired up for free practice. There's a welcome lack of faff at Hereford, but we drivers need to be on our toes. Blink, and you miss a heat.
We're sent out in groups of ten, in driver number order. I'm driver number 4, so am in the first session. I run through my allotted five laps, add a little more information to the ever-growing bank, and pit with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. My first heat is an hour away, and snowflakes are flurrying. If the track turns wet, all bets are off.
Commentator James grabs me for an interview, which is gratifying and disconcerting at the same time. I'm nowhere near as articulate in person as I am in writing, but manage to stumble through a few sentences about this blog and my ambitions for the day - realistically, to score some points. To do that, I must finish in the top 30 of 57.
As the first heat clatters out of the pits, we're two deep on the upper level. It's the best vantage point, but I'm not there just for kicks. I note that the lights are very quick to blink green, and watch how the others are handling the start and first sweep into the tunnel left-hander. There's always something to learn.
The regular devoted parents - Graham Purcocks, Lawrence Hackett, Anthony Mays, a number of others - are present and correct. I chat to Geoff White, father of Ed, whom I've not met before. Apparently Geoff spent time talking to Marianne during the endurance race yesterday, so God only knows what he's heard about me... At 14, Ed is the BRKC's youngest driver, and in these early heats, is already making an impression. He looks confident and very smooth on track - not something you could say of all the younger drivers.
Down below on the pitwall, Alex Vangeen is complaining about being hopelessly rusty ("I've had a rubbish month.") while Andrew Bayliss - spectating today, having raced in the endurance yesterday - is joining in with other people's interviews and generally making a nuisance of himself. They're both fine entertainment, as always.
But the best is yet to come. It's difficult to overtake on this circuit at the best of times, and with competition this fierce and grip levels on the low side, we're seeing more contact than usual. In his first race, Alex turns up the heat too far and triggers a pileup at the corkscrew, for which he receives a penalty; a couple of laps later he's the meat in a three-kart sandwich into the tight middle hairpin. We can hardly bear to watch: two karts rotate in perfect harmony, and Alex shoots between them. Chris Powell is not happy, and shows him the warning board; commentator James is loving it, and instantly dubs him 'Crash Vangeen'.
As the chequered flag falls, we're bracing ourselves in the pitlane: Alex is a walking definition of 'heart on sleeve'. We can almost see the thundercloud following the blue-helmeted figure into the pits. As he exits the kart and barges into the paddock, James bravely approaches in search of an interview. Lauren scuttles out of the firing zone. Bayliss is blisteringly unsympathetic.
I don't have a chance to talk to him, because it's time to turn my attention inward. My first two heats are in quick succession - 9 and 11. I'm starting seventh in the first, with a heavyweight ahead: I'm hopeful of gaining a place straightaway. The Hereford layout, with the starting grid halfway around the circuit, means I have half a lap to get a sense of the kart and circuit. Not much, but I use it as best I can.
My start is near-perfect, and I'm already past the seventh-placed driver as we stream into the tunnel and concertina into the hairpin at the exit. Contact behind pushes me a little wide, but I gather it up and hound the red-clad driver in front - Josh Overhill - all the way through the corkscrew, down the pit straight and into the fast 180 degree right hander of turn 1. As we rocket up the short back straight towards the first hairpin, the front-runners are tightly bunched, tripping over one another; Josh moves to the right, taking the defensive line. I go left, get alongside, and overtake in a Wall of Death move around the outside. It's a good pass, and I'm chuffed.
These races are only eight laps - less than five minutes - long, but such is the intensity that they seem to last an eternity. In fifth place, I'm less than two seconds behind leader Paul Lycett, but after three laps of ducking and diving, I can't get any nearer. The driver ahead is slower, but defending well; the front three are too busy clouting each other to pull away.
Mid-race, I'm distracted by their antics at the middle hairpin and the kart snaps into oversteer. I lose momentum and am instantly under pressure from behind; aware of a presence at my right rear corner, I move to shut the door, feel light contact, then nothing. I discover later that poor Ryan Smith thumped the tyres; the impact stalled an engine, consigning him to the back.
Briefly slowed, I quickly catch the leading pack again, but with a lap to go it all goes pear-shaped - again, at that bogey middle hairpin. A crash up front leaves me nowhere to go; I come virtually to a stop, and the driver behind scoots past on the run down to the tunnel. I take the flag sixth - a little frustrated, but still ahead of my starting slot.
There's no time to dwell on might have been. Eight minutes later, I'm back in a kart for my second heat of the day. This time, I'm starting from pole position, and the butterflies are fluttering. I don't have a great record of defending pole position starts in the BRKC; in fact, in five attempts I've only ever managed it once, in the D final here at Hereford, two years ago. Worse, three rows back on the grid is a familiar blue suit and white helmet - Lee Hackett. There are plenty of drivers between us, but not for long.
Green light. I'm away cleanly, butterflies banished; through tunnel, hairpin and corkscrew with no contact from behind. I focus on braking points and apexes, try and ignore everything else; it's lap two, on the approach to the first hairpin, before I steal a glance behind.
There's nobody there.
Bemused, I negotiate the middle hairpins and finally catch sight of the rest of the field - braking for the first hairpin as I exit the second. It's a huge gap in a race like this; there must have been some sort of pileup on the opening lap. I suppress a thrill of excitement and focus. The job is far from done.
Next time through, I'm halfway up the back straight as the second-placed driver approaches turn 1, and my heart sinks. Blue suit, white helmet. I tell myself to watch the track, not Lee, but he bobs around at the fringes of my field of view, taunting.
Around this time I become aware of spirited support from the pitwall. Alex is leaning right over the track in front of the race director's hut, urging me on; at the corner of my eye I can see Marianne, Andrew Bayliss, a dozen others... it's wonderful to be cheered on, but please Lord, don't let me fuck this up...
I've lost count of the number of laps - feels like fifty - but a couple of passes later I'm beginning to believe. Lee is closing, but not quickly enough; it's all I can do not to shout in exultation as Chris shows me the one lap board. Easy now, it's too easy to throw it all away at a time like this.
But I come off the corkscrew a clear two seconds ahead and punch the air in delight as I take the chequered flag. It's only a heat win, and I was lucky, but I know I've driven well. And I've scored eleven precious points, which should be enough to book me a place in the B final at least.
And if I can hold it together in my third heat...who knows?
(click here for part two)
"My husband," says Marianne, "is so going to whip your arse."
I shut my eyes and briefly contemplate the wisdom of bringing my shy and retiring wife along to a BRKC event. The recipient of her comment - the unwhippably quick Russell Endean - gives me a 'do you know this woman?' look.
Nope, never set eyes on her before...
Marianne is no stranger to kart races, having put in some serious hard time at Teesside during the British 24 Hours over the past couple of years. But this is her first BRKC race and I love having her here, misguided confidence and all. I grin at Russell and we laugh it off. But, of course, I'm going to have a serious go at whipping his arse.
Wind back 24 hours. Saturday afternoon at Herefordshire Raceway is blustery and leaden, the circuit damp in places. But the weather can't dampen the mood. A cross-section of BRKC regulars and international visitors have gathered to kick off our race weekend a day early. It's such a pleasure to be back at this compact, tricky circuit with its postcard setting and wood-framed clubhouse, and I can't wait to get going in our 90 minute team endurance race.
I'm teamed up with the excellent Michael Weddell - a former A-final winner in the BRKC - and I'm counting on him to make me look good. We're up against some serious competition: circuit owner Chris Powell and one of his marshals; BRKC founder (and newly signed Peugeot race driver) Bradley Philpot with reigning BRKC champion, local lap record holder, and marshal Lee Hackett; the nearly-as-daunting combo of Kart World Championship superstars Ruben Boutens and Sam Spinnael. There's also Ted Monfils with Ruben's younger sister Annelien, BRKC returnee Andrew Bayliss with Ryan Smith, and a smattering of others including the Brierley brothers Sean and Liam, and local heroine Rhianna Purcocks with Tyler Mays.
I get off to an inauspicious start in practice; not known for binning it, I fit a visit to the scenery and a quick spin into seven minutes. Always tight and twisty, the circuit is also cold and greasy; our kart feels punchy enough but I'm struggling with the light steering and pronounced understeer. Luckily, Michael keeps it on the island and qualifies us a respectable 6th out of 10.
And there we stay. The rules dictate that we must make five pitstops, meaning six stints of 15 minutes each. We play it simple - Michael starts and we alternate every quarter of an hour. Our raw pace isn't overly fast but we're consistent, error-free and lightning-quick in the pits. A puncture at two-thirds distance necessitates a change of kart, but the powers that be take pity and credit us the lost lap.
I've never seen a circuit that fits so much character and complexity into such a short tour; after over 80 laps at the wheel I'm still not stringing it all together consistently. My best time - a low 35 - is four tenths slower than Michael's, and a huge 1.4 seconds slower than Lee Hackett's. I was reasonably quick here last year - in grippier conditions - and there'll be work to do tomorrow in practice before I can rediscover my form.
But as we say our goodbyes and retire to our hotel (the excellent Portway Inn on the Brecon Road), I'm content. The rust from two months out of a kart is gone; I have data to go on, and Marianne to give me feedback. I've had a good feeling about round 3 for a while, and can't wait to turn a wheel in anger.
Sunday dawns as Saturday waned: dull, overcast, just about dry - but even colder. The temperature is hovering around freezing, with snow in the air. We arrive at 9.30am, warmed by a fine breakfast, to find some of the regulars already in situ. As are the two resident Jack Russells, who greet every new arrival with a chorus of barks.
I'm on track in the first practice session to try and iron out the kinks; today we're using a fresh fleet of karts, and I'm happier straight away. The understeer is still there, but I'm learning to trust that the kart will turn in, using the brakes to ease the nose into the hairpins. Marianne is my spotter: watching carefully from the clubhouse balcony, she's noting differences in driver technique, giving me pointers to try in my second session. I'm still struggling with the notorious corkscrew right-hander off the bridge.
By the end of my allotted half-hour - two sessions - I've found a whopping 1.5 seconds since last night. The benchmark time is faster - a 33.2. But at 33.8, I'm much closer to the pace. While I've been focusing on track, the clubhouse has become a hive of activity: the best part of a hundred drivers and spectators throng its two floors. BRKC banners have appeared; bacon butties and steaming paper cups are flying out of the kitchen. Marianne and I defrost ourselves with cups of tea and compare final notes. After 140 laps since yesterday afternoon I'm still not quite as fast as I'd like, but I've found the rhythm. I'll be able to adapt quickly to the differences between individual karts.
Dare I say it, I'm starting to feel quietly confident.
Marianne knows long-suffering other halves Rebecca and Lauren from Teesside, so it's no surprise to find them gravitated together. No doubt they're swapping horror stories about their respected beloveds. They're joined by Russell Endean's girlfriend Sophie, whom I've not met before. Like Marianne, she's a rare visitor to BRKC events. I leave them to it and catch up with the usual suspects.
Brad is flitting about looking particularly chipper - having won a shootout to race for Peugeot in the upcoming Nurburgring 24 Hours, he's sporting a natty Peugeot Sport jacket ("he hasn't taken it off in a week," says Becca). James Auld, who did sterling work commentating at rounds 1 and 2, is back for a third stint at the microphone. Clad in his shiny red Daytona jacket, he's already booming over the tannoy and accosting hapless drivers for interviews.
Ther ever-committed (or should that be 'certifiable') Scots are back in force: Weddell, Smith, Dailly, Allward... although after a run of bad luck, Matthew Hamilton is absent which is a shame. Ryan Smith and I compare the merits of various helmet designs; I particularly like his red, white and blue, and Anwar Beroual-Smith's pale green. Apparently many of the drivers have used the same helmet painter, who charges around £250 depending on the design. I've never been too bothered about changing the colour of my plain black Arai, but that's cheaper than I expected. Interesting...
At midday, Chris Powell takes over the microphone for the driver's briefing, and at five past, the engines are fired up for free practice. There's a welcome lack of faff at Hereford, but we drivers need to be on our toes. Blink, and you miss a heat.
We're sent out in groups of ten, in driver number order. I'm driver number 4, so am in the first session. I run through my allotted five laps, add a little more information to the ever-growing bank, and pit with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. My first heat is an hour away, and snowflakes are flurrying. If the track turns wet, all bets are off.
Commentator James grabs me for an interview, which is gratifying and disconcerting at the same time. I'm nowhere near as articulate in person as I am in writing, but manage to stumble through a few sentences about this blog and my ambitions for the day - realistically, to score some points. To do that, I must finish in the top 30 of 57.
As the first heat clatters out of the pits, we're two deep on the upper level. It's the best vantage point, but I'm not there just for kicks. I note that the lights are very quick to blink green, and watch how the others are handling the start and first sweep into the tunnel left-hander. There's always something to learn.
The regular devoted parents - Graham Purcocks, Lawrence Hackett, Anthony Mays, a number of others - are present and correct. I chat to Geoff White, father of Ed, whom I've not met before. Apparently Geoff spent time talking to Marianne during the endurance race yesterday, so God only knows what he's heard about me... At 14, Ed is the BRKC's youngest driver, and in these early heats, is already making an impression. He looks confident and very smooth on track - not something you could say of all the younger drivers.
Down below on the pitwall, Alex Vangeen is complaining about being hopelessly rusty ("I've had a rubbish month.") while Andrew Bayliss - spectating today, having raced in the endurance yesterday - is joining in with other people's interviews and generally making a nuisance of himself. They're both fine entertainment, as always.
But the best is yet to come. It's difficult to overtake on this circuit at the best of times, and with competition this fierce and grip levels on the low side, we're seeing more contact than usual. In his first race, Alex turns up the heat too far and triggers a pileup at the corkscrew, for which he receives a penalty; a couple of laps later he's the meat in a three-kart sandwich into the tight middle hairpin. We can hardly bear to watch: two karts rotate in perfect harmony, and Alex shoots between them. Chris Powell is not happy, and shows him the warning board; commentator James is loving it, and instantly dubs him 'Crash Vangeen'.
As the chequered flag falls, we're bracing ourselves in the pitlane: Alex is a walking definition of 'heart on sleeve'. We can almost see the thundercloud following the blue-helmeted figure into the pits. As he exits the kart and barges into the paddock, James bravely approaches in search of an interview. Lauren scuttles out of the firing zone. Bayliss is blisteringly unsympathetic.
I don't have a chance to talk to him, because it's time to turn my attention inward. My first two heats are in quick succession - 9 and 11. I'm starting seventh in the first, with a heavyweight ahead: I'm hopeful of gaining a place straightaway. The Hereford layout, with the starting grid halfway around the circuit, means I have half a lap to get a sense of the kart and circuit. Not much, but I use it as best I can.
My start is near-perfect, and I'm already past the seventh-placed driver as we stream into the tunnel and concertina into the hairpin at the exit. Contact behind pushes me a little wide, but I gather it up and hound the red-clad driver in front - Josh Overhill - all the way through the corkscrew, down the pit straight and into the fast 180 degree right hander of turn 1. As we rocket up the short back straight towards the first hairpin, the front-runners are tightly bunched, tripping over one another; Josh moves to the right, taking the defensive line. I go left, get alongside, and overtake in a Wall of Death move around the outside. It's a good pass, and I'm chuffed.
These races are only eight laps - less than five minutes - long, but such is the intensity that they seem to last an eternity. In fifth place, I'm less than two seconds behind leader Paul Lycett, but after three laps of ducking and diving, I can't get any nearer. The driver ahead is slower, but defending well; the front three are too busy clouting each other to pull away.
Mid-race, I'm distracted by their antics at the middle hairpin and the kart snaps into oversteer. I lose momentum and am instantly under pressure from behind; aware of a presence at my right rear corner, I move to shut the door, feel light contact, then nothing. I discover later that poor Ryan Smith thumped the tyres; the impact stalled an engine, consigning him to the back.
Briefly slowed, I quickly catch the leading pack again, but with a lap to go it all goes pear-shaped - again, at that bogey middle hairpin. A crash up front leaves me nowhere to go; I come virtually to a stop, and the driver behind scoots past on the run down to the tunnel. I take the flag sixth - a little frustrated, but still ahead of my starting slot.
There's no time to dwell on might have been. Eight minutes later, I'm back in a kart for my second heat of the day. This time, I'm starting from pole position, and the butterflies are fluttering. I don't have a great record of defending pole position starts in the BRKC; in fact, in five attempts I've only ever managed it once, in the D final here at Hereford, two years ago. Worse, three rows back on the grid is a familiar blue suit and white helmet - Lee Hackett. There are plenty of drivers between us, but not for long.
Green light. I'm away cleanly, butterflies banished; through tunnel, hairpin and corkscrew with no contact from behind. I focus on braking points and apexes, try and ignore everything else; it's lap two, on the approach to the first hairpin, before I steal a glance behind.
There's nobody there.
Bemused, I negotiate the middle hairpins and finally catch sight of the rest of the field - braking for the first hairpin as I exit the second. It's a huge gap in a race like this; there must have been some sort of pileup on the opening lap. I suppress a thrill of excitement and focus. The job is far from done.
Next time through, I'm halfway up the back straight as the second-placed driver approaches turn 1, and my heart sinks. Blue suit, white helmet. I tell myself to watch the track, not Lee, but he bobs around at the fringes of my field of view, taunting.
Around this time I become aware of spirited support from the pitwall. Alex is leaning right over the track in front of the race director's hut, urging me on; at the corner of my eye I can see Marianne, Andrew Bayliss, a dozen others... it's wonderful to be cheered on, but please Lord, don't let me fuck this up...
I've lost count of the number of laps - feels like fifty - but a couple of passes later I'm beginning to believe. Lee is closing, but not quickly enough; it's all I can do not to shout in exultation as Chris shows me the one lap board. Easy now, it's too easy to throw it all away at a time like this.
But I come off the corkscrew a clear two seconds ahead and punch the air in delight as I take the chequered flag. It's only a heat win, and I was lucky, but I know I've driven well. And I've scored eleven precious points, which should be enough to book me a place in the B final at least.
And if I can hold it together in my third heat...who knows?
(click here for part two)
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