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)

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)

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'.

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.