British 24 Hours 2015. Part 2 of 2. Sunday.

(Click here to read the race preview)
(Click here to read part 1 of the race report)

12.15am.

My body reports that it's upright, fully clothed and outdoors. My body clock questions why this should be so. My brain tries to ignore the complaints and focus on my immediate need: caffeine.

But it'll have to wait. Both #11 and #22 are in the maintenance stop window, and it's about to get very busy. Between 12 and 3am, every hire kart must be brought into the maintenance garage for a check, lubrication and a change of front tyres. The original rules had teams being called in at random, potentially causing havoc with race strategies - to everyone's relief that's been changed back to the original system. We're allowed to schedule the stop to coincide with a driver change, minimising the time lost.

Alex is in #22 around 50 laps into his stint, Brad in #11 with 35 laps on the board. It's time for Michael to get changed; I take the headphones and Arnaud fills me in on the latest. Because of the red flag earlier (no injuries, thankfully) we're running a little ahead of schedule and have time in hand: if an opportunity presents itself, we can call the maintenance stops early without running into problems with fuel later on.

The skies over Teesside are virtually clear, one or two stars visible beyond the floodlights. Beneath them the race roars on, the noise and pace relentless, the leaders past 600 laps and counting. The air is still, the temperature hovering in the low double figures, our tiredness making it feel colder than it is. There's a quietness to the paddock now. Fewer people, less chatter, absolute focus on the job at hand. The graveyard shift - between midnight and dawn - is what makes 24 hour racing unique. Even after all these years it still feels otherworldly; I hope the magic never fades.

We troop around to the pitlane en masse; Michael, Ryan, Arnaud and I. Marianne has reappeared and takes charge of the awning. Fully suited up with his radio on, Michael continues on down to the maintenance garage, where he'll report on its status: as far as we know the mechanics can only service one kart at a time. If we time it wrong, we could lose three laps.

On lap 547 - 56 laps into Alex's stint - there's an incident on track and the full-course yellow is thrown to slow down the field. This is a prime opportunity: if we can get our stop done while everyone else is circulating at half speed, we'll gain an advantage. It's too soon for #11, but I warn Alex to be ready and watch the fuel bay.

On the first slow lap, two karts peel into the pits, one heading on down the hill to the garage: we wait. These are race-defining moments; standing beside Arnaud, I have to remind myself to breathe. As Alex comes around again, the flags are still waving and I tell him to box as long as nobody peels off into the pits in front of him. Michael reports that there's still a kart in the maintenance garage, but I gamble that it will be gone by the time Alex gets there.

Alex comes in to a clear fuel bay. Ryan waits at the gate to give him a push down the hill - we've elected not to start the engines - and I run across to help. In seconds he's fuelled up, back in the kart and coasting at running speed down the hill. I sprint after him and we arrive almost simultaneously - to a clear garage. Three mechanics descend as Alex vacates the kart, lifting it up onto a stand and going to work. We wait, Michael holding his seat ready to jump in, Ryan and I primed to start the engines.

It takes less than four minutes to check and oil the kart, and swap the 550 lap-old front tyres for a set of shiny new rubber. The engines are started for us, the kart rolled out; Michael is in and away up the hill. Alex looks exhausted but pleased: we've all coped with a tricky situation very well and kept ourselves in the hunt for a podium.

By now Brad is 50 laps into his stint in #11, and Arnaud asks me to stay on and help him with #11's stop. As I wait by the fuel bay, Michael is practically singing in my ears.
"This kart feels sooo good..."
He's making the most of the new tyres: during his 73 lap stint, an incredible 62 laps will be in the 1 minute 19 bracket. I run back to the awning and hand the headphones over to Marianne so that I can focus on #11.

Arnaud asks me to keep track of Brad while he focuses on the fuel bay and reports from Ryan - out next - at the maintenance garage. It quickly becomes obvious that this is going to be trickier: we managed to beat the rush with #22, but #11 will have to stop in the thick of it.

The floodlights are relatively far apart here, creating areas of shadow punctuated by sepia-tinted washes of brightness that turn everything monochrome. From where I stand I can see about two-thirds of the circuit, but its furthest point - the banking - is a quarter of a mile away. Picking Brad out from 62 other drivers is a real challenge, but I do my best and just about manage to keep tabs on him.

But the laps are ticking away. Time after time Arnaud is forced to abort Brad's pitstop to avoid queuing at either the fuel bay or the garage; our nerves are at snapping point as one hour forty minutes comes and goes. We're into uncharted territory now.

For the fifteenth or twentieth time I track Brad through the final corner and keep Arnaud up to date on his position; the fuel bay is clear, Arnaud gives the 'box' command and Brad is finally in. Once he's out of the kart and it's safely in the garage, he reports that the engines were cutting out through the final corners and wouldn't have lasted another lap. Bullet dodged.

Brad's second stint will stand as Corporate Chauffeurs' longest of 2015: a whopping 77 laps and 1 hour 43 minutes including a three lap full course yellow.

After what feels like a slightly longer maintenance period than #22's (38 seconds longer to be exact), #11 is returned to us, Ryan hops in, we start the engines and away he goes. It's been a stressful hour, but both crews have hung on to their positions: the class lead for #11, fourth for #22.

By now Michael is halfway through his third stint, and it's time for me to clear my head. I'd hoped for a little more time but a quiet ten minutes, a cup of tea and a banana will have to do. Lee is back after a couple of hours' rest, and before long we're back in the pitlane with Marianne, preparing to call Michael in. I have a dim memory of others being there as well... Russell, Jonny, or Charlie - or possibly all three - but am absolutely focused now. It's 2.15am, and I've never been more awake in my life.

The team calls it flawlessly and our changeover runs like clockwork; we're into a confident rhythm now, our world stripped of all but the essentials. For us, there is only the race.

For me, the race is steadily improving. The kart feels strong, engines sucking hard at the chilly air, tyres still relatively fresh, driver hovering on the cusp of mediocre and competent. I'm not fast, but I am more consistent and far better in the traffic. Within a couple of laps I encounter Ryan Smith as he leaves the pits. That's three times in three stints; this time I manage to pass him before he gets up to speed.

Jonny Elliott is hereabouts as well, passing me as I'm edged wide by an owner kart out of the corkscrew; he looks to be locked in a tight battle with one of the Club Hire frontrunners. I get in the draft and, for several laps, have a front row seat as they duck and dive around one another. They slow each other down enough for me to slipstream him through the banking (I think - my memory is fuzzy here) and pass him into the penultimate corner. I suspect he wasn't expecting to see me again.

We swap positions at least once more - both of us having to avoid a high speed spinner at one point - before he pits. It's been a fun, hard-fought fifteen laps or so, and I'm sorry to see it end.

Marianne has been doing a great job on the radio as usual, keeping me up to date on laptimes and anything else relevant - and as two owner karts break down within moments of each other and the full course yellow is waved, outdoes herself again. I'm coming out of the Corkscrew when her dulcet tones blare "GO, GO, GO!" through my headset and I save a precious couple of seconds clearing two slower karts before the Esses.

My body seems to have resigned itself to the punishment and I'm feeling little of the fatigue that ailed me earlier; suddenly the watch on the steering wheel reads 3.45am and Marianne is giving me a ten minute warning.

After 71 laps I peel off into an empty pitlane and, with Alex's help, hand over to Lee with no dramas. The others are quick to congratulate me; it was a solid enough stint, my best so far, and we're still fourth in class. I enjoyed it, and am satisfied that I'm improving.

As Lee gets to work chasing down our rivals for the last spot on the podium, I try and rest. After three stints and just over four and a half hours at the wheel, the draining adrenalin reveals a heavy toll on my already weakened body. After a break in the cafe watching the laptimes - and a long overdue Facebook update - I take myself off to the tent as the first signs of dawn begin to streak the eastern sky.

I emerge just after 6am feeling like Indiana Jones after a bad day at work. Slumped in a foldout chair beneath the awning, I try and identify a part of me that doesn't hurt. The rising sun has yet to warm the air; despite several layers I'm shivering so hard that tea is slopping over my hands.

On track, all is well. Jonny leads the Club Hire class in #11; great work from Lee on track and everyone in the pits has lifted #22 back into third position. Alex is complaining over the radio about the rising sun and the track being slippery. I tell Lee that morning dew can sometimes have this effect. Alex mishears the radio message as "there might be a slight Jew on track" and later admits to having nearly put #22 in the gravel at turn 2 because he was laughing so hard.

If there is dew, its effect is being overcome by the combination of cold air, rubbered-in tarmac and daylight: the pace is phenomenal, many teams setting their fastest laps after more than 18 hours of racing. Alex is rising to the occasion, getting within three tenths of Michael's fastest lap on two occasions despite a 14kg weight disadvantage. Weight adjusted, his 1.19.027 probably stands as our fastest of the race.

The rest of the drivers are suffering. Michael is due out next but is ghost-pale and complaining of nausea. Marianne suggests swapping stints with Lee or I, but we're not in much better shape; we settle the question in the old-fashioned way: rock paper scissors. Michael is scissors to our rocks: we'll stick to the schedule.

Throughout the night, Charlie and Marie have been helping Marianne keep us fed, hydrated and upright; now, they step it up a notch just when we need them most. Fried egg butties are produced for everyone that needs them, along with the biggest, strongest mug of coffee I've ever seen (thank you Charlie). Initially my stomach rebels against the food, but after a couple of bites I realise I'm ravenous; sitting beside me, Michael echoes my thoughts: "Isn't this the best thing ever?"

While he gets changed, I wolf down a second butty - bacon this time - and the thought of a fourth stint on track starts to seem conceivable, if not exactly alluring.

By 7am we're back in the pitlane. Michael is healthier than he was an hour ago, but still frets about vomiting in the kart; I'll be ready in case he needs to pit earlier than planned. On track, the full-course yellow is out again; if it lasts long enough we could take advantage and bring Alex in. It doesn't, quite, but after three slow laps and one more under green flags the fuel bay is clear; Alex pits after a superb 65 laps, still third, and we send Michael out with a silent prayer that he'll be all right. Contrary to appearances, we're not actually trying to send anyone home in a body bag.

As I get into my overalls for the final time I feel ready for one, though. The caffeine is wearing thin, exhaustion seeping through, my stomach struggling to process the calories. My body feels like a patchwork of dark blooms of ache and white searing pain; holding my head upright is a major effort.

With his work on track done, Alex takes charge on the pitwall; excellent planning from Arnaud and Marianne, and some great reactive pitwork from everyone, has saved both crews a pitstop; all being well, Lee will bring #22 home, and Brad will do the honours for #11.

On track, Michael must be running on pure adrenalin: his pace and consistency are staggering, as they have been throughout. On lap 847 he sets what will stand as our fastest tour, a 1.18.759. We're still clinging to the final spot on the podium, but the CD31 team are shadowing us, half a lap or so behind, matching Michael for pace more often than not.

In #11, Ryan still leads, but they too are being pushed hard by the Northampton Maidens, the gap hovering around the 30 second mark. It's nailbiting stuff, but I simply don't have the energy to think about it.

At 8.30am, it's time to don my helmet and shut out the world for the final time. In the pitlane, as the adrenalin finally starts to kick in I have to take deep breaths to avoid throwing up.

All things considered, what follows is probably the best stint of my life. And the worst.

At 8.50, Alex calls Michael in; the record will show that our pitstop is the fastest of #22's race - due in part to a stunning in-lap. With fresh air blowing through the vents in my helmet, I instantly feel less awful and start to dredge up the energy I need from somewhere.

In its 22nd hour, the kart feels far sloppier than it did during the night, the front tyres washing wide into the hairpin and forcing me to back off more than I would like. But I'm acutely aware of the threat from behind - CD31 are 30 seconds back and closing - and digging deep. And my pace, somehow, is better than at any point in the race. First Marianne, then Lee update me on the gap every few laps or so; as the tenths evaporate I do the maths. Strong pace notwithstanding I'm going to be caught, and the fact fills me with a rage such as I've never felt in a race.

I take more risks in traffic, find another couple of tenths. Finally, after more than five hours at the wheel, I'm somewhere close to the level that my teammates have been all race. But it only delays the inevitable; after setting my fastest lap of the race and three consecutive laps within a tenth of it, I'm passed for third place on lap 968. Lee's on the radio throughout, egging me on, keeping me informed, not letting my head drop once I've lost the place. It's a huge help.

After three laps in CD31's draft I'm shoved rudely wide at the Bustop by an owner driver, costing me two seconds and nearly putting me across the grass. The driving standard of some of these teams has been shocking this year; I'm sick and tired of the lack of respect and courtesy, and snarl over the radio at Lee and the world in general.

At 10.20 I'm given the 'box' command for #22's last pitstop of 2015. It goes without a hitch, Alex helping me push the kart around to the changeover area. I watch as Lee drives safely away, then use the last of my energy to kick a heavy plastic bollard back two feet - scaring Chris Hollywood in the process (apologies). I've dug deeper than I can ever recall, done my best. But my best wasn't good enough, and I'm devastated.

The others are quick to lift me, as always. It was a good stint in a kart far past its best, and I'm happy with it. But although I've improved every time I've been on track, I simply lost too much time earlier on. I have been better than last year, but last year we were lucky. This year I feel responsible for the loss of our podium.

Lee has rejoined less than two seconds behind CD31. But despite his usual titanic effort, the machinery simply isn't up to it. We watch the leaderboard as the gap grows, hearts sinking with every half-second.

Russell still leads in the final laps of his final stint in #11, but there's drama as the leaderboard suddenly shows them fourth. The kart is fine, but the transponder has failed; a new one is strapped to Brad before their final changeover, the lost laps credited, and no harm is done.

Brad, however, faces similar problems to Lee: #11 is ailing after nearly 1,000 laps at the ragged edge. The Northampton Maidens are in better shape, and are catching him. Fast. With half an hour to go the gap is less than 20 seconds and they're taking half a second a lap. Brad never wavers, using all of his skills and experience to drag every last tenth out of the kart without putting a wheel wrong. Even through my fog of dejected exhaustion I'm feeling the strain. After everything we've all been through, Corporate Chauffeurs can't stumble now.

Normally we'd be derigging by now, but it's out of the question. We line the Armco, eyes fixed on the circuit or the timing screens on our phones. Alex is still on the radio to Lee; #22's laptimes are relentlessly consistent. Arnaud - who as far as I know hasn't slept a wink - is keeping Brad informed, brows furrowed.

As the clock ticks past ten minutes, then five, Brad still leads, the gap still dwindling. My chest threatens to burst as midday ticks by on my watch... then the final lap board is shown, the Maidens less than five seconds behind. After 1048 laps - 2,200 kilometres - it's come down to a straight sprint.

I pick up Brad's distinctive red and white helmet into the hairpin, follow it through the banking, the right-hander, the final left... and we're up on the barriers, a sea of blue shirts trying to cheer loud enough to drown out the engines as #11 takes the flag 2.879 seconds ahead of the Northampton Maidens.

Half a lap later, Lee powers through in fourth, responding to our cheers with a shrug and a dejected wave. Like Alex, Michael and I, he has driven out of his skin; while I'm bitterly disappointed to have missed the podium, the #22 crew has much to be proud of after falling as low as 12th in the early hours of the race.

We crowd around the podium for the presentations and clap Ryan, Russell, Jonny and Brad onto the top step. There are big cheers, too, for the Maidens who turned it into the closest 24 hour finish I've ever seen - and for CD31, the stealthy team that proved too quick for #22 in the final hours. In the Standard Hire class, we're pleased to see Stuart McKay and his crew take an excellent win against some very fast competition. The enthusiastic John Lewis partnership team join them on the podium - another great effort.

It's bittersweet for the other Corporate Chauffeurs drivers of course, but I'm delighted for #11 - Brad especially put huge effort into lifting us all to another level this year, and richly deserves his win. He also receives the 'Driver of the Day' trophy for his superlative final stint.

Their race was far from straightforward, what with the wheel detachment and transponder failure and a dozen other challenges, no doubt. But their pace was scintillating. And fantastic work on the pitwall and in the pitlane by Arnaud, Marianne, Charlie, Marie, Chris and all of the drivers on both crews played a huge part in their win. Alex, Michael, Lee and I would dearly love to have been up there with them, but a little piece of #11's glory belongs to all of us.

And that's it. The British 24 Hours 2015 is history. For me, again, it's been a privilege to be part of the best hire kart team in the paddock. As the story shows, it's been a difficult weekend for me - the result in part of a tough couple of years off track, with very little racing. On Sunday night, after the dust had begun to settle, I briefly considered calling it a day.

Then I came to my senses. More karting is what's needed, not less. I'll never be brilliant, but I can do better than this. There's talk of Corporate Chauffeurs joining either EPEC or the EKL next year, and I'll be temporarily defecting to the Newmarket Hornets for the EKL and EPEC rounds at Clay Pigeon in just a few days' time.

But that's for another blog. For now, all that remains is to thank everyone that made Teesside 2015 so special, and who makes the effort to read this blog.

And yes - we ARE already talking about 2016...

British 24 Hours 2015. Part 1 of 2. Saturday.

(Click here to read the race preview)
(Click here to read part 2 of the race report)

"All hands on deck! My car battery's flat!"

Race day. 6.46am. A flurry of messages vibrates my phone across the Premier Inn dressing table; I blink sleep from my eyes and catch it as it falls, savouring these last moments of clean clothes and sanitation.

Outside, we congregate beside Alex Vangeen's dead Ford Mondeo, consider how we might fit its multiple cubic metres of gear into our motley collection of functioning cars. The air is chilly and still, the dawn sky beginning to lighten from silver to stonewashed blue. I learn that the AA will be here imminently. There's nothing to be done for now, so I head inside for breakfast.

We've had far worse starts to British 24 Hour weekends. It's not even raining.

By 7.45 Alex's car has been defibrillated and the Corporate Chauffeurs team is all present and correct. The Teesside circuit paddock hums with the sounds of a thousand people readying themselves for a very, very long day. It's turning into a beautiful morning, the sun swiftly drying the mud and puddles, breeze flapping the two dozen awnings which line the pits straight.

Our awning - erected in pouring rain yesterday - is filling with race gear, food and cooking apparatus, but there's order in the apparent chaos. We've spent months going over every moment of the race day schedule - and two hours yesterday making sure that everyone in the team knew exactly what was expected of them - and the effect is remarkable. Contrary to previous race day mornings, it's as if time has slowed down. The twelve of us - eight drivers and four supporters, with one more to come - might be united in person for the first time, but such has been the attention to detail that we're already a tight-knit team.

At 7.59am we congregate outside the Club Hire garage with a hundred other drivers, waiting for the go-ahead to pick our karts. As the hour tolls, Teesside circuit owner Bob Pope springs a surprise by announcing that kart allocation will be random. But Bradley Philpot, Alex and Lee Hollywood are allocated the two karts they happen to be standing beside - the karts they had already earmarked for Corporate Chauffeurs 11 and 22. As they and Lee's father Chris get to work fitting our steering wheels - specially modified by Brad with extra grip tape, built-in digital watches and CHECK FUEL notices - I leave them to it.

Back at base, my wife Marianne and Jonny Spencer's girlfriend Charlie (new to the team this year, and already indispensable) are already making it home; the camping stove is up and running, food is stockpiled, race helmets beginning to appear on our new dedicated helmet shelves (another Philpot innovation). Soon, I know, Marianne will leave the circuit for the first of two trips to the local supermarket.

By 8.40 the karts have been fitted with Corporate Chauffeurs Nassau panels, Mycron 4 lap timers, upgraded steering wheels and several metres of reflective tape, and Bob's voice booms from the Tannoy. It's time for the driver's briefing - only ten minutes behind schedule. For the first time in three years, there's half a chance of starting the race on time at midday.

As we assemble below the podium which we all so covet, the tingle is finally there. It's taken its time to appear this year - partly because Friday practice was washed out, but mainly because I'm not at my best. A mild virus has made me shivery, achey and overtired for several days now. I'm feeling better today after a decent night's sleep, but suspect that this weekend will take all of my stock of Man-Up.

I quickly forget my ailments though. The typically brief briefing concludes, the pitlane opens, and after six months of hard work by a multitude of people, Corporate Chauffeurs turns a wheel in anger for the first time in 2015. Brad does the honours for the #11 kart, Lee Hollywood is out in #22, and I ready myself for my short practice run. As I go through a radio check, Lee reports back:
"It's okay... not great, but not bad..."
Which, from Lee, is a ringing endorsement for a rental kart.

Russell Endean joins me in the pitlane in what will become a familiar routine: we're both second in the driver roster for our respective crews and will be on track at roughly the same time during the race. Russell is one of those drivers who speaks quietly but carries a very big stick: he'll be a great benchmark for me if our karts have reasonable parity.

Lee drives #22 into the changeover area and jumps out; we simulate a race changeover in what will be our only opportunity to practise it before the real thing. I drop my seat insert in, follow it, find the pedals and go, making myself comfortable on the move so as not to waste a second.

After a year away - and very little outdoor seat time in the interim - I have six laps to find my mojo. It's wonderful to be back on this hallowed tarmac, although I quickly discover that not everything is as I remember it. There have been murmurings that the resurfacing work at turn 2 has made the notorious bumps even worse. And how. Catch them awkwardly and the kart will be airborne at 50mph just when you need to turn in. I try several different lines and never feel I've got it right.

From the kart - also new since last year - there are no nasty surprises. It feels a little ponderous as expected - it's 20kg heavier - but the balance is fine and it pulls reasonably strongly. I pit after my allocation of laps, satisfied and slightly relieved. The radio works. My seat insert fits. I can still remember which pedal does what.

Both karts seem to be competitive, and with 30 minutes of qualifying following the practice session without a break, we send out Ryan in #11 and Michael in #22 for a shot at pole position. The circuit is now completely dry; after seven laps each, Ryan lies second and Michael fourth, a couple of tenths back. It's good enough: we call them in to save the machinery, and refuel.

Lee reckons there's room for improvement on #22 and asks the mechanics to check the engine oil and throttles. He's right as usual: the engines are overfilled with oil which will affect top speed. Once the excess has been drained, Michael and I watch the throttles as Lee blips the accelerator pedal; we strain to hear or see any difference in the timing (both engines must rev in sync for peak performance) but Lee is adamant and after checking for himself, the head mechanic - with a raised eyebrow - agrees. A tiny adjustment is made, and we park the kart.

With over an hour until the start we catch our breath, inhale caffeine and carbs, take pictures, and catch up with events outside our own cocoon. We're very lucky this year to have gained the services of Arnaud Tinet - race driver, commentator and strategy genius. Since he joined us earlier in the summer, he's had a big impact, helping to lift an already strong team to another level. He'll be overseeing the strategy for both teams and looking after #11's radio during the race; I take a little time to make sure I'm up to speed with team operations. I'm a little concerned about weight: I didn't have a chance to visit the weighbridge during practice. Lee and I take turns to stand on it; I elect to remove the lead from my seat as I'll be over 80kg without it.

There are familiar faces everywhere and at last I have a chance to find out how everyone else is getting on. The Squadra Abarth team that finished third last year - Mike Kettlewell, Ben Allward, Connor Marsh and Ryan Smith, with David Hird on the pitwall - are aiming to go at least one better. Like us, they have great team continuity and a wealth of experience. But they're not off to the greatest start with kart problems in practice. Connor and Ryan's long-suffering parents are here as usual; I haven't seen them since the BRKC in January and it's good to catch up.

I'm surprised to run into former Corporate Chauffeurs teammate Stuart McKay on the grid, having thought he was giving Teesside a miss this year. But he and his newly formed S&M Racing (wink wink) team are a late entry in the Standard Hire class. He's suffering with toothache but the drugs, it seems, are working for now; I promise to give his team a push if I see them on track.

Last year's Club Hire winners, Teesside Tigers, are near the sharp end again, as are the Northampton Maidens who came so close to a debut podium last year. BRKC and Club100 regular Jonny Elliott is back too, with the ESR team that pushed us hard in the early hours last year before succumbing to driver injuries. There are a half-dozen other regular EKL teams knocking about, all with superior knowledge of the Club Hire karts (used for EKL); we're playing catch up, and will have to be smart as well as fast to beat them.

Tick tock. By 11.45 all the karts are lined up, in grid order, along the left side of the pits straight facing across the track. It's a classic British 24 Hours spectacle, mirroring the legendary starts at Le Mans: the drivers will stand opposite their karts, watching the start marshal. When his flag drops, they'll run across to their karts, jump in, and go.

#11 is practically in front of our awning, #22 three spots to its right with a Club Hire and a very fast Standard Hire kart in between. At 11.55 the PA system instructs us to clear the grid, leaving only the 63 starting drivers and an assistant to hold each kart. Michael starts for #22, like last year, with Alex helping him. Ryan will start for #11 in his first British 24 Hours, which wouldn't have been my choice: he's lightning quick at the wheel but weighed down by a lot of lead which could slow his sprint across the track. But the #11 crew know what they're doing and it's not my place to quibble.

As the start marshal gives the sign for one minute, there's a sense of a thousand people holding their breath, of our world narrowing to a needle point. Beneath the grumble of 126 kart engines, the place is deathly silent, every eye focused on the Union Jack flag which raises high, holds...

Drops.

"COME ON MICHAEL!!" I do my bit to drown out the engines while simultaneously filming and shooting stills as they dash across the track, Alex blipping #22's throttles, Michael dropping into the seat without rocking the kart backwards, accelerating away in the thick of the hire kart field, disappearing over the brow of the hill.

For a few seconds everything goes quiet - then the front of the owner kart field erupts out from behind the hill, line astern into the Esses at 75mph for the first time; I search for our machines and find them more or less where they started. No dramas; as they head into the banking, I release a pent-up breath, bring up the timing feed on my phone and watch like a hawk.

For #22, things start to go wrong almost immediately. Our qualifying pace seems to have evaporated, Michael reporting over the radio that the kart feels horrible; he's defending hard but losing ground. Alex calms him down; we briefly consider bringing him in to have the kart checked, but decide to hold off for now. I struggle through a chicken, cheese and pickle roll made for me by Marianne. It's delicious, but my appetite seems to have deserted me this weekend.

By the end of hour 1, Michael is down to 10th place, while Ryan is locked in a tight battle in third. As Russell and I - out next - get changed, I'm trying to shut the world out. I'm nervous, and admit as much to Russell. I struggled badly for pace in my first stint last year and the memory has haunted me ever since. This year I've trained just as hard but raced even less; I'm anxious not to let the team down.

Suddenly I'm in the pitlane, Marianne on the radio watching the fuel bay, Arnaud there as well to call #11's stop. Ryan is in first, Russell in and away with no delays as far as I can see - but I'm inwardly focused now. This is it. This is what the months of training and planning and dreaming boil down to.

The fuel bay is busy, the team cutting it fine with Michael's fuel... but they call it perfectly and he heads into a clear bay. I get the signal from Lee, standing on the corner... and the kart appears, Michael pushing, Lee starting the engines on the fly. Michael's seat is still in place and I lose a second yanking it out... then my seat is in, I follow, and I'm away without the kart having come to a halt.

The circuit is bone dry under a partly cloudy sky, I focus on getting up to speed with no delays... and am thwarted almost immediately. An owner kart overtakes me on the run down at turn two on my first flying lap; I sense others behind me, but nobody follows him through. Slightly off-line, I hit the bump awkwardly, correct a snap of oversteer - and there's a heavy impact from the rear. The loaded left tyres let go, and I hurtle straight into the gravel as two battling owner karts barrel past.

I can't quite believe it. I've been on track less than two minutes. Five years, thousands of laps, and I've never been off here. The marshal runs over as I leap out of the beached kart, and we push it back to the tarmac; I boot it and leave a trail of gravel as I accelerate away, checking as best I can for damage or stone stuck in awkward places, reporting over the radio that I've been punted off.

After that, matters improve. I settle down, the kart runs smoothly, and aside from a shard of gravel stuck where the sun don't shine, I'm reasonably comfortable as the laps start to reel off. My terrible luck with lap timers continues, though - ours has been switched off, presumably by Michael, but when I power it up, laps and times are not forthcoming. It's possible that my visit to the scenery has ripped the sensor off.

Over the following hour I spend time in close company with a couple of familiar bodies: one of the Northampton Maidens passes me and pulls away at faintly demoralising speed, and I have an entertaining dice with friend and longtime BRKC rival Ryan Smith. He wins this encounter, but there are more to come...

While the kart's powertrain feels strong, the handling leaves much to be desired. It's as if the rear tyres have too much grip; they hop across the tarmac rather than sliding, making for an uncomfortable, bouncy, understeery balance that's particularly tricky in turn 2. After a conversation with Lee on the pitwall, Alex asks me to try and lean forward out of the slow corners to try and shift some weight away from the rear axle. I do my best and the laptimes do improve slightly, but I'm still a fair bit slower than Michael was.

It's better than my opening stint last year though. And despite the off, reasonable consistency, good pitwork and - presumably - problems for others has lifted me from a low of 12th in class to 8th by the time I get the 15 minute warning from Alex. They've decided to have the kart checked, so I will drive down to the garage instead of through the pitlane.

By this time, fatigue has reared its ugly head. I can barely hold my head up through the banking. The kart is more physical to drive than last year's, but I managed 2 hour 15 minute stints then without any problems. I am not well, and try not to think about the three stints that will follow this one.

As the 'box' command rings in my ears I peel into the pitlane, stop on the weighbridge - where I register a shocking 237kg - and pull into an empty fuel bay. The others wait at the gate which leads down the hill; I ask the fuellers to start the kart, but heads are shaken: a new rule this year means I must clear a red line five metres away before the engines can be started. I'm cleared to push the kart, and manage to start the right engine on the fly before jumping in; Alex starts the left and I scoot down the hill to the garage as quickly as I can. Lee - in next - signals me to swing around before stopping.

I exit, dragging my seat insert, and a mechanic descends on the rear of the kart, pumping up the rear tyres; this will slightly reduce their grip and hopefully eliminate the hopping. It's done in seconds, and Lee disappears up the hill.

I hobble back to the awning with every joint aching, and take a full 20 minutes to get out of my overalls. Normally starving at the end of a stint, I struggle to get my churning guts under control. A jam donut and a cup of tea - two of my favourite things in the world - make life worth living again. Still, I elect not to dwell on the fact that I'm due back in the kart in four hours.

In the early part of hour 4, Jonny leads the Club Hire class in #11; Lee is sixth in #22 despite the long pitstop. Considering our start, that's not bad at all. I take a quick look at the laptimes from my stint. Not great - Lee is going faster now - but not terrible. I've already done more mileage today than in the rest of 2015 combined, and should be better next time around.

Arnaud sits me down for a quick debrief, recording my end-of-stint fuel level and weight on a spreadsheet in order to predict future stint lengths. Marianne and Alex have been sharing radio duties for #22; I take over as Alex prepares for his stint and Marianne turns her attention back to catering.

Just before the start of the race, we were joined by Marie Mcgeachie, Michael's girlfriend and the final cog in the Corporate Chauffeurs machine. Like Marianne and Charlie she's spent more than her share of time at kart circuits, and is already mucking in despite being a day behind the others. As hour 5 comes to a close, all three make a second sortie to the supermarket to collect dinner for the team.

By this time we're focusing on Lee's pitstop. It's harder to find space at the fuel bay this year, because the Club Hire karts are having to run shorter stints; still concerned at this stage about fuel range, I call Lee in at 90 minutes exactly. Ryan is helping with this one, helping Lee push the kart from the red line onwards; they appear around the corner into the changeover area at running pace, Ryan starting the right engine as Alex jumps in and Michael yanks the left pullcord. But it won't start; after ten attempts Alex rolls to a stop. Lee and I run to the stricken kart, circuit owner Bob suddenly there as well, seconds ticking away... Lee realises that the choke - a lever next to the pullcord - has been knocked on in our haste. The engine is flooded. Moments later it finally starts and Alex is away, but we've lost a precious 40 seconds. I suggest to the others that we calm it down a little next time.

Lee ran as high as 5th at the end of his stint, but our botched pitstop has put us back to 8th, which is annoying. Still, spirits are high as Alex starts to get into his stride on track; we're optimistic of clawing our way back into contention.

Alex's pace is very good, especially taking his 10kg weight penalty into account, and he nicks back a couple of the places we lost earlier on - but an hour in, there's more drama as we realise he can't hear us over the radio. Now our preparation comes into its own: because of the digital watch strapped to the steering wheel he should know exactly how long he's been out there, and when he needs to start looking for signals from us. We've practised a two stage process with our double-sided pit board. Orange means 'be ready to pit', green means 'pit now'.

I man the board, velcroing the plastic number 2s (no sniggering at the back) to it as Michael, Lee, Arnaud and a couple of others head around to the pits. We're in radio contact; Alex spots the bright orange board straightaway and gives me a thumbs up; it's a few more minutes before I get the signal and hold the green board out as far as I can. Alex is in.

A minute later I spot Michael tearing into the Esses in #22; on his return to the pits, Alex reports that the stop was clean. His radio failure looks to be nothing more serious than a loose connector, although we are having problems this year with faulty adaptors - two of the eight already out of action.

Into the second quarter of the race, suddenly it's time for me to start thinking about my next stint in 90 minutes' time.

First thing's first, though: it's dinner time. The girls have returned with a delicious array of curry sauces, vegetables, rice and rotisserie chickens, and I'm presented with a delicious bowl of chicken tikka masala. This, truly, is the life. Despite a seesawing appetite and pre-stint butterflies I wolf it down and for the first time in hours, feel ready to get back in the kart.

With the benefit of Arnaud's analysis we're able to safely push the stint lengths a little now; if we aim for 1 hour 36 minutes each time, we'll hopefully be able to save a pitstop by the end. The fuel bay is a continuing worry though, in our efforts to avoid queuing we leave Michael out for a very long 1 hour 40 minutes; standing in the pitlane waiting to go, even I'm worrying about fuel when I should have nothing in my head except going as fast as I can.

And not ending up in the bloody gravel...

After a typically brilliant stint during which he clawed us back up to 4th in class, Michael is finally called in on his 75th lap. We're smoother switching the seat inserts over this time, and I'm away.

As I exit the pitlane, the first kart I encounter contains the familiar red, white and blue colours of Ryan Smith. Again. Either he's slowed since our first encounter, or I've sped up (a bit of both, I later discover) because after another hard-but-fair scrap, I pass him and pull away. Later on, I go wheel-to-wheel on several occasions with a vaguely familiar racesuit and helmet which I can't place - and which turns out to be Ryan's teammate Ben Allward.

Just past 8pm - one third distance - the sun is setting over the huge circuit, making for a squinty-eyed wild ride through the Bustop chicane in front of the pits and the Corkscrew. Even in the kart I can feel the temperature beginning to drop as night falls. Not for the first time, the sheer enormity of this race strikes home. We've already driven this kart more than 450 miles, and - all being well - will cover 500 more before sunrise.

The higher tyre pressures seem to have helped the balance and I'm better dialled in, as usual: more consistent and better in the traffic. After a flurry of updates and encouragement over the radio in my early laps, Marianne goes quiet; I request an update just as a full-course yellow flag comes out. One of the owner karts has broken down, and we trundle around at half speed while the recovery vehicle is dispatched. At least, some of us do; we were issued a stern warning of penalties for failing to maintain the gap to the kart in front during yellow flag periods. By my estimation, at least a third of the field should be black flagged; long trains of karts form as drivers flaunt the rules and gain an unfair advantage. As far as I can tell, no penalties seem to be issued; I'm grumbling behind my visor as the green flags are waved.

I'm expecting a 'go' command from Marianne but my headset is silent and I'm a little tardy in booting it. No way she'd be that sloppy: my radio has failed. With no idea if the pitwall can hear me or not, I inform them and make the 'radio dead' signal as I approach the pit entry.

An hour and twenty minutes in, I'm watching the pitwall anxiously on every pass. It's completely dark now, the row of awnings indistinguishable under the floodlights at sixty miles an hour; I fret about spotting the pitboard. 9.30pm has come and gone - 90 minutes on track - when I spot something new in the mass of shadows and light behind the Armco. With a wash of relief, I realise that it's the orange board, a torch waving over the big black 22 numerals. Not for the first time, I send up a silent prayer of thanks for the operational brilliance of the Corporate Chauffeurs team.

Once I know where to look, the rest is a doddle; two laps later the green board shows. I peel in, flash past it, slow, stop on the weighbridge - still 237kg, 7kg over the minimum - push the fuelled kart around to the changeover area with somebody's help. Alex, I think. Lee's at the ready; as I lunge for my seat insert, I take a step too far. The kart's right rear wheel rolls over my right foot; holding my seat, I go down like a sack of potatoes on the tarmac, my elbow connecting with a crack.

There's a flurry of activity, and Lee powers away. I sit up, foot and elbow vying for attention, and assess the damage as I hobble back to the awning. After a few minutes the pain in my foot subsides, but my elbow feels... well, like it's been hit on the funnybone with a slab of tarmac. I'll live.

The news from the team is mixed. #11 has lost the lead - and six minutes in the pits - after Russell had the right front wheel detach in spectacular style. They're now third in class with Jonny about to take over from Russell. We're still fourth, and from a glance at my times I seem to have found better speed and consistency during my second stint. After necking half a pint of hot chocolate I scribble 'tent' next to my name on the status board - another simple yet effective solution to one of last year's problems - and head for our little haven beyond the owner-driver paddock.

As I'm getting undressed, the circuit goes quiet. Red flag, which probably means an accident; this often seems to happen when I leave, and I'm starting to get superstitious about it. Marianne joins me a few minutes later and fills me in. It could have been nasty - a rolled kart - but the driver is uninjured. I take some Ibuprofen for my aches, set the alarm for half past midnight; as we settle down, the engines begin to restart on track.

"Andrew?"

I snap awake. Which means - though my body tells me otherwise - that I've been to sleep. My brain responds with "Yes?" but what emerges from my mouth is probably more like "Ungruh?"
"We need you back at base to help with pitstops soon." Sounds like Ryan, I think, though Marianne thought it was Michael.
"How soon?" Make every second of rest count...
"Like... five minutes?"
"Okay, I'll be there."

I sit up, ignore the complaints from all four corners of my body, remind myself that I love endurance racing. I check my watch.

12.09am. Barely past half distance.

(Part Two will follow soon)

British 24 Hours 2015. Teesside, 14-16 August. Preview

(Click here to read part 1 of the race report)
(Click here to read part 2 of the race report)

I know exactly where I was 8640 hours ago.

I stood with a very special group of people on the second step of a podium overlooking a windswept kart circuit in the northeast of England. Exhausted, euphoric, sad that it was all over.

And there hasn't been a waking hour since when the thought of getting back on that podium, of going one better, hasn't entered our thoughts. This is what the British 24 Hours does. It doesn't just get under your skin. It permeates your bones.

This race is defined by its venue. If kart circuits were Marvel Comics characters, Teesside would be Hulk. It's a supersized, hang-on-for-dear-life monster of a circuit; a joy to race on, but disrespect it at your peril. Its scale attracts over 70 teams from across Europe to do battle in one of the oldest and most prestigious endurance kart races in the world.

In a dry race the leading teams will cover over a thousand laps, or 2,100 kilometres, at an average speed of more than 60mph. In 2014, the total distance covered by all the teams would have stretched three times around the globe.

Just like any story, the setting provides colour and depth, the race a narrative - but it's the people that give it life. Only once in a season do friends and rivals from a dozen national and international karting championships come together; competition on track is fierce, but the sense of occasion and community is one of many things that make this a very special race weekend.

As ever, there are good causes to be found throughout: Teesside is a staunch supporter of Help for Heroes, and the incredible Kartforce crews of wounded veterans return to take on this toughest of challenges again.

In 2015, as usual, it's the blue riband event of the European Prokart Endurance Championship, and features four races in one: two classes for owner drivers and two for rental karts supplied by the circuit. There are no barriers to entry, particularly in the rental classes - your granny could enter if she so desired. But such is the standard that a dream team made up of F1 or the WEC's finest would have their work cut out against the regulars.

I'm privileged to race with the Corporate Chauffeurs team, now in our fifth year at Teesside. Just like in 2014, our generous sponsor has helped fund two entries. Kart #11 features half of last year's lineup and two newcomers. Club 100 frontrunner Russell Endean and British 24 Hours regular Jonny Spencer will be joined by Bradley Philpot and Ryan Lindsay - who need little introduction. Both are race instructors alongside stellar CVs in karting and car racing. If they have a glimmer of the luck that deserted them last year, Corporate Chauffeurs #11 will be tough to beat.

Last year's podium-finishing #22 lineup is unchanged: captain Alex Vangeen, Michael Weddell, Lee Hollywood and myself. Lee and Michael are the superstars; heading into our fifth British 24 Hours together, Alex and I have more experience than raw speed, but we'll be there or thereabouts.

The two driver crews will be ably supported by my wife Marianne - also in her fifth year at Teesside - with Arnaud Tinet, Chris Hollywood, Marie Mcgeachie and Charlie Fitton. They'll help keep everybody fed, watered, informed and rested through what's likely to be our toughest weekend ever at Teesside. With faster, thirstier karts for the popular Club Hire class, we're expecting up to 50% more pitstops than in previous years.

A huge race like this is as much about the journey as the result; come what may, we'll make the most of it on track and off. But a Corporate Chauffeurs 1-2 is what we want. We've worked hard to be better prepared than ever before, and we'll move heaven and earth to make it happen.

Testing for the British 24 Hours starts on Friday 14 August. Practice and qualifying takes place on Saturday morning, and the lights will go green at midday. Social media will be awash with updates; the hashtag for the race will be #British24 and we'll be using #CCB24 for Corporate Chauffeurs. Live timing will also be available online. As always, any and all remote support will be much appreciated.

After months of anticipation it's time for checklists and packing, for ticking off the sleeps and counting the minutes. It's about to get real, and I can hardly wait.

To everyone competing this weekend: best of luck, and keep safe.

Game on...