The world holds its breath.
Gossamer curtains of spray hang in the air and tingle my cheeks. Around me the packed grandstand at Abbey, opposite the pitlane exit at Silverstone, is like a giant game of musical chairs. Hands are clasped around cups, flasks, cameras, phones. A thousand people struck deaf and dumb by a sound which renders all else silent.
The visceral scream of a Formula One engine.
We crane our necks as a black-and-white Sauber-Ferrari morphs out of the gloom to our right, towing a rooster tail of spray that tops out above the grandstands. The circuit looks as if it's surfaced in glass. I make out the red, black and white helmet of Kamui Kobayashi, and know I'm not alone in clenching my fists a little tighter. Practice, qualifying, race, or trip to the shops - Kamui has only one speed. Flat out.
The scream drops an octave as he brakes just short of the hundred-metre board. The car's rear wheels lock instantly on the streaming surface, the driver's white-gloved hands already moving as it starts to skip wide, trying to swap ends at a hundred and fifty miles an hour. A flash of opposite lock and the slide is checked, gearchanges thumping our chests. Slowing now, sweeping in towards the apex of the right-hander at still-impossible speed, Kobayashi taking a slightly wide line to avoid what looks like a lake at the kerb.
The car tries to rotate again as he treads the throttle with a dancer's touch, the staccato rise and fall of revs telegraphing every beat of man and machine's fight against the elements. Both outside wheels are beyond the exit kerb before the aerodynamics finally squash the treaded tyres through the water. With grip restored, the Sauber is flying again; one more skitter and it's gone, V8 wail fading away to our left.
"Come on Jenson! Let's be 'avin' ya!!"
Four hours later, and the crowd is restless. This sodden British summer is doing its worst, and eighty thousand of us stare glumly as raindrops pepper the growing puddles like machine-gun fire. We can see almost a mile of track - from the exit of Stowe to our right, through the Vale chicane and double right-hander of Club in front of us, all the way up the start-finish straight. We can also see right along the pitlane. It's a great spot.
But Silverstone is silent. Nearly forty minutes of the ninety-minute session gone, and no amount of cheering or Mexican waves have brought the cars out of the pits. The rules strictly limit their usage of wet weather tyres; with the weather forecast to stay dire, the teams have no option but to conserve them for qualifying and the race.
There's a growing edge of desperation in the voices on the Tannoy. Please, give us something to talk about. To cheer about.
In the pits, an engine fires, buzz-saw idle echoing out over the great circuit and its assembled masses. The crowd twitters, and waits. We've seen this before; it could be a false dawn. But now the revs rise, and... yes! A huge cheer rocks the grandstand as the car pulls out into the pitlane and ambles away from us towards the exit, red wet-weather light flashing below its rear wing.
From our vantage point we can't yet see who it is, but he's soon filling the giant screens all around the circuit. It's Kamui Kobayashi, of course. Nobody else has spent more time on track today. There's still a chance that he could return to the pits without completing a lap, and we hold our breath as he exits Stowe, accelerating towards us...
Passing the pit entry. Now we're on our feet, clapping and stamping; he passes us, treading very carefully through the huge puddle that caught out so many drivers in the junior formulae earlier on, and engages warp onto the start/finish straight. After more than half of the session, this will be the first timed lap.
Next time through, Kamui means business. We're on our feet again as the Sauber wiggles its hips under braking, floating its way to the apex of the Vale chicane. Kobayashi dances it right to the outside of the kerb at the exit, practically underneath us, and somehow finds some traction. The car leaps forward, heading straight for the final right hander and its inch-deep lake, and two thousand spectators share the same thought.
No way he's getting through there at that speed-
Kamui hits the puddle, the four furrows ploughed by the car's wheels deepening visibly. In split-second beats we watch the rear wheels begin to snap wide, the start of the inevitable spin-
But Kamui has other ideas. He backs off the throttle, just a little; the white-gloved hands whip the steering wheel a half-turn to the left... and the rear wheels respond, halting their slide, the car cocked at an angle of ten degrees.
And still, incredibly, angling towards the corner's apex, the start-finish straight beyond. Then it's through, drifting to the red-and-white striped kerb, held in check by a myriad tiny inputs of steering and throttle... and we're roaring our appreciation, drowning out the staccato scream as Kobayashi straightens up and powers away.
Silverstone hosts the most knowledgeable motorsport fans on Earth, and we know sublime skill when we see it. Formula One cars just aren't designed to be driven like this, and even we can't fully understand what it takes to dance along the knife-edge in the most difficult conditions imaginable.
Kobayashi's efforts bring out the rest of the field to join the fray, and we cheer the swashbuckling Hamilton, the ever-smooth Button. We gasp anew as the old Rainmaster himself - Schumacher - slithers his Mercedes through the puddles. We purse our lips at the obvious confidence and rediscovered speed of Ferrari's beleaguered Felipe Massa. And we silently pay our respects to the drivers of the black-and-red cars and their Marussia team - devastated just days before by a horrific testing accident. Maria de Villota is never far from our thoughts.
As the chequered flag waves, the crowd is already thinning - fighting its way out through the traffic chaos that will dominate headlines in the days to come. What with relentless rain and rivers of mud, we've rarely seen a tougher day at Silverstone.
Is it worth it? Just barely. But my day is made by the efforts of one man. One man who trailblazed for all the others. Who held an impossible four-wheel drift through a lake at Club Corner.
Kamui Kobayashi, you're my hero.
Sunday, 15 July 2012
Friday, 8 June 2012
BRKC round 6. Birmingham, 3 June 2012
At 22.41 on Saturday 2 June, I posted this on Facebook:
Getting ready for the British Rental Kart Championship finale in Birmingham tomorrow. Sleep won't come easy tonight...
By 2.30am, I'm beginning to wish I'd kept my prophecy to myself. I've tried everything short of a pint of hard liquor, counted a whole field full of sheep. Nothing is working. The alarm is set for 5.40am.
Somehow, by 9.30am I'm in Birmingham, existing on sugar, caffeine and three hours of semi-slumber. And a lingering spike of adrenalin from a frightening moment on a flooded M40. Brad and Becca are already present and correct in the clubhouse, the end of season trophy table trembling under the weight of silverware. The championship trophies in particular are beautiful - cone-shaped wafers of silver that wouldn't disgrace a Formula One podium.
On its travels the BRKC goes to some scenic venues. Birmingham Wheels is not one of them. Buried deep in an industrial estate bordered by wasteland and a railway line, skyscrapers lining the horizon, it's a place to darken the sunniest of days. On this rain-lashed Sunday morning it's testing my love of the race to the limit.
Over the past three rounds, fellow racers Daryl and Lee have, between them, been looking after the bulkier bits of my race gear - enabling me to fly up for Round 5 at Teesside. They've both been a huge help to me and I'm very grateful. At 10am Daryl arrives, bang on time, and I'm reunited with my helmet, seat, and - crucially - wetsuit.
The car park is filling rapidly, and engines are finally clattering into life for the first of two pre-race test sessions; I'm in the second one; having kitted up I watch for a few minutes, trying to stay dry under the canopy in front of the clubhouse. Needless to say, it looks very slippery, and as Brad observed earlier, the karts sound overgeared - some of the clutches not fully engaging until the end of the back straight. The laptimes are hovering around the 1 minute 3 second mark, around 15 seconds slower than dry pace.
Finally it's my turn - 15 minutes later than billed - and I busy myself getting comfortable in the kart. Birmingham's fleet of Sodikarts are fitted with adjustable seats and pedals. It's a double-edged sword: sitting with my knees below my chin is a welcome change. But both seat and pedal assembly move under load, making it difficult to be precise. Heeding some good advice from Brad, I push my seat as far back as it will go to put as much weight as possible over the rear wheels.
Out on track I'm quickly up to speed. The conditions are tricky but driveable, the circuit quite interesting with its twisty infield, fast chicane and wide-open hairpin - but the kart is pooping the party. It accelerates with all the vigour of a hairdryer towing a 747; the pedals feel mushy and indistinct underfoot. The steering wheel is set at an angle that would make a truck driver feel at home. Did I mention that I don't like it?
After 20 minutes I set a time in the low 63 second bracket, which looks reasonable against the competition. We crowd into the clubhouse to be issued with our driver numbers for the day. There are 45 of us in all; no less than five drivers have a shot at championship glory today.
After a short briefing, we're sent out in groups for a ten minute free practice session. This time I set a low 62 in a kart which, ominously, feels completely different to the first. Once all three groups have finished, I'm astonished to see my name in third position overall. There are lots of variables at play today, but the pace isn't bad and I'm keeping it on the black stuff.
After his brilliant win at Teesside, Sean Brierley is one of the championship contenders, and looks a little green at the prospect of starting the very first heat from pole position.
"This is going to make or break my day..."
Ten minutes later he's much relieved, having easily held off Dan Truman and Harry Wicks. As heat 2 - of 18 - gets underway, I'm shutting out the world and checking that my clear visor is properly fitted.
I'm third on the grid for heat 3, behind Nick Powell and Chris Brookshaw; as I prod the throttle on the way to the grid, I get the sense that this kart is even more reluctant than the previous two. As the lights go green I'm hard on the throttle and going nowhere, losing a place into turn one. I gain it back as someone goes wide at turn two, and - to my surprise - am still third at the end of the first lap.
But I'm struggling for pace and gradually fall prey first to Nick, who lost ground at the start and had to work his way up, and Matthew Hamilton, who started at the back. I drag the kart home fifth and discover later that I set a best time of 62.5 - better than it felt.
I'm soaked to the skin, my old wetsuit providing little protection from the driving rain and standing water; off track it's a battle to get warm. I'm next on in heat 8; in between, some of the usual suspects are making their presence felt on the leaderboard. Lee Hackett cruises to an easy win in his first heat, from fourth on the grid; Rhianna Purcocks works her way up from seventh to second. Sean follows his first heat win with an excellent second - also from seventh on the grid - in heat 5.
As we roll out for Heat 8 the rain buckets down harder than ever and I feel for Becca, who has now been standing in the waterlogged pitlane with only an umbrella for cover, for over an hour.
I wouldn't have thought it possible to be any tardier away from the line without going backwards, but this kart is, incredibly, much slower than the last one. As I trundle out of the chicane with pedal to metal I'm jumping up and down in the seat to try and coax some speed out of it, hitting the steering wheel in disgust. I'd be better off on foot.
Conditions have worsened and the track is slicker than ever; despite my frustration I keep my head while others lose theirs, stay on track and manage to cross the line fifth. It's a good drive under the circumstances but I take no pleasure from it. The overall pace had slowed by a second, but I set a best time of 65.5 - a full three and a half seconds slower than my practice time.
With a longer lull until my final heat I grab my packed lunch from the car and try to stem the shivering with copious amounts of machine tea. With feeling restored and spirits lifting I check in with heavyweight regulars Alex and Anwar. Alex is having a reasonable day and looks to be heading for another heavyweight podium, while Anwar is virtually guaranteed the heavyweight title; typically, he's making mincemeat of much lighter drivers on track and heads the heavyweight leaderboard with half the heats completed.
Alex joins me for my final heat. He lines up second on the grid. I'm third, and seem to have drawn a slightly less comatose kart than last time. As we wait for the lights I spot the kart to my left rolling forward; it looks like a jumped start to me and as the lights blink green, he comes straight across the track and shoves me onto the grass before turn 1. My best start of the day is ruined and after the litany of frustration of the past few hours I'm flooded with icy fury.
Alex and James Kimbley have found their way through in the confusion; with a better kart to work with I pick James off and focus on reeling in Alex. The driver that hit me at the start has dropped behind, but he's very quick; he's soon past both of us and pulling away. I dispatch Alex at the exit of the hairpin a couple of laps later and am showered in oily water as he has to take to the puddle on the left to avoid hitting me. Mine was an aggressive move, but I'm not in the mood to be courteous. I take the flag third - again, not bad all things considered.
But a mixture of cold, wet, frustration and sleep deprivation has finally pushed me over the edge. I find the driver that put me on the grass and give him several pieces of my mind. He tries to explain himself, but I'm not interested; I squelch inside to wring out my gloves.
Bravely, he comes and finds me a few minutes later. It's Nick Powell, whom I've met before; I hadn't recognised him with his helmet on. He explains that he hadn't meant to push me off, that he'd driven into a narrowing gap and had another kart to his left. He apologises for his mistake; I apologise for shouting at him, and we shake on it. I'm left angry at myself for losing my cool and resolve not to let it happen again.
As the heats grind to a close I want nothing more than to get the final over with, put dry clothes on and go home. There are four finals, each of 12 laps. I've scraped into the B final, last but one on the grid; as we sit waiting to go I'm shivering so hard that I can barely hold the wheel.
But discomfort is forgotten in an instant as I sense a dribble of power beneath the right pedal. My start is good, but there's nowhere to go; I bring up the rear at the end of lap 1 but am not concerned: there are 11 to go - and at last, I'm in a kart as quick as those I drove in practice. The tangle of drivers ahead looks like an accident waiting to happen; I gain a place out of the chicane and get alongside the 10th placed driver under braking for the hairpin. Simultaneously, a number of others slide wide and I take the tight line on the exit.
Once it all shakes out I'm seventh, trying in vain to stay in touch with the flying Chris Brookshaw, and bearing down on Chris Anderson. As one Chris disappears into the spray I overtake the other; with nine laps gone the leaders are exiting the hairpin as I approach it; tantalisingly close, but there are no more opportunities.
I take the flag sixth, having been twelfth at the end of the first lap, and set my fastest lap of the day on the final tour - 62.031. It's easily my best race of the day, and will put me 17th overall; my spirits lift a little. They lift further at the prospect of dry underwear; as the A final gets underway I'm hidden away in the empty signing-on hut, dry and warm for the first time in six hours.
By all accounts the final is a processional affair at the front, with an easy win for local hero (and BRKC newbie) Danny Henney ahead of Michael Weddell and Matthew Hamilton. I'm not surprised to see two of the Scots contingent on the podium - this sort of weather must be a walk in the park for them.
There's a short delay while Brad works out the final championship positions; after the flurry of race podiums, Lee Hackett is crowned champion ahead of Sean Brierley and Michael Weddell. It's a popular and well deserved victory; despite a small weight penalty Lee has more than held his own against some outstanding competition, only once finishing outside the top seven and logging two podiums including a dominant win at Hereford. Sean and Michael have also logged a win and a podium each, and shown the consistency needed to fight at the sharp end of this championship.
Anwar wins the heavyweight title ahead of the absent Lee Jones (he's on holiday in Turkey) and Alex Vangeen. Quality drivers all: having partnered Alex and Lee at the British 24 Hours I know exactly what it takes to beat them.
I say my goodbyes and escape with a mix of relief and frustration. My result was lifted from poor to mediocre by a good final, but I haven't enjoyed today. The multiple heat format partially disguised the huge disparity between some of the karts, but even the best of them were downright unpleasant to drive. The circuit staff are a genial lot and seemed better organised today than they were on our first visit in 2011. But they haven't made enough of an effort to keep it fair for everybody. Needless to say I'm not impressed.
I've been doing this a long time and know the rental karting mantra well, but a two or more second disparity over a 60 second lap is not good enough. Where the BRKC goes, I go (assuming I'm on the same continent), but it will test my loyalty to the limit if we return to Birmingham in 2013.
And so ends BRKC 2012. 2011's strong start has been well and truly eclipsed, with over 100 drivers entered and grids of 50 or more at most of the rounds. I'm sad to have missed Manchester and Matchams, but it's been a pleasure to meet and write about so many new people. We'll reunite for the O-plate at Whilton Mill in October and I look forward to that. Bradley makes it all look easy, but I'm well aware of the huge amount of work he and Becca put in behind the scenes to make the BRKC happen. The best championship I've ever competed in got better still in 2012, and long may it continue.
As our champion prepares for the Indoor World Karting Championships in Germany, and our runner-up gets his head around the idea of heading to California for the Sport Kart Grand Nationals, I'm turning my attention to the Elite Karting League. This is a new team championship run by Teesside Karting, who take their excellent fleet of prokarts to every round.
I'll be joining the Southampton Scorpions - and many other BRKC regulars - for round 3 of the EKL at Clay Pigeon in July. New circuit, new format, weight equalised... but the karts are old friends. Can't wait.
Over the past three rounds, fellow racers Daryl and Lee have, between them, been looking after the bulkier bits of my race gear - enabling me to fly up for Round 5 at Teesside. They've both been a huge help to me and I'm very grateful. At 10am Daryl arrives, bang on time, and I'm reunited with my helmet, seat, and - crucially - wetsuit.
The car park is filling rapidly, and engines are finally clattering into life for the first of two pre-race test sessions; I'm in the second one; having kitted up I watch for a few minutes, trying to stay dry under the canopy in front of the clubhouse. Needless to say, it looks very slippery, and as Brad observed earlier, the karts sound overgeared - some of the clutches not fully engaging until the end of the back straight. The laptimes are hovering around the 1 minute 3 second mark, around 15 seconds slower than dry pace.
Finally it's my turn - 15 minutes later than billed - and I busy myself getting comfortable in the kart. Birmingham's fleet of Sodikarts are fitted with adjustable seats and pedals. It's a double-edged sword: sitting with my knees below my chin is a welcome change. But both seat and pedal assembly move under load, making it difficult to be precise. Heeding some good advice from Brad, I push my seat as far back as it will go to put as much weight as possible over the rear wheels.
Out on track I'm quickly up to speed. The conditions are tricky but driveable, the circuit quite interesting with its twisty infield, fast chicane and wide-open hairpin - but the kart is pooping the party. It accelerates with all the vigour of a hairdryer towing a 747; the pedals feel mushy and indistinct underfoot. The steering wheel is set at an angle that would make a truck driver feel at home. Did I mention that I don't like it?
After 20 minutes I set a time in the low 63 second bracket, which looks reasonable against the competition. We crowd into the clubhouse to be issued with our driver numbers for the day. There are 45 of us in all; no less than five drivers have a shot at championship glory today.
After a short briefing, we're sent out in groups for a ten minute free practice session. This time I set a low 62 in a kart which, ominously, feels completely different to the first. Once all three groups have finished, I'm astonished to see my name in third position overall. There are lots of variables at play today, but the pace isn't bad and I'm keeping it on the black stuff.
After his brilliant win at Teesside, Sean Brierley is one of the championship contenders, and looks a little green at the prospect of starting the very first heat from pole position.
"This is going to make or break my day..."
Ten minutes later he's much relieved, having easily held off Dan Truman and Harry Wicks. As heat 2 - of 18 - gets underway, I'm shutting out the world and checking that my clear visor is properly fitted.
I'm third on the grid for heat 3, behind Nick Powell and Chris Brookshaw; as I prod the throttle on the way to the grid, I get the sense that this kart is even more reluctant than the previous two. As the lights go green I'm hard on the throttle and going nowhere, losing a place into turn one. I gain it back as someone goes wide at turn two, and - to my surprise - am still third at the end of the first lap.
But I'm struggling for pace and gradually fall prey first to Nick, who lost ground at the start and had to work his way up, and Matthew Hamilton, who started at the back. I drag the kart home fifth and discover later that I set a best time of 62.5 - better than it felt.
I'm soaked to the skin, my old wetsuit providing little protection from the driving rain and standing water; off track it's a battle to get warm. I'm next on in heat 8; in between, some of the usual suspects are making their presence felt on the leaderboard. Lee Hackett cruises to an easy win in his first heat, from fourth on the grid; Rhianna Purcocks works her way up from seventh to second. Sean follows his first heat win with an excellent second - also from seventh on the grid - in heat 5.
As we roll out for Heat 8 the rain buckets down harder than ever and I feel for Becca, who has now been standing in the waterlogged pitlane with only an umbrella for cover, for over an hour.
I wouldn't have thought it possible to be any tardier away from the line without going backwards, but this kart is, incredibly, much slower than the last one. As I trundle out of the chicane with pedal to metal I'm jumping up and down in the seat to try and coax some speed out of it, hitting the steering wheel in disgust. I'd be better off on foot.
Conditions have worsened and the track is slicker than ever; despite my frustration I keep my head while others lose theirs, stay on track and manage to cross the line fifth. It's a good drive under the circumstances but I take no pleasure from it. The overall pace had slowed by a second, but I set a best time of 65.5 - a full three and a half seconds slower than my practice time.
With a longer lull until my final heat I grab my packed lunch from the car and try to stem the shivering with copious amounts of machine tea. With feeling restored and spirits lifting I check in with heavyweight regulars Alex and Anwar. Alex is having a reasonable day and looks to be heading for another heavyweight podium, while Anwar is virtually guaranteed the heavyweight title; typically, he's making mincemeat of much lighter drivers on track and heads the heavyweight leaderboard with half the heats completed.
Alex joins me for my final heat. He lines up second on the grid. I'm third, and seem to have drawn a slightly less comatose kart than last time. As we wait for the lights I spot the kart to my left rolling forward; it looks like a jumped start to me and as the lights blink green, he comes straight across the track and shoves me onto the grass before turn 1. My best start of the day is ruined and after the litany of frustration of the past few hours I'm flooded with icy fury.
Alex and James Kimbley have found their way through in the confusion; with a better kart to work with I pick James off and focus on reeling in Alex. The driver that hit me at the start has dropped behind, but he's very quick; he's soon past both of us and pulling away. I dispatch Alex at the exit of the hairpin a couple of laps later and am showered in oily water as he has to take to the puddle on the left to avoid hitting me. Mine was an aggressive move, but I'm not in the mood to be courteous. I take the flag third - again, not bad all things considered.
But a mixture of cold, wet, frustration and sleep deprivation has finally pushed me over the edge. I find the driver that put me on the grass and give him several pieces of my mind. He tries to explain himself, but I'm not interested; I squelch inside to wring out my gloves.
Bravely, he comes and finds me a few minutes later. It's Nick Powell, whom I've met before; I hadn't recognised him with his helmet on. He explains that he hadn't meant to push me off, that he'd driven into a narrowing gap and had another kart to his left. He apologises for his mistake; I apologise for shouting at him, and we shake on it. I'm left angry at myself for losing my cool and resolve not to let it happen again.
As the heats grind to a close I want nothing more than to get the final over with, put dry clothes on and go home. There are four finals, each of 12 laps. I've scraped into the B final, last but one on the grid; as we sit waiting to go I'm shivering so hard that I can barely hold the wheel.
But discomfort is forgotten in an instant as I sense a dribble of power beneath the right pedal. My start is good, but there's nowhere to go; I bring up the rear at the end of lap 1 but am not concerned: there are 11 to go - and at last, I'm in a kart as quick as those I drove in practice. The tangle of drivers ahead looks like an accident waiting to happen; I gain a place out of the chicane and get alongside the 10th placed driver under braking for the hairpin. Simultaneously, a number of others slide wide and I take the tight line on the exit.
Once it all shakes out I'm seventh, trying in vain to stay in touch with the flying Chris Brookshaw, and bearing down on Chris Anderson. As one Chris disappears into the spray I overtake the other; with nine laps gone the leaders are exiting the hairpin as I approach it; tantalisingly close, but there are no more opportunities.
I take the flag sixth, having been twelfth at the end of the first lap, and set my fastest lap of the day on the final tour - 62.031. It's easily my best race of the day, and will put me 17th overall; my spirits lift a little. They lift further at the prospect of dry underwear; as the A final gets underway I'm hidden away in the empty signing-on hut, dry and warm for the first time in six hours.
By all accounts the final is a processional affair at the front, with an easy win for local hero (and BRKC newbie) Danny Henney ahead of Michael Weddell and Matthew Hamilton. I'm not surprised to see two of the Scots contingent on the podium - this sort of weather must be a walk in the park for them.
There's a short delay while Brad works out the final championship positions; after the flurry of race podiums, Lee Hackett is crowned champion ahead of Sean Brierley and Michael Weddell. It's a popular and well deserved victory; despite a small weight penalty Lee has more than held his own against some outstanding competition, only once finishing outside the top seven and logging two podiums including a dominant win at Hereford. Sean and Michael have also logged a win and a podium each, and shown the consistency needed to fight at the sharp end of this championship.
Anwar wins the heavyweight title ahead of the absent Lee Jones (he's on holiday in Turkey) and Alex Vangeen. Quality drivers all: having partnered Alex and Lee at the British 24 Hours I know exactly what it takes to beat them.
I say my goodbyes and escape with a mix of relief and frustration. My result was lifted from poor to mediocre by a good final, but I haven't enjoyed today. The multiple heat format partially disguised the huge disparity between some of the karts, but even the best of them were downright unpleasant to drive. The circuit staff are a genial lot and seemed better organised today than they were on our first visit in 2011. But they haven't made enough of an effort to keep it fair for everybody. Needless to say I'm not impressed.
I've been doing this a long time and know the rental karting mantra well, but a two or more second disparity over a 60 second lap is not good enough. Where the BRKC goes, I go (assuming I'm on the same continent), but it will test my loyalty to the limit if we return to Birmingham in 2013.
And so ends BRKC 2012. 2011's strong start has been well and truly eclipsed, with over 100 drivers entered and grids of 50 or more at most of the rounds. I'm sad to have missed Manchester and Matchams, but it's been a pleasure to meet and write about so many new people. We'll reunite for the O-plate at Whilton Mill in October and I look forward to that. Bradley makes it all look easy, but I'm well aware of the huge amount of work he and Becca put in behind the scenes to make the BRKC happen. The best championship I've ever competed in got better still in 2012, and long may it continue.
As our champion prepares for the Indoor World Karting Championships in Germany, and our runner-up gets his head around the idea of heading to California for the Sport Kart Grand Nationals, I'm turning my attention to the Elite Karting League. This is a new team championship run by Teesside Karting, who take their excellent fleet of prokarts to every round.
I'll be joining the Southampton Scorpions - and many other BRKC regulars - for round 3 of the EKL at Clay Pigeon in July. New circuit, new format, weight equalised... but the karts are old friends. Can't wait.
Thursday, 17 May 2012
BRKC round 5. Teesside, 12-13 May 2012 (part two)
(Scroll down for part one)
Now it's real.
8.15am on Sunday. It's a beautiful spring morning at Teesside, and the adrenalin is beginning to flow. The circuit is quiet, the chatter a little less boisterous than yesterday. The atmosphere itself seems to hum with purpose.
I've slept briefly but well, and half a pint of Premier Inn coffee is doing its thing. After yesterday's practice debacle I seriously considered going to bed in my kneepads, but I've settled for arriving early and making sure all my ducks are in a row. Yesterday's 28-strong grid has swelled to 46 for the main event, and I catch up with some of the regulars: reigning champion Chris Hackworth, whom I've not seen since Round two at PFI, and Alex Vangeen (who watched but didn't compete on Saturday) among others.
Bob and Bradley conduct the briefing which runs us through the format for the day: we've been split into two groups, each of which will do a 15 minute qualifying session followed by a 15 lap race. The top 11 finishers from each group will form the grid of the 15 lap A final, with the rest in the B final; as a bonus, the top eight B final finishers will progress to the back of the A final grid.
I'm in group two, which suits me fine: having used the fast chicane in front of the pits on Saturday, we're bypassing it today, which significantly changes the entry to turn one. As qualifying gets underway I'm at the pitwall, watching intently. It's quickly obvious that this corner shows up driving styles in minute detail: Chris Hackworth is turning in on the nose, letting the rear of his kart slip wide as he tries to manhandle it through without lifting. Andrew Bayliss and Lee Jones are marble-smooth, hardly seeming to steer at all. Rhianna Purcocks' hands are a blur of steering correction but she looks very quick, keeping both the front and rear tyres nibbling on the ragged edge.
After their allotted fifteen minutes they line up on the grid, three abreast, with most of the usual suspects - Chris, Rhianna, Hereford winner Lee Hackett - near the front. And almost from the moment the flag drops, it's clear that today's winners and losers will be separated by the tiniest of margins. After fifteen breathless laps, Chris wins by the skin of his teeth - the top five covered by less than three quarters of a second.
Our turn. I've been allocated kart 65, which has just finished 19th in the hands of Chris Bate. I'm praying that it's the driver rather than the kart that's off the pace, but sense as soon as I reach the infield that the power delivery is flatter than the kart I drove on Saturday. It's not disastrous, and the handling is fine; I could change it, but risk ending up worse off.
I qualify 16th of 23, exactly a second away from pole. Some of that is down to weight - I'm nearly 80kg kitted up today - but it's not good. At least I've got the inside line for turn 1.
The flag lifts, drops, and we're away. I gain a place in turn 1 but am hung out to dry in the traffic jam at the hairpin and lose at least two places. Years of experience have taught me not to lose heart at times like these, but I face a battle to keep my race from going down the toilet. Matters aren't helped when, squeezed three abreast into the right hander at the end of the banking, I run out of room and tap the driver to my left into a spin. I raise a hand in apology and race on, half expecting to be black-flagged - but nothing happens.
I knuckle down and focus on the electric-blue suit of Alex Vangeen, two places and five metres ahead. The driver in between is a little slow out of the last corner and I catch him as we reach the start-finish straight. Right on his bumper, I lift a fraction to avoid hitting him - and am passed into turn one by the two drivers behind. Momentum is everything at Teesside, and I've just been reminded the hard way.
But I'm still in touch with Alex; over the remaining twelve laps the gap waxes and wanes as we both fight our way through the field - but although I get close, I can't pass him and take the flag 14th. After a terrible start it's not too bad: I'll be 6th on the grid for the B final.
Bob announces a breather before the finals; I chat briefly to Stuart Lindsay and the Hacketts. Lee is having another strong day, despite suffering from an upset stomach, and his father Lawrence confesses to having printed out every post of this blog. I'm impressed at his commitment - even I've never done that - and am delighted to hear that people enjoy my ramblings.
As I roll into my grid slot - on the far left of the second row - I notice that Alex is directly in front of me again, his kart angled aggressively towards the right. The inside line for turn one is vital; we'll be at a slight disadvantage at the start.
As the flag drops I rocket away - this kart (no 18) far stronger off the line than the last one - and slot into fifth position as we sweep into turn one. Alex is a little wide into the infield hairpin; I close up to his bumper and dispatch him as we exit the right-hander onto the back straight. This is more like it.
Round two winner Aaron McManus is just ahead with Chris Brookshaw and Ben Allward fighting tooth and nail for the lead in front of him. They draw slowly away - but I'm keeping Aaron honest while steadily dropping the chasing pack. There's half a chance of a coveted BRKC podium, and I drive the most inch-perfect race of my season in pursuit of it - but it's not to be. Aaron makes no mistakes, the front two hold it together and I cross the line a still-satisfied fourth.
But there's no time to rest - we're allocated new karts and sent straight out for the A final. Along with the three that finished ahead of me, Alex and Lee have scraped in as well. Our karts are the leftovers from the 30-strong fleet, and have been sitting in the pitlane all day. I'm praying for a rocketship but am not hugely optimistic. That's a good thing, because having lined up 26th, I'm stone last by the end of the first lap. Alex is just ahead: clearly we've both drawn badly. Although it's probably only 5-6 tenths of a second slower than my B final kart, this one feels horrible: gripless and gutless.
I drag it round to 27th, ahead of only Alex and two very unlucky front runners: Rhianna Purcocks and Daniel Truman. A little disappointing - mid to high teens would have been representative - but the BRKC's clever scoring system means I've come away with ten points. Although I'm disappointed with my raw pace, my consistency has been very good, often enabling me to beat faster drivers. T'was ever thus...
Back in the pitlane, it's mayhem as usual, and it takes a little while to get to the heart of the story at the front. The big - nay, huge - news is that Sean Brierley has won, having kept his head under huge pressure from Chris Hackworth, among others. And Ben Allward has surely produced one of the drives of the weekend to finish third overall, having finished second in the B final and streaked through from 24th on the grid.
A little more digging reveals that poor Rhianna has been desperately unlucky again. Having led for several laps, she was tagged in turn 1 by Chris, who sportingly let her repass him and almost certainly cost himself a win in the process. But shortly afterwards she suffered a puncture and had to pit, dropping to 29th overall. She is understandably upset - but I know I'm not alone in believing that her time will come, and soon.
For now, it's time to cheer the podiums; as Sean takes the top step, someone nearby is heard to mutter, "Oh God, Facebook is going to be a nightmare now..."
Andrew Bayliss has, on the quiet, done an excellent job to win the heavyweights ahead of Lee, while Alex notches up another podium despite his A-final woes.
We leave Alex and Sean chasing each other around the paddock armed with their bottles of bubbly, and begin to disperse. It's been another epic BRKC weekend - and incredibly, deep into our second season, we still don't have a repeat overall winner. Bob and the Teesside crew have done us proud and I look forward to returning.
I say my goodbyes and while away a pleasant afternoon on the North York moors before heading back to Leeds for my flight. Flybe eventually did come up with the goods, and I arrived home to a mountain of food, courtesy of my lovely wife. Exhausted though I was, sleep had to wait, for there was a Grand Prix to catch up on. It was 2am before I crawled into bed, still buzzing from a day which had seen two new winners crowned. And a welcome return to the top step for one of F1's great teams.
I can't wait to get going again, and mercifully the wait is short: the BRKC finale is just 17 days away. Birmingham here we come...
Now it's real.
8.15am on Sunday. It's a beautiful spring morning at Teesside, and the adrenalin is beginning to flow. The circuit is quiet, the chatter a little less boisterous than yesterday. The atmosphere itself seems to hum with purpose.
I've slept briefly but well, and half a pint of Premier Inn coffee is doing its thing. After yesterday's practice debacle I seriously considered going to bed in my kneepads, but I've settled for arriving early and making sure all my ducks are in a row. Yesterday's 28-strong grid has swelled to 46 for the main event, and I catch up with some of the regulars: reigning champion Chris Hackworth, whom I've not seen since Round two at PFI, and Alex Vangeen (who watched but didn't compete on Saturday) among others.
Bob and Bradley conduct the briefing which runs us through the format for the day: we've been split into two groups, each of which will do a 15 minute qualifying session followed by a 15 lap race. The top 11 finishers from each group will form the grid of the 15 lap A final, with the rest in the B final; as a bonus, the top eight B final finishers will progress to the back of the A final grid.
I'm in group two, which suits me fine: having used the fast chicane in front of the pits on Saturday, we're bypassing it today, which significantly changes the entry to turn one. As qualifying gets underway I'm at the pitwall, watching intently. It's quickly obvious that this corner shows up driving styles in minute detail: Chris Hackworth is turning in on the nose, letting the rear of his kart slip wide as he tries to manhandle it through without lifting. Andrew Bayliss and Lee Jones are marble-smooth, hardly seeming to steer at all. Rhianna Purcocks' hands are a blur of steering correction but she looks very quick, keeping both the front and rear tyres nibbling on the ragged edge.
After their allotted fifteen minutes they line up on the grid, three abreast, with most of the usual suspects - Chris, Rhianna, Hereford winner Lee Hackett - near the front. And almost from the moment the flag drops, it's clear that today's winners and losers will be separated by the tiniest of margins. After fifteen breathless laps, Chris wins by the skin of his teeth - the top five covered by less than three quarters of a second.
Our turn. I've been allocated kart 65, which has just finished 19th in the hands of Chris Bate. I'm praying that it's the driver rather than the kart that's off the pace, but sense as soon as I reach the infield that the power delivery is flatter than the kart I drove on Saturday. It's not disastrous, and the handling is fine; I could change it, but risk ending up worse off.
I qualify 16th of 23, exactly a second away from pole. Some of that is down to weight - I'm nearly 80kg kitted up today - but it's not good. At least I've got the inside line for turn 1.
The flag lifts, drops, and we're away. I gain a place in turn 1 but am hung out to dry in the traffic jam at the hairpin and lose at least two places. Years of experience have taught me not to lose heart at times like these, but I face a battle to keep my race from going down the toilet. Matters aren't helped when, squeezed three abreast into the right hander at the end of the banking, I run out of room and tap the driver to my left into a spin. I raise a hand in apology and race on, half expecting to be black-flagged - but nothing happens.
I knuckle down and focus on the electric-blue suit of Alex Vangeen, two places and five metres ahead. The driver in between is a little slow out of the last corner and I catch him as we reach the start-finish straight. Right on his bumper, I lift a fraction to avoid hitting him - and am passed into turn one by the two drivers behind. Momentum is everything at Teesside, and I've just been reminded the hard way.
But I'm still in touch with Alex; over the remaining twelve laps the gap waxes and wanes as we both fight our way through the field - but although I get close, I can't pass him and take the flag 14th. After a terrible start it's not too bad: I'll be 6th on the grid for the B final.
Bob announces a breather before the finals; I chat briefly to Stuart Lindsay and the Hacketts. Lee is having another strong day, despite suffering from an upset stomach, and his father Lawrence confesses to having printed out every post of this blog. I'm impressed at his commitment - even I've never done that - and am delighted to hear that people enjoy my ramblings.
As I roll into my grid slot - on the far left of the second row - I notice that Alex is directly in front of me again, his kart angled aggressively towards the right. The inside line for turn one is vital; we'll be at a slight disadvantage at the start.
As the flag drops I rocket away - this kart (no 18) far stronger off the line than the last one - and slot into fifth position as we sweep into turn one. Alex is a little wide into the infield hairpin; I close up to his bumper and dispatch him as we exit the right-hander onto the back straight. This is more like it.
Round two winner Aaron McManus is just ahead with Chris Brookshaw and Ben Allward fighting tooth and nail for the lead in front of him. They draw slowly away - but I'm keeping Aaron honest while steadily dropping the chasing pack. There's half a chance of a coveted BRKC podium, and I drive the most inch-perfect race of my season in pursuit of it - but it's not to be. Aaron makes no mistakes, the front two hold it together and I cross the line a still-satisfied fourth.
But there's no time to rest - we're allocated new karts and sent straight out for the A final. Along with the three that finished ahead of me, Alex and Lee have scraped in as well. Our karts are the leftovers from the 30-strong fleet, and have been sitting in the pitlane all day. I'm praying for a rocketship but am not hugely optimistic. That's a good thing, because having lined up 26th, I'm stone last by the end of the first lap. Alex is just ahead: clearly we've both drawn badly. Although it's probably only 5-6 tenths of a second slower than my B final kart, this one feels horrible: gripless and gutless.
I drag it round to 27th, ahead of only Alex and two very unlucky front runners: Rhianna Purcocks and Daniel Truman. A little disappointing - mid to high teens would have been representative - but the BRKC's clever scoring system means I've come away with ten points. Although I'm disappointed with my raw pace, my consistency has been very good, often enabling me to beat faster drivers. T'was ever thus...
Back in the pitlane, it's mayhem as usual, and it takes a little while to get to the heart of the story at the front. The big - nay, huge - news is that Sean Brierley has won, having kept his head under huge pressure from Chris Hackworth, among others. And Ben Allward has surely produced one of the drives of the weekend to finish third overall, having finished second in the B final and streaked through from 24th on the grid.
A little more digging reveals that poor Rhianna has been desperately unlucky again. Having led for several laps, she was tagged in turn 1 by Chris, who sportingly let her repass him and almost certainly cost himself a win in the process. But shortly afterwards she suffered a puncture and had to pit, dropping to 29th overall. She is understandably upset - but I know I'm not alone in believing that her time will come, and soon.
For now, it's time to cheer the podiums; as Sean takes the top step, someone nearby is heard to mutter, "Oh God, Facebook is going to be a nightmare now..."
Andrew Bayliss has, on the quiet, done an excellent job to win the heavyweights ahead of Lee, while Alex notches up another podium despite his A-final woes.
We leave Alex and Sean chasing each other around the paddock armed with their bottles of bubbly, and begin to disperse. It's been another epic BRKC weekend - and incredibly, deep into our second season, we still don't have a repeat overall winner. Bob and the Teesside crew have done us proud and I look forward to returning.
I say my goodbyes and while away a pleasant afternoon on the North York moors before heading back to Leeds for my flight. Flybe eventually did come up with the goods, and I arrived home to a mountain of food, courtesy of my lovely wife. Exhausted though I was, sleep had to wait, for there was a Grand Prix to catch up on. It was 2am before I crawled into bed, still buzzing from a day which had seen two new winners crowned. And a welcome return to the top step for one of F1's great teams.
I can't wait to get going again, and mercifully the wait is short: the BRKC finale is just 17 days away. Birmingham here we come...
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
BRKC round 5. Teesside, 12-13 May 2012 (Part one)
"Flybe regret to announce a delay to the departure of flight 176 to Southampton..."
It's 8pm on Sunday evening at England's highest airport. The wind is moaning through the roof girders, flapping exposed wires in the half-finished terminal extension. Beyond the windows, a Ryanair 737 bucks and yaws as its pilots try and wrestle it onto the runway in a thirty mile-an-hour crosswind.
There are perhaps fifty passengers left in the terminal, and we're feeling more abandoned by the second. Around us, shutters are being pulled across restaurant fronts, lights powering down, staff evaporating. There's nothing left to eat except Pringles. The departure board says our plane will be here in an hour and a half. But we're not optimistic. Idly, I calculate how long it would take to walk the 250 or so miles home.
Four days, I reckon. Might be quicker than waiting...
Wind back 31 hours, and I'm feeling pretty smug about my decision to fly north for BRKC round 5. Middlesbrough is a seven-hour drive from Southampton on a good day; instead, I've spent a relaxed hour in a departure lounge overlooking the airfield at Southampton, followed by fifty minutes on a plane and an hour and a quarter's drive. Even factoring in a rental car mixup, it's taken me four hours, door-to-door - and I've arrived at my Premier Inn in time for qualifying at the Spanish Grand Prix. Result.
There's nothing like the tingle of arriving at a race track, and nowhere gets the nerves jangling more than Teesside. It's the longest, fastest kart circuit on the planet; although we'll be using a shorter configuration this weekend, its high-speed sweepers thrill like nowhere else.
The place is buzzing, literally - the air filled with the tinny scream of two-stroke engines. As I head for the pitlane, they're drowned out by a V8 thrum. An Audi R8 rumbles into the car park and glides into a spot beside a Lamborghini Gallardo. I search for familiar faces and wonder vaguely at the supercar count.
In the pitlane, Lee Jones is just getting into a fearsome-looking kart with steering-wheel paddles and front brakes, while Sean Brierley - also suited up - looks on. BRKC founder Bradley and his (long-suffering) other half Becca fill me in: they're taking turns to test BRKC driver Martin Stone's 125cc gearbox kart. On track, karts are turning into the fast right hander - the first corner on the shorter circuit - at huge speed; in my fascination I completely miss the main attraction behind me.
A slicked-back photographer squats in front of a scarlet Ferrari over which a tall brunette is draped. I try not to stare - the poor girl looks embarrassed enough as it is - but I get the impression that there's a pretty lass somewhere beneath the makeup, fake eyelashes and unflattering painted-on pantsuit.
Becca hits it on the head, as usual. "There's a proud father out there somewhere..."
Lee has kindly stored some of my bulky gear in between races; I retrieve it as the circuit falls silent. In the briefing room, 28 drivers assemble for our Iron Man practice event: a 20 minute practice session followed by a 40 minute race. Circuit owner Bob Pope runs through a typically succinct Teesside briefing, and time suddenly speeds up: drivers are already out in the pitlane for practice, and I'm not ready. My plethora of padding takes time to fit, and I've frittered away priceless minutes gabbing.
"Are you racing?" Bob asks with a grin, as I realise that I've put my right elbow pad on my left knee. Everyone else is sitting in the karts, ready to go; I dial back the panic and tell him not to wait. It's a long session, and I can afford to miss a lap or two.
Two minutes later I'm in my kart, without my rib protector, and still with mismatched pads. And thirty seconds after that, my mind is emptied of all but the essentials: hang on tight and go very fast. It's nine months since we came tantalisingly close to a debut podium in the British 24 Hours, and it feels wonderful to be back. Even without its breathtaking back section this circuit is a wild ride.
In twenty or so laps I get back in the groove; the kart feels punchy enough and I'm overtaken only once: by Bradley Philpot, who sails by with his customary wave. As we line up and wait our turn to be called forward to the grid, I'm moderately confident. But the sinking feeling sets in quickly: I'm 19th, out of 28. There are some talented lightweights about, but I expected better.
Still, it's a long race. As the Union Jack flag drops I'm away well, the field remarkably clean through the fast chicane. Instead of carrying on past the pits we turn right, into a long, fast 180 degree sweeper which leads straight into the Esses with their notorious razor toothed kerbs.
Up ahead, Sean Brierley is locked in battle with one of the Scottish contingent (I think); a little ambitious into the hairpin, he has the door shut in his face and spins into my path. I jink right to avoid him and wonder if a repeat of Hereford is on the cards: crash on Saturday, podium on Sunday...
Either I've suddenly found some pace or the drivers who qualified ahead have lost theirs; after four laps I've made up several places and find myself in clear air, three seconds behind the familiar blue suit of Andrew Bayliss. Andrew's an occasional BRKC entrant - in the heavyweight class - and tends to be at the sharp end when he turns up. Over the next thirty laps I push hard, make no mistakes, but can do no more than maintain the gap. He's embroiled in a tight battle with a white suit - whose name escapes me - and I wait in vain for them to trip each other up.
I've learned not to look behind if I can avoid it, so I'm a little surprised to be nudged under braking for the infield hairpin. Over the next lap the nudging increases in violence, and peaks with a hard rap into the right-hander before the back straight. It's enough to push me wide; when I turn to glare (through my tinted visor) at the culprit, I'm shocked to see Rhianna Purcocks inching her way past. She waves a hand in apology and makes a remarkably expressive gesture which I take to mean that she was being nudged herself.
Sure enough, she's followed through by a dark-suited tailgater, and I realise that for many laps I've been at the head of a long train of karts. I tuck back in and give chase, but run out of time; I'm 14th at the flag, a little disappointed to lose places so late, but happy enough with my efforts.
We disperse to various hotels and reunite for dinner at a nearby restaurant. At eight o'clock on a Saturday night it is, predictably, heaving; there's no obvious space for a table of 20. Over the next hour, as grumbling stomachs begin to drown out the chatter, organiser David Hird starts to look a little hunted. He and Becca and I look daggers at the occupied table which we think is ours, and debate turfing them out. But half of them are children, and Hell hath no fury like a six-year old parted from a chocolate brownie sundae.
Finally we're seated, and I find myself next to Andrew Bayliss. It's my first real opportunity to talk to him, and I discover that a) karting is only the tip of his motorsport iceberg, and b) he's rather good at impressions. I'm under strict orders not to name names, but one particular Rory Bremner has me choking on my lasagne. Across from us is newcomer Adithyan Ellan, who looks to be enjoying himself, although he's a little wide-eyed at the level of competition on track. I don't blame him.
It's nearly 11pm when the lights dim and 'Happy birthday' rings out over the loudspeakers, and the staff present Becca with an ice cream sundae complete with candle. As the applause dies down, she pipes up.
"If you think this is going to make up for you going karting on my birthday..."
It's time for bed. I accept a kind offer of a lift home from Lee - and shortly afterwards, we remember that there are two Premier Inns called Stockton on Tees. Ah, well. Everyone ends up in the right beds eventually. It's an early start tomorrow but as ever, sleep comes fitfully. Playtime is over...
It's 8pm on Sunday evening at England's highest airport. The wind is moaning through the roof girders, flapping exposed wires in the half-finished terminal extension. Beyond the windows, a Ryanair 737 bucks and yaws as its pilots try and wrestle it onto the runway in a thirty mile-an-hour crosswind.
There are perhaps fifty passengers left in the terminal, and we're feeling more abandoned by the second. Around us, shutters are being pulled across restaurant fronts, lights powering down, staff evaporating. There's nothing left to eat except Pringles. The departure board says our plane will be here in an hour and a half. But we're not optimistic. Idly, I calculate how long it would take to walk the 250 or so miles home.
Four days, I reckon. Might be quicker than waiting...
Wind back 31 hours, and I'm feeling pretty smug about my decision to fly north for BRKC round 5. Middlesbrough is a seven-hour drive from Southampton on a good day; instead, I've spent a relaxed hour in a departure lounge overlooking the airfield at Southampton, followed by fifty minutes on a plane and an hour and a quarter's drive. Even factoring in a rental car mixup, it's taken me four hours, door-to-door - and I've arrived at my Premier Inn in time for qualifying at the Spanish Grand Prix. Result.
There's nothing like the tingle of arriving at a race track, and nowhere gets the nerves jangling more than Teesside. It's the longest, fastest kart circuit on the planet; although we'll be using a shorter configuration this weekend, its high-speed sweepers thrill like nowhere else.
The place is buzzing, literally - the air filled with the tinny scream of two-stroke engines. As I head for the pitlane, they're drowned out by a V8 thrum. An Audi R8 rumbles into the car park and glides into a spot beside a Lamborghini Gallardo. I search for familiar faces and wonder vaguely at the supercar count.
In the pitlane, Lee Jones is just getting into a fearsome-looking kart with steering-wheel paddles and front brakes, while Sean Brierley - also suited up - looks on. BRKC founder Bradley and his (long-suffering) other half Becca fill me in: they're taking turns to test BRKC driver Martin Stone's 125cc gearbox kart. On track, karts are turning into the fast right hander - the first corner on the shorter circuit - at huge speed; in my fascination I completely miss the main attraction behind me.
A slicked-back photographer squats in front of a scarlet Ferrari over which a tall brunette is draped. I try not to stare - the poor girl looks embarrassed enough as it is - but I get the impression that there's a pretty lass somewhere beneath the makeup, fake eyelashes and unflattering painted-on pantsuit.
Becca hits it on the head, as usual. "There's a proud father out there somewhere..."
Lee has kindly stored some of my bulky gear in between races; I retrieve it as the circuit falls silent. In the briefing room, 28 drivers assemble for our Iron Man practice event: a 20 minute practice session followed by a 40 minute race. Circuit owner Bob Pope runs through a typically succinct Teesside briefing, and time suddenly speeds up: drivers are already out in the pitlane for practice, and I'm not ready. My plethora of padding takes time to fit, and I've frittered away priceless minutes gabbing.
"Are you racing?" Bob asks with a grin, as I realise that I've put my right elbow pad on my left knee. Everyone else is sitting in the karts, ready to go; I dial back the panic and tell him not to wait. It's a long session, and I can afford to miss a lap or two.
Two minutes later I'm in my kart, without my rib protector, and still with mismatched pads. And thirty seconds after that, my mind is emptied of all but the essentials: hang on tight and go very fast. It's nine months since we came tantalisingly close to a debut podium in the British 24 Hours, and it feels wonderful to be back. Even without its breathtaking back section this circuit is a wild ride.
In twenty or so laps I get back in the groove; the kart feels punchy enough and I'm overtaken only once: by Bradley Philpot, who sails by with his customary wave. As we line up and wait our turn to be called forward to the grid, I'm moderately confident. But the sinking feeling sets in quickly: I'm 19th, out of 28. There are some talented lightweights about, but I expected better.
Still, it's a long race. As the Union Jack flag drops I'm away well, the field remarkably clean through the fast chicane. Instead of carrying on past the pits we turn right, into a long, fast 180 degree sweeper which leads straight into the Esses with their notorious razor toothed kerbs.
Up ahead, Sean Brierley is locked in battle with one of the Scottish contingent (I think); a little ambitious into the hairpin, he has the door shut in his face and spins into my path. I jink right to avoid him and wonder if a repeat of Hereford is on the cards: crash on Saturday, podium on Sunday...
Either I've suddenly found some pace or the drivers who qualified ahead have lost theirs; after four laps I've made up several places and find myself in clear air, three seconds behind the familiar blue suit of Andrew Bayliss. Andrew's an occasional BRKC entrant - in the heavyweight class - and tends to be at the sharp end when he turns up. Over the next thirty laps I push hard, make no mistakes, but can do no more than maintain the gap. He's embroiled in a tight battle with a white suit - whose name escapes me - and I wait in vain for them to trip each other up.
I've learned not to look behind if I can avoid it, so I'm a little surprised to be nudged under braking for the infield hairpin. Over the next lap the nudging increases in violence, and peaks with a hard rap into the right-hander before the back straight. It's enough to push me wide; when I turn to glare (through my tinted visor) at the culprit, I'm shocked to see Rhianna Purcocks inching her way past. She waves a hand in apology and makes a remarkably expressive gesture which I take to mean that she was being nudged herself.
Sure enough, she's followed through by a dark-suited tailgater, and I realise that for many laps I've been at the head of a long train of karts. I tuck back in and give chase, but run out of time; I'm 14th at the flag, a little disappointed to lose places so late, but happy enough with my efforts.
We disperse to various hotels and reunite for dinner at a nearby restaurant. At eight o'clock on a Saturday night it is, predictably, heaving; there's no obvious space for a table of 20. Over the next hour, as grumbling stomachs begin to drown out the chatter, organiser David Hird starts to look a little hunted. He and Becca and I look daggers at the occupied table which we think is ours, and debate turfing them out. But half of them are children, and Hell hath no fury like a six-year old parted from a chocolate brownie sundae.
Finally we're seated, and I find myself next to Andrew Bayliss. It's my first real opportunity to talk to him, and I discover that a) karting is only the tip of his motorsport iceberg, and b) he's rather good at impressions. I'm under strict orders not to name names, but one particular Rory Bremner has me choking on my lasagne. Across from us is newcomer Adithyan Ellan, who looks to be enjoying himself, although he's a little wide-eyed at the level of competition on track. I don't blame him.
It's nearly 11pm when the lights dim and 'Happy birthday' rings out over the loudspeakers, and the staff present Becca with an ice cream sundae complete with candle. As the applause dies down, she pipes up.
"If you think this is going to make up for you going karting on my birthday..."
It's time for bed. I accept a kind offer of a lift home from Lee - and shortly afterwards, we remember that there are two Premier Inns called Stockton on Tees. Ah, well. Everyone ends up in the right beds eventually. It's an early start tomorrow but as ever, sleep comes fitfully. Playtime is over...
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
BRKC round 4. Herefordshire Raceway, 14-15 April 2012
Today has the makings of a good day.
It's a perfect spring morning in the Herefordshire countryside, and many of us have just watched Nico Rosberg take his first Formula One win in a thrilling Chinese Grand Prix. It's day two of my racing weekend: yesterday, I joined a core group of BRKC regulars for a warm-up sprint race. Having not sat in a kart since the slither-fest that was round 2, it took more than fresh air to blow the cobwebs away. A combination of mediocre driving and a little bad luck left me way down the order. But crucially, I've shaken awake the relevant bits of my brain.
Now it's 11am on Sunday, and after one practice session my name lies fifth on the timing screen. I've found four tenths of a second since Saturday afternoon, and am starting to connect up the dots of this deceptively difficult circuit. A second session cements my confidence; I'm able to lap consistently in the low 33 second band. At 79kg, that marks me as average by the stellar standards of the BRKC.
The turnout, again, is huge: no less than 55 of us will be gunning for glory at this tiny (yet perfectly formed) venue amongst the fields of sheep. Chris Powell's operation sets standards for kart parity and efficiency that most circuits can only dream of. During the day I take to the track seven times; it's possible that I drive the same kart more than once. But I can't tell, because they all feel the same, and my laptimes in clear air bear that out. It's rental kart nirvana.
With nineteen heats and six finals to get through, it's a marathon of a day. The format is BRKC standard: each of us competes in three heats, and our combined points score places us in one of finals A to F. If you win your final, you progress up to the back of the grid for the next. After a short briefing, Chris and his small team begin rattling through the packed schedule at lightning speed.
My first race is heat 2, and I'm starting 8th out of 9. Making up ground is the aim of the game, and as the light on the bridge gantry blinks green, I'm off to a good start: the driver to my left is slow to react, and I'm already past by the time we sweep into the big-dipper left hander under the bridge. By lap three it's turned into the perfect heat: I'm the fastest of this group of drivers, and pull several neat passes to move up to third position. I'm right on the tail of the leading pair, but can't find a way past: the second placed driver is defending well, and I run out of laps.
Many of the usual suspects are doing well, too. Lee Jones has, ominously, slimmed down almost to the heavyweight limit of 90kg. Having completed a mammoth 90 minutes (over 150 laps) of practice this morning, he's scorching through his heats. Sean Brierley has brought his rookie younger brother Liam along for a BRKC baptism of fire; both are the subject of much hilarity after visiting the tyres simultaneously yesterday.
But Liam is beginning to find his feet, and Sean - always quick here - has ironed out the mistakes for the big day. I'm on pole for my second heat, with him beside me. My start is good, but his is better; I'm a little wide into the bridge hairpin and he's through cleanly. With a couple of tenths in hand, he pulls out a small gap; I peg him at a second but can make up no ground - and in the last couple of laps, come under serious pressure from a lightning-fast, red clad driver.
I take the flag a satisfied second, and identify my pursuer as none other than local expert Lee Hackett. I've done well to keep him at bay - during our heat he set a new lap record: an astonishing 32.501 seconds. Nobody else gets within three tenths of it all day.
With a longer break until my final heat I grab a burger and do the rounds. BRKC regular Alex Vangeen is also enjoying his day, and although not racing must irk organiser Bradley Philpot, he's as sunny as ever. Their respective other halves (Lauren and Becca) are on hand to help with admin; if they're bored, they're not showing it. Last night, after the warmup race, we all met up for a pizza - and what a pleasure it was to chat to them away from the pressure-cooker environment of a kart circuit.
I'm beginning to put some faces to new names, and chat briefly to Matt Hamilton (part of an impressively committed Scottish contingent), Nick Powell, and Mark Jaggard among others. They're enjoying varying degrees of success, but all seem to be having a fine day out. As usual, the racing is tough, the standard stratospheric - but it's the sense of occasion that makes it all worthwhile.
For my third heat, I'm sixth on the grid, and feeling pretty confident after a strong couple of races. But it all goes downhill: after a strong start I'm shunted hard into the tyres at the Bridge hairpin and drop to the back, fifty metres behind. I get it together and make up two places, but cross the line a disgruntled seventh. It happens - and the driver in question is penalised for the incident.
One of the many unique aspects of this event is that, if you need cheering up after a bad race, you can find a dog to play with. The two Jack Russells we met last year are in attendance, usually to be found gazing adoringly at anyone with a bacon buttie.
At four o'clock the circuit falls silent as Chris and his team work out the grids for the six finals. All day, I've been locked in battle with a tight upper-midfield group; despite my mediocre third heat I've made the B-final, along with a string of familiar names: Alex Vangeen, Harry Wicks, Anwar Beroual-Smith, Ryan Smith and others.
After four hugely competitive finals it's our turn; I line up 9th, just ahead of C final winner James Fitchew. This time it's carnage almost from the word go - Harry Wicks is pushed into the wall in the tunnel. With nowhere to go I hit him from behind and stop dead. James sweeps through and once again I'm stone last with ground to make up.
But the tables turn in a flash: a crash up ahead gifts me two places and I'm reeling in the seventh-placed driver when he, too, has a coming-together at the infield hairpin. I pick through the wreckage and gain a place - but I'm slowed, and James passes me with a couple of laps to go. I chase him all the way to the flag and take it eighth. It's a place ahead of my grid slot. Less than I hoped for, but not bad.
Up front, Anwar has won and progresses into the A final, where he narrowly loses out to Lee in a nailbiting finish for the heavyweights. They're eighth and ninth overall; up front, Lee Hackett is largely untroubled on the way to a convincing win. But the three-way battle for second has us holding our breath. All day, local heroine (and youngest BRKC driver) Rhianna Purcocks has set a blistering pace - and now holds third position. She's right behind Matt Hamilton, and shadowed closely by Sean Brierley. But with two laps to go, Matt gets a little wide out of turn one. Both Rhianna and Sean are caught by surprise; she's pushed wide, onto the grass - putting Sean into a podium position.
Rhianna rejoins as James Kimbley sweeps past into fourth. Both push hard, but Sean looks assured, and duly takes the flag a delighted third. It's his first BRKC podium, and thoroughly well deserved.
We cheer the two podiums - Alex sharing the heavyweight spoils with Anwar and Lee - avoid the champagne shower, and go our separate ways. I'm moderately satisfied with my 17th placing overall and feel limited, as always, by a shortage of seat time.
But it's been another great BRKC event, and we'll have thousands of pictures and hours of video to remember it by. Hereford is a fantastic circuit and I look forward to returning.
But already we're turning our attention forward. Round 5's venue is legendary in karting circles, its rental fleet renowned as one of the best in the world.
To Teesside, then. 24 days and counting...
It's a perfect spring morning in the Herefordshire countryside, and many of us have just watched Nico Rosberg take his first Formula One win in a thrilling Chinese Grand Prix. It's day two of my racing weekend: yesterday, I joined a core group of BRKC regulars for a warm-up sprint race. Having not sat in a kart since the slither-fest that was round 2, it took more than fresh air to blow the cobwebs away. A combination of mediocre driving and a little bad luck left me way down the order. But crucially, I've shaken awake the relevant bits of my brain.
Now it's 11am on Sunday, and after one practice session my name lies fifth on the timing screen. I've found four tenths of a second since Saturday afternoon, and am starting to connect up the dots of this deceptively difficult circuit. A second session cements my confidence; I'm able to lap consistently in the low 33 second band. At 79kg, that marks me as average by the stellar standards of the BRKC.
The turnout, again, is huge: no less than 55 of us will be gunning for glory at this tiny (yet perfectly formed) venue amongst the fields of sheep. Chris Powell's operation sets standards for kart parity and efficiency that most circuits can only dream of. During the day I take to the track seven times; it's possible that I drive the same kart more than once. But I can't tell, because they all feel the same, and my laptimes in clear air bear that out. It's rental kart nirvana.
With nineteen heats and six finals to get through, it's a marathon of a day. The format is BRKC standard: each of us competes in three heats, and our combined points score places us in one of finals A to F. If you win your final, you progress up to the back of the grid for the next. After a short briefing, Chris and his small team begin rattling through the packed schedule at lightning speed.
My first race is heat 2, and I'm starting 8th out of 9. Making up ground is the aim of the game, and as the light on the bridge gantry blinks green, I'm off to a good start: the driver to my left is slow to react, and I'm already past by the time we sweep into the big-dipper left hander under the bridge. By lap three it's turned into the perfect heat: I'm the fastest of this group of drivers, and pull several neat passes to move up to third position. I'm right on the tail of the leading pair, but can't find a way past: the second placed driver is defending well, and I run out of laps.
Many of the usual suspects are doing well, too. Lee Jones has, ominously, slimmed down almost to the heavyweight limit of 90kg. Having completed a mammoth 90 minutes (over 150 laps) of practice this morning, he's scorching through his heats. Sean Brierley has brought his rookie younger brother Liam along for a BRKC baptism of fire; both are the subject of much hilarity after visiting the tyres simultaneously yesterday.
But Liam is beginning to find his feet, and Sean - always quick here - has ironed out the mistakes for the big day. I'm on pole for my second heat, with him beside me. My start is good, but his is better; I'm a little wide into the bridge hairpin and he's through cleanly. With a couple of tenths in hand, he pulls out a small gap; I peg him at a second but can make up no ground - and in the last couple of laps, come under serious pressure from a lightning-fast, red clad driver.
I take the flag a satisfied second, and identify my pursuer as none other than local expert Lee Hackett. I've done well to keep him at bay - during our heat he set a new lap record: an astonishing 32.501 seconds. Nobody else gets within three tenths of it all day.
With a longer break until my final heat I grab a burger and do the rounds. BRKC regular Alex Vangeen is also enjoying his day, and although not racing must irk organiser Bradley Philpot, he's as sunny as ever. Their respective other halves (Lauren and Becca) are on hand to help with admin; if they're bored, they're not showing it. Last night, after the warmup race, we all met up for a pizza - and what a pleasure it was to chat to them away from the pressure-cooker environment of a kart circuit.
I'm beginning to put some faces to new names, and chat briefly to Matt Hamilton (part of an impressively committed Scottish contingent), Nick Powell, and Mark Jaggard among others. They're enjoying varying degrees of success, but all seem to be having a fine day out. As usual, the racing is tough, the standard stratospheric - but it's the sense of occasion that makes it all worthwhile.
For my third heat, I'm sixth on the grid, and feeling pretty confident after a strong couple of races. But it all goes downhill: after a strong start I'm shunted hard into the tyres at the Bridge hairpin and drop to the back, fifty metres behind. I get it together and make up two places, but cross the line a disgruntled seventh. It happens - and the driver in question is penalised for the incident.
One of the many unique aspects of this event is that, if you need cheering up after a bad race, you can find a dog to play with. The two Jack Russells we met last year are in attendance, usually to be found gazing adoringly at anyone with a bacon buttie.
At four o'clock the circuit falls silent as Chris and his team work out the grids for the six finals. All day, I've been locked in battle with a tight upper-midfield group; despite my mediocre third heat I've made the B-final, along with a string of familiar names: Alex Vangeen, Harry Wicks, Anwar Beroual-Smith, Ryan Smith and others.
After four hugely competitive finals it's our turn; I line up 9th, just ahead of C final winner James Fitchew. This time it's carnage almost from the word go - Harry Wicks is pushed into the wall in the tunnel. With nowhere to go I hit him from behind and stop dead. James sweeps through and once again I'm stone last with ground to make up.
But the tables turn in a flash: a crash up ahead gifts me two places and I'm reeling in the seventh-placed driver when he, too, has a coming-together at the infield hairpin. I pick through the wreckage and gain a place - but I'm slowed, and James passes me with a couple of laps to go. I chase him all the way to the flag and take it eighth. It's a place ahead of my grid slot. Less than I hoped for, but not bad.
Up front, Anwar has won and progresses into the A final, where he narrowly loses out to Lee in a nailbiting finish for the heavyweights. They're eighth and ninth overall; up front, Lee Hackett is largely untroubled on the way to a convincing win. But the three-way battle for second has us holding our breath. All day, local heroine (and youngest BRKC driver) Rhianna Purcocks has set a blistering pace - and now holds third position. She's right behind Matt Hamilton, and shadowed closely by Sean Brierley. But with two laps to go, Matt gets a little wide out of turn one. Both Rhianna and Sean are caught by surprise; she's pushed wide, onto the grass - putting Sean into a podium position.
Rhianna rejoins as James Kimbley sweeps past into fourth. Both push hard, but Sean looks assured, and duly takes the flag a delighted third. It's his first BRKC podium, and thoroughly well deserved.
We cheer the two podiums - Alex sharing the heavyweight spoils with Anwar and Lee - avoid the champagne shower, and go our separate ways. I'm moderately satisfied with my 17th placing overall and feel limited, as always, by a shortage of seat time.
But it's been another great BRKC event, and we'll have thousands of pictures and hours of video to remember it by. Hereford is a fantastic circuit and I look forward to returning.
But already we're turning our attention forward. Round 5's venue is legendary in karting circles, its rental fleet renowned as one of the best in the world.
To Teesside, then. 24 days and counting...
Sunday, 19 February 2012
BRKC Round 2. PF International, 12 February 2012
“That,” says Becca, “was worth the trip all on its own. They should give points for style.”
Twenty feet away, BRKC regular Mike Kettlewell is embedded in a snowdrift, having completed an elegant 270 degree spin in front of the pitlane. He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last. The final corner, it seems, is a mite tricky. That’s a mite tricky by today’s standards, which on any other day would be ‘nigh on undriveable’. It’s entertaining to watch, but I’m holding the laughter in check. I’m on in ten minutes, and the joke may well be on me.
The BRKC has started a month late for me, but so far it looks like business as usual. The 2011 regulars are virtually all present and correct, and the support team – organiser Bradley Philpot and his tireless mother Debbie, girlfriend Becca and grandparents – are bright and cheery as always. I haven’t seen them since the O-plate last October, and it’s great to catch up. Following the success of the inaugural championship last year our numbers have swelled, and today’s event is a sell-out. Fifty-nine drivers and one no-show.
PF International makes an imposing first impression, with its huge car park, full-size pit garages and two-storey reception area. Race director Adrian and his crew have welcomed us warmly and seem to know their stuff, and I can tell from the nifty speed trap readout on the start-finish gantry that the prokarts are quick. Even in these conditions drivers are cutting the beam at 50mph.
On my way north this morning I spotted my first snow just outside Winchester; here, in rural Lincolnshire, it’s several inches deep. We’re coming off a spell of bitterly cold weather; two nights ago at Holbeach, thirty miles away to the east, the temperature bottomed out at minus fifteen.
Today it's forecast to hit a balmy three degrees, but as we're waved out of the covered pitlane - dummy grid, as it's called here - I'm not feeling it. The cold bites through my gloves in seconds and the scene is particularly wintry. Under a leaden sky, the snow lies right up to every kerb. Over its 1200 metres the circuit ranges from bone dry to flooded to scattered with snow, dragged across the track in places where drivers have visited the scenery.
The layout is pancake-flat but features an interesting mix of corners including a tricky fast chicane on the infield and a long, deceptively fast left-hander, which leads into the aforementioned last corner. This is an apparently straightforward 90 degree right hander, but the previous corner throws you off line. And today, it's dry on the entry and wet on the exit. When (not if) you run wide, there's a nice big snowdrift to slow you down...
In twenty minutes of practice I manage - just - to keep it out of the scenery. I do visit the sawtoothed kerbs several times, and learn to avoid them at all costs. It's hugely challenging, but fun: the twin-engined kart feels punchy and goes more or less where I point it.
The races are in three parts: a single lap qualifying run leading immediately into an eight lap pre-final, the results of which determine which of the four finals we'll compete in. As usual in the BRKC, the winner of each final progresses to the next final up.
We're split into four groups of fifteen for the prefinals; I'm in group four, which gives me plenty of time to take in just how difficult the conditions are under the added pressure of competition. Snow is beginning to melt onto the track, making every corner of every lap a new adventure. People are spinning on their qualifying out-laps. These, remember, are some of the best karters in the country.
Some of last year's regulars are doing sterling work, though. I'm pleased to see my British 24 Hours team captain Alex Vangeen on pole for his heat, and Sean Brierley puts in a storming run to fourth or fifth after being shunted off early in his. 2011 champion Chris Hackworth sails through to win his heat from seventh on the grid, and Lee Jones - another 24 Hours teammate - looks as rock-solid as ever. Lewis Tindall is a new face in the BRKC and has also joined our team for Teesside. He looks mighty quick and is among the frontrunners in the heavyweight class, which bodes well for the big race later on in the year.
There are other standout performances, but with so many new drivers this year I've not yet put names to faces and helmets. In the grandstands behind me, commentator Colin Theobald is booming out over the PA system, lending the whole event a great sense of occasion. This is the real deal, and it's fantastic to be part of it.
My turn. As I find my kart and settle in, the butterflies disappear and calm descends. While watching the others I noticed several drivers tripping over each other in qualifying: we're all sent out together and with just one lap to get it right, it's important to have clear space in front of you. I hang back as much as possible on the out-lap, and start my quick lap with perhaps fifty metres of space to the next driver. As I flash under the gantry, the speed trap reads 50mph. Good.
But I've misjudged. By midway through the lap I've caught the driver in front, who nearly loses it in the fast chicane, forcing me to brake. I lose two seconds, and line up a disgruntled 11th on the grid, out of 15.
Still. It's a long lap, and today of all days, people are bound to fall off. I make a good start, as usual, and am two up on my grid position by the second hairpin, where snowmelt has created a huge puddle and only one, tippy-toe line. We're three abreast on the exit, somehow funnelling into a train for the fast chicane; the front driver goes in too fast and sails straight on, half-disappearing in a spray of snow. It's a common sight today.
By the end of eight laps I've survived several lairy moments, pulled a couple of neat moves and benefited from several others' misfortune. I cross the line sixth, which should put me in the second-string B final. It's not a bad recovery, and I'm satisfied as we congregate in the cafe and warm ourselves with tea and surprisingly palatable cheeseburgers.
Fuelled up and with sensation restored to our fingertips, we troop back to the grandstand to watch the first of the finals - just as the rain begins to fall. There are groans all round, but I've a sneaking suspicion that although the laptimes will be slower, rain might actually even out the grip around the circuit and make it easier.
On the evidence of the first two finals, I'm wrong. People are going off left, right and centre, just as they have been all day. But as I accelerate out of the pits and push as hard as I can on the outlap, trying to get a sense of the circuit and the kart, I'm quietly confident. That's partly down to experience, of course, but although it's very slippery, it's consistently slippery: I can predict what the kart's going to do at each corner, instead of just reacting when I get there.
I'm 14th on the grid. Alex is on pole after his storming run in his heat, and Sean is somewhere in front of me as well. I'm fast away from the lights, and make up a place into the first hairpin. But at the second, I'm clouted hard from behind, into the deep puddle, and drop to the back again. There's plenty of time, though: I force myself to stay calm, keep it on the road, and start picking them off. The kart feels good in the wet, tyres and tarmac generating just enough friction to give me the feel I need. And it's far less of a Magical Mystery Tour than it was earlier.
From a low of 16th I'm up to around 8th place when to my astonishment I spot Alex's new red-and-blue helmet up ahead. Clearly he's had an eventful race; I'm focusing on reeling him in when my own race turns eventful for all the wrong reasons. The kart lurches as if the brakes have been slammed on, and suddenly I'm stuttering along at 10mph with the field streaming by. One of the engines has stalled.
Back in the pits, a mechanic pronounces the kart dead: the HT lead on the right engine is waterlogged. My engine failure is the first of several, the wet conditions clearly getting to the electrics. All my efforts have been in vain, and I'm suddenly very aware of being wet, cold, tired and 200 miles from home.
As usual, life looks better with dry socks on, and a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. Despite minimal track time over the winter I've driven quite well against the toughest of competition in the toughest of conditions. There was nothing more I could have done. I stay for the presentation, which features a mix of familiar faces and new. A fresh feature this year is the press conference, which is filmed for the BRKC's Youtube channel. I can confidently say that all three podium finishers - Aaron McManus, Lee Hackett and Anwar Beroual-Smith - acquitted themselves better at their first attempt than a certain Finnish driver has in over a decade of Formula One.
Suddenly it's 4.30pm and time to say our goodbyes; we will, as usual, be in constant contact via the BRKC Facebook page until we next meet. As I start the long drive south, the result pales into irrelevance. It's been a fun day, well worth the effort. And when you spend as much time with imaginary people as I do, the value of getting away for a while and turning on another part of your brain is incalculable.
Sadly I won't be at Matchams, in Dorset, for round 3 - but I'll be missing it for a very good reason. After a year of slumber it's nearly time to revive The Mountain Odyssey: we head out to Whistler on 8 March.
But I'll be present and correct for round 4 at Hereford - affectionately known as 'the circuit you'd build in your back garden'. Can't wait.
Twenty feet away, BRKC regular Mike Kettlewell is embedded in a snowdrift, having completed an elegant 270 degree spin in front of the pitlane. He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last. The final corner, it seems, is a mite tricky. That’s a mite tricky by today’s standards, which on any other day would be ‘nigh on undriveable’. It’s entertaining to watch, but I’m holding the laughter in check. I’m on in ten minutes, and the joke may well be on me.
The BRKC has started a month late for me, but so far it looks like business as usual. The 2011 regulars are virtually all present and correct, and the support team – organiser Bradley Philpot and his tireless mother Debbie, girlfriend Becca and grandparents – are bright and cheery as always. I haven’t seen them since the O-plate last October, and it’s great to catch up. Following the success of the inaugural championship last year our numbers have swelled, and today’s event is a sell-out. Fifty-nine drivers and one no-show.
PF International makes an imposing first impression, with its huge car park, full-size pit garages and two-storey reception area. Race director Adrian and his crew have welcomed us warmly and seem to know their stuff, and I can tell from the nifty speed trap readout on the start-finish gantry that the prokarts are quick. Even in these conditions drivers are cutting the beam at 50mph.
On my way north this morning I spotted my first snow just outside Winchester; here, in rural Lincolnshire, it’s several inches deep. We’re coming off a spell of bitterly cold weather; two nights ago at Holbeach, thirty miles away to the east, the temperature bottomed out at minus fifteen.
Today it's forecast to hit a balmy three degrees, but as we're waved out of the covered pitlane - dummy grid, as it's called here - I'm not feeling it. The cold bites through my gloves in seconds and the scene is particularly wintry. Under a leaden sky, the snow lies right up to every kerb. Over its 1200 metres the circuit ranges from bone dry to flooded to scattered with snow, dragged across the track in places where drivers have visited the scenery.
The layout is pancake-flat but features an interesting mix of corners including a tricky fast chicane on the infield and a long, deceptively fast left-hander, which leads into the aforementioned last corner. This is an apparently straightforward 90 degree right hander, but the previous corner throws you off line. And today, it's dry on the entry and wet on the exit. When (not if) you run wide, there's a nice big snowdrift to slow you down...
In twenty minutes of practice I manage - just - to keep it out of the scenery. I do visit the sawtoothed kerbs several times, and learn to avoid them at all costs. It's hugely challenging, but fun: the twin-engined kart feels punchy and goes more or less where I point it.
The races are in three parts: a single lap qualifying run leading immediately into an eight lap pre-final, the results of which determine which of the four finals we'll compete in. As usual in the BRKC, the winner of each final progresses to the next final up.
We're split into four groups of fifteen for the prefinals; I'm in group four, which gives me plenty of time to take in just how difficult the conditions are under the added pressure of competition. Snow is beginning to melt onto the track, making every corner of every lap a new adventure. People are spinning on their qualifying out-laps. These, remember, are some of the best karters in the country.
Some of last year's regulars are doing sterling work, though. I'm pleased to see my British 24 Hours team captain Alex Vangeen on pole for his heat, and Sean Brierley puts in a storming run to fourth or fifth after being shunted off early in his. 2011 champion Chris Hackworth sails through to win his heat from seventh on the grid, and Lee Jones - another 24 Hours teammate - looks as rock-solid as ever. Lewis Tindall is a new face in the BRKC and has also joined our team for Teesside. He looks mighty quick and is among the frontrunners in the heavyweight class, which bodes well for the big race later on in the year.
There are other standout performances, but with so many new drivers this year I've not yet put names to faces and helmets. In the grandstands behind me, commentator Colin Theobald is booming out over the PA system, lending the whole event a great sense of occasion. This is the real deal, and it's fantastic to be part of it.
My turn. As I find my kart and settle in, the butterflies disappear and calm descends. While watching the others I noticed several drivers tripping over each other in qualifying: we're all sent out together and with just one lap to get it right, it's important to have clear space in front of you. I hang back as much as possible on the out-lap, and start my quick lap with perhaps fifty metres of space to the next driver. As I flash under the gantry, the speed trap reads 50mph. Good.
But I've misjudged. By midway through the lap I've caught the driver in front, who nearly loses it in the fast chicane, forcing me to brake. I lose two seconds, and line up a disgruntled 11th on the grid, out of 15.
Still. It's a long lap, and today of all days, people are bound to fall off. I make a good start, as usual, and am two up on my grid position by the second hairpin, where snowmelt has created a huge puddle and only one, tippy-toe line. We're three abreast on the exit, somehow funnelling into a train for the fast chicane; the front driver goes in too fast and sails straight on, half-disappearing in a spray of snow. It's a common sight today.
By the end of eight laps I've survived several lairy moments, pulled a couple of neat moves and benefited from several others' misfortune. I cross the line sixth, which should put me in the second-string B final. It's not a bad recovery, and I'm satisfied as we congregate in the cafe and warm ourselves with tea and surprisingly palatable cheeseburgers.
Fuelled up and with sensation restored to our fingertips, we troop back to the grandstand to watch the first of the finals - just as the rain begins to fall. There are groans all round, but I've a sneaking suspicion that although the laptimes will be slower, rain might actually even out the grip around the circuit and make it easier.
On the evidence of the first two finals, I'm wrong. People are going off left, right and centre, just as they have been all day. But as I accelerate out of the pits and push as hard as I can on the outlap, trying to get a sense of the circuit and the kart, I'm quietly confident. That's partly down to experience, of course, but although it's very slippery, it's consistently slippery: I can predict what the kart's going to do at each corner, instead of just reacting when I get there.
I'm 14th on the grid. Alex is on pole after his storming run in his heat, and Sean is somewhere in front of me as well. I'm fast away from the lights, and make up a place into the first hairpin. But at the second, I'm clouted hard from behind, into the deep puddle, and drop to the back again. There's plenty of time, though: I force myself to stay calm, keep it on the road, and start picking them off. The kart feels good in the wet, tyres and tarmac generating just enough friction to give me the feel I need. And it's far less of a Magical Mystery Tour than it was earlier.
From a low of 16th I'm up to around 8th place when to my astonishment I spot Alex's new red-and-blue helmet up ahead. Clearly he's had an eventful race; I'm focusing on reeling him in when my own race turns eventful for all the wrong reasons. The kart lurches as if the brakes have been slammed on, and suddenly I'm stuttering along at 10mph with the field streaming by. One of the engines has stalled.
Back in the pits, a mechanic pronounces the kart dead: the HT lead on the right engine is waterlogged. My engine failure is the first of several, the wet conditions clearly getting to the electrics. All my efforts have been in vain, and I'm suddenly very aware of being wet, cold, tired and 200 miles from home.
As usual, life looks better with dry socks on, and a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. Despite minimal track time over the winter I've driven quite well against the toughest of competition in the toughest of conditions. There was nothing more I could have done. I stay for the presentation, which features a mix of familiar faces and new. A fresh feature this year is the press conference, which is filmed for the BRKC's Youtube channel. I can confidently say that all three podium finishers - Aaron McManus, Lee Hackett and Anwar Beroual-Smith - acquitted themselves better at their first attempt than a certain Finnish driver has in over a decade of Formula One.
Suddenly it's 4.30pm and time to say our goodbyes; we will, as usual, be in constant contact via the BRKC Facebook page until we next meet. As I start the long drive south, the result pales into irrelevance. It's been a fun day, well worth the effort. And when you spend as much time with imaginary people as I do, the value of getting away for a while and turning on another part of your brain is incalculable.
Sadly I won't be at Matchams, in Dorset, for round 3 - but I'll be missing it for a very good reason. After a year of slumber it's nearly time to revive The Mountain Odyssey: we head out to Whistler on 8 March.
But I'll be present and correct for round 4 at Hereford - affectionately known as 'the circuit you'd build in your back garden'. Can't wait.
Friday, 27 January 2012
Daytona Milton Keynes. 22 January 2012
It's 98 days since I sat in a kart. Fourteen weeks. 2352 hours. Last time I sat in a seat like this one, Earth had fewer than seven billion inhabitants. The 2011 Formula One season still had three races to run.
Dan Wheldon and Marco Simoncelli were still alive.
It's a raw, blustery Sunday on what is held to be the most depressing weekend of the year, and I've fallen behind. A good Christmas followed by a wonderful ten days in South Africa has left me relaxed but out of shape. The 2012 British Rental Kart Championship has started without me; by the time I get to Round 2, everyone else will be race sharp.
Today is an attempt to redress the situation - one of Daytona's twice-weekly 'D40' races. Ten minutes of qualifying followed by a 40 minute race. Events like this are the bedrock of my karting experience; I can't wait to get going.
But by the time the flag falls at the end of qualy, I'm distinctly out of sorts. The circuit is mostly dry but sorely lacking in grip; my kart has all the balance of a shopping trolley. It's reluctant to turn in, then snap-oversteers when I do manage to aim the nose at an apex. And I have to admit that last night's double whisky isn't helping matters.
We're called out of the pits in grid order to form up for the parade lap. I'm fifth, of 21. Qualy was heavily disrupted by incidents, ruining a couple of good laps, but I expected better. My fellow racers are mostly occasional karters and newbies (a less charitable term would be 'Billys') with just a smattering of experienced racers.
But from the moment we cross the finish line to start the race, things begin to look up. I dispatch the two karts in front of me within two laps and set off after the leaders, who have opened a lead of a couple of seconds. The kart isn't getting any better, but the driver is beginning to dial in; when the leaders trip over each other and a backmarker, I'm there to pick up the pieces. On lucky lap 13, I take the lead.
Then I drive off into the distance and reap the spoils.
In my dreams.
It's a funny thing, race-rustiness. In three months I haven't forgotten how to drive, but I have lost the edge in close-quarters driving - the ability to make a split-second decision on whether or not to dive into a narrowing gap. A couple of hapless backmarkers are innocent victims of my ineptitude. I wave in apology and hope they won't take it personally.
In my defence, they're a little more unpredictable than the competition I'm used to, and I still can't get the kart to turn in. A couple of close calls and one particularly clumsy move sees me lose the lead on lap 23.
But I stay calm - one of the few aspects of my performance that is solid today - and take it back after a couple of laps with a neat, backmarker-assisted move into turn 9.
I take the flag two seconds in the lead, am clapped onto the podium to receive my trophy and - bonus! - a 25% off voucher for a DMax race. That equates to around £40 in savings and almost negates the cost of today's race. In man maths terms, at least.
A win is a win, and I'm pleased. But it was hardly a crushing victory. More importantly, it's kicked my 2012 season off, reawakened the tingle, highlighted areas for improvement.
For in three weeks' time I'll be back in the lion's den: learning a new circuit while going wheel-to-wheel with the best drivers in the country.
BRKC 2012 goes to PFI in Lincolnshire on 12 February. As always, watch this space...
Dan Wheldon and Marco Simoncelli were still alive.
It's a raw, blustery Sunday on what is held to be the most depressing weekend of the year, and I've fallen behind. A good Christmas followed by a wonderful ten days in South Africa has left me relaxed but out of shape. The 2012 British Rental Kart Championship has started without me; by the time I get to Round 2, everyone else will be race sharp.
Today is an attempt to redress the situation - one of Daytona's twice-weekly 'D40' races. Ten minutes of qualifying followed by a 40 minute race. Events like this are the bedrock of my karting experience; I can't wait to get going.
But by the time the flag falls at the end of qualy, I'm distinctly out of sorts. The circuit is mostly dry but sorely lacking in grip; my kart has all the balance of a shopping trolley. It's reluctant to turn in, then snap-oversteers when I do manage to aim the nose at an apex. And I have to admit that last night's double whisky isn't helping matters.
We're called out of the pits in grid order to form up for the parade lap. I'm fifth, of 21. Qualy was heavily disrupted by incidents, ruining a couple of good laps, but I expected better. My fellow racers are mostly occasional karters and newbies (a less charitable term would be 'Billys') with just a smattering of experienced racers.
But from the moment we cross the finish line to start the race, things begin to look up. I dispatch the two karts in front of me within two laps and set off after the leaders, who have opened a lead of a couple of seconds. The kart isn't getting any better, but the driver is beginning to dial in; when the leaders trip over each other and a backmarker, I'm there to pick up the pieces. On lucky lap 13, I take the lead.
Then I drive off into the distance and reap the spoils.
In my dreams.
It's a funny thing, race-rustiness. In three months I haven't forgotten how to drive, but I have lost the edge in close-quarters driving - the ability to make a split-second decision on whether or not to dive into a narrowing gap. A couple of hapless backmarkers are innocent victims of my ineptitude. I wave in apology and hope they won't take it personally.
In my defence, they're a little more unpredictable than the competition I'm used to, and I still can't get the kart to turn in. A couple of close calls and one particularly clumsy move sees me lose the lead on lap 23.
But I stay calm - one of the few aspects of my performance that is solid today - and take it back after a couple of laps with a neat, backmarker-assisted move into turn 9.
I take the flag two seconds in the lead, am clapped onto the podium to receive my trophy and - bonus! - a 25% off voucher for a DMax race. That equates to around £40 in savings and almost negates the cost of today's race. In man maths terms, at least.
A win is a win, and I'm pleased. But it was hardly a crushing victory. More importantly, it's kicked my 2012 season off, reawakened the tingle, highlighted areas for improvement.
For in three weeks' time I'll be back in the lion's den: learning a new circuit while going wheel-to-wheel with the best drivers in the country.
BRKC 2012 goes to PFI in Lincolnshire on 12 February. As always, watch this space...
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