(click here for part two)
"We can swap seats if you like...?"
I snap out of my reverie and drag my eyes away from the view. The white-haired lady sitting in the window seat is smiling indulgently at me. I remember that I'm not eleven any more, and that it might not be good form to stare out of the window past a complete stranger.
In my defence, it's a hell of a view. We're banking steeply, five hundred metres over the whitecaps in the Firth of Forth, and Edinburgh is laid out before us - a patchwork of green and stone in a thousand shades; the greystone castle dominating the streets from its rocky promontory. A mile inland, the mossy crags of Arthur's Seat loom through a cloudy, blustery May morning.
This is Britain's finest city in my opinion, and some of my happiest memories are rooted here. I know its museums and galleries, its eateries, its parks, tourist traps, nooks and crannies better than any other city in the world.
As we touch down I feel a thrill of excitement; a familiar tingle, but not the usual sense of homecoming I get when arriving here. This weekend is different, and then some. No candlelit dinners or arm-in-arm strolls, no cultural enrichment. Just a windswept kart circuit overlooking the North Sea and a pure, sustained rush of adrenalin.
After months of anticipation, the BRKC has come to Raceland.
Local racer Ryan Smith's parents Neil and Diane have very kindly offered to fetch, carry and house me this weekend. It takes away much of the stress and bother associated with a trip like this, and is much appreciated. They welcome me to their house in Dunbar, and we while away a pleasant couple of hours over tea and bacon rolls. Ryan is absent: recently employed at the circuit, he'll be marshalling our practice race later on. Maggie the cat looks me over and makes it clear that although I'm not Ryan, she will tolerate my presence for now.
3pm. As I sign on the dotted line in Raceland's cosy reception area, familiar faces are beginning to appear. Brad, Becca, Alex Vangeen, Michael Weddell, the usual crowd of devoted parents and precocious offspring: Purcocks, Hackett, Truman, Mays, Marsh... the lethargy of an early start begins to fall away.
Raceland's diner and reception area overlooks a cavernous indoor circuit, but it's the full-fat 930 metre outdoor circuit that we'll be competing on. For the weekend, the BRKC will base itself in the trackside paddock with its spectator area and clubhouse, with regular forays into the diner for refreshment. The facilities are very good, the food menu particularly impressive for a kart circuit.
But we haven't come all this way for the cuisine. As race director Graham Nairn welcomes us and the engines begin to clatter into life outside, it's time to focus inward. There are no championship points for today's race, but it serves as a crucial prelude to the main event. We'll have a practice session, three heats and a final - 45 laps or so - to find the sweet spot of this fast, challenging circuit and the fleet of single-engined Sodikarts.
Given that some of the competition have been racing here since they were in nappies, fighting near the front will be an even tougher ask than usual. But I'm trying not to confuse realism with pessimism; as Becca reminds me, anything can happen.
The ten-minute practice session is one of the most emphatic displays of raw talent that I've even seen in karting, the difference between the great and the merely very good clearly shown on the leaderboard. Local driver Michael Weddell is near the top, as you'd expect. But after just nine dry laps, both BRKC champion Lee Hackett and Bradley Philpot have gone faster, with most of the rest of us half a second or more off the pace. I'm a full second slower, struggling to keep the nose of the kart from washing wide in the fast corners.
With a maximum of 20 karts on track at once - more than we're used to - all of us will race in every heat today. As usual, the computer has allocated our starting positions in such a way that we all have the same opportunities (in theory) over the three heats. I've been allocated a third place start, one near the middle and one near the back.
There's almost no opportunity to feel what's underneath you before the race starts: we roll straight out of the pitlane onto the track. There are no lights, just a marshal wielding a Saltyre flag. A scene from Braveheart pops into my head and is swiftly banished.
I'm moving as it starts to drop; a good start, but I've nowhere to go. The 90 degree right hander at turn 1 is upon us; we muddle through, three abreast, and rocket downhill to the hairpin. Now, I know it's the very first race, most of us are new to the circuit, and the field is bigger than usual - but everyone seems to have forgotten what the left pedal is for. It all goes a bit Demolition Derby. I take to the outside to avoid the worst of the carnage, but am clattered hard onto the bricked runoff at the exit, and lose several places. Come on you lot, I think. We can do better than this.
And, over the following three races, we do. As the afternoon darkens, wind whipping the thickening clouds overhead, the frontrunning pace slows perceptibly as track conditions worsen. My laptimes hold steady, to the tenth of a second - indicating a net gain. On track, the carnage lessens. But there are some wild moments, including a sphincter-clenching moment for Alex and I: three abreast into the fast right-hander at the bottom of the hill, I'm baulked by the third driver, lift, and am tapped by Alex. Suddenly we're both out of control at fifty miles an hour with the tyre wall looming...
Somehow, we manage not to hit the barriers or each other. But I'm glad I bought a spare set of underwear.
You have to be very sure of yourself when passing here. I'm normally good in hairpins, but this one has me swearing. I'm either too slow or too sideways, and while it looks like the best opportunity to pass, it's far easier to find yourself barrelling into a narrowing gap. Half alongside Rhianna under braking, I lock up and clout her at the apex. I manage to give her the place back without losing another. Lesson learned. Impossible as it first seems, it's actually easier to pass in the faster corners.
There's a short break in between each heat, and the mood in the clubhouse is very positive. The circuit is receiving rave reviews: we're loving the white-knuckle ride at the bottom of the hill, the need to be inch-precise through the high-speed turns with their vicious saw-toothed kerbs. By and large, the karts are good, although the tyres are well past their best. These, we're promised, will be refreshed before the main event tomorrow.
I'm improving, though the results don't reflect it. My style doesn't suit this circuit/kart combination, and I'm having to improvise. Blessed with limited natural gift compared to a Hackett or Philpot, that's taking some time. I can already see that my biggest problem is a lack of raw aggression; I'm too tentative in wheel-to-wheel combat.
I finish 13th. The result counts for nothing, and I've taken on a wealth of vital information, but it's impossible not to be disappointed. I remind myself that I was dog-slow at Hereford in the Saturday race, and nabbed a B-final podium the following day. There'll be work to do in practice tomorrow before I'm fully confident, but I'll get there.
Ominously for the Scots, Brad and Lee have remained at the sharp end right to the flag. They won't have Brad to contend with tomorrow, but Lee is, as ever, a very real threat. There's honour at stake here: only a local winner will do.
Throughout the afternoon, Ryan has been stationed on the infield marshal's post, dressed in marshal's garb and wellies instead of his usual Power Ranger red overalls. With the race over, he has a few more chores to attend to. As the BRKC drivers pack up and disperse, Neil, Diane and I wait for him in the diner. I eavesdrop on the chatter, and am heartened to hear that the marshals are impressed with our pace. In the final, the entire 18 kart field was covered by less than 15 seconds.
One marshal remarks to Brad (insert Cod Scottish accent here):
"Some of your laddies are bloody quick..."
And I'm thinking, you ain't seen nothing yet.
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Thursday, 11 April 2013
BRKC round 4. Matchams, 7 April 2013 (part two)
(click here for part one)
…and breathe. I neck half a bottle of water, wolf a handful of nuts, and take stock of the competition.
With half the heats completed I lie 8th on the leaderboard, with 13 points. Not bad at all, but there’s a lot of racing still to come. It strikes me that I’ve been working with minimal information: there’s no list linking names to driver numbers, so I’ve had no advance warning of who I’ll be up against. With some disparity between the karts and no time to feel what’s under you before a race starts, it’s useful to know which are hot and which are not. Others are more clued up than I am; I spend a little time catching up on my general knowledge.
Ignorance is bliss, I soon remember. In my final heat – which I’ll start from pole – is driver number 9. Driver number 9 is Lee Hackett. Again. That’s three pole positions in the last year or so, three races trying to fend off the BRKC champion. I take a little solace from the fact that he’s starting back in sixth.
Out on track, the racing is tough, occasionally lairy and hugely entertaining. We applaud Michael Weddell – blisteringly quick every time he’s taken to the track today – who streaks through from eighth to third, makes a move for second into the risky turn two, and slams facefirst into the tyres. Undaunted, he gets going again, catches the field and works his way back up to third – all in the space of ten laps. Brilliant.
Graham Purcocks looks dour at the sight of his daughter spinning along the unforgiving turn two tyrewall; she’s a little unlucky on this occasion. But having watched her for a while, in my opinion Rhianna needs to dial it back a notch. There’s no question that she can drive a kart very quickly, but a little less wild and a little more calm will bring the results.
Today, the younger Boutens is having a better time of it than her much-vaunted older brother. As Ruben rues a rare mistake that cost him several positions, Annelien sails to a comfortable win in one of her heats, and looks destined for the A final.
The reigning champion might be enduring a torrid day, but his nearest challengers are positively metronomic. Sean Brierley tops the leaderboard with two of his three heats completed, and looks a world away from his crashtastic early days in the BRKC. He's developed a neat, methodical approach to sprint racing, which combined with prodigious speed has seen him emerge as one of the most consistent drivers in the series.
He's being kept honest, though. Sam Spinnael looks dangerously fast, and while Weddell occasionally looks plain dangerous, he's kept it out of the wall since his early crash and is racking up the results. Ryan, too, has added a third place to his fifth and lies at the fringes of the top ten with his final heat - a front row start - still to come.
There are one or two unfamiliar names lurking around the top of the leaderboard. Matthew Curtis is having a fine day, as is Sam Joseph; dare I say it, I'm there or thereabouts, too...
As heat 9 finishes I wait in the pitlane and shut out the world. The marshals have been allocating karts to random grid positions, making sure the competition is as fair and even as possible; Michael rolls to a stop in pole position - having just finished third - and leaps out. He gives me a thumbs up, and hands over the R-clips I need to attach my numberboard.
"It's not bad..."
Good news. I get comfortable, forget about everything behind me, and watch the lights. Red... green. Drive. Like a walk in the park.
My start isn't quite as good as my previous heat. But it's good enough. I'm deliberately cautious into turn 2, feeling the kart, making sure I hold the line - and I feel a light rap from Nathan Bellows behind.
In terms of racing action, that's my lot.
By lap five I've put the length of the start-finish straight between myself and the chasing pack, and it's Hereford all over again. Alex is in the pitlane urging me on, holding his arms this wide to signal a huge gap. I find out later that Nathan did a superb job to hold off Scott Winter and Tom Eastwood for second, and that I had great support from the pitwall. For now, I'm delighted and a little bemused to claim my second heat win.
I buy a cheeseburger which tastes better than it looks, and adrenalin and euphoria are replaced by hope and anxiety. I'm fifth on the leaderboard with 23 points, but there are five heats still to run. I need to be in the top nine to make the coveted A final. My fate now lies in the hands of others.
As the minutes inch by, I'm hardly watching the track. With each finishing race, my name slips a little further down the list, taking my heart with it. By the time heat 15 starts I'm eighth. I can't bear to look, don't dare look away... the flag drops, the computer takes a lifetime to update...
Ninth. I'm in the A final.
"I knew it would happen," declares Sean, shaking my hand. Meanwhile, Michael drops his bottle of water on the ground in mock astonishment. I can't wipe the grin off my face. There's work still to do, but whatever happens I've sealed my best result since round 1 in 2011 - which I don't count, since it had everything to do with appalling kart parity and very little to do with my ability.
After a more or less flawless run, Sean will start the A final from pole, followed by two increasingly familiar names: Spinnael and Marsh. Michael has bagged his second A final of 2013 and starts fourth, followed by Sam Joseph... and I'm pleased to see Ryan in there too. Matthew Curtis, Annelien and I fill the last three spots; the B final winner will start behind me. I tell Annelien that I expect her and the rest to disappear into the distance while I trundle around at the back. I'm not sure she believes me.
There are four finals to watch before it's our turn. The E and D finals rattle entertainingly by, but the C final grid reads like a rogue's gallery of misplaced frontrunners. Allward, Boutens (R), Hackett, McManus, Purcocks... plus a couple of unknown quantities (Monfils and Eastwood) and a couple of heavyweights (Vangeen and Beckingham) to stir it up.
It's cliffhanging stuff from the green light. Ben Allward, on pole, looks to be struggling with his kart; despite a valiant effort, he succumbs to the chasing pack. Having been unlucky in one heat and - by his own admission - driven poorly in another, Lee Hackett finally turns his day around with a storming win from fourth on the grid. He's chased to the flag by Aaron McManus, Ted Monfils, Ruben and Rhianna, with Ben trailing home a disappointed sixth. Alex has made up a place or two and finishes seventh. That puts him 25th overall - not great by his standards, but one better than Hereford.
As the B final gets underway it's time to banish the nerves - but I find I've never been calmer before a sprint final. I'm able to enjoy another excellent race; Scott Winter is on pole, and duly wins. He doesn't grace the BRKC very often, but tends to be mighty quick when he does. He's followed over the line by local hero Tristan Windebank, ahead of a titanic scrap for heavyweight honours between James Fitchew and Anwar. James prevails - no mean feat on Anwar's home track - and is justifiably delighted. Paul Lycett beats multiple heavyweight winner Russell Endean to the final podium slot after holding off a very strong field to win his first heat early on - a great result.
Lee fights his way up to sixth from the back, which puts him 15th overall. It's his worst result this year, but an impressive save nonetheless - he's dragged himself seven places up the leaderboard since the end of the heats.
There's a short wait while the karts are refuelled, then I'm settling myself in for the last time today. Over 100 laps of this bronco of a circuit make themselves felt in bruised elbows and knees... before adrenalin sweeps it all away. I might have nothing to lose, but I've no intention of cruising home last. Only five drivers between me and the podium...
We're away, sweeping down the hill, the leaders two abreast into turn 2. I'm half expecting carnage, but everyone's through; ahead of me Annelien is tardy out of turn 3. I'm alongside, a little sideways... past into eighth. I'd be chuffed if there was time, but I'm expecting her to come back at me at any second.
The front five have pulled a small gap over Ryan in sixth, and I can see why: he's short of straight line speed. Between us, Matthew Curtis - also in his first A final - harries him through turns 2 and 3, and makes an optimistic dive into the apex at turn 4. I'm trying to decide which way to go if they collide, but Ryan manages to give him just enough space while hanging on to his sixth place. Never the most demonstrative driver, he's clearly unhappy, one hand jabbing at his head. No translation needed.
After more barging from Matthew - excessive in my view, and ultimately unnecessary - he gets alongside Ryan on the straight, and disappears into the distance. I close up to Ryan - vaguely wondering where Scott and Annelien are, but afraid to look - and set about trying to find a way past.
My kart's a bit like a washing machine on spin cycle - slow to get going, but rapid once it does. It's more lively over the bumps than the best I've driven today, too. I catch Ryan just before turn 2 and get my nose alongside... but run out of road. Ryan is, as befits a BRKC frontrunner, pretty handy through the twisty infield. I hang on by my fingernails, but lose a metre or so into the final corner. I experiment with a couple of different lines, trying to gain an advantage, but Ryan's defending is flawless. Having inadvertently clouted him twice at Hereford last month, I'm keen to avoid a repeat.
And there we stay, nose to tail as if joined by elastic... until the nearest miss I've had in quite a while.
We exit turn 2 flat out, Ryan jinks right... and not five metres away is Sam Spinnael, frozen in position half out of his seat, his kart nose first in the tyrewall. I lift and swerve, missing him by an inch, already past before the chill of shock clutches my chest. No harm done, but that was close.
It's given Ryan breathing space; as we start the last lap I'm aware of a presence at my right corner. It's Scott; I let Ryan go, concentrate on defending my position, and take the flag seventh.
Back in the pitlane, poor Sam is devastated, having crashed trying to defend his second place from Connor Marsh. But it could have been a lot worse: he's still in one piece. Sean's become the BRKC's second double winner, followed by Connor - his second podium on the trot - and Michael. Matthew Curtis clawed his way up to fourth ahead of Sam Joseph.
I'm quietly content to have moved forward from my starting position, capping off my strongest ever BRKC performance. Part of me is disappointed not to have passed Ryan, but he never put a wheel wrong and thoroughly deserves his sixth place.
As at Hereford, people are quick to congratulate me, which I really appreciate, along with the enthusiasm for this blog. "It's what I look forward to most after a race," Ben Allward tells me.
The podiums are expecially messy today; Michael ends up with at least a litre of Value bubbly down his overalls. To the winners go the spoils: sticky clothes for a 450 mile drive home...
The Smiths and I say our goodbyes, and shoehorn ourselves into the Fiesta. Home for me, Winchester station for them. It's been a pleasure to have them, and they've kindly offered to reciprocate for round 5.
Excitement for which is already building. It's the BRKC's Big Trip North, our first foray outside England. For the regulars, it could be the biggest challenge yet. A fast, physical circuit, fickle weather, talented locals determined to show us Southern Jessies who's boss.
I can hardly wait. To paraphrase Paul Simon:
"We're going to Raceland..."
Thanks
I don't write these posts in a vacuum. Every month, I use a variety of sources to bolster my memory. Many thanks to Alexandru Damian for sending me his video of heat 4 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7hXjU6cqjk) and Nathan Bellows for his video of heat 10 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIWNayVyt4k). And if you haven't checked out Ryan Smith's blog yet, it's well worth it: http://ryansmith94.wordpress.com/
…and breathe. I neck half a bottle of water, wolf a handful of nuts, and take stock of the competition.
With half the heats completed I lie 8th on the leaderboard, with 13 points. Not bad at all, but there’s a lot of racing still to come. It strikes me that I’ve been working with minimal information: there’s no list linking names to driver numbers, so I’ve had no advance warning of who I’ll be up against. With some disparity between the karts and no time to feel what’s under you before a race starts, it’s useful to know which are hot and which are not. Others are more clued up than I am; I spend a little time catching up on my general knowledge.
Ignorance is bliss, I soon remember. In my final heat – which I’ll start from pole – is driver number 9. Driver number 9 is Lee Hackett. Again. That’s three pole positions in the last year or so, three races trying to fend off the BRKC champion. I take a little solace from the fact that he’s starting back in sixth.
Out on track, the racing is tough, occasionally lairy and hugely entertaining. We applaud Michael Weddell – blisteringly quick every time he’s taken to the track today – who streaks through from eighth to third, makes a move for second into the risky turn two, and slams facefirst into the tyres. Undaunted, he gets going again, catches the field and works his way back up to third – all in the space of ten laps. Brilliant.
Graham Purcocks looks dour at the sight of his daughter spinning along the unforgiving turn two tyrewall; she’s a little unlucky on this occasion. But having watched her for a while, in my opinion Rhianna needs to dial it back a notch. There’s no question that she can drive a kart very quickly, but a little less wild and a little more calm will bring the results.
Today, the younger Boutens is having a better time of it than her much-vaunted older brother. As Ruben rues a rare mistake that cost him several positions, Annelien sails to a comfortable win in one of her heats, and looks destined for the A final.
The reigning champion might be enduring a torrid day, but his nearest challengers are positively metronomic. Sean Brierley tops the leaderboard with two of his three heats completed, and looks a world away from his crashtastic early days in the BRKC. He's developed a neat, methodical approach to sprint racing, which combined with prodigious speed has seen him emerge as one of the most consistent drivers in the series.
He's being kept honest, though. Sam Spinnael looks dangerously fast, and while Weddell occasionally looks plain dangerous, he's kept it out of the wall since his early crash and is racking up the results. Ryan, too, has added a third place to his fifth and lies at the fringes of the top ten with his final heat - a front row start - still to come.
There are one or two unfamiliar names lurking around the top of the leaderboard. Matthew Curtis is having a fine day, as is Sam Joseph; dare I say it, I'm there or thereabouts, too...
As heat 9 finishes I wait in the pitlane and shut out the world. The marshals have been allocating karts to random grid positions, making sure the competition is as fair and even as possible; Michael rolls to a stop in pole position - having just finished third - and leaps out. He gives me a thumbs up, and hands over the R-clips I need to attach my numberboard.
"It's not bad..."
Good news. I get comfortable, forget about everything behind me, and watch the lights. Red... green. Drive. Like a walk in the park.
My start isn't quite as good as my previous heat. But it's good enough. I'm deliberately cautious into turn 2, feeling the kart, making sure I hold the line - and I feel a light rap from Nathan Bellows behind.
In terms of racing action, that's my lot.
By lap five I've put the length of the start-finish straight between myself and the chasing pack, and it's Hereford all over again. Alex is in the pitlane urging me on, holding his arms this wide to signal a huge gap. I find out later that Nathan did a superb job to hold off Scott Winter and Tom Eastwood for second, and that I had great support from the pitwall. For now, I'm delighted and a little bemused to claim my second heat win.
I buy a cheeseburger which tastes better than it looks, and adrenalin and euphoria are replaced by hope and anxiety. I'm fifth on the leaderboard with 23 points, but there are five heats still to run. I need to be in the top nine to make the coveted A final. My fate now lies in the hands of others.
As the minutes inch by, I'm hardly watching the track. With each finishing race, my name slips a little further down the list, taking my heart with it. By the time heat 15 starts I'm eighth. I can't bear to look, don't dare look away... the flag drops, the computer takes a lifetime to update...
Ninth. I'm in the A final.
"I knew it would happen," declares Sean, shaking my hand. Meanwhile, Michael drops his bottle of water on the ground in mock astonishment. I can't wipe the grin off my face. There's work still to do, but whatever happens I've sealed my best result since round 1 in 2011 - which I don't count, since it had everything to do with appalling kart parity and very little to do with my ability.
After a more or less flawless run, Sean will start the A final from pole, followed by two increasingly familiar names: Spinnael and Marsh. Michael has bagged his second A final of 2013 and starts fourth, followed by Sam Joseph... and I'm pleased to see Ryan in there too. Matthew Curtis, Annelien and I fill the last three spots; the B final winner will start behind me. I tell Annelien that I expect her and the rest to disappear into the distance while I trundle around at the back. I'm not sure she believes me.
There are four finals to watch before it's our turn. The E and D finals rattle entertainingly by, but the C final grid reads like a rogue's gallery of misplaced frontrunners. Allward, Boutens (R), Hackett, McManus, Purcocks... plus a couple of unknown quantities (Monfils and Eastwood) and a couple of heavyweights (Vangeen and Beckingham) to stir it up.
It's cliffhanging stuff from the green light. Ben Allward, on pole, looks to be struggling with his kart; despite a valiant effort, he succumbs to the chasing pack. Having been unlucky in one heat and - by his own admission - driven poorly in another, Lee Hackett finally turns his day around with a storming win from fourth on the grid. He's chased to the flag by Aaron McManus, Ted Monfils, Ruben and Rhianna, with Ben trailing home a disappointed sixth. Alex has made up a place or two and finishes seventh. That puts him 25th overall - not great by his standards, but one better than Hereford.
As the B final gets underway it's time to banish the nerves - but I find I've never been calmer before a sprint final. I'm able to enjoy another excellent race; Scott Winter is on pole, and duly wins. He doesn't grace the BRKC very often, but tends to be mighty quick when he does. He's followed over the line by local hero Tristan Windebank, ahead of a titanic scrap for heavyweight honours between James Fitchew and Anwar. James prevails - no mean feat on Anwar's home track - and is justifiably delighted. Paul Lycett beats multiple heavyweight winner Russell Endean to the final podium slot after holding off a very strong field to win his first heat early on - a great result.
Lee fights his way up to sixth from the back, which puts him 15th overall. It's his worst result this year, but an impressive save nonetheless - he's dragged himself seven places up the leaderboard since the end of the heats.
There's a short wait while the karts are refuelled, then I'm settling myself in for the last time today. Over 100 laps of this bronco of a circuit make themselves felt in bruised elbows and knees... before adrenalin sweeps it all away. I might have nothing to lose, but I've no intention of cruising home last. Only five drivers between me and the podium...
We're away, sweeping down the hill, the leaders two abreast into turn 2. I'm half expecting carnage, but everyone's through; ahead of me Annelien is tardy out of turn 3. I'm alongside, a little sideways... past into eighth. I'd be chuffed if there was time, but I'm expecting her to come back at me at any second.
The front five have pulled a small gap over Ryan in sixth, and I can see why: he's short of straight line speed. Between us, Matthew Curtis - also in his first A final - harries him through turns 2 and 3, and makes an optimistic dive into the apex at turn 4. I'm trying to decide which way to go if they collide, but Ryan manages to give him just enough space while hanging on to his sixth place. Never the most demonstrative driver, he's clearly unhappy, one hand jabbing at his head. No translation needed.
After more barging from Matthew - excessive in my view, and ultimately unnecessary - he gets alongside Ryan on the straight, and disappears into the distance. I close up to Ryan - vaguely wondering where Scott and Annelien are, but afraid to look - and set about trying to find a way past.
My kart's a bit like a washing machine on spin cycle - slow to get going, but rapid once it does. It's more lively over the bumps than the best I've driven today, too. I catch Ryan just before turn 2 and get my nose alongside... but run out of road. Ryan is, as befits a BRKC frontrunner, pretty handy through the twisty infield. I hang on by my fingernails, but lose a metre or so into the final corner. I experiment with a couple of different lines, trying to gain an advantage, but Ryan's defending is flawless. Having inadvertently clouted him twice at Hereford last month, I'm keen to avoid a repeat.
And there we stay, nose to tail as if joined by elastic... until the nearest miss I've had in quite a while.
We exit turn 2 flat out, Ryan jinks right... and not five metres away is Sam Spinnael, frozen in position half out of his seat, his kart nose first in the tyrewall. I lift and swerve, missing him by an inch, already past before the chill of shock clutches my chest. No harm done, but that was close.
It's given Ryan breathing space; as we start the last lap I'm aware of a presence at my right corner. It's Scott; I let Ryan go, concentrate on defending my position, and take the flag seventh.
Back in the pitlane, poor Sam is devastated, having crashed trying to defend his second place from Connor Marsh. But it could have been a lot worse: he's still in one piece. Sean's become the BRKC's second double winner, followed by Connor - his second podium on the trot - and Michael. Matthew Curtis clawed his way up to fourth ahead of Sam Joseph.
I'm quietly content to have moved forward from my starting position, capping off my strongest ever BRKC performance. Part of me is disappointed not to have passed Ryan, but he never put a wheel wrong and thoroughly deserves his sixth place.
As at Hereford, people are quick to congratulate me, which I really appreciate, along with the enthusiasm for this blog. "It's what I look forward to most after a race," Ben Allward tells me.
The podiums are expecially messy today; Michael ends up with at least a litre of Value bubbly down his overalls. To the winners go the spoils: sticky clothes for a 450 mile drive home...
The Smiths and I say our goodbyes, and shoehorn ourselves into the Fiesta. Home for me, Winchester station for them. It's been a pleasure to have them, and they've kindly offered to reciprocate for round 5.
Excitement for which is already building. It's the BRKC's Big Trip North, our first foray outside England. For the regulars, it could be the biggest challenge yet. A fast, physical circuit, fickle weather, talented locals determined to show us Southern Jessies who's boss.
I can hardly wait. To paraphrase Paul Simon:
"We're going to Raceland..."
Thanks
I don't write these posts in a vacuum. Every month, I use a variety of sources to bolster my memory. Many thanks to Alexandru Damian for sending me his video of heat 4 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7hXjU6cqjk) and Nathan Bellows for his video of heat 10 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIWNayVyt4k). And if you haven't checked out Ryan Smith's blog yet, it's well worth it: http://ryansmith94.wordpress.com/
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
BRKC round 4. Matchams, 7 April 2013 (part one)
(click here for part two)
"I smell upcoming A-Finals Andrew Duff?"
Sean Brierley, Facebook, 11 March 2013
We idle at the entrance to Matchams Leisure Park, waiting for the yellow barrier to raise. "To keep the travellers out," said the hard-faced woman in the reception booth. I don't think she needs the barrier.
Once in my head, Sean's comment refuses to leave. Posted the day after my strong showing at Hereford last time out, it's a nice thought. But I'm not optimistic. Matchams isn't a happy hunting ground for me. Two years ago I left soaked and disgruntled after a lacklustre performance.
Still, with the sun shining and a long day of racing stretching before us, anything is possible - and this is already an unusual BRKC weekend. With the circuit just 35 miles from home I've been able to sleep in my own bed for a change, and we've played host to part of the Scottish contingent: Ryan Smith, and his parents Neil and Diane. They arrived by train on Saturday, and we whiled away a pleasant afternoon and evening in Winchester together. After a wretched weekend in Hereford, Ryan is quietly determined to bounce back, and is a serious contender for the sharp end today.
BRKC founder Brad will be absent today - for the first time ever - because he's away testing in Germany in preparation for his upcoming debut as a Peugeot factory driver. Or so we're told. I spy a metallic red Peugeot 208GTi in the car park... not too many of these about yet. And it's identical to Brad's new company car.
Sure enough, he's here, having driven through the night. We shouldn't be surprised, really - his single-minded commitment has brought the BRKC to where it is now. It's great to see him.
The field has shrunk a little since last month, but 47 drivers have made the trip down to the South Coast. It's a strong turnout, and most of the usual suspects are here. Anwar Beroual-Smith and Tristan Windebank are circuit locals and likely to be strong today, as are championship leaders Lee Hackett and Sean Brierley. Besides Ryan, Michael Weddell and Ben Allward (and respective families) have made the marathon journey from Scotland. And the internationals are back in force too: Boutens siblings Ruben and Annelien, Ted Monfils, and Sam Spinnael. Top competitors, all.
"I don't feel up for it today," muses Alex Vangeen, prompting me to check the sky for flying pigs. Winter or summer, day or night, sunny Matchams or rain-lashed Teesside - very few live and breathe racing like Alex. But he's under the weather and feeling the strain of wedding preparations, I suspect. I've been there.
The clock's ticking; I greet circuit owner George Lovell, sign in and hurriedly get changed for the first of my two practice sessions. With a total of 35 minutes on track before I turn a wheel in anger, I should have 70 or so laps under my belt by the time the heats get underway.
I'm going to need them. This circuit might be only 420 metres long, but it's the bumpiest piece of racing tarmac I've ever encountered. It's devilishly difficult to turn consistent laptimes, and a momentary lapse or unlucky bounce can easily leave you buried in a tyre wall.
The karts we're using for practice are the dregs of the fleet - the best are being saved for the race - and I'll be happy not to encounter my second practice kart again. It's slow in a straight line, reluctant to turn right, and beats me to a black-and-blue pulp. Still, after two sessions I'm beginning to find the groove: learning to use the brakes very sparingly, and adopting the tricky technique of making small, precise steering movements without being deflected by the bumps.
The race karts are rolled out for our final five minutes of free practice, and are something of a revelation: gruntier, pointier, much better over the bumps. Ten more laps, and I'm ready for the real thing. There's a quieter, desultory feel about today, and it takes me a while to work out why. We're missing the excellent James Auld and his stirring commentary.
Still, the laptimes on the leaderboard are separated by hundredths: it's going to be mighty close. On the quiet, the tension is building. In my chest, the butterflies begin to flutter.
As the heats get underway, I'm at the pitwall, watching the lights to make sure I'm looking the right way when it's my turn. The early races confirm what I suspected from the early laps of practice: passing around here is a bit like eating a jam donut using your toes. Tortuous, frustrating and potentially messy.
There are fifteen heats today - three for each driver, as usual - and with a 28-second lap and no slow roll around to the grid, we're flying through them. I'm in heats four, six and ten; as I walk out to the grid and clip my numberplate - 14 - onto the front cowl of my kart, everything else falls away. This, after all, is why we all got up this morning.
I'm eighth on the grid of ten, sandwiched between the speedy Alexandru Damian and local specialist Anwar Beroual-Smith. Further ahead is the familiar blue suit of KWC superstar Ruben Boutens; directly in front of me in sixth is Hereford A-finalist Ed White.
Red light. Interminable wait... green. I'm away well, swiftly closing up to heavyweight Ed's rear bumper as Alexandru shoots up the inside. The tyrewall on the exit of turn 2 lies in wait for the foolhardy, but everyone's through cleanly and we concertina for the first of the two hairpins. Alexandru's a little wide into the tighter, bumpier second hairpin; Ed spots a gap and I follow him through. It's a neat move, and I'm pleasantly surprised.
Ed's a little slower out of the final corner and takes the defensive inside line as I draw alongside, forcing me to the outside through the flat-out turn 1. I nearly drop the kart over the sharp ridge between tarmac and concrete, and jink back into line for turn 2. I'm too greedy into the right-hand hairpin at turn 3 and slide wide, cursing as Alexandru hangs me out to dry at turn 4 - doing to me what I did to him a lap earlier. We make light contact, for which he later apologises - appreciated, but unnecessary. It was a clean move.
Back to square one.
For a couple of laps I have a front row seat for the battle between Ed and Alexandru. Alexandru is quicker in a straight line, forcing Ed to the inside along the pit straight - but Ed is defending neatly. I'm ready to pick up the pieces - and when Alexandru takes to the outside into turn 4, I catch them both napping and nip past on the inside. It's a sweet moment, but sadly short lived, as Ed aims for a narrowing gap into the final corner and shoves me right to the edge of the concrete runoff on the exit, inches from the gravel trap. Not one of his finer moments, in my opinion; my mood is further darkened when Alexandru shoots past both of us into turn 1.
Matters go from bad to worse a couple of laps later. Having started near the front, blue-suited Tyler Mays has gone backwards, and now lies seventh ahead of me. He's a little wide into turn 3; hoping to pass him on the exit, I go in too hot, rap his right-rear corner and push him into a half-spin. We grind to a halt with his kart broadside across my front bumper. I raise a hand in apology, drive around him and take the flag with a mix of irritation and relief. Much promised, little delivered.
During the briefing, we were told that incidents would be dealt with on a case-by-case basis, with points being docked if the race directors saw fit. Back in the pits, I'm a little surprised to have hung on to my seventh place. Clearly mine has been deemed a racing incident. I feel bad for Tyler, and mean to find him and apologise - but am due back on track within minutes, and forget. So: apologies, Tyler. No hard feelings I hope.
I watch from the pitlane as Ryan battles his way from ninth on the grid to fifth at the flag in his first heat - a solid start - then get my head together for my second attempt. Heat six, grid sixth, much room for improvement. Clearly the computer's having a lazy day: no less than five of the drivers from my first heat have been allocated to this one.
As the lights go green, my day suddenly begins to improve in leaps and bounds. I make one of the best starts of my life; everyone else is moving in treacle as I jink right, then left, two places up before turn 2. I make two more between turn three and the start/finish line... and overtake Chris Brookshaw for the lead as we head into turn one for the second time.
Once in a blue moon, if you persevere, racing is like this. Savour these moments. They won't come around often.
I'm sailing away in the lead, driving nicely, beginning to imagine that I might just hang on... when Fate and Anwar Beroual-Smith intervene. Lap six, and he's tracking my every move, inches from my rear bumper. I defend, but am helpless to prevent him powering past on the start-finish straight. I'm faster than I've been all day, but he's incredibly quick, drawing away at two or three tenths per lap despite my best efforts and the fact that he's 15kg heavier.
I take the flag a satisfied second, knowing I've driven to the best of my ability. Back in the pitlane, Anwar shakes my hand. "Kart was a rocket," he explains. "I was just driving past people out of the corners... it takes away some of the pleasure of winning, to be honest..."
George Lovell and his team have been struggling, a little, to cater to the BRKC's insatiable need for kart parity. But they're doing their best, swapping karts with spares from the fleet in a bid to keep consistent performance up and down the grid. Anwar's rocketship is swiftly replaced.
Ten minutes later, another kart joins it in the pitlane. In the BRKC in 2013, there's no surer thing than Lee Hackett on pole position. Which is why we're gobsmacked when, in his first heat, he's swamped by the field, eventually struggling home fifth. He's clearly drawn a dog; George orders it replaced. It's terrible luck for Lee but to his credit, he shrugs it off and refuses to complain. His father Lawrence is less philosophical, however...
Sun shining, Brad turning up unannounced, Lee on the back foot... I feel a Murray Walker coming on. Anything can happen, and usually does... my final heat is still to come.
And I'll be starting it from pole position.
(click here for part two)
"I smell upcoming A-Finals Andrew Duff?"
Sean Brierley, Facebook, 11 March 2013
We idle at the entrance to Matchams Leisure Park, waiting for the yellow barrier to raise. "To keep the travellers out," said the hard-faced woman in the reception booth. I don't think she needs the barrier.
Once in my head, Sean's comment refuses to leave. Posted the day after my strong showing at Hereford last time out, it's a nice thought. But I'm not optimistic. Matchams isn't a happy hunting ground for me. Two years ago I left soaked and disgruntled after a lacklustre performance.
Still, with the sun shining and a long day of racing stretching before us, anything is possible - and this is already an unusual BRKC weekend. With the circuit just 35 miles from home I've been able to sleep in my own bed for a change, and we've played host to part of the Scottish contingent: Ryan Smith, and his parents Neil and Diane. They arrived by train on Saturday, and we whiled away a pleasant afternoon and evening in Winchester together. After a wretched weekend in Hereford, Ryan is quietly determined to bounce back, and is a serious contender for the sharp end today.
BRKC founder Brad will be absent today - for the first time ever - because he's away testing in Germany in preparation for his upcoming debut as a Peugeot factory driver. Or so we're told. I spy a metallic red Peugeot 208GTi in the car park... not too many of these about yet. And it's identical to Brad's new company car.
Sure enough, he's here, having driven through the night. We shouldn't be surprised, really - his single-minded commitment has brought the BRKC to where it is now. It's great to see him.
The field has shrunk a little since last month, but 47 drivers have made the trip down to the South Coast. It's a strong turnout, and most of the usual suspects are here. Anwar Beroual-Smith and Tristan Windebank are circuit locals and likely to be strong today, as are championship leaders Lee Hackett and Sean Brierley. Besides Ryan, Michael Weddell and Ben Allward (and respective families) have made the marathon journey from Scotland. And the internationals are back in force too: Boutens siblings Ruben and Annelien, Ted Monfils, and Sam Spinnael. Top competitors, all.
"I don't feel up for it today," muses Alex Vangeen, prompting me to check the sky for flying pigs. Winter or summer, day or night, sunny Matchams or rain-lashed Teesside - very few live and breathe racing like Alex. But he's under the weather and feeling the strain of wedding preparations, I suspect. I've been there.
The clock's ticking; I greet circuit owner George Lovell, sign in and hurriedly get changed for the first of my two practice sessions. With a total of 35 minutes on track before I turn a wheel in anger, I should have 70 or so laps under my belt by the time the heats get underway.
I'm going to need them. This circuit might be only 420 metres long, but it's the bumpiest piece of racing tarmac I've ever encountered. It's devilishly difficult to turn consistent laptimes, and a momentary lapse or unlucky bounce can easily leave you buried in a tyre wall.
The karts we're using for practice are the dregs of the fleet - the best are being saved for the race - and I'll be happy not to encounter my second practice kart again. It's slow in a straight line, reluctant to turn right, and beats me to a black-and-blue pulp. Still, after two sessions I'm beginning to find the groove: learning to use the brakes very sparingly, and adopting the tricky technique of making small, precise steering movements without being deflected by the bumps.
The race karts are rolled out for our final five minutes of free practice, and are something of a revelation: gruntier, pointier, much better over the bumps. Ten more laps, and I'm ready for the real thing. There's a quieter, desultory feel about today, and it takes me a while to work out why. We're missing the excellent James Auld and his stirring commentary.
Still, the laptimes on the leaderboard are separated by hundredths: it's going to be mighty close. On the quiet, the tension is building. In my chest, the butterflies begin to flutter.
As the heats get underway, I'm at the pitwall, watching the lights to make sure I'm looking the right way when it's my turn. The early races confirm what I suspected from the early laps of practice: passing around here is a bit like eating a jam donut using your toes. Tortuous, frustrating and potentially messy.
There are fifteen heats today - three for each driver, as usual - and with a 28-second lap and no slow roll around to the grid, we're flying through them. I'm in heats four, six and ten; as I walk out to the grid and clip my numberplate - 14 - onto the front cowl of my kart, everything else falls away. This, after all, is why we all got up this morning.
I'm eighth on the grid of ten, sandwiched between the speedy Alexandru Damian and local specialist Anwar Beroual-Smith. Further ahead is the familiar blue suit of KWC superstar Ruben Boutens; directly in front of me in sixth is Hereford A-finalist Ed White.
Red light. Interminable wait... green. I'm away well, swiftly closing up to heavyweight Ed's rear bumper as Alexandru shoots up the inside. The tyrewall on the exit of turn 2 lies in wait for the foolhardy, but everyone's through cleanly and we concertina for the first of the two hairpins. Alexandru's a little wide into the tighter, bumpier second hairpin; Ed spots a gap and I follow him through. It's a neat move, and I'm pleasantly surprised.
Ed's a little slower out of the final corner and takes the defensive inside line as I draw alongside, forcing me to the outside through the flat-out turn 1. I nearly drop the kart over the sharp ridge between tarmac and concrete, and jink back into line for turn 2. I'm too greedy into the right-hand hairpin at turn 3 and slide wide, cursing as Alexandru hangs me out to dry at turn 4 - doing to me what I did to him a lap earlier. We make light contact, for which he later apologises - appreciated, but unnecessary. It was a clean move.
Back to square one.
For a couple of laps I have a front row seat for the battle between Ed and Alexandru. Alexandru is quicker in a straight line, forcing Ed to the inside along the pit straight - but Ed is defending neatly. I'm ready to pick up the pieces - and when Alexandru takes to the outside into turn 4, I catch them both napping and nip past on the inside. It's a sweet moment, but sadly short lived, as Ed aims for a narrowing gap into the final corner and shoves me right to the edge of the concrete runoff on the exit, inches from the gravel trap. Not one of his finer moments, in my opinion; my mood is further darkened when Alexandru shoots past both of us into turn 1.
Matters go from bad to worse a couple of laps later. Having started near the front, blue-suited Tyler Mays has gone backwards, and now lies seventh ahead of me. He's a little wide into turn 3; hoping to pass him on the exit, I go in too hot, rap his right-rear corner and push him into a half-spin. We grind to a halt with his kart broadside across my front bumper. I raise a hand in apology, drive around him and take the flag with a mix of irritation and relief. Much promised, little delivered.
During the briefing, we were told that incidents would be dealt with on a case-by-case basis, with points being docked if the race directors saw fit. Back in the pits, I'm a little surprised to have hung on to my seventh place. Clearly mine has been deemed a racing incident. I feel bad for Tyler, and mean to find him and apologise - but am due back on track within minutes, and forget. So: apologies, Tyler. No hard feelings I hope.
I watch from the pitlane as Ryan battles his way from ninth on the grid to fifth at the flag in his first heat - a solid start - then get my head together for my second attempt. Heat six, grid sixth, much room for improvement. Clearly the computer's having a lazy day: no less than five of the drivers from my first heat have been allocated to this one.
As the lights go green, my day suddenly begins to improve in leaps and bounds. I make one of the best starts of my life; everyone else is moving in treacle as I jink right, then left, two places up before turn 2. I make two more between turn three and the start/finish line... and overtake Chris Brookshaw for the lead as we head into turn one for the second time.
Once in a blue moon, if you persevere, racing is like this. Savour these moments. They won't come around often.
I'm sailing away in the lead, driving nicely, beginning to imagine that I might just hang on... when Fate and Anwar Beroual-Smith intervene. Lap six, and he's tracking my every move, inches from my rear bumper. I defend, but am helpless to prevent him powering past on the start-finish straight. I'm faster than I've been all day, but he's incredibly quick, drawing away at two or three tenths per lap despite my best efforts and the fact that he's 15kg heavier.
I take the flag a satisfied second, knowing I've driven to the best of my ability. Back in the pitlane, Anwar shakes my hand. "Kart was a rocket," he explains. "I was just driving past people out of the corners... it takes away some of the pleasure of winning, to be honest..."
George Lovell and his team have been struggling, a little, to cater to the BRKC's insatiable need for kart parity. But they're doing their best, swapping karts with spares from the fleet in a bid to keep consistent performance up and down the grid. Anwar's rocketship is swiftly replaced.
Ten minutes later, another kart joins it in the pitlane. In the BRKC in 2013, there's no surer thing than Lee Hackett on pole position. Which is why we're gobsmacked when, in his first heat, he's swamped by the field, eventually struggling home fifth. He's clearly drawn a dog; George orders it replaced. It's terrible luck for Lee but to his credit, he shrugs it off and refuses to complain. His father Lawrence is less philosophical, however...
Sun shining, Brad turning up unannounced, Lee on the back foot... I feel a Murray Walker coming on. Anything can happen, and usually does... my final heat is still to come.
And I'll be starting it from pole position.
(click here for part two)
Friday, 15 March 2013
BRKC round 3. Herefordshire Raceway, 9-10 March 2013 (part 2)
(click here for part one)
I've won a race or two before, but I've never had a reception like this.
In the paddock, people are shaking my hand, clapping me on the back, kissing my cheek (I think that was my wife, but you never know with this lot) - before James guides me out of the melee and points the microphone at me. This time I'm even less coherent, but I don't really care. Moments like this don't come around too often.
A little later, Marianne hands me a bacon buttie as more cheers erupt from the pitlane. BRKC regular Jordan Donegan has followed my first ever heat win with his own - arguably more impressively, since he managed it from third on the grid. Great stuff. It seems to be turning into a day for the underdogs.
The championship leaders - Hackett, Boutens, Brierley, Endean, Spinnael - are there or thereabouts as you'd expect. But there are one or two surprising names near the sharp end of the leaderboard. James Fitchew is having a superb day, as is the often unlucky Daniel Truman. Ed White looks to be delivering on his early promise. And from the outset I've noticed Oli Nitch-Smith setting impressive laptimes; he, too, looks destined for the B final. Liam Brierley has been on a vertical learning curve since his baptism of fire in the BRKC a year ago, and is improving in leaps and bounds - though we all wince as he unceremoniously bundles Alex out of the way on track. I'm sure Alex deserved it.
Sadly, it's not a great day for the girls. Rhianna has had an up-and-down time - including a scary crash which sent her under the tyres at the exit of the middle hairpin - and is out of the A-final. Annelien has been very fast ever since she first took to the track on Saturday afternoon, but hasn't managed to convert that speed into points. I haven't had a chance to follow her progress on track, but know from experience that it doesn't take a lot of bad luck to send you tumbling down the order.
With buttie devoured and tea downed, it's time to clear my brain for heat 17. I'm sixth on the grid for my final heat, and though a second win is a tall order, I'm still riding the high of my earlier triumph. As we roll out of the pits I spot the familiar red, white and Saltire of Ryan Smith's helmet; Josh Overhill is there too.
I'm on the right hand side of the grid, on the racing line - which can be a slight disadvantage at the start as drivers to your left hang you out to dry in the tunnel - but I'm away cleanly, and slot into position as we brake for the hairpin. The driver behind is very quick on the exit, and gets alongside as we shoot over the bridge - but I have the line for the corkscrew, and regain my place. For a lap, the order stays static; up ahead, Ryan is harrying someone - Josh, I think - and I close down the gap.
The next sequence of events is a little hazy. I think that Ryan overtakes into turn 1, decides that he's gained an unfair advantage, and moves to give Josh his place back. Either way, I approach the first hairpin to find them side-by-side, with Ryan waving Josh through. Surfing what is now a wave of over-confidence, I put two wheels on the grass and barge past the pair of them - realising half way through the move that I'm going to run out of space at the apex.
Sure enough, there's a scrape on my left bargeboard, but less than I feared - and as we exit the second hairpin all three of us are still facing in the right direction. But it was a marginal move, particularly on Ryan; if I'm at risk of a penalty I have a couple of corners to give him the place back. I decide that it's legal and stay put; as Ryan and I cross the finish line, nose to tail, the warning board is out - but no penalty. Chris Powell seems to be pointing at Ryan which surprises me.
Ryan certainly isn't happy - I can tell that much from the gentle and not-so-gentle rubbing of my rear bumper - and I don't blame him. He's quicker - I'm hanging on by my fingernails just to keep him behind - but to his great credit, he doesn't try anything silly. Like putting two wheels on the grass, for instance... I keep my nose in front and cross the line fourth.
Back in the paddock, I find Ryan and apologise. At this point I've no idea that I've inadvertently trampled on his race weekend twice: I only discover that much later. Our first coming together was pure racing incident, but the second... there's a fine line between fair and unsporting, and with hindsight I feel I've crossed it. I should probably have given him back his place, but there's nothing I can do about it now except learn from the experience and move on.
With the heats complete, the circuit falls silent as Chris and his team work out the grids for the six finals. My name lies 14th on the leaderboard with 23 points from my three heats; that should put me fourth on the grid for the B final. We crowd around the clubhouse wall as Chris pins up the lists. Sure enough, I'm fourth - and clock the name in fifth with sinking heart. Michael Weddell. Again. That's the second time this year that I've had the blue-clad Scot hunting me down in the final. There are a smattering of local experts - James Kimbley ahead of me in third, Oli Nitch-Smith behind Michael in sixth - plus a couple of unknown quantities. Even before Rhianna wins the C final and progresses to the back of the B final, I know I face a huge battle to hang on to my fourth place.
The first four finals - F to C - fly by, providing their usual entertainment. After his torrid run through the heats, Alex finally turns his day around with a dominant win in the D final - setting a scintillating 33.507 second lap in the process. I watch and cheer and try to ignore the chill in the pit of my stomach.
But as we roll out of the pits for the final time, I'm ready. I've occasionally battled to keep my focus over an entire day of sprint racing, but there's no such problem today. The tingle is there. I know what to do.
The start is even more crucial than usual: Michael has weight, youth and talent on his side. If he gets his nose in front, nothing less than a miracle will stop him disappearing into the distance.
The light blinks green and we're away; I sweep across to the left, shutting the door into the tunnel, and get a smooth run through the hairpin and corkscrew. Michael is a couple of metres back as we lift for turn 1; ahead of me, James is a little sideways at the exit and I sense an opportunity. He takes the defensive line up the straight towards the hairpin; I go left with half a notion of repeating my Wall of Death move from earlier on - but James jinks back towards the racing line as he brakes. I dart into the gap, Michael right on my bumper, and squeeze James wide at the apex. It's probably the best pass I've made all day.
Unfortunately, Michael has found his way past James as well, and still hounds me as we start lap 2. Just ahead, polesitter Sam Joseph and Russell Endean are battling tooth and nail for the lead, but I'm too busy dealing with the threat from behind to pay much attention - until I encounter Sam beached on the kerb at the first hairpin. Endean leads, and I'm second.
The laps are inching by in split-second beats; Russell is slowly pulling away, but I'm driving the sprint final of my life. One tiny slip will throw it away, but all that practice is bearing fruit: always quick in the hairpins, I've finally dialled out my vulnerability through turn 1 and the corkscrew. Michael ducks, dives, nudges, occasionally gets his front bumper alongside my rear wheels - but he can't find a way past.
The chequered flag waves for Russell, two seconds ahead; as Michael and I cross the line nose to tail, I'm punching the air for the second time today, and simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief. For the first time ever, I will stand on a BRKC podium.
Back in the pits there are more congratulations, another kiss - I could get used to this - before we line the pitwall for the main event. Having won the B final, Russell progresses onto the back of the grid for the A final. He joins no less than three other heavyweights - James Fitchew, Anwar Beroual-Smith and the impressive Ed White. It's a new record: the first time four heavyweights have made the A final. Russell is on a roll and has a real shot at the heavyweight win; beside me his girlfriend Sophie is practically hopping from foot to foot. "My heart's going about a million beats a minute..."
Lee Hackett is in his customary pole position, with Connor Marsh - who has looked blisteringly quick all weekend - behind him. We're getting used to seeing Sean Brierley near the sharp end; he starts third. Dan Truman is in his second consecutive A final, the Belgians Boutens and Spinnael are there, as expected... and aside from the heavyweights, there's a surprising name on the grid: Chris Brookshaw. Chris was a consistent points scorer in 2012, but his 2013 season got off to a slow start. His results are improving exponentially though. 65th at round 1, 36th at round 2, A final at round 3...
We're expecting Lee to drive off into the sunset, but as they get underway it's clear that he has a fight on his hands: Connor and Sean are pushing him hard, and for the first five laps they're inseparable, slowly pulling away from the chasing pack. Russell gets off to a great start and is fighting his way through the field; Sophie can barely contain herself. The middle pack is locked in battle, at one point barrelling three abreast into the middle hairpin; but the driving is exceptional and everyone keeps it out of the wall.
Inexorably, in his usual unhurried style, Lee begins to pull out a gap as Connor comes under increasing pressure from Sean. Finally, two laps from home, Sean makes a neat move into the first hairpin. And there they stay - Lee takes the flag ahead of Sean, Connor, Sam Spinnael, Ruben Boutens and Chris Brookshaw. We reserve a huge cheer for Russell, who has produced one of the drives of the day to fight his way up to 7th overall - and winning heavyweight!
I always stay for the podiums, but it's especially sweet to be part of the celebrations... I'm proud to accept my medal and take my place beside Russell and Michael. It's easily my best ever day in the BRKC, and I'm touched that people seem so pleased for me. Marianne takes the credit for bringing me luck; the flipside, of course, is that she's now essential at every BRKC round...
On this day of firsts, Connor Marsh adds another: his maiden podium. After a blip at round 2, Sean has re-established himself as a championship contender... but Lee just keeps on racking them up. There are some hugely talented drivers in this series, but to maintain this level of consistency despite the vagaries of circuits and rental kart fleets takes something very special. To quote Lawrence Hackett: "If I had a spare twenty million quid I could get him to F1..."
The champagne erupts, we scuttle away to avoid the fallout, and scatter our separate ways into the freezing night. Another great race weekend consigned to history; as ever, we owe its success to Brad and Becca, to Chris and his team, to James' commentary. It's immortalised in thousands of photographs, hours of video, a half-dozen driver blogs.
But we're already looking forward to the next challenge. Bumps, twists, the odd exposed tree root. More bumps... did I mention that it's bumpy?
To Matchams, then. I'm counting the hours...
I've won a race or two before, but I've never had a reception like this.
In the paddock, people are shaking my hand, clapping me on the back, kissing my cheek (I think that was my wife, but you never know with this lot) - before James guides me out of the melee and points the microphone at me. This time I'm even less coherent, but I don't really care. Moments like this don't come around too often.
A little later, Marianne hands me a bacon buttie as more cheers erupt from the pitlane. BRKC regular Jordan Donegan has followed my first ever heat win with his own - arguably more impressively, since he managed it from third on the grid. Great stuff. It seems to be turning into a day for the underdogs.
The championship leaders - Hackett, Boutens, Brierley, Endean, Spinnael - are there or thereabouts as you'd expect. But there are one or two surprising names near the sharp end of the leaderboard. James Fitchew is having a superb day, as is the often unlucky Daniel Truman. Ed White looks to be delivering on his early promise. And from the outset I've noticed Oli Nitch-Smith setting impressive laptimes; he, too, looks destined for the B final. Liam Brierley has been on a vertical learning curve since his baptism of fire in the BRKC a year ago, and is improving in leaps and bounds - though we all wince as he unceremoniously bundles Alex out of the way on track. I'm sure Alex deserved it.
Sadly, it's not a great day for the girls. Rhianna has had an up-and-down time - including a scary crash which sent her under the tyres at the exit of the middle hairpin - and is out of the A-final. Annelien has been very fast ever since she first took to the track on Saturday afternoon, but hasn't managed to convert that speed into points. I haven't had a chance to follow her progress on track, but know from experience that it doesn't take a lot of bad luck to send you tumbling down the order.
With buttie devoured and tea downed, it's time to clear my brain for heat 17. I'm sixth on the grid for my final heat, and though a second win is a tall order, I'm still riding the high of my earlier triumph. As we roll out of the pits I spot the familiar red, white and Saltire of Ryan Smith's helmet; Josh Overhill is there too.
I'm on the right hand side of the grid, on the racing line - which can be a slight disadvantage at the start as drivers to your left hang you out to dry in the tunnel - but I'm away cleanly, and slot into position as we brake for the hairpin. The driver behind is very quick on the exit, and gets alongside as we shoot over the bridge - but I have the line for the corkscrew, and regain my place. For a lap, the order stays static; up ahead, Ryan is harrying someone - Josh, I think - and I close down the gap.
The next sequence of events is a little hazy. I think that Ryan overtakes into turn 1, decides that he's gained an unfair advantage, and moves to give Josh his place back. Either way, I approach the first hairpin to find them side-by-side, with Ryan waving Josh through. Surfing what is now a wave of over-confidence, I put two wheels on the grass and barge past the pair of them - realising half way through the move that I'm going to run out of space at the apex.
Sure enough, there's a scrape on my left bargeboard, but less than I feared - and as we exit the second hairpin all three of us are still facing in the right direction. But it was a marginal move, particularly on Ryan; if I'm at risk of a penalty I have a couple of corners to give him the place back. I decide that it's legal and stay put; as Ryan and I cross the finish line, nose to tail, the warning board is out - but no penalty. Chris Powell seems to be pointing at Ryan which surprises me.
Ryan certainly isn't happy - I can tell that much from the gentle and not-so-gentle rubbing of my rear bumper - and I don't blame him. He's quicker - I'm hanging on by my fingernails just to keep him behind - but to his great credit, he doesn't try anything silly. Like putting two wheels on the grass, for instance... I keep my nose in front and cross the line fourth.
Back in the paddock, I find Ryan and apologise. At this point I've no idea that I've inadvertently trampled on his race weekend twice: I only discover that much later. Our first coming together was pure racing incident, but the second... there's a fine line between fair and unsporting, and with hindsight I feel I've crossed it. I should probably have given him back his place, but there's nothing I can do about it now except learn from the experience and move on.
With the heats complete, the circuit falls silent as Chris and his team work out the grids for the six finals. My name lies 14th on the leaderboard with 23 points from my three heats; that should put me fourth on the grid for the B final. We crowd around the clubhouse wall as Chris pins up the lists. Sure enough, I'm fourth - and clock the name in fifth with sinking heart. Michael Weddell. Again. That's the second time this year that I've had the blue-clad Scot hunting me down in the final. There are a smattering of local experts - James Kimbley ahead of me in third, Oli Nitch-Smith behind Michael in sixth - plus a couple of unknown quantities. Even before Rhianna wins the C final and progresses to the back of the B final, I know I face a huge battle to hang on to my fourth place.
The first four finals - F to C - fly by, providing their usual entertainment. After his torrid run through the heats, Alex finally turns his day around with a dominant win in the D final - setting a scintillating 33.507 second lap in the process. I watch and cheer and try to ignore the chill in the pit of my stomach.
But as we roll out of the pits for the final time, I'm ready. I've occasionally battled to keep my focus over an entire day of sprint racing, but there's no such problem today. The tingle is there. I know what to do.
The start is even more crucial than usual: Michael has weight, youth and talent on his side. If he gets his nose in front, nothing less than a miracle will stop him disappearing into the distance.
The light blinks green and we're away; I sweep across to the left, shutting the door into the tunnel, and get a smooth run through the hairpin and corkscrew. Michael is a couple of metres back as we lift for turn 1; ahead of me, James is a little sideways at the exit and I sense an opportunity. He takes the defensive line up the straight towards the hairpin; I go left with half a notion of repeating my Wall of Death move from earlier on - but James jinks back towards the racing line as he brakes. I dart into the gap, Michael right on my bumper, and squeeze James wide at the apex. It's probably the best pass I've made all day.
Unfortunately, Michael has found his way past James as well, and still hounds me as we start lap 2. Just ahead, polesitter Sam Joseph and Russell Endean are battling tooth and nail for the lead, but I'm too busy dealing with the threat from behind to pay much attention - until I encounter Sam beached on the kerb at the first hairpin. Endean leads, and I'm second.
The laps are inching by in split-second beats; Russell is slowly pulling away, but I'm driving the sprint final of my life. One tiny slip will throw it away, but all that practice is bearing fruit: always quick in the hairpins, I've finally dialled out my vulnerability through turn 1 and the corkscrew. Michael ducks, dives, nudges, occasionally gets his front bumper alongside my rear wheels - but he can't find a way past.
The chequered flag waves for Russell, two seconds ahead; as Michael and I cross the line nose to tail, I'm punching the air for the second time today, and simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief. For the first time ever, I will stand on a BRKC podium.
Back in the pits there are more congratulations, another kiss - I could get used to this - before we line the pitwall for the main event. Having won the B final, Russell progresses onto the back of the grid for the A final. He joins no less than three other heavyweights - James Fitchew, Anwar Beroual-Smith and the impressive Ed White. It's a new record: the first time four heavyweights have made the A final. Russell is on a roll and has a real shot at the heavyweight win; beside me his girlfriend Sophie is practically hopping from foot to foot. "My heart's going about a million beats a minute..."
Lee Hackett is in his customary pole position, with Connor Marsh - who has looked blisteringly quick all weekend - behind him. We're getting used to seeing Sean Brierley near the sharp end; he starts third. Dan Truman is in his second consecutive A final, the Belgians Boutens and Spinnael are there, as expected... and aside from the heavyweights, there's a surprising name on the grid: Chris Brookshaw. Chris was a consistent points scorer in 2012, but his 2013 season got off to a slow start. His results are improving exponentially though. 65th at round 1, 36th at round 2, A final at round 3...
We're expecting Lee to drive off into the sunset, but as they get underway it's clear that he has a fight on his hands: Connor and Sean are pushing him hard, and for the first five laps they're inseparable, slowly pulling away from the chasing pack. Russell gets off to a great start and is fighting his way through the field; Sophie can barely contain herself. The middle pack is locked in battle, at one point barrelling three abreast into the middle hairpin; but the driving is exceptional and everyone keeps it out of the wall.
Inexorably, in his usual unhurried style, Lee begins to pull out a gap as Connor comes under increasing pressure from Sean. Finally, two laps from home, Sean makes a neat move into the first hairpin. And there they stay - Lee takes the flag ahead of Sean, Connor, Sam Spinnael, Ruben Boutens and Chris Brookshaw. We reserve a huge cheer for Russell, who has produced one of the drives of the day to fight his way up to 7th overall - and winning heavyweight!
I always stay for the podiums, but it's especially sweet to be part of the celebrations... I'm proud to accept my medal and take my place beside Russell and Michael. It's easily my best ever day in the BRKC, and I'm touched that people seem so pleased for me. Marianne takes the credit for bringing me luck; the flipside, of course, is that she's now essential at every BRKC round...
On this day of firsts, Connor Marsh adds another: his maiden podium. After a blip at round 2, Sean has re-established himself as a championship contender... but Lee just keeps on racking them up. There are some hugely talented drivers in this series, but to maintain this level of consistency despite the vagaries of circuits and rental kart fleets takes something very special. To quote Lawrence Hackett: "If I had a spare twenty million quid I could get him to F1..."
The champagne erupts, we scuttle away to avoid the fallout, and scatter our separate ways into the freezing night. Another great race weekend consigned to history; as ever, we owe its success to Brad and Becca, to Chris and his team, to James' commentary. It's immortalised in thousands of photographs, hours of video, a half-dozen driver blogs.
But we're already looking forward to the next challenge. Bumps, twists, the odd exposed tree root. More bumps... did I mention that it's bumpy?
To Matchams, then. I'm counting the hours...
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
BRKC round 3. Herefordshire Raceway, 9-10 March 2013 (part 1)
(click here for part two)
"My husband," says Marianne, "is so going to whip your arse."
I shut my eyes and briefly contemplate the wisdom of bringing my shy and retiring wife along to a BRKC event. The recipient of her comment - the unwhippably quick Russell Endean - gives me a 'do you know this woman?' look.
Nope, never set eyes on her before...
Marianne is no stranger to kart races, having put in some serious hard time at Teesside during the British 24 Hours over the past couple of years. But this is her first BRKC race and I love having her here, misguided confidence and all. I grin at Russell and we laugh it off. But, of course, I'm going to have a serious go at whipping his arse.
Wind back 24 hours. Saturday afternoon at Herefordshire Raceway is blustery and leaden, the circuit damp in places. But the weather can't dampen the mood. A cross-section of BRKC regulars and international visitors have gathered to kick off our race weekend a day early. It's such a pleasure to be back at this compact, tricky circuit with its postcard setting and wood-framed clubhouse, and I can't wait to get going in our 90 minute team endurance race.
I'm teamed up with the excellent Michael Weddell - a former A-final winner in the BRKC - and I'm counting on him to make me look good. We're up against some serious competition: circuit owner Chris Powell and one of his marshals; BRKC founder (and newly signed Peugeot race driver) Bradley Philpot with reigning BRKC champion, local lap record holder, and marshal Lee Hackett; the nearly-as-daunting combo of Kart World Championship superstars Ruben Boutens and Sam Spinnael. There's also Ted Monfils with Ruben's younger sister Annelien, BRKC returnee Andrew Bayliss with Ryan Smith, and a smattering of others including the Brierley brothers Sean and Liam, and local heroine Rhianna Purcocks with Tyler Mays.
I get off to an inauspicious start in practice; not known for binning it, I fit a visit to the scenery and a quick spin into seven minutes. Always tight and twisty, the circuit is also cold and greasy; our kart feels punchy enough but I'm struggling with the light steering and pronounced understeer. Luckily, Michael keeps it on the island and qualifies us a respectable 6th out of 10.
And there we stay. The rules dictate that we must make five pitstops, meaning six stints of 15 minutes each. We play it simple - Michael starts and we alternate every quarter of an hour. Our raw pace isn't overly fast but we're consistent, error-free and lightning-quick in the pits. A puncture at two-thirds distance necessitates a change of kart, but the powers that be take pity and credit us the lost lap.
I've never seen a circuit that fits so much character and complexity into such a short tour; after over 80 laps at the wheel I'm still not stringing it all together consistently. My best time - a low 35 - is four tenths slower than Michael's, and a huge 1.4 seconds slower than Lee Hackett's. I was reasonably quick here last year - in grippier conditions - and there'll be work to do tomorrow in practice before I can rediscover my form.
But as we say our goodbyes and retire to our hotel (the excellent Portway Inn on the Brecon Road), I'm content. The rust from two months out of a kart is gone; I have data to go on, and Marianne to give me feedback. I've had a good feeling about round 3 for a while, and can't wait to turn a wheel in anger.
Sunday dawns as Saturday waned: dull, overcast, just about dry - but even colder. The temperature is hovering around freezing, with snow in the air. We arrive at 9.30am, warmed by a fine breakfast, to find some of the regulars already in situ. As are the two resident Jack Russells, who greet every new arrival with a chorus of barks.
I'm on track in the first practice session to try and iron out the kinks; today we're using a fresh fleet of karts, and I'm happier straight away. The understeer is still there, but I'm learning to trust that the kart will turn in, using the brakes to ease the nose into the hairpins. Marianne is my spotter: watching carefully from the clubhouse balcony, she's noting differences in driver technique, giving me pointers to try in my second session. I'm still struggling with the notorious corkscrew right-hander off the bridge.
By the end of my allotted half-hour - two sessions - I've found a whopping 1.5 seconds since last night. The benchmark time is faster - a 33.2. But at 33.8, I'm much closer to the pace. While I've been focusing on track, the clubhouse has become a hive of activity: the best part of a hundred drivers and spectators throng its two floors. BRKC banners have appeared; bacon butties and steaming paper cups are flying out of the kitchen. Marianne and I defrost ourselves with cups of tea and compare final notes. After 140 laps since yesterday afternoon I'm still not quite as fast as I'd like, but I've found the rhythm. I'll be able to adapt quickly to the differences between individual karts.
Dare I say it, I'm starting to feel quietly confident.
Marianne knows long-suffering other halves Rebecca and Lauren from Teesside, so it's no surprise to find them gravitated together. No doubt they're swapping horror stories about their respected beloveds. They're joined by Russell Endean's girlfriend Sophie, whom I've not met before. Like Marianne, she's a rare visitor to BRKC events. I leave them to it and catch up with the usual suspects.
Brad is flitting about looking particularly chipper - having won a shootout to race for Peugeot in the upcoming Nurburgring 24 Hours, he's sporting a natty Peugeot Sport jacket ("he hasn't taken it off in a week," says Becca). James Auld, who did sterling work commentating at rounds 1 and 2, is back for a third stint at the microphone. Clad in his shiny red Daytona jacket, he's already booming over the tannoy and accosting hapless drivers for interviews.
Ther ever-committed (or should that be 'certifiable') Scots are back in force: Weddell, Smith, Dailly, Allward... although after a run of bad luck, Matthew Hamilton is absent which is a shame. Ryan Smith and I compare the merits of various helmet designs; I particularly like his red, white and blue, and Anwar Beroual-Smith's pale green. Apparently many of the drivers have used the same helmet painter, who charges around £250 depending on the design. I've never been too bothered about changing the colour of my plain black Arai, but that's cheaper than I expected. Interesting...
At midday, Chris Powell takes over the microphone for the driver's briefing, and at five past, the engines are fired up for free practice. There's a welcome lack of faff at Hereford, but we drivers need to be on our toes. Blink, and you miss a heat.
We're sent out in groups of ten, in driver number order. I'm driver number 4, so am in the first session. I run through my allotted five laps, add a little more information to the ever-growing bank, and pit with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. My first heat is an hour away, and snowflakes are flurrying. If the track turns wet, all bets are off.
Commentator James grabs me for an interview, which is gratifying and disconcerting at the same time. I'm nowhere near as articulate in person as I am in writing, but manage to stumble through a few sentences about this blog and my ambitions for the day - realistically, to score some points. To do that, I must finish in the top 30 of 57.
As the first heat clatters out of the pits, we're two deep on the upper level. It's the best vantage point, but I'm not there just for kicks. I note that the lights are very quick to blink green, and watch how the others are handling the start and first sweep into the tunnel left-hander. There's always something to learn.
The regular devoted parents - Graham Purcocks, Lawrence Hackett, Anthony Mays, a number of others - are present and correct. I chat to Geoff White, father of Ed, whom I've not met before. Apparently Geoff spent time talking to Marianne during the endurance race yesterday, so God only knows what he's heard about me... At 14, Ed is the BRKC's youngest driver, and in these early heats, is already making an impression. He looks confident and very smooth on track - not something you could say of all the younger drivers.
Down below on the pitwall, Alex Vangeen is complaining about being hopelessly rusty ("I've had a rubbish month.") while Andrew Bayliss - spectating today, having raced in the endurance yesterday - is joining in with other people's interviews and generally making a nuisance of himself. They're both fine entertainment, as always.
But the best is yet to come. It's difficult to overtake on this circuit at the best of times, and with competition this fierce and grip levels on the low side, we're seeing more contact than usual. In his first race, Alex turns up the heat too far and triggers a pileup at the corkscrew, for which he receives a penalty; a couple of laps later he's the meat in a three-kart sandwich into the tight middle hairpin. We can hardly bear to watch: two karts rotate in perfect harmony, and Alex shoots between them. Chris Powell is not happy, and shows him the warning board; commentator James is loving it, and instantly dubs him 'Crash Vangeen'.
As the chequered flag falls, we're bracing ourselves in the pitlane: Alex is a walking definition of 'heart on sleeve'. We can almost see the thundercloud following the blue-helmeted figure into the pits. As he exits the kart and barges into the paddock, James bravely approaches in search of an interview. Lauren scuttles out of the firing zone. Bayliss is blisteringly unsympathetic.
I don't have a chance to talk to him, because it's time to turn my attention inward. My first two heats are in quick succession - 9 and 11. I'm starting seventh in the first, with a heavyweight ahead: I'm hopeful of gaining a place straightaway. The Hereford layout, with the starting grid halfway around the circuit, means I have half a lap to get a sense of the kart and circuit. Not much, but I use it as best I can.
My start is near-perfect, and I'm already past the seventh-placed driver as we stream into the tunnel and concertina into the hairpin at the exit. Contact behind pushes me a little wide, but I gather it up and hound the red-clad driver in front - Josh Overhill - all the way through the corkscrew, down the pit straight and into the fast 180 degree right hander of turn 1. As we rocket up the short back straight towards the first hairpin, the front-runners are tightly bunched, tripping over one another; Josh moves to the right, taking the defensive line. I go left, get alongside, and overtake in a Wall of Death move around the outside. It's a good pass, and I'm chuffed.
These races are only eight laps - less than five minutes - long, but such is the intensity that they seem to last an eternity. In fifth place, I'm less than two seconds behind leader Paul Lycett, but after three laps of ducking and diving, I can't get any nearer. The driver ahead is slower, but defending well; the front three are too busy clouting each other to pull away.
Mid-race, I'm distracted by their antics at the middle hairpin and the kart snaps into oversteer. I lose momentum and am instantly under pressure from behind; aware of a presence at my right rear corner, I move to shut the door, feel light contact, then nothing. I discover later that poor Ryan Smith thumped the tyres; the impact stalled an engine, consigning him to the back.
Briefly slowed, I quickly catch the leading pack again, but with a lap to go it all goes pear-shaped - again, at that bogey middle hairpin. A crash up front leaves me nowhere to go; I come virtually to a stop, and the driver behind scoots past on the run down to the tunnel. I take the flag sixth - a little frustrated, but still ahead of my starting slot.
There's no time to dwell on might have been. Eight minutes later, I'm back in a kart for my second heat of the day. This time, I'm starting from pole position, and the butterflies are fluttering. I don't have a great record of defending pole position starts in the BRKC; in fact, in five attempts I've only ever managed it once, in the D final here at Hereford, two years ago. Worse, three rows back on the grid is a familiar blue suit and white helmet - Lee Hackett. There are plenty of drivers between us, but not for long.
Green light. I'm away cleanly, butterflies banished; through tunnel, hairpin and corkscrew with no contact from behind. I focus on braking points and apexes, try and ignore everything else; it's lap two, on the approach to the first hairpin, before I steal a glance behind.
There's nobody there.
Bemused, I negotiate the middle hairpins and finally catch sight of the rest of the field - braking for the first hairpin as I exit the second. It's a huge gap in a race like this; there must have been some sort of pileup on the opening lap. I suppress a thrill of excitement and focus. The job is far from done.
Next time through, I'm halfway up the back straight as the second-placed driver approaches turn 1, and my heart sinks. Blue suit, white helmet. I tell myself to watch the track, not Lee, but he bobs around at the fringes of my field of view, taunting.
Around this time I become aware of spirited support from the pitwall. Alex is leaning right over the track in front of the race director's hut, urging me on; at the corner of my eye I can see Marianne, Andrew Bayliss, a dozen others... it's wonderful to be cheered on, but please Lord, don't let me fuck this up...
I've lost count of the number of laps - feels like fifty - but a couple of passes later I'm beginning to believe. Lee is closing, but not quickly enough; it's all I can do not to shout in exultation as Chris shows me the one lap board. Easy now, it's too easy to throw it all away at a time like this.
But I come off the corkscrew a clear two seconds ahead and punch the air in delight as I take the chequered flag. It's only a heat win, and I was lucky, but I know I've driven well. And I've scored eleven precious points, which should be enough to book me a place in the B final at least.
And if I can hold it together in my third heat...who knows?
(click here for part two)
"My husband," says Marianne, "is so going to whip your arse."
I shut my eyes and briefly contemplate the wisdom of bringing my shy and retiring wife along to a BRKC event. The recipient of her comment - the unwhippably quick Russell Endean - gives me a 'do you know this woman?' look.
Nope, never set eyes on her before...
Marianne is no stranger to kart races, having put in some serious hard time at Teesside during the British 24 Hours over the past couple of years. But this is her first BRKC race and I love having her here, misguided confidence and all. I grin at Russell and we laugh it off. But, of course, I'm going to have a serious go at whipping his arse.
Wind back 24 hours. Saturday afternoon at Herefordshire Raceway is blustery and leaden, the circuit damp in places. But the weather can't dampen the mood. A cross-section of BRKC regulars and international visitors have gathered to kick off our race weekend a day early. It's such a pleasure to be back at this compact, tricky circuit with its postcard setting and wood-framed clubhouse, and I can't wait to get going in our 90 minute team endurance race.
I'm teamed up with the excellent Michael Weddell - a former A-final winner in the BRKC - and I'm counting on him to make me look good. We're up against some serious competition: circuit owner Chris Powell and one of his marshals; BRKC founder (and newly signed Peugeot race driver) Bradley Philpot with reigning BRKC champion, local lap record holder, and marshal Lee Hackett; the nearly-as-daunting combo of Kart World Championship superstars Ruben Boutens and Sam Spinnael. There's also Ted Monfils with Ruben's younger sister Annelien, BRKC returnee Andrew Bayliss with Ryan Smith, and a smattering of others including the Brierley brothers Sean and Liam, and local heroine Rhianna Purcocks with Tyler Mays.
I get off to an inauspicious start in practice; not known for binning it, I fit a visit to the scenery and a quick spin into seven minutes. Always tight and twisty, the circuit is also cold and greasy; our kart feels punchy enough but I'm struggling with the light steering and pronounced understeer. Luckily, Michael keeps it on the island and qualifies us a respectable 6th out of 10.
And there we stay. The rules dictate that we must make five pitstops, meaning six stints of 15 minutes each. We play it simple - Michael starts and we alternate every quarter of an hour. Our raw pace isn't overly fast but we're consistent, error-free and lightning-quick in the pits. A puncture at two-thirds distance necessitates a change of kart, but the powers that be take pity and credit us the lost lap.
I've never seen a circuit that fits so much character and complexity into such a short tour; after over 80 laps at the wheel I'm still not stringing it all together consistently. My best time - a low 35 - is four tenths slower than Michael's, and a huge 1.4 seconds slower than Lee Hackett's. I was reasonably quick here last year - in grippier conditions - and there'll be work to do tomorrow in practice before I can rediscover my form.
But as we say our goodbyes and retire to our hotel (the excellent Portway Inn on the Brecon Road), I'm content. The rust from two months out of a kart is gone; I have data to go on, and Marianne to give me feedback. I've had a good feeling about round 3 for a while, and can't wait to turn a wheel in anger.
Sunday dawns as Saturday waned: dull, overcast, just about dry - but even colder. The temperature is hovering around freezing, with snow in the air. We arrive at 9.30am, warmed by a fine breakfast, to find some of the regulars already in situ. As are the two resident Jack Russells, who greet every new arrival with a chorus of barks.
I'm on track in the first practice session to try and iron out the kinks; today we're using a fresh fleet of karts, and I'm happier straight away. The understeer is still there, but I'm learning to trust that the kart will turn in, using the brakes to ease the nose into the hairpins. Marianne is my spotter: watching carefully from the clubhouse balcony, she's noting differences in driver technique, giving me pointers to try in my second session. I'm still struggling with the notorious corkscrew right-hander off the bridge.
By the end of my allotted half-hour - two sessions - I've found a whopping 1.5 seconds since last night. The benchmark time is faster - a 33.2. But at 33.8, I'm much closer to the pace. While I've been focusing on track, the clubhouse has become a hive of activity: the best part of a hundred drivers and spectators throng its two floors. BRKC banners have appeared; bacon butties and steaming paper cups are flying out of the kitchen. Marianne and I defrost ourselves with cups of tea and compare final notes. After 140 laps since yesterday afternoon I'm still not quite as fast as I'd like, but I've found the rhythm. I'll be able to adapt quickly to the differences between individual karts.
Dare I say it, I'm starting to feel quietly confident.
Marianne knows long-suffering other halves Rebecca and Lauren from Teesside, so it's no surprise to find them gravitated together. No doubt they're swapping horror stories about their respected beloveds. They're joined by Russell Endean's girlfriend Sophie, whom I've not met before. Like Marianne, she's a rare visitor to BRKC events. I leave them to it and catch up with the usual suspects.
Brad is flitting about looking particularly chipper - having won a shootout to race for Peugeot in the upcoming Nurburgring 24 Hours, he's sporting a natty Peugeot Sport jacket ("he hasn't taken it off in a week," says Becca). James Auld, who did sterling work commentating at rounds 1 and 2, is back for a third stint at the microphone. Clad in his shiny red Daytona jacket, he's already booming over the tannoy and accosting hapless drivers for interviews.
Ther ever-committed (or should that be 'certifiable') Scots are back in force: Weddell, Smith, Dailly, Allward... although after a run of bad luck, Matthew Hamilton is absent which is a shame. Ryan Smith and I compare the merits of various helmet designs; I particularly like his red, white and blue, and Anwar Beroual-Smith's pale green. Apparently many of the drivers have used the same helmet painter, who charges around £250 depending on the design. I've never been too bothered about changing the colour of my plain black Arai, but that's cheaper than I expected. Interesting...
At midday, Chris Powell takes over the microphone for the driver's briefing, and at five past, the engines are fired up for free practice. There's a welcome lack of faff at Hereford, but we drivers need to be on our toes. Blink, and you miss a heat.
We're sent out in groups of ten, in driver number order. I'm driver number 4, so am in the first session. I run through my allotted five laps, add a little more information to the ever-growing bank, and pit with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. My first heat is an hour away, and snowflakes are flurrying. If the track turns wet, all bets are off.
Commentator James grabs me for an interview, which is gratifying and disconcerting at the same time. I'm nowhere near as articulate in person as I am in writing, but manage to stumble through a few sentences about this blog and my ambitions for the day - realistically, to score some points. To do that, I must finish in the top 30 of 57.
As the first heat clatters out of the pits, we're two deep on the upper level. It's the best vantage point, but I'm not there just for kicks. I note that the lights are very quick to blink green, and watch how the others are handling the start and first sweep into the tunnel left-hander. There's always something to learn.
The regular devoted parents - Graham Purcocks, Lawrence Hackett, Anthony Mays, a number of others - are present and correct. I chat to Geoff White, father of Ed, whom I've not met before. Apparently Geoff spent time talking to Marianne during the endurance race yesterday, so God only knows what he's heard about me... At 14, Ed is the BRKC's youngest driver, and in these early heats, is already making an impression. He looks confident and very smooth on track - not something you could say of all the younger drivers.
Down below on the pitwall, Alex Vangeen is complaining about being hopelessly rusty ("I've had a rubbish month.") while Andrew Bayliss - spectating today, having raced in the endurance yesterday - is joining in with other people's interviews and generally making a nuisance of himself. They're both fine entertainment, as always.
But the best is yet to come. It's difficult to overtake on this circuit at the best of times, and with competition this fierce and grip levels on the low side, we're seeing more contact than usual. In his first race, Alex turns up the heat too far and triggers a pileup at the corkscrew, for which he receives a penalty; a couple of laps later he's the meat in a three-kart sandwich into the tight middle hairpin. We can hardly bear to watch: two karts rotate in perfect harmony, and Alex shoots between them. Chris Powell is not happy, and shows him the warning board; commentator James is loving it, and instantly dubs him 'Crash Vangeen'.
As the chequered flag falls, we're bracing ourselves in the pitlane: Alex is a walking definition of 'heart on sleeve'. We can almost see the thundercloud following the blue-helmeted figure into the pits. As he exits the kart and barges into the paddock, James bravely approaches in search of an interview. Lauren scuttles out of the firing zone. Bayliss is blisteringly unsympathetic.
I don't have a chance to talk to him, because it's time to turn my attention inward. My first two heats are in quick succession - 9 and 11. I'm starting seventh in the first, with a heavyweight ahead: I'm hopeful of gaining a place straightaway. The Hereford layout, with the starting grid halfway around the circuit, means I have half a lap to get a sense of the kart and circuit. Not much, but I use it as best I can.
My start is near-perfect, and I'm already past the seventh-placed driver as we stream into the tunnel and concertina into the hairpin at the exit. Contact behind pushes me a little wide, but I gather it up and hound the red-clad driver in front - Josh Overhill - all the way through the corkscrew, down the pit straight and into the fast 180 degree right hander of turn 1. As we rocket up the short back straight towards the first hairpin, the front-runners are tightly bunched, tripping over one another; Josh moves to the right, taking the defensive line. I go left, get alongside, and overtake in a Wall of Death move around the outside. It's a good pass, and I'm chuffed.
These races are only eight laps - less than five minutes - long, but such is the intensity that they seem to last an eternity. In fifth place, I'm less than two seconds behind leader Paul Lycett, but after three laps of ducking and diving, I can't get any nearer. The driver ahead is slower, but defending well; the front three are too busy clouting each other to pull away.
Mid-race, I'm distracted by their antics at the middle hairpin and the kart snaps into oversteer. I lose momentum and am instantly under pressure from behind; aware of a presence at my right rear corner, I move to shut the door, feel light contact, then nothing. I discover later that poor Ryan Smith thumped the tyres; the impact stalled an engine, consigning him to the back.
Briefly slowed, I quickly catch the leading pack again, but with a lap to go it all goes pear-shaped - again, at that bogey middle hairpin. A crash up front leaves me nowhere to go; I come virtually to a stop, and the driver behind scoots past on the run down to the tunnel. I take the flag sixth - a little frustrated, but still ahead of my starting slot.
There's no time to dwell on might have been. Eight minutes later, I'm back in a kart for my second heat of the day. This time, I'm starting from pole position, and the butterflies are fluttering. I don't have a great record of defending pole position starts in the BRKC; in fact, in five attempts I've only ever managed it once, in the D final here at Hereford, two years ago. Worse, three rows back on the grid is a familiar blue suit and white helmet - Lee Hackett. There are plenty of drivers between us, but not for long.
Green light. I'm away cleanly, butterflies banished; through tunnel, hairpin and corkscrew with no contact from behind. I focus on braking points and apexes, try and ignore everything else; it's lap two, on the approach to the first hairpin, before I steal a glance behind.
There's nobody there.
Bemused, I negotiate the middle hairpins and finally catch sight of the rest of the field - braking for the first hairpin as I exit the second. It's a huge gap in a race like this; there must have been some sort of pileup on the opening lap. I suppress a thrill of excitement and focus. The job is far from done.
Next time through, I'm halfway up the back straight as the second-placed driver approaches turn 1, and my heart sinks. Blue suit, white helmet. I tell myself to watch the track, not Lee, but he bobs around at the fringes of my field of view, taunting.
Around this time I become aware of spirited support from the pitwall. Alex is leaning right over the track in front of the race director's hut, urging me on; at the corner of my eye I can see Marianne, Andrew Bayliss, a dozen others... it's wonderful to be cheered on, but please Lord, don't let me fuck this up...
I've lost count of the number of laps - feels like fifty - but a couple of passes later I'm beginning to believe. Lee is closing, but not quickly enough; it's all I can do not to shout in exultation as Chris shows me the one lap board. Easy now, it's too easy to throw it all away at a time like this.
But I come off the corkscrew a clear two seconds ahead and punch the air in delight as I take the chequered flag. It's only a heat win, and I was lucky, but I know I've driven well. And I've scored eleven precious points, which should be enough to book me a place in the B final at least.
And if I can hold it together in my third heat...who knows?
(click here for part two)
Thursday, 17 January 2013
BRKC round 1. The Raceway, London, 12-13 January 2013 (part 2)
(Click here for part one)
Lunchtime on Sunday. Watery sunlight is filtering through the Raceway's skylights. It lifts the gloom but can do nothing for the temperature. If I stand still for more than a minute I get an ice cream headache in my feet.
With an hour or so until my final heat, I grab a hot dog and chat to a couple of new faces - Sam Guntrip, who is having an excellent run towards a B-final place, and friend, whose name escapes me. Both seem to be enjoying their first experience of the BRKC.
Not so a couple of the old-timers.
"Terrible!" says Lee Jones, with a rueful grin, when I ask how it's going. "I just can't get the qualifying right..."
It's a similar story for our British 24 Hours captain Alex Vangeen. He's had to wait a long time to get going, and finished somewhere behind me in heat 14. Not the most auspicious of starts.
He's next on in heat 18, and quickly gathers a chorus of approval from commentator James and everyone on the pitwall. Alex always drives as if karting's about to be made illegal; I can almost see the corners cowering in fear as he bears down on them. We groan in unison as he aims for a narrowing gap between Oli and the wall, then lift the roof as he makes a series of brilliant overtaking moves to gain back the lost places.
Also a late starter - and making an instant impression - is Sean Brierley. With two down and one to go he has a win and a second place to his name, and has an excellent chance of making the coveted A-final. He looks a little busier at the wheel than Lee or the Belgians, but it all stays pointing in the right direction, and he's maintaining good momentum out of the corners - so important, and so difficult.
He and I share heat 21, where I make my only critical error of the day. On the out lap, the kart feels very lively at the rear; wary of unsticking it, I'm much too cautious into turn two and lose several tenths. I line up a frustrated sixth and spend the race within a few metres of fourth place, but unable to get past the squabbling (and occasionally lairy) drivers in front. Sean, meanwhile, has won and lies second on the leaderboard with three heats to go. I'm 30th out of 80, and expect to drop a few before the end.
With the last heat finished, the noise level drops from deafening roar to echoey chatter; James announces a short break while the final leaderboard is calculated. A few minutes later we're crowding around the central pillar in the paddock as Brad pins up the lists. I'm 35th overall, which will put me fifth on the grid in the D-final. About what I expected; the mistake on my last qualy lap probably cost me a C-final slot. Right now, there are fifty similar stories of woe floating about the Raceway.
The A-final grid makes interesting reading. Lee Hackett is on pole, as expected - nobody else managed to win all three heats - and Sean has retained his second place. Superstars Boutens, Grooten, Pineiro and Elliott are there, as expected, but there are some real surprises. BRKC regular Alexandru Damian has, on the quiet, had a superb day, as has heavyweight Russell Endean. It's been a day to forget for most of the Scots, but Stephen Dailly has bucked the trend. And my saviour/chauffeur Craig is clearly rather handy: he's made the A-final on his BRKC debut, against world-class competition.
As the finals get underway I take a seat with Lee Jones and Anwar in the restaurant, whose soundproofed windows overlook the fast banking at turn 1 as well as the turn 3 hairpin. The H and G-finals fly by with some great entertainment, but it's the battle at the front of the F-final that has us biting our nails. BRKC regular Daryl Warren is on pole, chased hard by Matthew Hamilton - who is normally to be found much nearer the sharp end.
Always committed, Daryl is prone to errors: the smart money says that Matthew will have him before long. But time after time they flash through the banking in front of us, disappear for a few seconds, then reappear in the braking zone for the hairpin - nose to tail with Daryl in front.
"I can't watch," says Lee, around lap 6; Anwar and I crane our necks to try and keep the battling pair in sight through the danger area at turn 2. Matthew's trying every (clean) trick in the book to intimidate Daryl out of the way.
But Daryl shows no sign of the huge pressure he's under, keeping it neat, tidy and in front. We're holding our collective breath as the chequered sign begins to strobe, and the cheer almost drowns the engines as Daryl takes it. There's no sign of Matthew, though - his rotten luck with machinery has continued with a broken throttle cable in the last metres of the race. It's a great drive by both, and is greeted with noisy appreciation by everyone in the paddock as well as James on the Tannoy.
But now it's time to don my helmet for the last time today. There are one or two familiar names in the D-final, but most are an unknown quantity. My biggest concern is former winner Michael Weddell, who's had an uncharacteristically bad day and starts right behind me. As we walk out into the pitlane I realise that I've been allocated the same kart I had in my second heat; my heart drops. It's the weakest of the five I've driven this weekend. As we roll around the out-lap I'm reminding myself of its pros and cons. Engine and brakes are fine, but the front is very skittish. It's not terrible; I'll do my best to adapt.
The start is messy, the marshals slow to give polesitter Connor Marsh the green flag, but we keep it together and by turn 2 I'm all over the bumper of the driver in front, who looks tentative. I can already feel the pressure from behind: there's a disgruntled Scot breathing down my neck. All nine stone of him.
On the second lap, trying to hold the kart flat on a defensive line through the fast left-hander, the front abruptly lets go and I clout the outside wall. I'm expecting Weddell to come through, but he doesn't. Maybe I've scared him as well as myself.
For a couple more laps, the status quo remains, until the driver in front of me has a tardy exit from turn 2 and baulks me slightly. I start to jink right, but Weddell is already alongside and passes cleanly into the hairpin. I mentally kick myself - my overtaking has been poor here - and set about making amends.
Weddell's up to fourth within a lap, and I pull a decent move through the fast section to regain my fifth place. But disaster strikes a lap later: midway through the endless left-hander with tortured right tyres screaming, I feel a big thump at the rear and am instantly a passenger. The kart snaps backwards into the wall, someone else pirouetting behind me as the field rushes by.
I get going again and find myself chasing Lee Jones. I'm quicker, but he defends neatly and cleanly; we finish nose to tail, 9th and 10th. We're both disappointed but philosophical: it's not as if we were fighting for the win. Later, Adam Sharp owns up and apologises for causing the accident, which is much appreciated.
With my day over, the adrenalin drains and my body starts to complain. Lack of sleep and fatigue are compounded by a worsening headache, sore throat and the prospect of a slow trip home to Winchester by train and bus. I take a break to get changed and miss the C- and B-finals. But it's a sign of the quality of this field that some big names - Borremans, Laporte, Spinnael, former winner Danny Henney - found themselves in the C-final.
I return to the paddock to find that KWC organiser Gregory Laporte has made up for his mixed results in the heats by winning the C-final and fighting his way up to 4th in the B-final. Great stuff.
But now it's time for the big race, and we line the pitwall to watch. I think Lee is going to be as imperious as he's been all weekend; the big question mark lies over the inexperienced head of Sean Brierley: he has two of the best karters in the world hunting down his second place. Will he be able to take the pressure?
As the green flag drops Lee makes another perfect start and heads Sean by three metres as they cross the startline. There's a flurry of activity behind as Ramon Pineiro overtakes Jonny Elliott for fourth place and begins to hound Ruben Boutens. Further back, BRKC regulars Endean, Damian and Dailly are locked in battle with former world champion Grooten; it's hard to know where to look.
Boutens is keeping Sean honest but no more than that; Pineiro is all over him, and squeezes by into the tight left-right. I miss the move, but Boutens has a hand up in protest, and the marshals are locked in discussion. Three laps later Pineiro is shown a blue flag, ordering him to give the place back - which he does immediately by running wide into turn 1. But he's clearly not happy: there's a bit of Latin headshaking going on.
All of which has given Sean some breathing space. As the laps count down he begins to reel Lee in, tenth by tenth. But Lee is serene, and takes the flag a couple of seconds ahead to seal an utterly dominant weekend. Sean is a brilliant second ahead of Boutens, Pineiro, Elliott and indoor specialist Russell Endean, who takes his second heavyweight win.
We cheer the podiums, dash clear of the champagne showers and begin to scatter into the freezing night. I get the sense that we share a similar thought: the BRKC just keeps getting better. It's in a myriad details, from the swanky new race programmes to the influx of national and international talent: this series has jumped to a new level.
Many thought that the international drivers would dominate, but they had to fight every inch of the way. Better still, they've been unanimous in their praise and support for the series, and those without conflicts will be back for round 2. It would be great to count them amongst the ever-growing band of regulars.
Again, Brad has done a magnificent job behind the scenes to make round 1 the huge success it was, and I've no doubt that Rebecca has regularly gone well beyond the call of duty to back him up. The recruitment of sometime competitor James Auld as commentator was inspired, and he'll be back for rounds 2 and 3.
The Raceway is a very impressive venue and seems to have found favour with most of the drivers. I thought they did a superb job to run such a huge event with minimal delay. They seem to 'get' the BRKC - which can't be said of all circuits - and the staff were friendly and efficient without fail. I hear we're likely to return in 2014, and look forward to that.
For myself, I knew that with competition of this standard, making the top half of the leaderboard would be a decent effort. I managed that - just - and enjoyed myself enormously on and off track. It's very heartening to hear that people like my ramblings, and I enjoy writing them. But I'm in the BRKC first and foremost to race, and my consistently average results nag like a splinter. During round 1 I discovered a few chinks in my armour, which I'll be working on before my next race.
Sadly I can't be at Buckmore, despite my best efforts to rearrange a group skiing trip, but I'll be present and correct for round 3 at one of my favourite venues: Herefordshire Raceway.
So I'm relying on you, BRKC massive. Lee Hackett is a lovely guy and a brilliant driver. But if he wins again, he might start giving everyone the (index) finger and saying things like 'Now THAT'S what I'm talking about..."
We can't have that, can we?
(Click here for part one)
Lunchtime on Sunday. Watery sunlight is filtering through the Raceway's skylights. It lifts the gloom but can do nothing for the temperature. If I stand still for more than a minute I get an ice cream headache in my feet.
With an hour or so until my final heat, I grab a hot dog and chat to a couple of new faces - Sam Guntrip, who is having an excellent run towards a B-final place, and friend, whose name escapes me. Both seem to be enjoying their first experience of the BRKC.
Not so a couple of the old-timers.
"Terrible!" says Lee Jones, with a rueful grin, when I ask how it's going. "I just can't get the qualifying right..."
It's a similar story for our British 24 Hours captain Alex Vangeen. He's had to wait a long time to get going, and finished somewhere behind me in heat 14. Not the most auspicious of starts.
He's next on in heat 18, and quickly gathers a chorus of approval from commentator James and everyone on the pitwall. Alex always drives as if karting's about to be made illegal; I can almost see the corners cowering in fear as he bears down on them. We groan in unison as he aims for a narrowing gap between Oli and the wall, then lift the roof as he makes a series of brilliant overtaking moves to gain back the lost places.
Also a late starter - and making an instant impression - is Sean Brierley. With two down and one to go he has a win and a second place to his name, and has an excellent chance of making the coveted A-final. He looks a little busier at the wheel than Lee or the Belgians, but it all stays pointing in the right direction, and he's maintaining good momentum out of the corners - so important, and so difficult.
He and I share heat 21, where I make my only critical error of the day. On the out lap, the kart feels very lively at the rear; wary of unsticking it, I'm much too cautious into turn two and lose several tenths. I line up a frustrated sixth and spend the race within a few metres of fourth place, but unable to get past the squabbling (and occasionally lairy) drivers in front. Sean, meanwhile, has won and lies second on the leaderboard with three heats to go. I'm 30th out of 80, and expect to drop a few before the end.
With the last heat finished, the noise level drops from deafening roar to echoey chatter; James announces a short break while the final leaderboard is calculated. A few minutes later we're crowding around the central pillar in the paddock as Brad pins up the lists. I'm 35th overall, which will put me fifth on the grid in the D-final. About what I expected; the mistake on my last qualy lap probably cost me a C-final slot. Right now, there are fifty similar stories of woe floating about the Raceway.
The A-final grid makes interesting reading. Lee Hackett is on pole, as expected - nobody else managed to win all three heats - and Sean has retained his second place. Superstars Boutens, Grooten, Pineiro and Elliott are there, as expected, but there are some real surprises. BRKC regular Alexandru Damian has, on the quiet, had a superb day, as has heavyweight Russell Endean. It's been a day to forget for most of the Scots, but Stephen Dailly has bucked the trend. And my saviour/chauffeur Craig is clearly rather handy: he's made the A-final on his BRKC debut, against world-class competition.
As the finals get underway I take a seat with Lee Jones and Anwar in the restaurant, whose soundproofed windows overlook the fast banking at turn 1 as well as the turn 3 hairpin. The H and G-finals fly by with some great entertainment, but it's the battle at the front of the F-final that has us biting our nails. BRKC regular Daryl Warren is on pole, chased hard by Matthew Hamilton - who is normally to be found much nearer the sharp end.
Always committed, Daryl is prone to errors: the smart money says that Matthew will have him before long. But time after time they flash through the banking in front of us, disappear for a few seconds, then reappear in the braking zone for the hairpin - nose to tail with Daryl in front.
"I can't watch," says Lee, around lap 6; Anwar and I crane our necks to try and keep the battling pair in sight through the danger area at turn 2. Matthew's trying every (clean) trick in the book to intimidate Daryl out of the way.
But Daryl shows no sign of the huge pressure he's under, keeping it neat, tidy and in front. We're holding our collective breath as the chequered sign begins to strobe, and the cheer almost drowns the engines as Daryl takes it. There's no sign of Matthew, though - his rotten luck with machinery has continued with a broken throttle cable in the last metres of the race. It's a great drive by both, and is greeted with noisy appreciation by everyone in the paddock as well as James on the Tannoy.
But now it's time to don my helmet for the last time today. There are one or two familiar names in the D-final, but most are an unknown quantity. My biggest concern is former winner Michael Weddell, who's had an uncharacteristically bad day and starts right behind me. As we walk out into the pitlane I realise that I've been allocated the same kart I had in my second heat; my heart drops. It's the weakest of the five I've driven this weekend. As we roll around the out-lap I'm reminding myself of its pros and cons. Engine and brakes are fine, but the front is very skittish. It's not terrible; I'll do my best to adapt.
The start is messy, the marshals slow to give polesitter Connor Marsh the green flag, but we keep it together and by turn 2 I'm all over the bumper of the driver in front, who looks tentative. I can already feel the pressure from behind: there's a disgruntled Scot breathing down my neck. All nine stone of him.
On the second lap, trying to hold the kart flat on a defensive line through the fast left-hander, the front abruptly lets go and I clout the outside wall. I'm expecting Weddell to come through, but he doesn't. Maybe I've scared him as well as myself.
For a couple more laps, the status quo remains, until the driver in front of me has a tardy exit from turn 2 and baulks me slightly. I start to jink right, but Weddell is already alongside and passes cleanly into the hairpin. I mentally kick myself - my overtaking has been poor here - and set about making amends.
Weddell's up to fourth within a lap, and I pull a decent move through the fast section to regain my fifth place. But disaster strikes a lap later: midway through the endless left-hander with tortured right tyres screaming, I feel a big thump at the rear and am instantly a passenger. The kart snaps backwards into the wall, someone else pirouetting behind me as the field rushes by.
I get going again and find myself chasing Lee Jones. I'm quicker, but he defends neatly and cleanly; we finish nose to tail, 9th and 10th. We're both disappointed but philosophical: it's not as if we were fighting for the win. Later, Adam Sharp owns up and apologises for causing the accident, which is much appreciated.
With my day over, the adrenalin drains and my body starts to complain. Lack of sleep and fatigue are compounded by a worsening headache, sore throat and the prospect of a slow trip home to Winchester by train and bus. I take a break to get changed and miss the C- and B-finals. But it's a sign of the quality of this field that some big names - Borremans, Laporte, Spinnael, former winner Danny Henney - found themselves in the C-final.
I return to the paddock to find that KWC organiser Gregory Laporte has made up for his mixed results in the heats by winning the C-final and fighting his way up to 4th in the B-final. Great stuff.
But now it's time for the big race, and we line the pitwall to watch. I think Lee is going to be as imperious as he's been all weekend; the big question mark lies over the inexperienced head of Sean Brierley: he has two of the best karters in the world hunting down his second place. Will he be able to take the pressure?
As the green flag drops Lee makes another perfect start and heads Sean by three metres as they cross the startline. There's a flurry of activity behind as Ramon Pineiro overtakes Jonny Elliott for fourth place and begins to hound Ruben Boutens. Further back, BRKC regulars Endean, Damian and Dailly are locked in battle with former world champion Grooten; it's hard to know where to look.
Boutens is keeping Sean honest but no more than that; Pineiro is all over him, and squeezes by into the tight left-right. I miss the move, but Boutens has a hand up in protest, and the marshals are locked in discussion. Three laps later Pineiro is shown a blue flag, ordering him to give the place back - which he does immediately by running wide into turn 1. But he's clearly not happy: there's a bit of Latin headshaking going on.
All of which has given Sean some breathing space. As the laps count down he begins to reel Lee in, tenth by tenth. But Lee is serene, and takes the flag a couple of seconds ahead to seal an utterly dominant weekend. Sean is a brilliant second ahead of Boutens, Pineiro, Elliott and indoor specialist Russell Endean, who takes his second heavyweight win.
We cheer the podiums, dash clear of the champagne showers and begin to scatter into the freezing night. I get the sense that we share a similar thought: the BRKC just keeps getting better. It's in a myriad details, from the swanky new race programmes to the influx of national and international talent: this series has jumped to a new level.
Many thought that the international drivers would dominate, but they had to fight every inch of the way. Better still, they've been unanimous in their praise and support for the series, and those without conflicts will be back for round 2. It would be great to count them amongst the ever-growing band of regulars.
Again, Brad has done a magnificent job behind the scenes to make round 1 the huge success it was, and I've no doubt that Rebecca has regularly gone well beyond the call of duty to back him up. The recruitment of sometime competitor James Auld as commentator was inspired, and he'll be back for rounds 2 and 3.
The Raceway is a very impressive venue and seems to have found favour with most of the drivers. I thought they did a superb job to run such a huge event with minimal delay. They seem to 'get' the BRKC - which can't be said of all circuits - and the staff were friendly and efficient without fail. I hear we're likely to return in 2014, and look forward to that.
For myself, I knew that with competition of this standard, making the top half of the leaderboard would be a decent effort. I managed that - just - and enjoyed myself enormously on and off track. It's very heartening to hear that people like my ramblings, and I enjoy writing them. But I'm in the BRKC first and foremost to race, and my consistently average results nag like a splinter. During round 1 I discovered a few chinks in my armour, which I'll be working on before my next race.
Sadly I can't be at Buckmore, despite my best efforts to rearrange a group skiing trip, but I'll be present and correct for round 3 at one of my favourite venues: Herefordshire Raceway.
So I'm relying on you, BRKC massive. Lee Hackett is a lovely guy and a brilliant driver. But if he wins again, he might start giving everyone the (index) finger and saying things like 'Now THAT'S what I'm talking about..."
We can't have that, can we?
(Click here for part one)
Wednesday, 16 January 2013
BRKC round 1. The Raceway, London, 12-13 January 2013 (part 1)
(Click here for part two)
Saturday 12 January 2013
Craig Martin is my new best friend.
It's 11pm on a freezing night in Docklands. I'm nursing the beginnings of a cold, ache from head to foot, and bed is a mile and a half away. Craig and his friend John are staying at the same hotel - the Woolwich Travelodge - and have graciously made space in their car for me. Result.
Wind back three hours, and I'm wondering - not for the first time - why the hell I'm not at home with my wife and a glass of wine. The walk from Charlton Station to the circuit is less than a mile according to Google. The first half is along a reassuringly bright, busy dual carriageway. But the second half takes you deep into an unlit, deserted industrial estate. Wind is moaning through chainlink fences, flapping loose bits of corrugated iron. I feel like a character in a schlocky horror movie.
But the Bogeyman's taken the night off; I find the circuit's narrow access road, right on the bank of the Thames, and am soon pushing open the imposing double doors. At which point I forget all about the Bogeyman, the cold, and the fact that I need to pee. The Raceway's main reception area is cavernous and marbled, and wouldn't disgrace a luxury hotel. A lifesize model of a Ferrari F1 car hangs on the wall behind the reception desk; legendary race helmets line the walls at regular intervals, each in its own individually lit display case. We're not in Birmingham any more, folks...
I follow the signs and encounter a staff member (whom I later discover is race director Luke) who directs me along what seems like half a mile of corridor. I pass a bar, multiple changing rooms, a restaurant... I'm beginning to wonder if they've left any space for the circuit when I push open a door to be assaulted by the throaty roar of a dozen karts.
Thirteen hours before the official start of round 1, the Raceway's spacious paddock is already dotted with familiar faces. I wave to BRKC organiser Bradley and regulars Sean Brierley and Lee Hackett, and watch from the pitwall as a corporate jolly finishes on track. First impression are good: the circuit looks big by indoor standards, and the karts blast over the finish line at pleasing speed. The surface is asphalt (not the nasty, slick concrete which spoils many indoor circuits) and there's even a bit of gradient built in. Good stuff.
As I suit up for the first of my two test sessions, the long schlep to the depths of East London suddenly feels worthwhile: the tingle is back. I have forty minutes to learn my first proper indoor circuit.
It's a baptism of fire. This place fits some tricky corners into its 700 or so metres. There's impressive variety, too - from a not-quite-flat banked left-hander to a deceptively difficult right-hand hairpin and two left-handers which tighten on entry - forcing you to brake while turning. I quickly learn that the rear of the kart must be kept in check to avoid losing chunks of time; while its natural tendency is to understeer, it quickly flicks into oversteer when the brakes are applied. With no kerbs to kiss and only walls to hit, it's probably as near to a street circuit as karting gets. I've always thought myself reasonably precise and smooth. But I'm not precise or smooth enough for this.
After 27 laps I'm aware of considerable mental and physical effort, as the chequered sign over the startline strobes to signify the end of the session. The paddock has filled up rapidly in the last half hour - along with series regulars Rhianna Purcocks and Daryl Warren I spot multiple karting champion - and F2 race winner - Ramon Pineiro, distinctive in his yellow overalls. He'll surely be a contender for the outright win tomorrow.
I'm 12th out of 16 in our session, over a second off the pace. Reigning BRKC champion Lee Hackett is quickest, unsurprisingly. I watch the second group from as many vantage points as I can: the pit and paddock bisects the circuit, affording good views of many of the corners. I make some mental notes to add to the pointers I picked up in the opening session, and approach my second run with renewed optimism.
The second kart is pointier than the first, with much heavier steering. I'm not at my physical best, but I'm surprised at how drained I am after a mere 20 minutes. Still, it's better: I'm heartened by having pegged Kart World Championship frontrunner Ruben Boutens for several laps. I'm learning some of the counter-intuitive techniques needed to be quick here: leaning away from the corner to put weight over the loaded wheels, hugging the barriers instead of taking a normal line.
I've only found a couple of tenths, but am 9th quickest out of 19. The circuit seems to have slowed: I'm now half a second shy of Lee. It's solid progress, but I can already see that getting anywhere near the points tomorrow is going to be stiff challenge. While getting changed I chat to BRKC - and karting - newbie Fred Harvey-Love. He's jumped in at the deep end and looks wide-eyed at the speed on display tonight - but is looking forward to his first proper race tomorrow.
I hitch my ride to the hotel with Craig and Jon, find my room, and settle down in the lap of luxury. Sleep comes fitfully: when I close my eyes I see nothing but tyre walls. I can't wait to get going for real.
Sunday 13 January
Battleship grey dawn light isn't doing much to improve Docklands' aesthetic appeal, although the Thames Barrier does look suitably menacing. It's the first and last daylight I see all day.
The Raceway is buzzing, karts already on track well before 8am. My two companions - both BRKC newbies - elect to do another practice session. I don't blame them.
This championship has seen some impressive talent in the last couple of years, but never anything like this. Joining the regular frontrunners will be the aforementioned Pineiro and five of the best indoor karters in the world - including the current world champion, Robin Borremans. No less than 80 of us will compete over 24 heats and 8 finals. It's the biggest, most competitive event the BRKC has ever staged; today I reckon that making the top half will be an achievement.
The BRKC table is set up in the paddock and groans under the weight of silverware, bubbly, programmes and merchandise, as usual. Having spent Saturday night out on the town chaperoning the Belgian contingent, Brad's positively saintly other half Becca is in attendance. She's joined by Alex Vangeen's equally haloed fiancé Lauren. It's lovely to see them; half of me wishes I'd persuaded Marianne to come along.
Brad could be forgiven for showing a touch of strain at a time like this, but there's no sign of it. He informs me that he's saved me a job by writing the round 1 blog. Something like:
"BRKC Round 1 at The Raceway was simply the best kart race I have ever attended. All of the drivers were entirely happy and everything was perfect. The end."
As the test sessions come to an end and briefing time approaches, I catch up with the old guard - Alex, both Lees (Jones and Hackett), Anwar, two very dedicated fathers (Rhianna's dad Graham and Lee Hackett's dad Lawrence), Daryl, and others. James Auld drops by to say hello before assuming his position as commentator for the day. Clad in a shiny scarlet Daytona 24 Hours jacket, and armed with a wireless microphone, he's every inch the showman.
Soon his voice is booming over the Tannoy, summoning everybody to the pit area for the briefing, which lives up to its billing: it's brief. With a packed schedule and the added complication of qualifying for each heat, time is very tight.
We have five minutes of free practice, split into four groups of 20. I'm in the first group, and spend my seven or so laps working on dealing with the understeer that dominates the handling of most of the karts. With no laptimes I can't really tell if I'm making progress, but it's starting to feel more natural. Once out of the kart I relax: my first race is heat 11. I have at least two hours to wait.
Fortified by coffee and an excellent bacon sandwich from the nice ladies in the café, I join the others on the pitwall as the first heat begins. I'm running a stopwatch to keep tabs, and the initial news is bad. Heat 1 takes 18 minutes to complete. At this rate we'll still be here on Monday.
Heat 2 takes longer still. Brad has been back and forth across to Race Control a couple of times; we gather that the computer isn't functioning as predicted. After a couple of tweaks on and off track, heat 3 takes 12 minutes. With two sets of karts running alternately, there's no delay between heats, and the marshals are quick to form up the grids after each qualifying run. We're soon rattling through them at whipcrack speed.
Rhianna Purcocks - at 15, the BRKC's second youngest driver - is in an early heat, and her father Graham shows me a nifty bit of technology which enables him to watch a live video feed from her GoPro camera on his phone. The quality is patchy, but I get the sense I've seen the future. Rhianna is always exciting to watch. She's talented but tends to intersperse nuggets of genius with moments of madness: we cheer as she pulls off a stunningly opportunistic move into the fast left-hander at the back of the circuit, then groan as she runs wide into the tight left before the pits, losing a couple of places.
Always fascinated by contrasting driving styles, I spend time observing some of the frontrunners. All of the Belgian KWC experts adopt a similar approach: upright in the seat, pronounced lean on the outside wheels, a model of precision. F2 refugee Pineiro is a little more flamboyant, turning into the hairpin with a single sweep of the wheel and holding it steady, with no correction, all the way to the exit. Multiple champions Anwar Beroual-Smith and Jonny Elliott are a masterclass in fluidity, not a hint of raggedness, keeping both ends of the kart in perfect harmony.
And by heat 8 it's clear that Lee Hackett is operating at a different level to everyone else. He drives as if in permanent slow motion replay - effortless, all the time in the world, the steering wheel hardly moving. The spectacle has all the drama of a trip to the shops, but his speed is devastating. With all of his heats done he's scored a perfect 30 points: three dominant wins from three pole positions. After the race he's typically humble when interviewed by commentator James - who is doing a magnificent job of keeping the excitement sky-high through the marathon run of heats.
I take a short break from the biting cold and aural assault of the circuit, and kick back on one of the comfy sofas outside Reception. My eyes are barely shut when a familiar voice shouts:
"Oi, Lazy! Why aren't you writing?"
It's Sean Brierley and Daryl Warren. I mumble a riposte - scathingly witty, I'm sure - shut my eyes again, and try to get warm. I wish I felt better.
Fifteen minutes later, the adrenalin is doing its thing; I wait in my kart as the Tannoy booms and heat 10 roars around me. There are no nerves to speak of. I know what to do.
I'm 7th in the line of karts, of 10; along with everyone else I need to make space in front of me before the start of my qualifying lap, while getting a sense of what I have to work with. This kart's steering is quite heavy, which indicates a grippy front end: good news. As I boot it out of the final corner and head for the startline, the kart in front is almost down to turn 1: plenty of space, unless he bins it. He doesn't.
I drive a clean, if slightly conservative lap; as I roll to a stop on the back section, I'm expecting to be somewhere in the middle of the grid... and am slow to spot the marshal pointing at me.
"SIX!" he bellows, for the third or fourth time. I trickle forward into third position, pleased. In seconds we're waved forward, the pole sitter keeping us at walking pace through the tight left-right before the pitlane entry. I'm glued to the back of the kart in front, but still lose a couple of metres as he bolts.
I gain it back into the banking of turn 1, and we're nose to tail as we concertina into the tricky tightening left of turn 2. I feel the fourth-placed kart nudge me at the apex, then we're powering down the hill to the hairpin. This is intense stuff, and just like the preceding heats, the quality of driving is sky-high. We don't have a lot of space and there's no margin for error - yet there's virtually no bumping. Over eight laps I slowly lose ground to the pair in front, pull out a small gap to the kart behind, and finish a satisfied third. It's a better start than I had hoped for.
I'm next on in heat 14, so barely have time to draw breath before I'm sitting in the pitlane waiting to go again. Brad comes over to tell me that there are six heavyweights in this race, so nothing less than pole will do. He neglects to mention that my rivals include superstars Robin Borremans, Mathias Grooten and Sam Spinnael. Still, I'm at the front of the queue, so there's no need to make space.
Three minutes later I'm bemused to be lining up fifth. I drove what felt like a better lap than my first attempt, but this kart is looser at the front, less predictable in the fast corners. No matter - I make a good start, and am quickly past fourth-placed Oli Nitch-Smith. I expect to pull away, but can't: he comes right back at me and makes a neat move a couple of laps later - into turn 2, I think. I push him hard, and get my nose in front with a clumsy move in the tight left-right. But it's questionable, and I let him past. We finish inches apart. Although I've been generally happy with the karts, I think this one did dictate the result to some extent.
I glance at my watch: just after 1pm. We're not yet halfway - 14 races down, 18 to go...
(Click here for part two)
Saturday 12 January 2013
Craig Martin is my new best friend.
It's 11pm on a freezing night in Docklands. I'm nursing the beginnings of a cold, ache from head to foot, and bed is a mile and a half away. Craig and his friend John are staying at the same hotel - the Woolwich Travelodge - and have graciously made space in their car for me. Result.
Wind back three hours, and I'm wondering - not for the first time - why the hell I'm not at home with my wife and a glass of wine. The walk from Charlton Station to the circuit is less than a mile according to Google. The first half is along a reassuringly bright, busy dual carriageway. But the second half takes you deep into an unlit, deserted industrial estate. Wind is moaning through chainlink fences, flapping loose bits of corrugated iron. I feel like a character in a schlocky horror movie.
But the Bogeyman's taken the night off; I find the circuit's narrow access road, right on the bank of the Thames, and am soon pushing open the imposing double doors. At which point I forget all about the Bogeyman, the cold, and the fact that I need to pee. The Raceway's main reception area is cavernous and marbled, and wouldn't disgrace a luxury hotel. A lifesize model of a Ferrari F1 car hangs on the wall behind the reception desk; legendary race helmets line the walls at regular intervals, each in its own individually lit display case. We're not in Birmingham any more, folks...
I follow the signs and encounter a staff member (whom I later discover is race director Luke) who directs me along what seems like half a mile of corridor. I pass a bar, multiple changing rooms, a restaurant... I'm beginning to wonder if they've left any space for the circuit when I push open a door to be assaulted by the throaty roar of a dozen karts.
Thirteen hours before the official start of round 1, the Raceway's spacious paddock is already dotted with familiar faces. I wave to BRKC organiser Bradley and regulars Sean Brierley and Lee Hackett, and watch from the pitwall as a corporate jolly finishes on track. First impression are good: the circuit looks big by indoor standards, and the karts blast over the finish line at pleasing speed. The surface is asphalt (not the nasty, slick concrete which spoils many indoor circuits) and there's even a bit of gradient built in. Good stuff.
As I suit up for the first of my two test sessions, the long schlep to the depths of East London suddenly feels worthwhile: the tingle is back. I have forty minutes to learn my first proper indoor circuit.
It's a baptism of fire. This place fits some tricky corners into its 700 or so metres. There's impressive variety, too - from a not-quite-flat banked left-hander to a deceptively difficult right-hand hairpin and two left-handers which tighten on entry - forcing you to brake while turning. I quickly learn that the rear of the kart must be kept in check to avoid losing chunks of time; while its natural tendency is to understeer, it quickly flicks into oversteer when the brakes are applied. With no kerbs to kiss and only walls to hit, it's probably as near to a street circuit as karting gets. I've always thought myself reasonably precise and smooth. But I'm not precise or smooth enough for this.
After 27 laps I'm aware of considerable mental and physical effort, as the chequered sign over the startline strobes to signify the end of the session. The paddock has filled up rapidly in the last half hour - along with series regulars Rhianna Purcocks and Daryl Warren I spot multiple karting champion - and F2 race winner - Ramon Pineiro, distinctive in his yellow overalls. He'll surely be a contender for the outright win tomorrow.
I'm 12th out of 16 in our session, over a second off the pace. Reigning BRKC champion Lee Hackett is quickest, unsurprisingly. I watch the second group from as many vantage points as I can: the pit and paddock bisects the circuit, affording good views of many of the corners. I make some mental notes to add to the pointers I picked up in the opening session, and approach my second run with renewed optimism.
The second kart is pointier than the first, with much heavier steering. I'm not at my physical best, but I'm surprised at how drained I am after a mere 20 minutes. Still, it's better: I'm heartened by having pegged Kart World Championship frontrunner Ruben Boutens for several laps. I'm learning some of the counter-intuitive techniques needed to be quick here: leaning away from the corner to put weight over the loaded wheels, hugging the barriers instead of taking a normal line.
I've only found a couple of tenths, but am 9th quickest out of 19. The circuit seems to have slowed: I'm now half a second shy of Lee. It's solid progress, but I can already see that getting anywhere near the points tomorrow is going to be stiff challenge. While getting changed I chat to BRKC - and karting - newbie Fred Harvey-Love. He's jumped in at the deep end and looks wide-eyed at the speed on display tonight - but is looking forward to his first proper race tomorrow.
I hitch my ride to the hotel with Craig and Jon, find my room, and settle down in the lap of luxury. Sleep comes fitfully: when I close my eyes I see nothing but tyre walls. I can't wait to get going for real.
Sunday 13 January
Battleship grey dawn light isn't doing much to improve Docklands' aesthetic appeal, although the Thames Barrier does look suitably menacing. It's the first and last daylight I see all day.
The Raceway is buzzing, karts already on track well before 8am. My two companions - both BRKC newbies - elect to do another practice session. I don't blame them.
This championship has seen some impressive talent in the last couple of years, but never anything like this. Joining the regular frontrunners will be the aforementioned Pineiro and five of the best indoor karters in the world - including the current world champion, Robin Borremans. No less than 80 of us will compete over 24 heats and 8 finals. It's the biggest, most competitive event the BRKC has ever staged; today I reckon that making the top half will be an achievement.
The BRKC table is set up in the paddock and groans under the weight of silverware, bubbly, programmes and merchandise, as usual. Having spent Saturday night out on the town chaperoning the Belgian contingent, Brad's positively saintly other half Becca is in attendance. She's joined by Alex Vangeen's equally haloed fiancé Lauren. It's lovely to see them; half of me wishes I'd persuaded Marianne to come along.
Brad could be forgiven for showing a touch of strain at a time like this, but there's no sign of it. He informs me that he's saved me a job by writing the round 1 blog. Something like:
"BRKC Round 1 at The Raceway was simply the best kart race I have ever attended. All of the drivers were entirely happy and everything was perfect. The end."
As the test sessions come to an end and briefing time approaches, I catch up with the old guard - Alex, both Lees (Jones and Hackett), Anwar, two very dedicated fathers (Rhianna's dad Graham and Lee Hackett's dad Lawrence), Daryl, and others. James Auld drops by to say hello before assuming his position as commentator for the day. Clad in a shiny scarlet Daytona 24 Hours jacket, and armed with a wireless microphone, he's every inch the showman.
Soon his voice is booming over the Tannoy, summoning everybody to the pit area for the briefing, which lives up to its billing: it's brief. With a packed schedule and the added complication of qualifying for each heat, time is very tight.
We have five minutes of free practice, split into four groups of 20. I'm in the first group, and spend my seven or so laps working on dealing with the understeer that dominates the handling of most of the karts. With no laptimes I can't really tell if I'm making progress, but it's starting to feel more natural. Once out of the kart I relax: my first race is heat 11. I have at least two hours to wait.
Fortified by coffee and an excellent bacon sandwich from the nice ladies in the café, I join the others on the pitwall as the first heat begins. I'm running a stopwatch to keep tabs, and the initial news is bad. Heat 1 takes 18 minutes to complete. At this rate we'll still be here on Monday.
Heat 2 takes longer still. Brad has been back and forth across to Race Control a couple of times; we gather that the computer isn't functioning as predicted. After a couple of tweaks on and off track, heat 3 takes 12 minutes. With two sets of karts running alternately, there's no delay between heats, and the marshals are quick to form up the grids after each qualifying run. We're soon rattling through them at whipcrack speed.
Rhianna Purcocks - at 15, the BRKC's second youngest driver - is in an early heat, and her father Graham shows me a nifty bit of technology which enables him to watch a live video feed from her GoPro camera on his phone. The quality is patchy, but I get the sense I've seen the future. Rhianna is always exciting to watch. She's talented but tends to intersperse nuggets of genius with moments of madness: we cheer as she pulls off a stunningly opportunistic move into the fast left-hander at the back of the circuit, then groan as she runs wide into the tight left before the pits, losing a couple of places.
Always fascinated by contrasting driving styles, I spend time observing some of the frontrunners. All of the Belgian KWC experts adopt a similar approach: upright in the seat, pronounced lean on the outside wheels, a model of precision. F2 refugee Pineiro is a little more flamboyant, turning into the hairpin with a single sweep of the wheel and holding it steady, with no correction, all the way to the exit. Multiple champions Anwar Beroual-Smith and Jonny Elliott are a masterclass in fluidity, not a hint of raggedness, keeping both ends of the kart in perfect harmony.
And by heat 8 it's clear that Lee Hackett is operating at a different level to everyone else. He drives as if in permanent slow motion replay - effortless, all the time in the world, the steering wheel hardly moving. The spectacle has all the drama of a trip to the shops, but his speed is devastating. With all of his heats done he's scored a perfect 30 points: three dominant wins from three pole positions. After the race he's typically humble when interviewed by commentator James - who is doing a magnificent job of keeping the excitement sky-high through the marathon run of heats.
I take a short break from the biting cold and aural assault of the circuit, and kick back on one of the comfy sofas outside Reception. My eyes are barely shut when a familiar voice shouts:
"Oi, Lazy! Why aren't you writing?"
It's Sean Brierley and Daryl Warren. I mumble a riposte - scathingly witty, I'm sure - shut my eyes again, and try to get warm. I wish I felt better.
Fifteen minutes later, the adrenalin is doing its thing; I wait in my kart as the Tannoy booms and heat 10 roars around me. There are no nerves to speak of. I know what to do.
I'm 7th in the line of karts, of 10; along with everyone else I need to make space in front of me before the start of my qualifying lap, while getting a sense of what I have to work with. This kart's steering is quite heavy, which indicates a grippy front end: good news. As I boot it out of the final corner and head for the startline, the kart in front is almost down to turn 1: plenty of space, unless he bins it. He doesn't.
I drive a clean, if slightly conservative lap; as I roll to a stop on the back section, I'm expecting to be somewhere in the middle of the grid... and am slow to spot the marshal pointing at me.
"SIX!" he bellows, for the third or fourth time. I trickle forward into third position, pleased. In seconds we're waved forward, the pole sitter keeping us at walking pace through the tight left-right before the pitlane entry. I'm glued to the back of the kart in front, but still lose a couple of metres as he bolts.
I gain it back into the banking of turn 1, and we're nose to tail as we concertina into the tricky tightening left of turn 2. I feel the fourth-placed kart nudge me at the apex, then we're powering down the hill to the hairpin. This is intense stuff, and just like the preceding heats, the quality of driving is sky-high. We don't have a lot of space and there's no margin for error - yet there's virtually no bumping. Over eight laps I slowly lose ground to the pair in front, pull out a small gap to the kart behind, and finish a satisfied third. It's a better start than I had hoped for.
I'm next on in heat 14, so barely have time to draw breath before I'm sitting in the pitlane waiting to go again. Brad comes over to tell me that there are six heavyweights in this race, so nothing less than pole will do. He neglects to mention that my rivals include superstars Robin Borremans, Mathias Grooten and Sam Spinnael. Still, I'm at the front of the queue, so there's no need to make space.
Three minutes later I'm bemused to be lining up fifth. I drove what felt like a better lap than my first attempt, but this kart is looser at the front, less predictable in the fast corners. No matter - I make a good start, and am quickly past fourth-placed Oli Nitch-Smith. I expect to pull away, but can't: he comes right back at me and makes a neat move a couple of laps later - into turn 2, I think. I push him hard, and get my nose in front with a clumsy move in the tight left-right. But it's questionable, and I let him past. We finish inches apart. Although I've been generally happy with the karts, I think this one did dictate the result to some extent.
I glance at my watch: just after 1pm. We're not yet halfway - 14 races down, 18 to go...
(Click here for part two)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)