BRKC 2014, day two. 19 January 2014

(Read the preview of BRKC 2014.)
(Read the race report from Day One of BRKC 2014.)

Every older sibling has a wicked streak. So, back on Wednesday when the heats for BRKC 2014 were drawn, I was tempted to tell him then. But I elected not to. He'd know soon enough.

It's 8.30am on Day Two. Jonathan, my brother, has been drawn for Heat 13. The first heat. The Death Heat. The entry list includes Boutens (R), Philpot, Endean, Zuercher... and those are just the headlines.

By Saturday evening the full significance of those names had hit home; he's looking a little green around the gills this morning. But to his great credit, his first concern is for his fellow competitors. Several are serious championship contenders; anxious not to impede them in qualifying, he seeks out each in turn and warns them to give him plenty of space if they find themselves exiting the pits behind him. Great sportsmanship.

I join commentator James Auld in the VIP box and predictably have the microphone thrust under my nose. As they roll out of the pits to get Day Two underway, Jonathan is the topic of conversation; I manage to turn Evil Big Brother off and say some nice things.

Three minutes later, he lines up seventh, having outqualified Tyler Mays and gained two places from a no-show and a kart substitution: Ruben Boutens has elected to change karts, but under BRKC rules must start from the back. It's a risky move, and also means that Jonathan has a former World Champion starting behind him.

As the marshal waves them away for the rolling start, I hope he'll put up a fight. And so he does - but inevitably Ruben is soon past, streaking through to an eventual second place behind the hugely impressive Russell Endean. Even Brad can only manage third - ahead of Ryan Smith, who has done very well to get amongst the serious heavy-hitters and beat local expert Crispin Zuercher.

Jonathan brings up the rear, but keeps the field in sight and again, does a creditable job with minimal experience against world-class competition. He ends his weekend thoroughly satisfied, having achieved his goal of not finishing last and enjoying himself on track. 

And I'll take this opportunity to thank the BRKC regulars - drivers and supporters alike - for making him feel so welcome. He was understandably nervous about taking part, but the experience has rekindled his karting passion and earned me some much-needed brownie points.

After a nailbiting start, the excitement just keeps ratcheting up, as Annelien Boutens puts the unloved number 10 kart on pole position for heat 14. It's been improved since yesterday by the tireless Formula Fast mechanics, but is still a few tenths away from the best. Annelien slips to third in the race, but it's an impressive save in what could have been a disastrous heat. She's beaten by Ed 'Lightning' White and Michael Weddell - who is having a storming weekend considering he wasn't on the entry list this time last week.

As I start to turn inward, preparing for my third heat, the next two races are a bit of a blur. I'm pleased to see Connor Marsh and Alex Vangeen top heat 15, especially after Alex's nightmare end to day 1. They're ahead of the mightily talented Sam Spinnael. After a poor (by his standards) sixth place in his first heat, Sam has notched up a win and a third place; business as usual.

Today, the now-familiar pitlane routine of drawing kart numbers (via a numbered ping-pong ball from a helmet sack, no sniggering at the back) is comforting somehow. The cement mixer in my belly seems to have taken the day off; as I stand on the scales holding my 12.5kg of ballast, I'm so calm I start to worry about being too calm.

I chat to Luke Hornsby - whom I know by reputation but haven't met before - and survey the other opposition. There are some fast people about, as always: no easy heats this weekend. I've drawn kart 9, which has just won the previous heat in the hands of local specialist Lewis Manley. A good omen, I hope - though Lewis Manley could probably win on a unicycle around here.

Helmet on, engage tunnel vision, and away we go. The circuit feels very slippery; I put in what feels like a slightly lairy lap, and am pleasantly surprised to line up fourth, around three tenths away from the pole time. As we've seen all weekend, subtle changes in temperature have a marked effect on laptimes: nobody has broken into the 33 second bracket.

Ted Monfils is on pole, followed by my new friend Luke and James Martin. As we get underway I'm still eerily calm - unlike James, who is looking a little tentative. Two laps in, his kart snaps sideways into the corkscrew; I get alongside, he gives me just enough room... there's a light tap on my left bargeboard, but I'm through into third. Life is looking up.

While James and I have been squabbling, Luke and Ted have opened up a gap. I keep them in sight, but manage only to spectate on their battle for the lead. The circuit's not getting any grippier, and I'm having to work harder than I'd like to keep the kart's front and rear tyres in harmony. Ted takes the flag by a kart length from Luke; I'm six seconds back and more than happy to bag another third place. That should be enough to book me a semi-final spot, but there's one more heat to come.

Back in the pits, controversy is rearing its head: someone has managed to drop a 5kg weight onto the glass scales. Amazingly, they're intact - but have thrown a strop and refuse to read accurately. A replacement has been found, but it reads a couple of kilos lower than the original set - meaning that we could potentially find ourselves classed underweight. But allowances are made, and Ted, Luke and I are declared legal.

My wife Marianne has put in an appearance for the first time this weekend, arriving just before my heat. It's great to have her here, and I'm convinced she brings me luck. I join her and two other karting widows - Alex's wife Lauren and Brad's other half Becca - and switch off the racing half of my brain for an hour. I realise that last time I saw Becca was at a windswept circuit near Edinburgh last May. Too long; it is, as always, lovely to catch up with her.

And while we're on the subject of loved ones, let's hear it for the parents. I've long admired the likes of Geoff White, Anthony Mays, Neil and Diane Smith, Lawrence Hackett, the Marshes, the Weddells, a half-dozen others - for their dedication and their contribution. Aside from the hours and money they put in, they suffer the strain of competition every bit as much as their offspring. They're as much a part of the BRKC as we are.

It's a pleasure, also, to chat to a couple of new faces: a lady whose name I missed at the time, but who will always be 'Jenson Button's Mum' on account of her son's replica helmet. Jo Healey, I think (please correct me if I'm wrong). Earlier, one of the international parents was so complimentary about my Day One scribblings that my day was made before I'd turned a wheel.

1.30pm. Actual sunlight is streaming through the open shutters; for the first time all weekend, it almost feels warm. And, with faces stuffed and hot drinks gulped, it's time for the final two chapters of BRKC 2014.

The semi-final lists are posted, and I'm comfortably in. For me, that's mission accomplished; anything else is a bonus. The semi-final is effectively a fourth heat, with the four scores added together. Even if I win, I won't make the final, but I'm delighted to have another race on this tricky, technical circuit against such an incredible field of drivers.

Marianne and I watch the first semi-final from the VIP area, with James booming over the microphone beside us. It's one of the most dramatic races on a weekend of drama; Ed White holds off Brad, while Michael Weddell beats the great Ruben Boutens to third place; all four of them score enough points to go wheel-to-wheel again in the final. It's both entertaining and disquieting to see Alex and Kam Ho - quality drivers both - squabbling over ninth place. I'm going to battle to scrape myself away from the tail end of this one.

By the time the second semi-final finishes - Anwar chasing home Lewis Manley - I'm focusing inward, trying to concentrate everything I've learned in my limited experience of indoor karting. I've little hope of fighting near the sharp end, but have every intention of ending on a high.

And that's exactly what I do. Eighth on the grid is perhaps a place lower than I could have been; the kart is fine, and I'm a little too careful under braking for the hairpin. That aside, I turn in the best race of my weekend, quicker, more precise and more consistent than I've ever been here. It's processional, but incredibly intense; I bring up the rear of a four kart chain, chasing the Titan Motorsports-branded helmet of Andy O'neill. Fifth-placed Russell Endean is tantalisingly within sight less than three seconds up the road. But nobody cracks, and I bring it home eighth.

In the process, I set my fastest lap ever around here (33.442), which will put me 27th on the laptime leaderboard. In the final reckoning, I am classed 24th out of 60 in BRKC 2014. I have given my best and am happy with that.

As ever in an event like this, there are a few familiar names in unlikely places on the leaderboard. Sean Brierley has been searingly fast all weekend and got off to a brilliant start, but a ropey third heat and a premature pitstop in his semi-final have consigned him to the lower reaches of the top 20.

Having been drawn in two of the toughest heats on a weekend of tough heats, Ryan Smith has driven impeccably. But his nightmare second heat - baulked in qualifying by a slower driver, then stuck behind Junior World Champion Jake Campbell-Mills for the entire race - has consigned him to 33rd overall. Just ahead of him is Tyler Mays, who put in a storming drive to second in his first heat, but was dogged by bad luck after that.

Potential finalist Sam Spinnael has had a mixed time - his frontrunning speed blotted by a black flag in his semi-final. He finishes 21st overall.

At the other end of the scale, Connor Marsh - always quick, often unlucky - has sailed through the weekend. His win and second place from four races puts him a superb 11th overall, narrowly missing out on the coveted final.

And then there were ten.

Bradley Philpot, Russell Endean, Michael Weddell, Annelien Boutens, Ruben Boutens, Ted Monfils, Anwar Beroual Smith, Lewis Manley, Ed White and Crispin Zuercher.

They will qualify in Superpole format: each driver does a single flying lap on their own, in the same kart. No pressure... it's rare that I'd rather be spectating, but this time I'm quite happy to sip tea on the VIP gantry and watch the action unfold.

As Michael gets underway I'm fully appreciating the recording wizardry for the first time this weekend. The live feed which is streaming over the Web is shown on a screen beside James, and I'm hugely impressed at the professional quality produced by multiple cameras all around the circuit. A DVD of the event will be produced soon, and I look forward to that.

Michael is disappointed with his time, shaking his head as he passes under the timing screen on the back straight. He pits and hands the kart to Annelien, who cements her reputation as a qualifying specialist with a sublime lap - a full half-second faster than Michael. And try as they might, nobody can match it. Crispin gets closest, third (Anwar) to eighth (Russell) is covered by seven hundredths of a second. But BRKC 2014's only female driver will start the final from pole position. Lauren and Becca - sharing the VIP gantry with James and I - are beside themselves with excitement.

To begin with, it looks as if she might run away with it as the others squabble over position behind her - Anwar losing several places early on, Ed making a couple, Brad unable to make much of an impression in what looks like a difficult kart, Weddell and Monfils bringing up the rear... but as drivers start to pit, Ruben Boutens begins to wind it up. With half of the 30 minutes gone, he's taking a couple of tenths per lap out of his sister's lead. She responds, but he's relentless; we're holding our breath as he breaks the 33 second barrier and just keeps going faster and faster. It seems inevitable that he'll find a way past and when he does - with a millimetre-perfect move into the hairpin - it caps off a supreme display of precision from both of them.

Ruben takes the flag, Annelien makes it a Boutens one-two, and Lewis Manley holds off Ed White for the final podium position. Crispin is an excellent fifth followed by Anwar, Brad, Russell, Ted and Michael. We're sad to see it end, but I'm not sure anyone in the building could have taken much more.

We gather on the viewing gantry as James orchestrates the presentation down on the circuit, cheer Ruben, Annelien and Lewis onto the podium - Lewis needing some coaching on how to open a bottle of bubbly - before reluctantly saying our goodbyes. I've never seen spirits so high at the end of a karting event, and with good reason. We've all had a weekend to remember, and then some.

And that's it. Fat Lady sings.

I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that Ollie and all the staff at Formula Fast deserve a medal. And probably a few extra hours of sleep. We really appreciated the huge amount of work that went into organising and running such a complex event so efficiently. The effort that went into keeping the karts as equal as possible - testing late into the night on Friday and Saturday - was hugely impressive and (despite the odd moan) deeply appreciated. No other venue we've visited has ever worked so hard for us. I've certainly never been to a friendlier kart circuit - from front desk to pitlane, every single member of staff was a pleasure to deal with.

James Auld is a legend and I'll not hear a word to the contrary. His commentary added a veneer of excitement and occasion - and information - that made BRKC 2014 the great spectacle it was.

Having seen the odd snippet of the footage Darren Cook and his team have produced, I can't wait to see the finished article. We've immortalised every BRKC event in video and photographs, but this is a whole new league.

And once again, Brad seems to have pulled off the impossible (with Becca's help) - he's made the BRKC even better.

Downside? We have to wait a whole year before we can do it all again!

For final results and videos, visit www.brkc.net.

(Read the preview of BRKC 2014.)
(Read the race report from Day One of BRKC 2014.)

BRKC 2014, day one. 18 January 2014

(Read the preview of BRKC 2014.)
(Read the race report from Day Two of BRKC 2014.)

It’s dawn on a chilly Saturday in the depths of Milton Keynes. Most sensible people are still in bed contemplating the backs of their eyelids.

But not the racers. They, and the long-suffering souls that love them, have been up for hours.

In the huge converted warehouse which hosts the BRKC, over a hundred people fill the viewing gantry. There's almost no movement, no chatter beneath the boom of the Tannoy.

Down on the circuit, BRKC founder Bradley Philpot is orchestrating the kart draw for the opening heat. As familiar faces come forward – Sean Brierley, Alex Vangeen, Michael Weddell, Russell Endean – I’m waiting for a heckle from the silent spectators above. I’m tempted to break the silence, to shout something facetious. But I don’t. After months of anticipation, the tension ahead of BRKC 2014’s opening qualifying session is palpable.

As the karts take to the circuit, we crowd the railings, drivers and supporters alike anxious for a first sign of how this is going to play out. Will the local specialists prevail? Will the BRKC old guard get a look in? Will the international contingent show us Brits how it should be done?

By midway through heat one, a pattern is emerging. Qualifying, it’s clear, is everything here: passing cleanly is exceptionally difficult. Russell Endean, though not the quickest man on track, holds the lead having qualified on pole; behind him, Sean and Tyler Mays can’t find a way by. It’s gripping stuff, and Tyler pulls a great move on Sean late in the race, but Russell, typically calm under pressure, hangs on for a superb win.

As the morning draws on and the whole structure vibrates to the roar of four-stroke engines, overlaid with the excitable tones of James Auld, some interesting names top the leaderboard. BRKC and EKL regular (and youngest competitor) Ed White looked fearsomely quick in Friday practice, and has continued that form today. He wins his first heat easily, beating reigning Women’s World Champion Annelien Boutens and the great Bradley Philpot in the process - and setting a scorching 32.9 second lap. It will stand as the fastest lap of the day.

I’ve convinced my brother Jonathan to come out of karting exile and throw himself to the lions this weekend; we’re in heats 5 and 6. As he starts the countdown to his BRKC debut I’m watching from the gantry with fingers crossed. Short of experience and carrying a significant weight penalty, he seeks only to avoid disgracing himself.

And he acquits himself very well. Expecting to finish last, he manages a 9th place, sets solid, consistent laptimes and looks confident on track. Most importantly, he's enjoying himself, which is a huge relief. I'd never had heard the last of it otherwise...

My turn, and the usual butterflies in my stomach seem to have been replaced by a cement mixer. It's a long time since I was this nervous before a race. The impressive video rig - multiple cameras, swinging tripod on the infield, live streaming over the Web - is both adding to the sense of occasion and deepening my angst.

With good reason... by midway through my qualifying lap I sense that all is not well with my kart. It feels sluggish and unwieldy compared to the machines I practised in last night. I line up a disappointed seventh out of ten, hoping that consistency will gain me positions in the race.

Ten minutes later, as I hold off Liam Brierley by the skin of my teeth - after a breathless half a lap side-by-side - I'm realising that just maintaining my grid position going to be a mighty challenge. Liam stays glued to my rear bumper, forcing me onto a defensive line over and over again; I've rarely been so relieved to see the chequered flag. Having told the mechanics that I think the kart is a dud - and watched superstar Jake Campbell-Mills struggle to a sixth place in it - Jonathan and I retire for lunch to lick our wounds.

Life's always better after an excellent burger, and we return in a more positive frame of mind as the second round of heats gets underway. It's gripping straight away, as Brad and Ed White resume their battle from earlier on. After a tooth-and-nail fight, it's Brad that edges it this time, after a problematic pitstop for Ed. Scottish BRKC regular Ryan Smith has also been unlucky; after a solid fifth place in his first heat, he's baulked in qualifying for the second, and lines up an unrepresentative eighth. Stuck in traffic throughout, he's unable to move forward, but is surprisingly philosophical afterwards. "Let's see what happens tomorrow..."

Jonathan's second heat runs much like the first for 32 of its 34 laps - until he accidentally lets the last-placed driver through while being lapped by the leaders. It's galling, but he's driven well again and improved his laptimes from earlier on.

As my race approaches, the cement mixer starts up again. I lean on the railings for a moment, try and pull myself together. Geoff White - father of warp-fast Ed - smiles in sympathy. "This isn't really you, is it? This indoors business?"

I'm beginning to think not.

After such a mediocre start I'm hardly brimming with confidence as I roll out to qualify for heat 11, but the kart feels much better and I turn in what feels like a solid lap. As we come to a stop on the back straight, I'm amazed to see my name in second place. I've managed a 33.9 - a full four tenths of a second faster than I managed at any point in Bogey Kart 10 in my first heat.

The race is a little less stellar - I tighten up at the start, lose a place to Andy O'Neill and accidentally put Kam Ho in the wall at the exit of the corkscrew. He'd got his nose alongside; I took the normal line, turned in and suddenly found myself heading sideways towards Buckingham. Apparently there was much gasping on the viewing gantry at this point - our illustrious commentator fanning the flames, I expect. And rightly so.

But the stewards decide (correctly) that I hadn't realised Kam was there, and I escape a penalty. He manages to regain his fourth place and no harm is done; I apologise afterwards. The rest of my race passes smoothly, though I'm kept honest by Kam and Robin Kassam, a few seconds behind and matching me tenth for tenth. They're an ominous presence at the corner of my eye.

But I take the flag a happy - and extremely relieved - third; back in the pits I'm pleased to see a 33.508 lap against my name. Finally, some respectable pace.

With my day's racing over, I check the leaderboard, catch up with some of the regulars and keep half an eye on the final heat - which includes two of my British 24 Hours teammates, Alex Vangeen and Anwar Beroual Smith. A very late entry, Anwar looked all at sea in practice yesterday, but has got it all together when it matters; having finished third in his first heat, he qualifies on pole for his second - in the kart I've just vacated. But it all goes pearshaped. In the midst of an entertaining battle with Sam Spinnael, his engine fails. He's given a replacement kart which is visibly slower, and drops to fifth as Sam wins; Anwar is, predictably, less than amused.

Having finished an excellent fourth in his first heat, Alex has a nightmare end to the day, struggling for pace and tangling at the final corner. As he shakes his fist on track, his wife Lauren is watching from the infield; from thirty metres away I see her face fall thirty floors. Better luck tomorrow, I hope.

As Day One ends, it's clear that nobody is going to run away with this. The top of the leaderboard is a real mix of local specialists and BRKC regulars; for every Lewis Manley, Crispin Zuercher and Kim Enson, there's an Ed White, Russell Endean and Sean Brierley. Both the Boutens siblings and BRKC founder Brad have also had an excellent day.

Into the top twenty, there is also a mix of new and familiar names. Old hand Kam Ho is, by his own admission, surprised to be 15th; Michael Weddell and Connor Marsh are also thereabouts too.

I'm 27th. Could be better, could be a lot worse.

Sleep fast, folks. Tomorrow is going to be interesting...

(Read the preview of BRKC 2014.)
(Read the race report from Day Two of BRKC 2014.)

BRKC 2014. Formula Fast Milton Keynes, 17-19 January. Preview

(Read the race report from Day One of BRKC 2014.)
(Read the race report from Day Two of BRKC 2014.)

"It's the BRKC, Jim, but not as we know it..."

This is it then. A championship condensed, compressed, distilled. Sixty drivers, 22 races, three days, one winner.

Glittering prizes. A cash prize for the winner, free entry to the Kart World Championships and chandelier-sized trophies for the top three.

The indoor venue is, in many ways, ideal. Perhaps not as fast as we'd like. Driving the circuit will not get the juices pumping like Hereford or Whilton Mill would. The way Teesside does. But we'll be shielded from the worst of this sodden British winter. The timing and spectator facilities are superb. And the atmosphere, I suspect, will be like nothing we've experienced before.

The walls and roof will reflect every decibel back at the drivers and supporters, James Auld's commentary will push excitement past critical mass. The live broadcast will add a whole new audience, a new dimension. And when the helmets go on and it all goes quiet, it'll be a little harder than usual to shut it out, to focus on the job at hand.

But focus we must. This more than ever will be an exercise in precision, in consistency, in racecraft. The field is a mix of experienced locals and world-class visitors. The standard will be stratospheric, the margins tiny, the winner impossible to call.

But by Sunday evening, we will have our champion. And having triumphed against a field of this quality, they'll be amply qualified to take on the best in the world in Brazil.

Practice for the BRKC starts on Friday afternoon. The first race starts at 9am on Saturday. All 22 races will be streamed on Livestream - visit www.brkc.net for the link.

For Twitter and Facebook updates throughout the weekend, search #brkc2014.

And look out for a Day One blog on Saturday evening. A post-race wrapup will be posted on Sunday evening.

It's the calm before the storm. We prepare, we do what we can to control the butterflies, and we wait. The clock is ticking.

(Read the race report from Day One of BRKC 2014.)
(Read the race report from Day Two of BRKC 2014.)

BRKC 0 plate. Whilton Mill, 11 October 2013

"Is it raining?" Club100 managing director John Vigor pauses, mid-flow. I glance towards the clubhouse windows - now streaming - and turn back in time to see a pained expression cross his face.

"Right. We'll come to that in a minute..."

Another day, another windswept, rain-lashed kart circuit. Whilton Mill, near Northampton, is the venue for BRKC 2013's final bow. From what I've seen so far, it looks like we'll be going out with a bang. Several bangs, in fact.

Club100 is often lauded as the UK's highest form of rental karting, its fleet of 115cc, two-stroke, direct drive karts considered by many to be the best in the business. They're certainly the fastest.

We're racing them today courtesy of Club100 frontrunner and long-time friend of the BRKC Chris Powell, who has kindly - or could that be mischievously - organised for a mix of two-stroke virgins and old hands to meet on track. The word 'carnage' is being bandied about.

My two-stroke karting experience is mainly limited to a single Daytona 24 Hours in a DMax kart (predictably scoffed at by the Club100 cognoscenti) but I did, once, try a Club100 kart many years ago. My memory is of a screaming, intimidating beast with switch-like power, minimal grip and zero feel through steering, pedals or chassis. Both I and the Club100 fleet have moved on in 13 years, but the butterflies are fluttering as I try to assimilate a welter of information in the briefing.

The rain swirls under my open visor as I walk out to the grid for my 15 minute practice session, the clouds pressing lower than ever, and it's with a mix of nerves and heavy heart that I clip my lead ballast, transponder and number plate to my kart.

Early this morning, the motorsport world was rocked by tragic news: Maria de Villota, who suffered horrific injuries in a freak testing accident at the wheel of a Marussia F1 car in July 2012, has been found dead in Seville. Despite the loss of her right eye, she'd fought on, committed to her motorsport work and a return to racing. Her bravery, dignity and love of life were an inspiration to millions, including me, and I'm desperately saddened by her loss.

(As I write, the death of Porsche Supercup frontrunner and Nurburgring 24 Hours winner Sean Edwards has turned an already grim week into one of the darkest I can remember.)

But the race beckons. As the pusher kart takes up its position behind me, a wave of adrenalin sweeps everything else away. As it always does.

A jerk, a chunter, a rattling buzz, and I'm underway, the engine smoothing out as it begins to scale its huge revband. I tiptoe through the saturated first corner, straighten out, aim the nose at the distant right-hander at the top of the hill, and squeeze the throttle as if my own testicles resided beneath.

The revs erupt from insect buzz to diablo scream, the rear tyres instantly spinning, skipping the tail out thirty degrees; the breath jams in my throat as I whip the wheel three-quarters of a turn to the left and narrowly avoid firing myself off the circuit.

Jesus.

By treating the brake pedal with similar restraint, I manage to negotiate the sharp right-hander, and the rest of my out lap, without further incident. I'm recalibrating all the time, beginning to anticipate the wheelspin as the engine reaches its powerband; by the end of my second lap, I wonder if I'm being too cautious on the brakes.

Nope.

Into the sequence before the pits, I'm two metres later on the left pedal; everything goes quiet as the rear wheels lock, stalling the engine. I'm a passenger, the slick tyres floating on the film of water which covers the tarmac, the kart pirouetting into the grass. There's no shame - this is what practice is for, and I'm far from the first to go off - but dragging the kart back onto the tarmac, pointing it the right way, and waiting for a push, is time-consuming.

Once on the move again, I reel off eight more laps without any more excursions, gradually gaining in confidence, and take the flag with a firm plan for the two points-scoring heats to come. Assuming it stays this wet, my best approach is to trundle around, take no risks, and let everyone else visit the scenery.

In the warmth of the clubhouse, newbies and old hands alike are wide-eyed, overalls streaked with telltale green-brown flecks of cut grass and mud. At least, I hope it's mud. The clamour almost drowns out the shriek of two-stroke engines as drivers swap stories of folly. There's a common theme: it's a mite slippy.

With 48 drivers and 24 on track at any time, there will only be four heats. I'm starting 16th on the grid for heat one; with the second practice session half gone, it's nearly time to gear up and face the music. The sight of at least two karts mired in the grass or buried in a tyrewall at any given time doesn't fill me with confidence.

Getting a field of direct-drive karts underway and lined up for a rolling race start is not the work of a moment. The three pusher kart drivers are swift and efficient, but a combination of torrid conditions and drivers unused to the format makes for heavy work and many rolling laps behind the pace kart before everyone is lined up in the correct position.

Finally, we're away; slow to realise, I lose five metres to the kart in front - which probably gains me ground, since at least half the field sails wide into turn one. I hug the inside, manage to avoid any contact as we concertina into the uphill braking zone for turn two, and end the first lap unscathed.

The race whirls by in a flurry of opposite lock, held breath and tapdancing on the pedals; I finish it tenth, six up on my grid slot. My 'trundle around' strategy seems to be working: at least three of my places were gained from others' overexuberance. It's not fast, but it is effective.

I'm next on in heat three, which gives me enough time to gulp down a granola bar and half a bottle of water. The rain has died off a little but it's still cold and miserable; laptimes are static, for now, at a whopping 25 seconds slower than dry pace.

Twenty minutes later, having watched (and pointed and laughed) as another hapless group slithered their way around, the joke's on me. Tenth on the grid: this is my chance to make an impression.

It goes down the toilet almost immediately. Halfway around my second rolling lap, while trying to force my way through the pack to my starting position, the driver in front gets sideways at all of 10mph. I've nowhere to go; beside me, Tyler Mays (I think) stalls as well.

As the rest of the field disappears into the distance, the pusher karts get to work. My engine fires, I hold the right pedal around half throttle, as instructed... but after stuttering for thirty metres, the bloody thing stalls again. By the time I get moving, the field is two thirds of a lap ahead; I push as hard as I dare to catch up but am directed around the full lap (instead of the shortcut used for the rolling laps) and only manage to catch the rear of the field before the start lights blink green.

I'm at least eight places behind my designated slot, cursing... on lap two, having made up several places, another mid-pack spinner takes me out and drops me to the back again. I finish the race 16th - not bad considering the setbacks, but I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered.

Back in the paddock, the tantalising smell of grilling meat wafts from the burger van. As the final heat gets underway I buy a cheeseburger and a cup of tea from the nice ladies behind the counter. Both turn out to be rather good; my mood lifts a notch.

It's lifted again when the grids for the final are posted. I've made the A final by the skin of my teeth: 22nd and last qualifier. The top four finishers in the B final will start behind me. All but the unluckiest of the Club100 regulars have made the A final, along with a fair few familiar names: Vangeen, Bayliss, Weddell, Fitchew, Nitch-Smith...

The rain has finally stopped, the clouds lifting, and we watch the laptimes tumble in an entertaining B-final. It's won by Rhianna Purcocks, closely shadowed by David Whitehouse; as I feared, I'll have the two of them hunting me down in the A final.

With the circuit drying, it's far easier for everyone to drop into their grid position, and we're underway without a hitch. The laptimes are a full fifteen seconds faster than they were an hour ago, and I'm having to relearn the circuit on the fly.

The kart isn't helping. All day I've found the seating position uncomfortable but manageable, but in this particular kart I'm so close to the pedals that I can't rotate my ankles far enough back to modulate them properly. I discover later that they're adjustable; my ankles, sadly, are not.

I muddle through somehow, slow but steady, until the penultimate lap, when a clumsy stab of throttle from my burning right ankle flicks me into a spin just short of the pit entry. I drag the kart around as the field flashes by, and take the flag in what I presume is last position.

I fail to take account of the fact that plenty of people have been off - including Alex and Andrew Bayliss, who seem to have taken each other out at least twice. I've finished 20th overall out of 48. Mediocre by recent BRKC standards, but not too disastrous.

I'm late for a practice session at Formula Fast in Milton Keynes - the venue for BRKC 2014 - so am forced to miss the podium ceremonies. It's no surprise to see the experts - George Lovell, Chris Powell, Anwar Beroual-Smith, Lee Hackett - at the sharp end.

But the standout performance has to be Michael Weddell's: sixth overall and novice winner on his first day in a two-stroke kart. Worth the long trip from Edinburgh, I hope.

For me, a mixed day. It's always a pleasure to catch up with the BRKC regulars, but the weather and tragedy elsewhere in motorsport has - for me at least - cast a pall. Club100 is friendly and expertly run, and I've no doubts over the parity of the karts. But I haven't taken much pleasure from driving them.

If someone would start an equivalent championship using their own fleet of top-quality prokarts, I'd sign on the dotted line...

British 24 Hours, Teesside, 23-25 August 2013 (part 3)

The Race: the final 12 hours

(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours) 

Sunday 25 August

"Have you been sleeping?" Brad asks. I nod. "That's a bit gay. We've been working here..."

It's midnight. The circuit has been silent for nearly three hours. The rain has died away to drizzle; when I return to the awning, there's evidence of standing water, with gear and food piled on every inch of the table and chairs. But the puddles are draining. The track looks driveable as far as I can tell.

But there's still no driving, because part of the timing loop - metal strips buried under the tarmac just short of the fast chicane - has failed, meaning that some karts aren't registering as they pass. It's a showstopper. No timing, no race.

Frantic efforts have been going on behind the scenes to restore it, and a makeshift solution has been implemented: the marshals are installing plastic barriers on the circuit before the chicane, narrowing the entry and forcing karts two metres to the left - over the working section of the timing loop.

Finally, engines begin to fire; we're told that the field will do five slow laps under yellow flag conditions to test the solution; if all is well, then the race will be green flagged and we'll be underway again. Alex is in the kart; they were just about to pit Lee when the race was red flagged.

As the field gets moving, Lauren brings me up to speed: there's another problem. The kart is on vapour. It had run two full hours before the red flag; now, while the timing system is being tested, we're not allowed to pit for fuel. We'll just have to hope for the best.

Armed with a radio, I head around to the pits with Ferhat. We've decided to bring Alex in as soon as we can. The minutes trickle by; after a couple of tweaks, the timing system is declared fit for use and the engines roar as green flags wave around the circuit. I'm flooded with relief as Alex peels into the pits to feed our starved kart. The fuel bay is clear, and as we won't be changing drivers, this should be a quick stop.

He's turned around quickly and soon appears through the gate. I run forward to meet the kart, find the pullcord on the left engine in the dark; it snaps instantly into life.

At this point, three experienced (though admittedly tired) karters simultaneously forget the first rule of all things electrical.

If it doesn't work, first check that it's switched on.

The right engine refuses to start; after three or four attempts, Ferhat steps in and stops Alex.
"You're flooding it..."

He keeps trying it while I run back into the fuel bay for help. It takes me ten seconds to convince one of the staff to accompany me; by the time we return to the pit road, Alex is accelerating away. I thank the fueller and turn to Anwar, who has appeared out of nowhere and looks thunderous.

"The ignition was turned off..."

Oops. It cost us perhaps a minute - not a disaster in the greater scheme of things - but that was a silly blunder for a crew that prides itself on its pitstops. I will kick myself daily for a long time, and I'm certain that neither Alex nor I will ever make that particular mistake again.

Red-faced, we return to the awning. The smartphone Race Monitor app - which has worked only intertmittently this weekend - shows us 11th in class, exactly where we were before the red flag. Rather than lose time, we've wasted a chance to gain it. Damage done. Move on.

On the camping stove, blue and yellow flames gutter beneath the kettle, whipped by a stiff breeze. As Alex's stint wears on I cup my hands around steaming mugs and eat whatever comes to hand. But there's no chance to relax; thirty minutes in, Lauren reports that Alex can't hear her. She hears him intermittently, but he's pointed at his head a couple of times as he's passed us. Either he's lost his marbles or his radio has failed.

Thankfully, he and Lauren have brought along the fluorescent blue lollipop that they originally made for the 2012 race. If we stand somewhere prominent enough, Alex will - we hope - recognise it. Because he'll have to do a full lap before pitting, we'll have to take our chances with the fuel bay. Here, an awful lot can change in 80 seconds.

With over an hour to go before he's due in, I wander upstairs to the cafe, post a Twitter update and watch the timing screens. Alex has been complaining all weekend that he isn't quite on it, that he should be quicker. I know the feeling, but the laptimes don't lie. His pace is very good, and his consistency is even better.

James Auld leans against the window nearby, looking a little pale, staring blearily out at the circuit. I ask him how he's doing.
Tired smile. "Personally, or teamwise?"
"Both."
He shrugs. "Absolutely destroyed, mate. Kart's had loads of issues, too..."

I note from the screen that Squadra Abarth BRKC - Kettlewell and the Scots - are back near the sharp end after a messy first few hours. Mike was knocked into a spin on the opening lap; Ryan has admitted to losing it at the bottom of the hill and beaching the kart in the gravel twice; Allward and Weddell have each had the odd moment too. But their pace is very strong; if they can hold it together they have a shot at the class win.

Chris and Lee have finally retired to their van for some rest; Chris has been a solid, reassuring presence ever since Friday morning. I gather that he's robustly defended our realm on more than one occasion, too. The muddy conditions have turned our awning - erected over the tarmac path which runs along the barriers - into something of a thoroughfare. We've been as accommodating as we can - moving chairs and gear out of the way - but there's been some unnecessary rudeness from the odd passerby. Marianne tells me that Chris has reduced at least one ill-mannered driver to a quivering lump of jelly. I'd like to have seen that...

The timing of Alex's radio problem gives us an added headache: it's time for our maintenance stop. Every kart must have one of these - a five-minute checkover in the garage - between 2 and 4.30am. We think Alex knows this, but we can't be sure. We'll have to tell him on the fly.

Just before 2.40am, Anwar is suited up and waiting at the maintenance garage as Marianne waves the giant blue lollipop from the most visible position we can find - behind the barriers at turn 1. Alex spots it first time; relieved, I run back around the catchment fences to wait for him in the pitlane. We're in luck: the fuel bay is clear, and the marshals have opened the gate to the paddock. Lauren is there, and manages to signal Alex while the kart is being refuelled. He drives straight down the hill without passing through the pitlane, and a precious thirty seconds is saved.

Our kart is the only one in the garage - finally, some luck - and the mechanics turn it around quickly: within three minutes, Anwar is on his way. The whole team has done exceptionally well to get through this tricky phase, and I hope we've gained some ground on the rest of the field.

Alex looks tired; Lauren hands me the headphones and the pair of them head off for a well-earned couple of hours' rest. I head back to the timing screens and keep Anwar updated. Experienced as he is, this is his first 24 hour race, and I think he's struggled a little with the particular demands it makes - the peaks and troughs, needing to be fed and rested at odd hours of the day. But he's scintillating on track, as ever, lapping at frontrunning pace on the still-drying track.

The weather remains undecided - misty and occasionally drizzly - but there's no sign of impending downpour. Fourteen hours in, I'm simultaneously struck by graveyard shift fatigue - the three-way battle between adrenalin, caffeine and body clock - and by the realisation that I'm out next. My second stint has been delayed three hours by the stoppage; I'll be on track in the pre-dawn hours, arguably the most difficult time for drivers.

I train very hard for this race, and the next hour or so reminds me why, as I drag my flagging body and spirits up towards something approaching race-readiness. Sugar saves the day, as does the discovery that the changing rooms are open. If you have to put on damp overalls, having a nice warm room to do it in makes all the difference. I've been wearing a 2.25kg weight strapped around my left ankle for each session, to be sure that I'm over the 210kg minimum for kart and driver. It stretches my overalls to tearing point and transforms my gait into half John Wayne, half Ministry of Silly Walks.

Lee has returned, looking chipper (by 4am standards); in between stints on the headphones, Marianne and Ferhat have been sharing a miniature bottle of red wine which mysteriously found its way into her rucksack. As Anwar drags us into the top ten in class for the first time since hour 3, the good cheer flows; suddenly I'm sky high and raring to go.

4.40am. The mist hangs lower than ever. Anwar, Lee and I execute our slickest changeover of the race - I even manage to slot my seat insert in without delay - and I'm rocketing down the pitlane in no time. Anwar was lapping in the low 1.23 bracket at the end of his stint, which is three seconds away from dry pace, so I'm expecting a greasy surface.

And how. There's a dry line, but it's barely a kart's width in places. Venture outside it - to pass someone, for instance - and you're instantly scrabbling for grip. The Esses are poorly lit, as usual; with the kerbs in shadow it's difficult to place the kart accurately. With only one line through, this should be among the dryest sections of the circuit, but it doesn't feel that way. From the outset, the kart is particularly snappy over the bumps at each apex, and I'm forced to gather up a heart-in-mouth tankslapper in the braking zone for the hairpin. Any lingering cobwebs are long gone: this is seriously challenging.

And not just for me: halfway through the stint, an errant owner-driver knocks me into a spin at the entry to the final corner. And, reluctantly, I must admit to an unforced error. While passing a fellow Club Hire at the top of the corkscrew, I take a tight line on entry, which pushes me wide at the exit. Suddenly the loaded left tyres are off the dry line and I'm understeering straight towards the wall. I catch it - just - and lose a couple of seconds fishtailing along the concrete run-off before rejoining the tarmac. It will stand as my only (driving) mistake of the weekend - but since I haven't driven in full wet conditions, that's still one too many.

As the first grey smudges of dawn start to creep in beyond the floodlights, Marianne's on the radio to tell me I'm lapping in the 1.20s. There's been no drizzle for a while, but that's still a pleasant surprise - with dawn comes dew, and individual corners seem to be changing from lap to lap.

By the time I get the 'box' command it's almost fully light, and I'm sad to end a tricky but rewarding stint. We've moved up a place to ninth in class; as Lee powers away after another clean pitstop, I'm nodding in quiet satisfaction. It wasn't perfect - it never is - and my driving has 'safe pair of hands' written all over it. But I've given my absolute best, and my best is just about good enough.

From under our awning comes the most enticing smell in the world ever. Lauren is frying bacon for breakfast and turns out to have a rare talent for creating the perfect bacon bap - doubly impressive since she never touches pork. For a strung-out, exhausted, half-starved driver, it's manna from heaven.

I wind down slowly as the race passes three-quarters distance; in full daylight now, with the sun beginning to burn through the mist, the circuit is finally drying properly. Lee is lapping in the 1.19s, consistently among the fastest in class. Barring a miracle, we're more or less resigned to finishing around the fringes of the top ten now; although we've been slowly reeling in the frontrunners since our disaster in hour 3, the Club Hire teams are too closely matched and the gap too big.

But anything's possible, and though a top ten finish is scant consolation for a team that should be challenging for the win, it's better than nothing. So we keep pushing. At 8.30am, we bring Lee in - capping off a stellar weekend's work from him - and send Alex out. I briefly feared that the mid-race stoppage might have wiped out my third stint, but as time wears on it becomes clear that I'll have a shortened run of an hour or so to the flag.

With too little rest and not much to fight for, Anwar looks reluctant to take his usual position in the driver order following Alex; I consider swapping our stints. But he's soon kitted up and ready to go and our penultimate pitstop - in hour 21 - goes like clockwork despite the permanent loss of radio comms with Alex.

On track, Anwar's instantly flying; depending on the pitstop schedules of other teams, we have half a chance of eighth place. Anwar doesn't know it - and we elect not to tell him for fear of distraction - but his entertaining dice with another quick Club Hire driver is for position, with both karts on the same lap.

As we start the twenty-third hour, I'm expecting a repeat of my earlier struggle to raise my energy levels, but it never materialises. I've no idea how I'm still standing - caffeine will only get you so far - but as my final stint approaches I'm fresh as a daisy. Maybe sheer frustration - knowing that once again our talent and commitment won't get the reward it deserves - is spurring me on.

In a way, the shambles that is our final pitstop comes at exactly the right time, for in the end it loses us nothing and teaches us a great deal. It's routine enough to begin with: Anwar is in on cue, refuels, pushes the kart around, I jump in while he and Alex start the engines... but when I get the GO command, the kart feels reluctant to move. I hesitate, but there's a shout from behind which I take to be along the lines of 'what are you waiting for?'; the rush to rejoin the race takes over, and I accelerate away.

The slope of the pit exit masks the problem to some point, but by the time I'm on level ground, it's obvious that only one engine is pushing the kart. Either the other has stalled or wasn't started; swearing, I drive as quickly as I can to the safest spot I can find - out of the way against the barriers before the Esses - and jump out to investigate.

Both engines are running, which points to a bigger problem. The nearest marshal runs over.
"One of your clutches is knackered, get yourself back to the pits."

I jump back in and gesticulate at him to move the plastic barriers and allow me through; pulling out into 70mph traffic on one engine is a recipe for a plane crash. He's slow to acquiesce, but finally gets it; wondering how a clutch could have failed so suddenly, I manage to get back to the pitlane without collecting anyone.

In the garage, the others crowd around; it takes five seconds for a mechanic to spot the real problem.
"One of your throttle cables is off!"

He clips the springloaded cable back into its slot, and in seconds I'm gunning it back up the hill towards the pits with pedestrians diving out of the way, absolutely furious. It turns out that whoever started the engine accidentally popped the cable out while blipping the throttle. I had no idea such a thing was even possible, and curse my technical ignorance while mentally flagellating myself for not stopping as soon as I felt a problem.

Back on track, I tell myself to clear the red mist and focus on the job. Crashing will not help our cause. The sun blazes down from clear skies, track conditions are the best they've been all weekend, and I channel all of my frustration into speed, into turning in with the loaded tyres nibbling on the ragged edge, on finessing the brake pedal just so, on picking the perfect line through the fast chicane.

With grip off-line, it's much easier to pass slower traffic than earlier in the race, and I'm scything through with good rhythm and judgement. The feedback from the pitwall is confusing though: all of my senses tell me I'm going faster than ever, but the laptimes are middling. The kart feels fine, but I wonder if it's ailing slightly; maybe the straight-line speed is down a little?

Mid-stint, I'm passed by Michael Weddell in the number 48 Squadra Abarth kart. He's been mighty quick all weekend, but has a definite advantage on the straights. It's not dramatic, but it's contributing to the half-second laptime deficit. I put everything I have into keeping him in sight, and the gap waxes and wanes as we carve through traffic, but he slowly pulls away. It matters little: he's eight or nine laps ahead.

BRKC regular Ed White is hereabouts too, going very quickly in his usual unruffled style; we have an entertaining but ultimately pointless dice for several laps. He's on his way to fourth in class; I'm mired in tenth, with no hope of promotion unless another team has a catastrophe.

As 1pm approaches I become increasingly hypersensitive to the pulse of the kart, taking extra care with kerbs, trying to minimise the stress. Marianne tells me my laptimes are solid - low 1.20s, with the leaders in the high 1.19s - and metronomically consistent.

And suddenly, we're being shown the last lap board, suddenly I'm holding my breath through turn 2 for the final time, threading the needle at 70mph through the Esses, dodging backmarkers through the final sequence of corners, accelerating towards the chequered flag.

It's over. On the slow down lap I wave at the marshals, clap when I can, trying to show my appreciation for the essential job they do. There's much mutual congratulation between competitors too; we've all brought it home. And for the first time since I first raced here in 2011, we've come through a difficult, dangerous 24 hours with no injuries. Good result or not, that's something to celebrate.

As we file into the pitlane, the rest of the Corporate Chauffeurs BRKC crew - Alex, Anwar, Lee, Marianne, Lauren, Chris and Ferhat - cheer us from the pitwall. I'm overcome with admiration for them all. For spirit, commitment and sheer hard work they - we - are peerless. That a team with such talent, dedication and breadth of experience will not stand on the podium is a travesty.

There are sorry tales for a couple of other teams we know, too. Stuart McKay's BHP Project team has had an awful time in the Standard Hire class - struck by multiple reliability problems and a suspected case of food poisoning for poor Stuart.

We've been rooting for Squadra Abarth to win in our absence. On the road, that's exactly what they've done. But a questionable penalty applied hours after they allegedly gained an unfair advantage - through no fault of their own - has dropped them to third. Still a great result given that three of the four drivers were making their British 24 Hour debut, and they're philosophical about it. Michael Weddell is chuffed with his trophy for fastest lap in Club Hire, and rightly so.

In the owner class, Baron Racing has finished third for the second year in a row. Not the win they were hoping for, but I know that Brad will have driven that kart faster than strictly should be possible.

Both the solo drivers and the Kartforce team have made the finish, and the biggest cheers are reserved for them. Beside their achievements, ours pale into insignificance.

I was hoping to avoid another blog about our fightback, but that's how it crumbled. Though we weren't flawless - mistakes were made, and we will address them - it was reliability that scuppered us. Again.

But regardless of the result it was a very special event to be part of, as it always is. Our support, both within the team and remotely, was fantastic and heartily appreciated. On a personal note, it was a surprise and a delight to have complete strangers compliment me about my scribblings.

For Teesside 2013, that's about it. We're already looking to 2014, with exciting plans in motion. More than ever I'm privileged to be part of this great team, and I'll work harder than ever to be worthy of my spot.

There'll be no giving up. Endurance racing gets in your blood. The British 24 Hours is the glittering prize.

And we can taste the bubbly. 

(Click here for part 1: the buildup) 
(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours)

British 24 Hours, Teesside, 23-25 August 2013 (part 2)

The Race: the first 12 hours

(Click here for part 1: the buildup) 
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)

Saturday 24 August

1 MINUTE. The marshal lowers his board.

There's no chatter now. Just the clatter of 73 idling karts. We're all behind the barrier except Lee and Alex, who will help Lee on his way.

30 SECONDS. I daren't blink. The Union Jack flag is raised... five lifetimes pass... and it drops. Lee is sprinting across the track, slightly ahead of the rest I think... smoothly into the kart, Alex pushing him... and he's up and away, in amongst the owner karts, disappearing over the crest at turn 1 as the rest of the field streams past. The world goes eerily silent for a few seconds before the leaders appear from behind the hill, streaking down through the Esses and into the hairpin for the first time. There's a bit of jostling, but they're all cleanly through and onto the back straight.

We breathe, take stock. Pulses drop a little. With five laps gone, Lee and the polesitter are dicing hard for the lead, which swaps frequently. Exciting stuff, and encouraging too, but the race is long. We've learned to take it one lap at a time.

Marianne force-feeds me a cheese sandwich as Alex keeps Lee informed on the radios. As hour 1 comes to a close Lee runs a close second; I post a Twitter update and control the mounting butterflies. We're closing in on our first race pitstop, and an awful lot can go wrong.

In a change to the rules, only one person can assist during pitstops, in an attempt to avoid crowding in the pitlane. I wait behind the catchment fences, with a view of the circuit, fuel bay and pit entry; it's essential that we don't put Lee in a queue of traffic for fuel. Wearing the headphones, Anwar also watches the fuel bay.

After a couple of false starts, we bring Lee in just before 2.40pm; I run around to help Alex and arrive with seconds to spare. Lee pushes the kart under the gate and we go to work: I spray lubricant onto the chains as Alex starts the engines and jumps in. It's a clean stop, and I breathe a sigh of relief as he rockets away.

Lee's done a great job to keep us in touch with the lead, and I tell him so as we walk back to the awning. The pitstop has dropped us to fourth, but Alex is reeling in the third placed driver and passes him just as the clock ticks past 3pm. Two hours down, 22 to go. We relax a little, watch the track and screens. The adrenalin seeps away.

Then, at 3.40pm, it spikes again. "Problem! Problem!" Lauren, wearing the headphones, spins away from the pitwall as we converge. She holds up a hand to halt our questions and listens, shakes her head.
"I can't tell what he's saying... but he's coming in."

Shit.

We run down to the Club Hire garage; Alex is already out of the kart and talking to the mechanics. It's a loss of power; they quickly diagnose a blocked carburettor and get to work stripping it down and blowing pressurised air through it. I feel the laps slipping between our fingers and shake my head in disgust. Why do these things happen to us?

Alex refuelled on his way down to the garage; in an attempt to minimise the time loss, we cut his stint short and send Anwar out as soon as the kart is ready. But within minutes he's on the radio, complaining of a lack of corner exit speed. The laptimes hold steady to begin with, but Anwar can feel the kart worsening with every lap; finally he's forced to pit again. The problem is so bad that he can't make the left turn to head down the hill to the garage; the mechanics have to lift him around.

Again, we're back in the garage with the kart up on stands. Lee is in there with them, checking the stub axles on the front wheels... initially they think one of these is broken, but soon spot a much more serious problem.

The chassis is cracked.

"That's our race over, guys." Lee looks gutted; I don't blame him, but I don't believe him either. We've been here before, and we've invested far too much blood, sweat, tears and money to give up now.

The solution is a no-brainer: we need a new kart. Luckily there are spares sitting outside the garage; Lee and the mechanics waste no time in swapping our steering wheel, transponder and front panel across; once Lee has double-checked that the throttles are in sync, Anwar is back in and accelerating up the hill towards the pitlane.

The mechanics are mumbling about accident damage, but even they don't sound convinced. For the second year running, we've been issued with a faulty kart. Impressed, we are not.

The timing screens tell an all too familiar story. We're last in class, a couple of laps behind the next stragglers, and 13 laps behind the leaders. About the only good news is that we're barely three hours in. But we face an almighty battle to get anywhere near the sharp end.

The weather has been toying with us, intermittently moistening the track and making conditions particularly difficult to judge. But Anwar is flying in the new kart, and within the hour we've caught the back of the field. As 5pm passes and I post the hour 4 update, I'm already focusing inward. It's been such a draining day already, and I've yet to turn a lap in the race.

By 5.40 I'm suited, booted, padded, radioed, caloried, hydrated and practically hopping from foot to foot. Our woes are forgotten; I'm here to make this racing machine sing, and it's a huge relief to cast everything else away and drive.

Anwar is in the pits bang on cue; Alex gets busy behind the kart as I leap in. Again, my seat insert snags on the steering wheel, but no time is lost. At least I've remembered it this year... I'm still velcroing the radio button to the steering wheel spoke as I get the GO! command and thread my way between the throng before booting it.

I'm straight out into a gaggle of owner karts, as is so often the case, but the circuit instantly feels grippier than I feared. Just an occasional sprinkling of drizzle on my visor - which I force myself to ignore - and sections of damp tarmac through the flat-out banked right hander at the bottom of the circuit. Which are impossible to ignore.

I'm correcting all the way through as the kart's tail constantly steps out of line at over 60mph... the slow left hander which ends the lap is wet on the entry too; it takes me a couple of laps to find the sweet spot through there.

But the kart is a joy - just as poised and biddable as the original - and I'm blasting past Standard Hire karts and slower Club Hires with confidence. Three laps in, Lee crackles in my headset.
"How's the kart?"
"AWESOME!" I shout.

After a pause, Lee's back.
"Did you say awesome, or awful??"

I discover later that there was some consternation on the pitwall at this point - partly alleviated by Marianne, who assured Lee that I wouldn't normally use the word 'awful'. I don't attempt to clarify for fear of causing more confusion; Lee asks me for a hand signal, and I raise my arm high with thumb up. Confusion averted.

My day is made when, five or so laps later, my headset crackles again.
"Good news Andrew. You're currently fastest in class. Keep it up."

Fantastic! My confidence soars even higher. But years of experience sound a warning. Don't get cocky and bin it...

I spot a couple of familiar helmets on track, passing Matt Curtis in his Standard Hire kart with a wave at the exit of the corkscrew, and jumping out of my skin as Brad blasts by with inches to spare into the Esses. That, Mr Philpot, was a little close... no harm is done, and he apologises later.

Marianne has taken over on the radio, and informs me that my laptimes are down in the 1.22s - still a couple of seconds away from dry pace - and that I'm still consistently second fastest in class. The first hour of my stint has passed in a blink and as the light begins to fade from grey to black, track conditions subtly worsen. I'm in an entertaining dice with a fellow Club Hire kart when we find ourselves embroiled in a chain of slow owner-driver karts.

They're slower in the corners but faster on the straights, which makes them tricky to deal with, especially in the greasy conditions. We're all working hard as we slip into single file for the Esses, bearing down on a lone Standard Hire kart at the thick end of 70mph.

The Standard Hire driver stamps on his brakes, and time slows into split-second beats.

The Esses are taken flat out in the dry, and near-flat in the wet. There is only one line through, with vicious saw-toothed kerbs on either side. You do not brake there. Not ever.

The rear of the owner kart in front of me snaps right as he slams on the brakes, instantly a passenger as his kart ramps off the kerb to the left; I brake as lightly as I dare, trying not to lock up, but still catch the Club Hire driver behind me unawares. For a millisecond I'm staring into his eyes, wide behind his visor, as he spins past me, his kart smashing backwards over the kerb, heading for the tyre wall. Then the owner driver is spinning across my path having bounced off the tyre wall to my left; I just avoid the now-crawling Standard Hire kart and lightly rap the owner kart as I pass, braking for the hairpin.

Then I'm through, out of danger, exiting the right hander onto the back straight. I key the radio.
"Holy fuck."

There's a short pause before Marianne replies, sounding breathless.
"Well done!"

For not killing myself or - I hope - anyone else, I presume. I'm concerned for the Club Hire driver that went into the wall, but by the time I next pass the spot, the yellow warning flags have been withdrawn and the circuit is clear. Marianne tells me later that the stricken Club Hire kart was pushed through a gap in the tyre wall and driven into the pits. I'm more than a little relieved; in an accident like that it wouldn't have taken much bad luck to put two drivers in hospital.

It seems like seconds later that Marianne is on the radio again, asking me to check the fuel level. As far as I can tell there's about five centimetres sloshing around in the tank; it takes a couple of laps of shouting into the microphone and some emphatic hand signalling to get the message across.

Soon afterwards, she's back to give me a fifteen minute warning and an apology for leaving me out for so long. I've absolutely no idea how long I've been out here, but note that it's nearly dark; they must be trying to stretch my stint as long as possible. Just like old times... soiled underwear moment aside I'm perfectly fine and in no hurry for the stint to end.

But end it must; I get the 'box' command as I exit the final turn and am already detaching my radio cable as I slow for the pitlane. I remember to turn sharp left and stop on the weighbridge before moving forward, stopping the engines and leaping out in the fuel bay. The fuel crew are cheerful and efficient as usual; in seconds I'm pushing the filled kart around the U-bend and along to the pit exit. As always, the driver must do this unassisted.

Lee and Alex descend as I pass through the gate; I'm expecting to start the right engine, as we planned, but Alex does it for me. Lee's using my seat insert so I leave it in place; the engines are fired up and he's gone without delay. Great stop.

I reckon I've driven a reasonable stint, and it's good to have Anwar and Alex confirm it. We've made up a couple of places and are lapping much faster than our immediate competition. The frustration of our reliability problems has faded to grim determination. Come what may, we'll make the best of what we have.

Back in the paddock, the atmosphere is buzzing. I swap stories of awe and bravado with Marianne as other drivers - Ryan, Michael, Ben, Brad, Jonny Elliott - come and go. Ryan's parents Neil and Diane are about too, though I've barely had time to catch up with them. Like last year, the girls have made a couple of sorties to nearby Asda and seem to be feeding half the field. Our complement has swelled, too - Anwar's dad Ferhat has come to support us. I've yet to meet a more passionate, heart-on-sleeve karting parent: his enthusiasm is just what we need.

"Hang on... we've suddenly dropped to 20 laps behind the leaders!" Alex is frowning, staring down at his phone. Having triple-checked the timing screens, he stomps off to Race Control with a face like thunder, and returns with the news that we've been given a 10 lap penalty for being underweight. My insides turn to ice - as the most recent driver on the weighbridge, I must be the culprit - but I've been carrying extra weight which pushes me well over 80kg. With the kart, that should be 212kg at least - comfortably over the 210kg minimum. There must be a mistake.

Five minutes later we're sighing with relief. The staff member on weighbridge duty mistakenly had the minimum as 220kg. We've been credited our lost laps and restored to our rightful position.

As the race roars on under the floodlights, I switch off a little, tuck into a bowl of chicken curry and cous cous, and let the noise and chatter flow over me. It's eight-thirty in the evening; as we approach one third distance, the intermittent drizzle turns to rain, the rising wind whipping it into waves under the sepia lights.

The wetter it gets, the faster Lee goes. By nine o'clock, the majority of the field is lapping in the 1.40 bracket - but Lee is constantly in the 1.38s, between two and four seconds a lap faster than virtually everyone else on track. In fifteen years of karting I've never seen anything like it.

Reluctantly, I drag myself away to the tent for some rest. I'm next on around 2am, and need to be back on top of my game by then. As I lie down, it's as if a giant tap has been turned on outside; I'm fully expecting the tent to come apart above my head, but mercifully it holds together. I worry that the awning might be flooding, wonder if I should go and help - but decide that I'm better off staying put. The others are perfectly capable of dealing with it.

Moments later, the PA system blares. I don't get the full message, but gather that the race is going to be red-flagged. I assume it's because the weather is too bad for safety, but hear something about the timing system. Maybe water has got into the electrics somewhere.

As the circuit falls silent, Marianne joins me in the tent. She has no more information; with the sense that I'm not missing much - for a change - I drift off.

But the clock ticks on. Nine hours down, fifteen to go.

(Click here for part 1: the buildup)
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)

British 24 Hours, Teesside, 23-25 August 2013 (part 1)

The buildup 

(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours) 
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)

Friday 23 August

"Vangeen... Andrew is faster than you. Do you understand?"

From the pitwall, a familiar voice rings tinnily in my head. I can't quite place it, but assume it's one of my teammates. Alex Vangeen's reply from a few metres behind me on track is slightly garbled and extremely colourful; as I exit the right hander onto the back straight, throttle pedal pinned to the stops, I'm chuckling inside my helmet.

I discover later that the mysterious voice was that of 2012 teammate Stuart McKay, who had commandeered our radio.

It's lunchtime on day one of the biggest race weekend on the calendar, and life is almost as rosy as can be. The sun is shining, the engines are roaring and I'm five laps into my reunion with this monster of a circuit.

Wind back four hours, to the calm before the storm.

With over a day to go until the race start, the Teesside paddock is coming to life. Team motorhomes and vans jostle for position on the hard standing areas behind the main buildings; along the start/finish straight, awnings are beginning to appear.

Ours is already in situ; we were among the first to set up this morning. The usual suspects - Marianne and Alex's wife Lauren - have already made it our home for the weekend, with a table, chairs, and furtively repositioned picnic bench. We're joined by Lee Hollywood's father Chris, a man of few words and infinite racing experience.

With testing not due to start until 10am, we take the opportunity to walk the circuit. It's a chance to show Marianne the mindblowing back section, which is hidden from the pitwall; I also want to take a closer look at some of the kerbs, which we'll later be approaching at over 60mph.

Lee comes along for the walk, which takes us down the hill past the pits - not nearly as steep on foot as it seems in a kart, oddly - through the white-knuckle right-hander, along the short back straight, and through the tricky 'corkscrew' left-right which takes you back uphill. Parts of me are already aching at the thought of the trial to come: the hundreds of passes over the rutted kerbs, the neck-straining full-throttle exit onto the long infield straight.

I said in the preview that Teesside attracts BRKC regulars like moths to a flame, and by late morning they're flooding in: Connor Marsh, Matt Curtis and Jordan Donegan have set up their awning beside ours; they'll be competing in the Standard Hire class. Our former teammate Stuart McKay is captaining his own team this year, also in Standard Hire. His team are our other neighbours.

Returning to the paddock, we pay a visit to Team Squadra Abarth BRKC, looking chipper under their awning fifty metres down the straight from ours. Podium finishers in Standard Hire last year, like us they've moved up to Club Hire for 2013, and feature a fascinating driver lineup. Old hand Mike Kettlewell leads the Scottish BRKC contingent: Michael Weddell, Ryan Smith and Ben Allward. They're assisted by David Hird, another Teesside regular. The Scots absorb the usual jibes about racing in kilts with typical good humour. It's great to have them here, and I'm looking forward to seeing how they get on in their first 24 hour race.

When we return to our awning, BRKC founder Bradley Philpot is already there making a nuisance of himself; once again, he will race for top owner team Baron Racing, and has a real shot at the outright win this weekend. James Auld is here too, racing for Team Lambo in the owner class. He has, by all accounts, had a long week already and is slightly less than his usual chipper self.

As the clock counts down towards my 1pm test session I spend ten minutes fitting the radio gear to my helmet, and a fruitless forty trying to change visors. My Arai motorcycle lid is a quality piece of kit, but the visor system is a fiddly nightmare: clear visor it is, then.

1.05pm. I'm on track, five minutes into my allotted forty, and only the kart I've drawn for testing clouds my sunny mood. It has all the grunt of a vacuum cleaner and feels as if its right and left halves are in different time zones. I consider pitting to change it, but there's no guarantee of improvement: the test day karts are the dregs of the fleet, with the freshly fettled race karts saved for tomorrow.

It doesn't really matter. I'm out here to check the radio gear and get comfortable, not tear up the tarmac. And by the time I pit after 25 or so laps, all is well: judging from the constant chatter between my teammates, the radios work perfectly. My seat insert, rib protector and padding are comfortable, and my new gloves fit me like, er, gloves.

I hand the kart over to Lee Hollywood along with my gloves: in the rush to fit his radio gear, he's forgotten his. A minor lapse today, but a disaster in the heat of a mid-race pitstop; it's a reminder that we'll need to be on top of our collective game for every second of the next 48 hours.

There's no official timing on Friday, but I'm keen to see what Lee can do in the kart I've just vacated: he's new to the team and comes with a stellar reputation. But I'm disappointed: he's back in the pits after a lap to change karts. He's used to racing his own, carefully prepared karts, and his standards are clearly higher than mine.

Back under the awning, the kettle is on. I munch crisps, man the stopwatches and watch the action on track. As Anwar rockets past on an early sighting lap and Marianne dons the headphones for a spell on the radio, I reflect that despite the new faces we're already a team. And a quietly confident one at that.

We wrap for the day at 3pm with all the boxes ticked and the sky beginning to darken: there are reports of an amber weather warning for Friday night and Saturday morning. As we congregate for dinner and watch rain lash the restaurant windows, I'm emptying my mind of all but the essentials. There's no point in worrying about things I can't control. As ever, the combination of circuit, world-class competition and fickle North Yorkshire weather is going to pelt us with challenges over the next two days.

But we've worked hard for this. After months of preparation, it's almost time to turn a wheel in anger.

Saturday 24 August

Race day. After a rushed breakfast, we wave a wistful goodbye to clean sheets, soundproofing and toilet paper, and arrive at the circuit just after 8am.

The Met Office weren't kidding. There's a lake at the first apex of the fast chicane. Turning a wheel, in anger or otherwise, is going to have to wait. As we empty a bathload of water from the awning - still standing, amazingly - circuit owner Bob Pope booms over the PA system. Practice and the race start will be pushed back an hour, to 1pm; a sweeper will be along shortly to clear the circuit of standing water.

I'm not disappointed at the delay; being ready for practice at 9am is always a rush. Now there's more time to check over our race kart, to fit our steering wheel and lap timer - both borrowed from Brad. Number 49 sits in the pitlane, resplendent with its blue 'bigfoot' steering column cover and a small yellow sticker with 'Racing with Jamie' printed thereon. Every kart wears one, in honour of a seriously ill young Teesside employee. It's just one of several good causes this weekend, and a sobering reminder. Carpe diem.

Lee, Chris and Anwar have already fitted the suede-lined wheel - a far nicer thing to hold than the plastic standard item - and are attaching the digital display. As Alex and I look on, Alex notices a neighbouring hire kart having its air filters changed - by its drivers. This is a blatant rules breach, and the team in question is swiftly apprised of the error of their ways. It leaves a sour taste, though I'm cheered by the thought that if you're boneheaded enough to cheat in plain view of all your competitors, your chances of coming through a 24 hour race unscathed are minimal.

At 9.30am the PA system summons us to the circuit infield, where Bob and the other stewards run through the usual Teesside briefing. Obey the flags, stay off the high kerbs, respect other drivers. At this blue riband event, it's assumed that we know what we're doing; how refreshing to be treated as a racing driver, not a feeble-minded muppet on a corporate jolly (take a bow, Daytona Milton Keynes).

There's a huge cheer for the fundraisers: two drivers will be attempting the entire 24 hours solo and have raised tens of thousands for charity. And we applaud the Kartforce team, an owner-driver crew of wounded veterans. For us, this race is the sternest test there is; I have neither words nor imagination to grasp how tough it will be for them.

And suddenly, as if a switch has been flicked, time speeds up. The giant yellow sweeper lorry (and its terrifying giant of a driver) leaves the circuit, kart engines begin to fire up, the PA system blares unintelligibly... it's intimidating for the newbies, but in our third year I've learned to shut it all out and focus on my first run. It'll be the fastest kart I've ever driven here, in typically damp, drizzly conditions, and I'll need my wits about me.

We've decided that Lee and Anwar, as the more mechanically literate half of the team, will take the first runs. As Lee rolls out of the pits in number 49 to start our race weekend in earnest, I'm offering up my usual prayer for speed and reliability.

Forty minutes later, I await my turn in the pitlane, listening in to the radio traffic, overheating in my wet weather race suit as the sun breaks through overhead. Aside from the throttles engaging out of sync and glazed brake pads - both swiftly remedied - the kart is running well. Both Lee and Anwar have pronounced it 'okay' which is usually the highest praise you'll get from a driver.

Anwar peels into the pits, stops on the weighbridge - which we must all remember to do every time - and drives around the U-bend and through the gate to the pit exit road. As he jumps out I'm already fumbling my seat insert into place - it catches on the steering wheel, and I take note - and attaching my radio push-to-talk button to a steering wheel spoke. With a thumbs-up from the others, I'm gone, accelerating hard as soon as I clear the throng of pedestrians and stopped karts.

The circuit is still damp in places, but drying fast, the standing water a distant memory. I'm expecting to take time to come up to speed, but it takes me all of two corners to realise that this is the sweetest kart I've ever driven. It's a revelation: powerful, grippy, feelsome, predictable, poised... I'm pushing hard on my first flying lap and loving every second.

The laptimes are plummeting, and I'm more or less keeping up. By the time I pit (reluctantly) after my allotted fifteen minutes and hand the kart over to Alex, we're hovering around the top five in class. I'm happy with that: Lee will doubtless go faster, but I'm dialled in and comfortable. I elect not to waste mileage by going out again.

By the time Alex has completed his run, the circuit is virtually dry; Lee heads out again to bang in a qualifying time, and rises to the occasion: his blistering 1.19.4 is only narrowly pipped for pole. It's a far cry from our woes at this time last year, and Alex and I are delighted. We decide to change our driver order to take full advantage of our grid position: Lee will start, followed by Alex, Anwar and I. It means that I won't be on track again until early evening, but it's the right way to go.

I get changed under the awning as Alex brings the refuelled kart around to the grid. As usual, the start will be old-school Le Mans, with the karts lined up on the left side of the track, drivers opposite; when the flag is dropped, the drivers will dash across to their karts, jump in and go.

We're all caught out by our grid position; used to being somewhere near the back, we're actually almost directly in front of our awning, in the top twenty overall. As the karts form up and teams throng the grid, Marianne snaps away with the camera. Anwar and I lift the front of the kart as Lee unbolts the sensor and cabling for the lap timer, which refuses to work. With that complete, there's little to do but wait.

The air itself seems to be humming as excitement ratchets up towards critical mass. On the infield, the start marshal holds up a board, black print on white.

10 MINUTES.

(Click here for part 2: the first 12 hours) 
(Click here for part 3: the final 12 hours)