Monday is generally not a good day for the brow-beaten office worker, but for this beleaguered desk-jockey, yesterday was a Monday to remember. My first track day, and at Brands too where a few days previously I’d got sun-burn watching Chuffster carving out the racing lines. I’m pleased I did too (not the sun-burn though), the first time is daunting enough without not being at least partially familiar with the track layout. A video of Highside spanking round it helped enormously too (many thanks mate). Thanks too to Catherine for the ear-plugs, and to the rest of Highside’s crew for the encouragement on the day.
I arrived with plenty of time to spare and prepped the bike before check-in. Check-in wasn’t quite as happy as it might have been as I got stern looks when I explained that I couldn’t produce my license as the DVLA had their endorsing hands on it. It did give me the opportunity to speak to a husky-voiced woman in Swansea though who didn’t have to ask me to spell my name.
And then the long wait until the prep-talk. There was much merriment and joking in the pit-lane, which I wasn’t really in the mood for, so I took myself away to a secluded spot to meditate on what lay ahead; to do some stretches/limbering up, and repeat a few mantras –‘it’s not a race, take your time, learn the track, look where you’re going’. Having lost one bike to the Ring, I wasn’t best keen on doing it on home soil, and certainly not in front of people I knew! This was to be a lesson in restraint and pacing. Slow; slowly getting less slow, and then a little faster and faster still and faster and faster….
Finally, came the prep talk. I know much has been said about evening track sessions, and the fact that there are only two groups, and that people will be stressed out and tired from their days work, so in praise of Focused Events, this is precisely what was hammered home. Consideration for others; awareness of your own condition; enjoyment of the track time; respect for the track; respect and responsibility for the safety of the other people in your group. Anybody construed as exhibiting dangerous behaviour would be black-flagged and then hauled off – no questions asked. It was all done with a great balance of humour and dead seriousness. It’s not a race.
Then it was on your bikes, please. Oh my god. Here we go. Sighting laps, a chance to pussy-foot around the track, and get some idea of lines. Myself and Highside’s mate (Gary?) missed one of them as we arrived late at the pit exit, so two laps later we’re into the pits again preparing to go out in pairs.
First off, it’s Paddock Hill, where I saw at least three people go off on Saturday. Over the brow, into the dip, and heart plunging into groin up to the tighter-than-you-think Druids, and back down the hill into Graham Hill Bend – a roller-coaster of crotch-twitching fun! Along the short Cooper Straight, and hairing up the hill through Surtees and round the off-camber McClaren and Clearways which never seem to end – followed by the wooooof of the dip around Clark Curve (where did that kink come from?) onto the Brabham Straight past Start/Finish and hard on the brakes in time for Paddock Hill again.
Managed to keep a lid on myself for the first session (it’s not a race; smile; it’s not a race). Getting used to the bends, the braking points, the turn-in points, the throttle points, and the sound of the litre-boys blatting blast my ear.
Back into the pits for some serious ear-to-ear grinning, accompanied by stretches, muesli bar snacks (did I really mean to buy Cadbury’s?), and liquids. Can’t wait to get out again. When will the fast boys and girls finish playing? I want to go out again! Must go to the toilet. Don’t want to miss the next session. Go to the toilet. ‘Group 1 into the Pit-Lane, please.’ That’s me – quick, quick. Track time again.
Gently increase the pace, confidence growing – the bike can take it, the tyres can take it (Chicken-strips? What are they? Hehe!) Starting to overtake people. Slightly faster round the corners, desperately searching for the scrape of knee-slider. Not happening – not yet. Once more up to Druids. Brake late, turn in quickly – toe-slider down – next time, next time. And then it happens, right knee down – God bless you Druids corner, COME ON!!! I want to jump for joy, but here comes Graham Hill Bend; left knee down – YEEHAAA! Cherries popping left and right!
But what’s this, a Rocket on Brands? – take him round the outside of Clearways, you beauty! Kissing the tank down Brabham, head up, brake hard for Paddock, again; and again; and again; and again, I never want it to stop. I can’t help myself, I’m making love to my bike; the tyres are creaming themselves on the track – the sound of the wind, the scream of the engine are the pulsing throes of ecstasy….
OH
MY
GOD!!!
And then it’s over.
Stagger; to the pits; exhausted.
Spent.
If I still smoked, it would have been a packet, there and then.
How was it for you?
Ticking metal – melted rubber, the satisfied reply.
Sadly someone from the fast group was ambulanced away after highsiding on Clearways (prayers go out to him or her).
Someone was also black-flagged for trying to prevent me overtaking on Clark Curve. Seems being done by a guy in a rookie vest on a 17-year old CBR is too much for some (it’s not a race, it’s not a race).
Funniest thing about the Rocket-Man was that I saw him leaving the pit complex as I went to pack up. Only it wasn’t him. This guy was short, had a moustache, and looked slightly embarrassed. The guy carving up the track with his pegs was tall, and clean-shaven. Hmmm.
No more a wide-eyed virgin, I’ve found a drug of choice – and this time it’s legal. See you on track!!