The home race...

"t_s" (t_s) 09/30/2014 at 11:48 • Filed to: Racing

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Round two of my two-round racing season and this time things are more complicated. It's my home race, the one on my doorstep, the one on the road I've been riding and driving since I was given autonomous control of an internal combustion engined vehicle. That's a lot of pressure to be under, I know that my piddling little racing exploits don't count for much, but I'm still feeling it! There are no excuses this time!

Well, I'm Italian, so there are always excuses. My dad ran this car on the same hillclimb last year, he managed a best time of 5:15 in practice and 5:48 in the wet on race day. Me? I'm hedging my bets, my dad's been racing for years and knows this road even better than me, so I'm shooting for a time in between his wet and dry pace, something around 5:30 would be a great result for me. On Friday during scrutineering the good natured ribbing begins, people are telling me that my dad's put sugar in my fuel tank, they're telling him that I've ballsed up his tyre pressures on purpose. All good-natured, but underneath it all there are quite a few people who are curious to see what we do compared to each other. I personally don't give a shit, I'm just here to enjoy myself, I'm getting married in eight weeks, rolling a car and ending up in hospital will probably put me at the top of my fiancee's shit list.

This road is a bit different compared to the one I raced at in May that was much tighter, shorter and narrower. This time around there's room to really pin the car, there are a couple of places where if you're not careful, some poo will definitely come out, fast sweepers, a couple of dicey braking points where you need to come off the power while turning (which isn't fun, ever).

Saturday morning dawns beautiful, sunny and dry. Excellent, time to get the cars out of the garage and get them down to the start. Off we go. Hit the throttle, THUNK, something moves, let off, THUNK, it moves back. Oh for fuck's sake! Get down to the start, scratch head, look bemused, find mechanic. Trolley jacks are produced, the car's in the air in a few seconds, teeth are sucked, the laconic diagnosis is uttered, "your engine mount rubbers are fucked." Oh dear, will I lose the engine? Of course not, it'll be a bit clunky. Screw it, that'll do. No wait, hang on, you've lost an engine bolt! Got a spare? Of course! Excellent, job jobbed, no clunking, car's back to its old self.

Line up on the start, turn on the camera, bury foot, try not to shit myself. Eight kilometers later I cross the line, the timing board shows 5:13, I fucking explode. Two seconds faster than what my dad ran last year and fifteen seconds faster than what I thought my best time would be. Dad's run 5:18 in his car, halfway up the climb his oil pressure started dropping and he decided to lower his shift points to save the engine for the race. Later that night I review the video footage, I'm lifting in a few places where I don't need to lift, sod this, I'm getting down to 5:10 tomorrow.

Sunday morning, I'm shitting myself. No, I'm not worried, I'm genuinely shitting myself, that pizza wasn't really very good was it? During the drive up to the parc ferme my dad looks at me and enquires as to what's worrying me. Nothing dad, I'm concerned about soiling my driving suit. To add to my digestive distress, the sodding GoPro isn't working, useless piece of shit. Oh well, now isn't the time to dwell on it, time to get the cars down to the start line and get on with business.

THUNK

Oh for the love of all things holy, not again! Sodding engine mounts!!! My friendly mechanic friend looks under the car, the bolt hasn't worked loose, the rubber mounts are shot, but nothing's going anywhere, just drive the fucking thing.

My dad starts much earlier than me, so I accompany him to the start, watch him take off and then go back to my car and start strapping in. Four cars after my dad's there's a red flag. Balls, I hope it's not dad. Word finally gets back that an Abarth's gone off in one of the swift bits, no injuries. Good, my dad's in a Mini, so he's safe.

Once that red flag is cleared, the race resumes, cars start, the queue in front of me gets shorter and shorter. Luckily this time I know not to start the engine too soon and I arrive on the start line with the engine temperature cock-on 90 degrees, perfect. Green light, I'm away.

Keep your foot in.

Keep your sodding foot in.

Pinned through here, you massive wuss.

Shit, where's third gone? Get in there you stupid fuck, I won't make this corner in fucking neutral!

Don't lift, don't fucking lift holditholditholdit!!!!

Jesus that was close, nearly lost a mirror on that hay bale.

Chequered flag, timing display, 5:01. Damn, that's wrong, they've left the other guy's time up, I guess I'll have to wait until parc ferme to see how I did, good thing it's not too far to drive. I arrive at parc ferme and my dad's gesticulating, pointing his finger to his temple. I'm somewhat bemused and exit the car to find out what on earth is going on.

You're mad.

Eh?

You heard me, you're mad. 5:01.

Nah, rubbish, I saw that time, it's the time the car before me set.

I know what your name is, and your name is next to 5:01.

Seriously? Twelve seconds quicker than yesterday? I know I kept my foot on in a couple of places but Jesus. I'm fifth in class, some twenty seconds adrift of first place, but I honestly don't care. When I later discover that the fastest that car's ever been up that hill until 2013 is 5:05 I'm even more pleased. It's a shame the camera didn't work, because I've got a feeling this would have made for some fun footage to watch later on at home! Dad's run a 5:17 and his engine's pissed away all its coolant and burped a great big bubble of oil onto his windscreen at the top of the hill. He's less than delighted at the second rebuild in as many races.

I'm disappointed that he's not done so well, but on the whole the weekend's been amazing. This racing nonsense is very addictive and 2015 needs to see more action. This is just too much fun to explain. Like I said last time, better to be a slow racer than a fast spectator, if you turn out to be a little bit faster than you first imagined then everything's that much sweeter. Plus racing with my dad takes me back to when we used to race motorbikes in hillclimbs.

The camera did catch Saturday's practice, if you're interested...

See you in 2015...

McMike > t_s 09/30/2014 at 12:05

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Well, I'm Italian

Which explains the Innocenti content. Nice job!

Sn210 > t_s 09/30/2014 at 13:43

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Nice! :29 faster than you were planning is pretty damn fast!

Mikeado > t_s 09/30/2016 at 13:48

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This may seem a little weird, but for reasons not entirely within the realms of sensible explanation, I have had this tab open in my browser “to read later” for what seems to be two years to the day. Somehow it has survived through so many processes of Windows Update forcibly restarting my laptop and Chrome restoring my tabs, then me putting the laptop in Sleep mode rather than switching it off (thus explaining why the battery can now only hold an <86% charge when unplugged, I suspect).

Well, I finally read it just now and I think it should’ve got more attention that it did from Opponauts, because it was a good read! I love Minis so I thoroughly enjoyed this (whether it justified two years’ wait is immaterial, TBH). Also your joyous scream at the end of the video caught me by surprise! But I get it. Glad the engine held on in there, for one thing.

I have a Mini in my parents’ garage that’s been waiting substantially longer than this Oppo post for my attention and will sadly have to wait longer still until the right money comes in at the right time, but this makes me wish I could restore it for a hillclimb or two here in the UK, or even just terrorizing the backroads I’ve had to explore in a more ungainly Grande Punto instead.

I have this year’s race reports open now (yay for still going!) and I certainly won’t wait two years to read those! Just one of those weird results of circumstances, I guess.