ON
TRACK WITH RICK PEARSON
By Rick Pearson
Welcome to the sixteenth of my weekly articles about the national racing scene and my journey through it over the past few years. This week I report on my view of the recent "Snetterton Charity Weekend" otherwise known as "How to get your revenge on your press officer and mechanics."
Have you ever had the opportunity to really, really scare someone? Well recently I had the opportunity to chauffeur members of 10 Tenths and the press around Snetterton at a charity day in aid of the British Heart Foundation.
From the outside, a round of the Elf Clio 172 Championship can look a little fraught as thirty identical Clios power through somewhere like Paddock Hill bend at Brands Hatch nose-to-tail. Believe me, from the inside, it's even more frantic. So, to give those people who have supported us throughout the season the opportunity to see what it's like at the sharp end was just too good to pass up.
With the first passenger strapped in, the aim is to emphasize the elements that make up the experience. With a lap of Snetterton, even with a passenger on board taking only around 1m23 in the Clio, a standard out lap, flying lap and in lap is going to take around five minutes. A condensed mix of fear, noise and g-forces. The aim was to let as many of our guests share the experience as possible so as the passenger is strapped in, the car and driver are warmed up and the engine is running.
Passenger strapped in, door shut, thumbs up from the pit crew, blip the throttle as we move out into the pitlane. Trundle up to the marshal at the end who is collecting the pink slip that signifies the passenger has signed away his life. Car stopped, check passenger is OK, 6000 revs (far more than you would ever use for a real start) drop the clutch and hurtle towards the track leaving black stripes on the road and slamming the passenger back in their seat. Second, third and fourth are all clicked through on the sequential gearbox without a lift on the throttle or any hesitation in the sheer urge from the 2-litre race engine. Quick dab on the brakes at the last possible minute and pour it towards the first apex, clip the dirt on the inside and watch the punter bounce in their seat then suddenly we're hard on the brakes for Sear, down 1 gear, thump the inside kerb (and occasionally the family of billiards camped on the apex) and back flat on the throttle, run right out, using the broken tarmac on the exit of the corner, watching the passenger, unprepared for how rough the circuit is at that point, trying to keep their arms in their lap without a steering wheel to hold onto.
Before they realise it, we're on the Revett Straight and building some serious speed, fourth, fifth and as they start stamping on the imaginary brake pedal, sixth. Then hard on the brakes, harder than anyone who has only ever ridden in a road car can conceive down one cog and hard left into the esses. Circuit is a little damp here, so the tail is sliding a touch but is swiftly corrected. Down another couple of cogs and clip the inside kerb for the run into the Bombshell, diving in with just a small lift as a concession to the passengers safety and then going pretty hard into the seemingly never ending right-hander that is Coram, forcing their heads towards mine and straining their bodies against the belts.
Slingshotting out at over 100MPH and hard on the brakes all the way into the first apex of the Russell chicane, depending on how much you want to scare the particular passenger you grab a quantity of the left hand kerb which unsticks the rear of the car causing you to exit the chicane on opposite lock and then launch up the pit straight, keeping it as close to the pitwall as possible to allow the terror on their faces to be captured on camera. Out lap complete. now onto the flying lap!
As you come out of the chicane at the end of the set and return up the pitlane you have the first chance to hear what sort of noises they are making; the engine having precluded any thoughts of conversation for the previous few minutes. Lots of gasping, the odd whimper and some interesting squealing seemed to be the result, not a lot of confident conversation. Up to the garage and stop, offer to shake their hands, (not so many takers for that), mechanics open the door, pop the belts and shovel out the remains.Install a fresh one and away we go again!
Highlights of the day included hearing the conversation in the garage afterwards that none of the passengers could conceive the G-forces, the braking or the sheer effort expended to control the Clio on a real flying lap. Taking the Clio broadside through the Bombhole with my race engineer, Rob Friend, on-board having attempted to take the corner flat on a damp track was good for demonstrating how hard we have to work to put the car on Pole. As it was for proving his faith in his driver as he nonchalantly wafted away the smoke that had filled the cabin from the tortured tyres as I continued on the lap at an unabated pace. The real moment of truth though was when it was pointed out that the Pole lap I had set earlier that year was over five seconds quicker than anything we had done that day. M
aybe they all walked away with a little more respect for those intrepid Clio pilots although they probably all just went down to their local Renault dealer and put a deposit down on a 172!