ON
TRACK WITH RICK PEARSON No. 37
By Rick Pearson
By popular demand (someone sent me an e-mail), I thought this week I'd reflect a little more on my recent trip to race at Assen and share with you some light hearted observations on more of our European cousins.
Courtesy of some quality organisation my suit, helmet, license and signature had to report to the circuit for mid afternoon on the Thursday before the weekend despite the fact we weren't due on track until Friday afternoon. So, to avoid the traffic I got across the Channel early and headed NorthWest to rendezvous with the race truck at the circuit.
The trip got off to a poor start when attempting to pull my mobile phone charger out of a door pocket (you know the type of thing, plug for phone on one end, curly cable and big lump that sticks in lighter socket on the other), the heavy end got briefly caught before hurtling out and catching me straight in the eye. Not a good omen and not good for my sense of humour at 6AM.
Soon though I was across the border into Holland, a country I have been privileged to visit on several occasions and must admit to being quite a fan of. This was brought sharply to mind at my first fuel stop: Rick: "Pomp 3 danku" Middle aged female fuel attendant: "Ooohdibooodidfiredeee" Rick "Sorry?" MAFFA: "That'll be one hundred and forty nine guilders fifty please" Nothing like being made to feel linguistically inadequate first thing of a morning is there?
Rest assured, Holland still suffers from some of the same problems the rest of us do, for example infuriating bureaucracy. As is often the case, the security guards at the circuit gate had been hired from the local branch of the secret police and installed with that great sense of logic usually only found in an Essex nightclub bouncer. Another classic conversation ensued (but at least it was in English, more respect due): Rick "Hi Clio Trophy pilot, can I enter the circuit please?" Secret Police Bouncer: "Not until 6PM, no" Rick "Sorry?" SPB "No cars in paddock until 6PM" Rick "But it looks like the paddock is miles away (it wasn't in sight.) and I have to carry everything in to sign on before 6PM (It was currently 1PM)" SPB "Do you have a pass" Rick "No, I have to collect them at signing on" SPB "Then you can't go in on foot either." At which point we clearly have a problem. but then the SPB's boss arrives: SPBB "Is there a problem?" Rick "I'd like to enter the circuit for 10 minutes to drop off my kit and collect some passes" SPBB "OK, no problem, I'll give you half an hour." Rick "???????????????????????"
So arriving in the circuit, I locate the truck and then run around the paddock trying to sign-on. Recall, we are here a day early just to complete this process, the riders office is the only place open: Rick "Can you tell me where signing on is please?" RO "Not today, tomorrow." Rick "Can you tell me where I can get some passes please?" RO "Not today, tomorrow" It turns out that signing-on was actually at 6PM and I didn't need a pass until then. Ho hum.
So to kill a bit of time we took to the circuit in that traditional curtain raiser to the weekend "Let's hurtle around the closed circuit, dodging the tractors and people putting up hoardings etc, in whatever is available to us, going as fast as possible to pretend we are in the Clio V6" Since it didn't seem acceptable to take a road car around (unlike Jarama where one of the Italian teams had an EasyHireCar A-class Mercedes on its door handles with 4 passengers leaning into the corners) I rode pillion to fellow Brit, Sam Hignett, and we wound their team's scooter up to the full 30mph available and headed out.
Narrowly avoiding being killed by a mad Irishman who was attempting to lap the whole circuit flat out on a quad bike and an equally mad Dutchman who's job was to roll flat all the great gouges in the mud alongside the circuit who was lapping his tractor/roller combo at a speed that would put a Powertour Fiesta to shame; we rode round and filled the wind with expletives as the true nature of the Assen circuit was revealed to us.
Race-day dawned wet. Wetter than a wet thing on a wet day in Wetland. In fact evidence suggested that it was indeed a wet day and we were indeed in Wetland. The Dutch are however, as optimistic about the weather as the English and a young fan visiting the ActiveShop tent mid-morning volunteered to check the forecast on his WAP phone so we could choose the correct settings for the car. Despite the fact that it had been raining for five hours without any sign of even easing, let alone stopping, and the fact that their was unbroken cloud as far as the eye could see, he prodded his phone for five minutes before confidently predicting a dry race. It rained for another five hours and was still torrential as we took the start.
Having survived the demolition derby in the spray, I set off back to Calais and had some time to ponder the European styles of motorway driving. Dutch motorway drivers are appalling and their lane discipline almost as bad as the English. Compared to the Italians, who would rather pin you in the inside lane than risk venturing into the outside lane, the Dutch feel comfortable wandering along regardless of whether they are actually overtaking something.
After much musing
on this problem, I have decided it is a function of the English and Dutch
being very polite societies. An errant driver, daring to linger in the
outside lane of an Italian motorway will suddenly find a car skidding
towards his rear bumper, lights on, horn blaring and if he doesn't move
fast enough, has a fair chance of getting pushed out of the way.
In the UK and Holland, the average driver will just sit behind them and
wait for realisation to dawn that there is someone waiting to overtake.
Allowing the errant driver to never realise that they are in the wrong
lane and causing a delay to the traffic behind them. What a dilemma! Would
you rather live in a country where people are polite and well mannered
or where there is some lane discipline on motorways? I'll leave you with
that thought! Until next time take care.