Can you name the bends on the Silverstone circuit? I couldn’t until a few days
ago. Now I can describe the racing line you take on each: a straight line
through the Maggotts - Becketts - Chapel S-bends, clipping the three apexes,
fast down Hangar straight, off the throttle, hard on the brakes, tight into
Stowe corner, wide on the exit.
I can also tell you what the race flags mean – the ones used by track marshals
to communicate with drivers. I can explain the difference between understeer
and oversteer, and I know all about heeling and toeing and
double-declutching. And I learnt it all in just 24 hours.
This isn’t an idle boast. More and more people seduced by the glamour of
racing are deciding to get their racing licence. While once this certificate
was regarded as either out of reach of mere mortals or too time-consuming to
attain, now anyone can get it with a one-day crash course. Admittedly, there
were times when I drove more like Benny Hill than Damon Hill, but by the end
of the course I could lap the south circuit in a pretty respectable time.
“A course designed for the busy City executive,” reads the promotional blurb
for the event I signed up to at Silverstone. Maybe it should now read: “For
the former City executive with time on his hands”, but let’s not quibble.
No man likes to admit he’s anything less than an accomplished driver, but I
was sceptical about whether my frankly ordinary driving skills could be
sharpened up sufficiently in the short time available. The licence I was
going for was the national B race licence. This allows you to compete at
hundreds of events in Britain presided over by the Motor Sports Association,
the organisation that administers racing in this country. Armed with this
essential bit of paper, you can race saloon cars, sports cars and many types
of single-seater. From there you graduate to a national A licence, then to
international licences. The grandaddy of them all is the super licence,
which is what you need if you want to race in Formula One.
The instruction process starts in a low-key way several days beforehand. A
plastic folder arrives through the post, with Motor Sports Association
emblazoned across it. It contains the MSA yearbook, which has details of the
circuits in Britain where you can race competitively and an exhaustive list
of rules and regulations.
Remember at school how you had to sit down and learn national flags (if you’re
over 35 you’ll know what I’m talking about)? For motor racing, the first
thing you’ll need to do is learn the marshal’s flags – all 10 of them plus
their permutations (they can be shown stationary or waved). You don’t have
to be a memory man, but if you get one wrong it’s an instant fail.
To get through the written paper you’ll also have to answer questions on car
control, including the way the throttle, gears and steering interact, and
what to do when things go wrong.
I sat the exam in the evening (although some courses allow you to take the
written test in the morning before you hit the track). The following day I
was ushered into the hallowed foyer of the BRDC – the British Racing
Drivers’ Club.
If you need inspiration for the task ahead, there is plenty here. On the wall
is a giant plaque inscribed with some of the legends of motor sports – the
former world champions Graham and Damon Hill, James Hunt and Nigel Mansell,
and of course Lewis Hamilton, who stormed to victory at the track last
season on his way to becoming the youngest world champion yet.
A briefing on the essentials of car dynamics and racing technique (“When does
a driver begin preparation for taking a corner? Immediately on exiting the
previous corner, of course”) is followed by a series of exercises on the
skid pan. Drifting a Caterham round a circle of cones and propelling a
single-seater round a figure of eight on a wet circuit looks simple enough,
but it’s like the first time you venture onto an ice rink. I kept running
over the cones – proof you don’t have to be a master. If the instructors
don’t spot signs of improvement during the course of the exercise, they’re
likely to take you to one side and ask you gently whether you think you’re
cut out for racing.
The toughest bit comes last. Strapped by a five-point racing harness into a
Lotus Exige, you are invited to demonstrate your ability – or lack of it –
by attacking the main Silverstone circuit at a properly fast pace, and
convincing an instructor that you know what you’re doing. He’ll be watching
your hands and feet for competent control of the steering wheel, throttle
and gears, and your eyes to make sure you’re looking far enough ahead.
He’ll tell you that of all the groups of would-be racing drivers he’s trained,
the most successful were a group of Red Arrows pilots. None of them had
raced cars before, but all of them had super-fast reaction times and were
used to looking not a few hundred feet along the road but 10 miles into the
distance – essential when you’re flying at 700 feet per second.
Like a drill sergeant, he’ll yell until your ears are ringing with engine
noise and a series of barked instructions. “Brake hard. Balance the
throttle. Now hard on the power. Harder. COME ON.” A word about motion
sickness. This is normal, apparently, so you shouldn’t feel too concerned if
you can’t hold on to your stomach contents. Not wishing to dwell on the
subject, I checked and there’s an honour-able tradition. In the 1981 Las
Vegas Grand Prix, for example, Nelson Piquet finished in the fifth place he
needed to take the title by one point. During a gruelling, marathon race, he
threw up no fewer than three times in the car.
Suddenly you understand a little of the kinds of stress the body is subjected
to and why some of the best racing drivers – including Michael Schumacher –
were also athletes. The sideways force on your head, for example, can reach
4G, so your head feels as though it’s four times its normal weight. Charlie
Hollings, my instructor, an accomplished driver and at 27 one of the
youngest members of the BRDC (the youngest was Hamilton, now 23), said it
was something drivers grew used to. “You learn to live with it, then it goes
away,” he said.
I can’t say I was sorry when it was all over. “How do you think you did?”
asked Hollings. It was the kind of question that invites you to list your
faults – saving him the trouble of explaining why you had failed.
But no. After I’d admonished myself for my dismal performance, he offered
brightly: “I’m pleased to say you’ve passed.”
So, a racing licence in 24 hours? It’s possible. Of the nine journalists who
enrolled on the course, four of us passed and the others were planning to
return for retakes, proving that it’s worth the effort.
What a feeling to know you could, potentially, rock up to a circuit and enter
any race. Then, of course, there are the bragging rights. Heaven forbid that
this should be a factor, but as Stirling Moss once said: “There are two
things no man will admit he cannot do well – drive and make love.” And now I
have a certificate for one of them.
WHERE TO GET YOUR RACING LICENCE
The national B is the entry-level licence drivers must hold before going to
advanced levels. Tests take place at the following tracks and typically cost
£600.
Silverstone, Northamptonshire; 0870 458 8212.
Three Sisters, Lancashire; 0800 234 6034.
Anglesey, north Wales; 01407 811 400.
Castle Combe, Wiltshire; 01249 782 929.
Thruxton, Hampshire; 01264 882 222.
Knockhill, Fife; 01383 723 337 Pembrey, Carmarthenshire; 01554 891 042.
Goodwood Motor Circuit, West Sussex; 01243 528815.
MotorSport Vision Oulton Park, Cheshire; 0870 850 5014.
MotorSport Vision Snetterton, Norfolk; 0870 850 5014.
Rockingham Motor Speedway, Northants; 01536 500500.
For a detailed guide to getting involved in motor sports, visit www.gomotorsport.net
