The loneliness of the long distance club racer
Discussion
Great, thanks Dave. Good to know it's not a cognitive bias then! To be honest, I hadn't thought to check the results immediately afterwards as I kind of felt I had achieved what I'd set out to do for this particular race and the placing would not have been particularly impressive anyway.
Richair said:
Great read!
I'm currently working towards doing the same with my 951; it's a 'fast road' car first, race car second. I'm planning on doing a few Future Classics races in it purely for fun; I can't afford to be competitive! But there seem to be enough like-minded people in CSCC to keep the risks managable. The fast boys are very quick though!
Isn't that the truth! I had never realised how good the E36 M3 was (obviously in the right hands). Must sample one of those one day...I'm currently working towards doing the same with my 951; it's a 'fast road' car first, race car second. I'm planning on doing a few Future Classics races in it purely for fun; I can't afford to be competitive! But there seem to be enough like-minded people in CSCC to keep the risks managable. The fast boys are very quick though!
Looking forward to seeing that 951.
I am a solo outfit no more! This time my cousin joins me for an early morning faff with the trailer and I brief him en route on his duties for the pitstop. A light fog is beginning to burn off the lovely Brands Hatch indy circuit as we arrive but conditions are still greasy for quali.
It’s nice to see my Pistonheads post about the Silverstone race reprinted in the club programme, although sadly the recorded 45th position remains inked for eternity as I had been rather too late to discover the timing error. Never mind, I was still dead chuffed to see my name in print.
This time only the thundering 4.5 litre Tuscan and a V8 M3 are in the same class but there’s some tasty machinery in Class B just shy of the 3.5 litre cut off for the class including a Ferrari 355 Challenge, an Evora, the usual contingent of M3s and a menacingly wide-arched Seat Cupercopa touring car. A chat with one of the pit crew managers reveals some eye-popping budgets at the pointy end.
Quali is a tentative half hour of pottering, as is de rigeur for the gentleman amateur. I struggle to get the front tyres hooked up on the damp tarmac of this relatively low power circuit and play with a few different lines. I am, ahem, 15th on the grid out of 20 and surrounded at the back by Pumas and Clio Cups. Hangs head in shame.
Even if the rest of my skills have withered and died, I'm still able to channel my inner Usain Bolt at the lights. The safety car peels into the pit lane, one eye on the gantry, heart pumping out of my chest, lights out and hit the hyperdrive. Yes I know this Millennium Falcon is the fastest hunk of junk at this end of the pack but was the whole grid asleep just now? The next few seconds are an adrenaline rush I can barely recollect, and those few seconds alone are enough to make the whole thing – the rain, the breakdowns, the soul-destroying logistics, the cost – utterly madly life-affirmingly wonderful.
I’ve punched a hole down the middle of the grid and then swerved round the outside of the midfield for the entry into the blind, downhill and probably best corner in the world, Paddock Hill Bend. I’m up five places by the braking zone and am about to rear-end the gorgeous Ferrari which I think ought to be my natural rival for the day. Yeah yeah I know, back in the day the 996 Cup used to fight for track space with the 430 Challenge cars but humour me; Cobalt’s a road car, OK? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I’m inhaling a heady cocktail of petrol fumes in the wake of the Ferrari but it’s actually quite pleasant. The sights, sounds and especially smells of motorsport are part of the joy. In the distance beyond the brow of Hailwood Hill, the Tuscan and a couple of M3s have already disappeared. No point worrying about them. Damn these hatchbacks are quick into the slow corners – we play a bit of a bungee rope game. I gain with traction out of quick corners and long straights, they pull back on the tight direction changes. After a few laps I’m starting to find my groove and pull away.
(so fast, I appear to have warped the time/space continuum
As we approach the window for the mandatory pit stop, I’m starting to believe I might keep at least a couple of Class B cars honest. I’m in 9th place which is better than I’d hoped. But I feel a slight vibration so when I pull in for my stop, I shout at my cousin to get the wheel wrench and proceed to check all four wheels so as not to repeat the disaster at Rockingham. I needn’t have bothered. Perplexed rival pit crews and marshals shake their heads watching this idiot driver dash around his car checking 20 wheel bolts. I probably waste around a minute and a half but I’d rather be slow than dead. The vibration is most likely marbles (of the rubber kind, as I’ve clearly lost those in my head) and I needn’t have worried.
By the time I’m back out, I’ve got a mountain to climb and have to unlap myself, thankfully now sans vibration. Oh well, overtaking is fun and the many clean dogfights up and down the field are testament to Classic Sports Car Club’s gentlemanly code of conduct. When the Tuscan bruises its way past me with a noise like Thor gargling oil, it leaves a smell of fumes more potent than the Ferrari. Here’s a clip from the pitwall:
Start/finish straight.
I’m really struggling with the Surtees/McLaren/Clearways complex. I’ve experimented a little on the lines during quali, but nothing seems to shake one particularly dogged Renault behind. He seems to gain a couple of lengths every time we enter McLaren. Why? What is he doing differently? And my entries into the terrifying Paddock Hill at turn 1 are consistent in their inconsistency. I just cannot get this right. Something to experiment with on a future track day I think.
By the chequered flag I’m 12th which I’m actually not unhappy about. Here’s the proof of a great day:
It’s been a fantastic learning experience and I’ve got much to build on for next season, not least my own skills. 3-4 races a season are not enough – time for some winter nets perhaps. And then there’s the dilemma – go full race car or enjoy what vestiges of road comforts still remain? I have the winter to decide...
It’s nice to see my Pistonheads post about the Silverstone race reprinted in the club programme, although sadly the recorded 45th position remains inked for eternity as I had been rather too late to discover the timing error. Never mind, I was still dead chuffed to see my name in print.
This time only the thundering 4.5 litre Tuscan and a V8 M3 are in the same class but there’s some tasty machinery in Class B just shy of the 3.5 litre cut off for the class including a Ferrari 355 Challenge, an Evora, the usual contingent of M3s and a menacingly wide-arched Seat Cupercopa touring car. A chat with one of the pit crew managers reveals some eye-popping budgets at the pointy end.
Quali is a tentative half hour of pottering, as is de rigeur for the gentleman amateur. I struggle to get the front tyres hooked up on the damp tarmac of this relatively low power circuit and play with a few different lines. I am, ahem, 15th on the grid out of 20 and surrounded at the back by Pumas and Clio Cups. Hangs head in shame.
Even if the rest of my skills have withered and died, I'm still able to channel my inner Usain Bolt at the lights. The safety car peels into the pit lane, one eye on the gantry, heart pumping out of my chest, lights out and hit the hyperdrive. Yes I know this Millennium Falcon is the fastest hunk of junk at this end of the pack but was the whole grid asleep just now? The next few seconds are an adrenaline rush I can barely recollect, and those few seconds alone are enough to make the whole thing – the rain, the breakdowns, the soul-destroying logistics, the cost – utterly madly life-affirmingly wonderful.
I’ve punched a hole down the middle of the grid and then swerved round the outside of the midfield for the entry into the blind, downhill and probably best corner in the world, Paddock Hill Bend. I’m up five places by the braking zone and am about to rear-end the gorgeous Ferrari which I think ought to be my natural rival for the day. Yeah yeah I know, back in the day the 996 Cup used to fight for track space with the 430 Challenge cars but humour me; Cobalt’s a road car, OK? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I’m inhaling a heady cocktail of petrol fumes in the wake of the Ferrari but it’s actually quite pleasant. The sights, sounds and especially smells of motorsport are part of the joy. In the distance beyond the brow of Hailwood Hill, the Tuscan and a couple of M3s have already disappeared. No point worrying about them. Damn these hatchbacks are quick into the slow corners – we play a bit of a bungee rope game. I gain with traction out of quick corners and long straights, they pull back on the tight direction changes. After a few laps I’m starting to find my groove and pull away.
(so fast, I appear to have warped the time/space continuum
As we approach the window for the mandatory pit stop, I’m starting to believe I might keep at least a couple of Class B cars honest. I’m in 9th place which is better than I’d hoped. But I feel a slight vibration so when I pull in for my stop, I shout at my cousin to get the wheel wrench and proceed to check all four wheels so as not to repeat the disaster at Rockingham. I needn’t have bothered. Perplexed rival pit crews and marshals shake their heads watching this idiot driver dash around his car checking 20 wheel bolts. I probably waste around a minute and a half but I’d rather be slow than dead. The vibration is most likely marbles (of the rubber kind, as I’ve clearly lost those in my head) and I needn’t have worried.
By the time I’m back out, I’ve got a mountain to climb and have to unlap myself, thankfully now sans vibration. Oh well, overtaking is fun and the many clean dogfights up and down the field are testament to Classic Sports Car Club’s gentlemanly code of conduct. When the Tuscan bruises its way past me with a noise like Thor gargling oil, it leaves a smell of fumes more potent than the Ferrari. Here’s a clip from the pitwall:
Start/finish straight.
I’m really struggling with the Surtees/McLaren/Clearways complex. I’ve experimented a little on the lines during quali, but nothing seems to shake one particularly dogged Renault behind. He seems to gain a couple of lengths every time we enter McLaren. Why? What is he doing differently? And my entries into the terrifying Paddock Hill at turn 1 are consistent in their inconsistency. I just cannot get this right. Something to experiment with on a future track day I think.
By the chequered flag I’m 12th which I’m actually not unhappy about. Here’s the proof of a great day:
It’s been a fantastic learning experience and I’ve got much to build on for next season, not least my own skills. 3-4 races a season are not enough – time for some winter nets perhaps. And then there’s the dilemma – go full race car or enjoy what vestiges of road comforts still remain? I have the winter to decide...
Edited by Harris_I on Saturday 7th November 13:10
NJH said:
I always struggled with Surtees and the following complex, wasn't anything with lines just didn't carry enough speed into Surtees. Its a pretty much balls out corner in a lot of cars.
I too am carrying a lot of speed into Surtees and riding the kerb. The problem is the transition into McLaren. By the time I'm on the left of the curve into the right hander and braking hard for the right turn towards the apex, I'm already two lengths down. Any quicker and I feel I'll be in the kitty litter at the top. Can't work out if it's a rear-engine direction-change issue or my line/braking point.Swapped out the stinky Cobra race seat today for the originals and treated them to some leather cream. Not nearly as bad as Tilletts in a Caterham, but I still struggled and swore a lot. Strangely I discovered the Schroth harness on the passenger side has one Sabelt strap. Weird.
It feels so much better in here now. The Cobra was too high and hell on my lower back. The OEMs are just about the most comfortable seats I have ever sat in.
Next stop GT-One in Chertsey to prepare Cobalt for winter civilian duties.
It feels so much better in here now. The Cobra was too high and hell on my lower back. The OEMs are just about the most comfortable seats I have ever sat in.
Next stop GT-One in Chertsey to prepare Cobalt for winter civilian duties.
Steve Rance said:
Do you have any data logging in the car when you are racing?
I think the CSCC discourages data logging (someone please correct me if I'm wrong), which I think makes sense for this level and budget of racing.That said I have a couple of devices gathering dust in the garage plus nowadays even the humble mobile phone can be gaffer taped to the dashboard and perform some basic logging functions. 1Hz is not a great logging rate although easily solved with an antenna if I feel so inclined.
This season was all about testing the car and learning to drive again by the seat of the pants. The car is behaving itself and will benefit from a couple of tweaks but I myself am not quite there. The next step is to use data, so I will be getting myself down to a couple of track days. The DL1 looks a bit intimidating to me at this stage, so I'll stick with a humble RaceChrono for now and see what I can glean from that.
It’s 2016, and poor Cobalt hasn’t turned a wheel on track since last year’s race at Brands. Silverstone in April would have been my first race of the year but work and family have taken priority. I know, it’s criminal of me not to use the car in the way Dr. Ing. Porsche intended and I had fully planned to do a couple of track days over winter but no such luck.
So I bit the bullet and paid my race fees for Brands – I would go there come hell or high water. Car prep took a week or so (on and off) and being time poor this has become the biggest headache for me. It took an hour and a half to swap out the seats (yes, it really did take me that long with accompanying obscenities and skinned knuckles, mostly due to an absolute b/tch of a bracket on the race seat), plus a full morning harassing the Hunter alignment man at my local tyre emporium (“I know it’s not in spec, I want it very not in spec”), then discovering on the drive home that the battery check light flicks on at high revs – so it’s back to a Bosch specialist, another morning spent investigating and… nothing. Seems absolutely fine. Let’s hope those words don’t come back to haunt me as I coast ignominiously to a stop at Paddock Hill bend.
Then there’s the trailer hire – so that’s another hour picking it up. Don’t forget to fill the tank (two trips: one for the tow car, one for the race car). An hour selecting and loading tools. (Don’t know why I bother, I am barely fit to work with gaffer tape). A ludicrous 1.5 hours loading the trailer on the morning of the race due to an inclined driveway, an unusual height difference between the trailer hitch and tow bar, and some kind of Krypton Factor-like test to release the red lock on the hitch. By this stage (and it’s only 5:30 in the morning) I’m thoroughly hacked off and have already decided this will be my last race. Ever. f
king trailers.
But as Daniel Bruhl’s brilliantly brooding Niki Lauda says in Rush, “Happiness is the enemy”. If the prep had been a breeze, perhaps my expectations for the day would be too high. That said, at this point in time, I’m thinking let’s just get this out the way, get back home in one piece, and tell my disapproving missus I’m hanging up the racing boots for good.
And so to Brands.
Once again, there is a frightening level of prep from some of the teams present.
Here’s a couple: a 997 Cup in my class plus gazillion tyres (boo hiss) and a Seat Supercopa in the class below. I’m guessing the Supercopa is more my natural opposition today so let’s not worry about classes.
.
Steve Rance has been kind enough to dispense some of his immense wisdom on set up and circuit. Quali is the usual pottering around getting my bearings so it’s no surprise to find myself in 23rd place out of 28 on the grid. No matter. Pressure in the Cup 2s are set a little bit high to start off (lots of tyre squeal at the second gear Druids), but a quick pit stop to bleed air down to 2.1 bar all round and now the car’s starting to behave. These tyres are now on their 4th race, and seem quick to go off in quali so probably well past their best. Still, most of the time to be found is in me, no point blaming the car or the tyres.
Sadly I’ve completely lost the art of trail braking: I’m doing exactly what Steve told me not to do – I’m throttling into the apex because I’m comfort braking too early and scrubbing off too much speed in a straight line instead of into the corner. Half way through quali my brakes are smoking hot (literally) as a graphic reminder my technique is way off. No wonder Porsche sell lots of PCCBs on their road cars – why learn to brake properly when you can let technology do the work?
It’s probably a good idea I didn’t follow Steve’s set up advice to the letter: I’ve left the front anti-roll bars at one off full stiff instead of full stiff (which works with a proper trail), and the rears on one off full stiff as well. I’ve got a lot more camber than last year so I’m hoping that will make a big difference although I’ve left the ride height sufficient to navigate my driveway at home.
The race itself is as manic as expected with quite a number of retirements, one safety car period (with resultant frantic restart), and a briefly alarming moment of target fixation on a Focus pirouetting in front of me into the gravel trap at Hailwood Hill. Bursting out of the dust cloud on the other side was trippy and highly recommended on any driving bucket list.
I’ve spoken about the visceral thrill of racing last year so I’ll not repeat myself. But today feels a bit like being in a BTCC meet without the contact. It’s life affirming to go barrelling into the tight Druids three at a time, only to be shocked by a pack leading TVR Tuscan trying to muscle its way past all three, spitting great globs of tyre back at you and smearing its mark across your windscreen. For much of the second half of the race I find myself dicing with a Ginetta G50 GT4, dancing over his tail for perhaps 15 laps. Back in the day, Cobalt Blue faced off against G40s on a regular basis and found them close competition so it’s good to be hunting its successor. He’s running Trofeo Rs today and like my Cup 2s, they seem to have gone off. At each twitch from the back of his car I’m looking for my chance to shoot past and it’s on the last lap that his concentration finally lapses and I get my break. Result!
I’m greeted back in the pits by the ever helpful team from the Classic Sports Car Club who also generously acted as my mid-race pit crew. They seem as delighted as I am that I’ve somehow made up 13 places to finish 10th overall and 3rd in class. I was really not expecting that. They’re obviously tickled by the idea of a competitor finishing the race then screwing his number plates back on (although I am of course not insane enough to drive this thing home).
Could I do better? Absolutely. The trail was vaguely starting to come back to me towards the end but I need more seat time to nail it. I’m currently running a 55 second lap on the Indy circuit which is 2 seconds off the Supercopa and 3 off the 997 Cup (although I suspect that can go a lot quicker). Let’s say a decent trail is worth another second. I’m not sure how realistic that is. Perhaps one more second on fresh tyres? Let’s say 53 seconds should be a par time. A proper driver will be quicker still I’m sure but that’s my personal target.
A miserable early start to a long hot day has ended fabulously. On its first tow car duties, the Audi proves a relaxing place to unwind on the drive home.
I drift off into sleep that night oddly still experiencing the rise and fall of the dips and cambers of Paddock into Hailwood. In my dream I am teetering on the edge of oblivion out of Clearways and telling myself this is not my last race. Maybe happiness really is the enemy. It’s only through sweat and toil that we get to taste sweetness. And indeed to appreciate what I think is one of the finest cars that Porsche ever produced.
So I bit the bullet and paid my race fees for Brands – I would go there come hell or high water. Car prep took a week or so (on and off) and being time poor this has become the biggest headache for me. It took an hour and a half to swap out the seats (yes, it really did take me that long with accompanying obscenities and skinned knuckles, mostly due to an absolute b/tch of a bracket on the race seat), plus a full morning harassing the Hunter alignment man at my local tyre emporium (“I know it’s not in spec, I want it very not in spec”), then discovering on the drive home that the battery check light flicks on at high revs – so it’s back to a Bosch specialist, another morning spent investigating and… nothing. Seems absolutely fine. Let’s hope those words don’t come back to haunt me as I coast ignominiously to a stop at Paddock Hill bend.
Then there’s the trailer hire – so that’s another hour picking it up. Don’t forget to fill the tank (two trips: one for the tow car, one for the race car). An hour selecting and loading tools. (Don’t know why I bother, I am barely fit to work with gaffer tape). A ludicrous 1.5 hours loading the trailer on the morning of the race due to an inclined driveway, an unusual height difference between the trailer hitch and tow bar, and some kind of Krypton Factor-like test to release the red lock on the hitch. By this stage (and it’s only 5:30 in the morning) I’m thoroughly hacked off and have already decided this will be my last race. Ever. f
king trailers.But as Daniel Bruhl’s brilliantly brooding Niki Lauda says in Rush, “Happiness is the enemy”. If the prep had been a breeze, perhaps my expectations for the day would be too high. That said, at this point in time, I’m thinking let’s just get this out the way, get back home in one piece, and tell my disapproving missus I’m hanging up the racing boots for good.
And so to Brands.
Once again, there is a frightening level of prep from some of the teams present.
Here’s a couple: a 997 Cup in my class plus gazillion tyres (boo hiss) and a Seat Supercopa in the class below. I’m guessing the Supercopa is more my natural opposition today so let’s not worry about classes.
.
Steve Rance has been kind enough to dispense some of his immense wisdom on set up and circuit. Quali is the usual pottering around getting my bearings so it’s no surprise to find myself in 23rd place out of 28 on the grid. No matter. Pressure in the Cup 2s are set a little bit high to start off (lots of tyre squeal at the second gear Druids), but a quick pit stop to bleed air down to 2.1 bar all round and now the car’s starting to behave. These tyres are now on their 4th race, and seem quick to go off in quali so probably well past their best. Still, most of the time to be found is in me, no point blaming the car or the tyres.
Sadly I’ve completely lost the art of trail braking: I’m doing exactly what Steve told me not to do – I’m throttling into the apex because I’m comfort braking too early and scrubbing off too much speed in a straight line instead of into the corner. Half way through quali my brakes are smoking hot (literally) as a graphic reminder my technique is way off. No wonder Porsche sell lots of PCCBs on their road cars – why learn to brake properly when you can let technology do the work?
It’s probably a good idea I didn’t follow Steve’s set up advice to the letter: I’ve left the front anti-roll bars at one off full stiff instead of full stiff (which works with a proper trail), and the rears on one off full stiff as well. I’ve got a lot more camber than last year so I’m hoping that will make a big difference although I’ve left the ride height sufficient to navigate my driveway at home.
The race itself is as manic as expected with quite a number of retirements, one safety car period (with resultant frantic restart), and a briefly alarming moment of target fixation on a Focus pirouetting in front of me into the gravel trap at Hailwood Hill. Bursting out of the dust cloud on the other side was trippy and highly recommended on any driving bucket list.
I’ve spoken about the visceral thrill of racing last year so I’ll not repeat myself. But today feels a bit like being in a BTCC meet without the contact. It’s life affirming to go barrelling into the tight Druids three at a time, only to be shocked by a pack leading TVR Tuscan trying to muscle its way past all three, spitting great globs of tyre back at you and smearing its mark across your windscreen. For much of the second half of the race I find myself dicing with a Ginetta G50 GT4, dancing over his tail for perhaps 15 laps. Back in the day, Cobalt Blue faced off against G40s on a regular basis and found them close competition so it’s good to be hunting its successor. He’s running Trofeo Rs today and like my Cup 2s, they seem to have gone off. At each twitch from the back of his car I’m looking for my chance to shoot past and it’s on the last lap that his concentration finally lapses and I get my break. Result!
I’m greeted back in the pits by the ever helpful team from the Classic Sports Car Club who also generously acted as my mid-race pit crew. They seem as delighted as I am that I’ve somehow made up 13 places to finish 10th overall and 3rd in class. I was really not expecting that. They’re obviously tickled by the idea of a competitor finishing the race then screwing his number plates back on (although I am of course not insane enough to drive this thing home).
Could I do better? Absolutely. The trail was vaguely starting to come back to me towards the end but I need more seat time to nail it. I’m currently running a 55 second lap on the Indy circuit which is 2 seconds off the Supercopa and 3 off the 997 Cup (although I suspect that can go a lot quicker). Let’s say a decent trail is worth another second. I’m not sure how realistic that is. Perhaps one more second on fresh tyres? Let’s say 53 seconds should be a par time. A proper driver will be quicker still I’m sure but that’s my personal target.
A miserable early start to a long hot day has ended fabulously. On its first tow car duties, the Audi proves a relaxing place to unwind on the drive home.
I drift off into sleep that night oddly still experiencing the rise and fall of the dips and cambers of Paddock into Hailwood. In my dream I am teetering on the edge of oblivion out of Clearways and telling myself this is not my last race. Maybe happiness really is the enemy. It’s only through sweat and toil that we get to taste sweetness. And indeed to appreciate what I think is one of the finest cars that Porsche ever produced.
Steve Rance said:
Great result. Well done Old Chap.
Glad that you kept the front softer. Full stiff would have not been good.
Im doing more corportate rides at Silverstone soon. Give me a call and i'll go through the dates with you. If it helps, I'll find a way of squeezing you in for a ride and demonstrate the trail on all of the differet corners there. Hopefully it may help
I will get in touch Steve. Very much appreciate the advice.Glad that you kept the front softer. Full stiff would have not been good.
Im doing more corportate rides at Silverstone soon. Give me a call and i'll go through the dates with you. If it helps, I'll find a way of squeezing you in for a ride and demonstrate the trail on all of the differet corners there. Hopefully it may help
andy97 said:
And it's a good club, with a good paddock atmosphere and decent driving standards.
Agreed. I'm impressed how I experienced no contact despite the dog fights at close quarters. At one point I thought I would rear end one of the TVRs into the braking zone and locked up briefly. The ABS threshold on the 6GT3 seems quite high for a road car (which is a good thing).Steve Rance said:
The downside of course is that it can also add up to a big chunk of accident if you get it wrong.
That's what was playing in my mind at Paddock Hill. Towards the end, I was starting to get some trail into Graham Hill which is a much lower risk corner. Shame I completely forgot to strap my phone to the dash and log the laps.pistolp said:
Nail the basics and you'll always be competitive, you'll also always have a reference then to what should be happening and what the car should be doing. Also allows you to be consistent. Another key ingredient.
Yup. About 5 or 6 years ago I had the basics nailed and then life got in the way and barely even ran a few track days. I think confidence also takes a knock with lack of practice. I'm not yet comfortable taking the risks I used to.As I'm hearing from a lot of the other club racers on this thread we seem to have a shared experience of just not having enough seat time and what time we do have has its share of challenges.
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