Why I needed fireproof underwear for a leisurely spin through the Bavarian countryside
SOURCE:Daily Mail
I was lucky enough to have been invited to sit alongside former World Rally Champion Ott Tanak during a shakedown session on the first day of the WRC's Central European Rally in Bavaria.
Standing stark b****** naked in the jacks of a southern Bavarian hotel is not the way I normally spend a Thursday morning. Before me, laid out on my improvised porcelain dressing table are a pair of calf-length socks, grandfather-style long johns and a long sleeve pullover - all in a dull grey colour. The clothing is coated in a chemical called Nomex, which sounds like a slogan that supporters of Donald Trump would spray on their southern border wall.
Earlier that morning I had signed a document which acknowledged that rallying is dangerous and participating in an event could result in serious injury or death. As I pulled on the fire resistant long johns, I felt assured that nothing important would be getting singed. Again, this is something outside the average nine-to-five grind.
Fortunately for the good people of Bad Griesbach, the highly stretchable underwear will be covered by a full racing suit emblazoned with the initials WRC - for World Rally Championship. The outfit was finished off with a pair of dainty racing driver shoes, balaclava, helmet and a head and neck support device. (HANS)
The organisers of the Central European Rally had invited me to go on a leisurely drive through the rolling hills along the German-Austrian border with former World Rally Champion Ott Tanak in his Hyundai i20.
At the start of each rally, the drivers get three opportunities to test their car before the first stage - a final chance to tinker with the settings which could save seconds off their stage time. As a former world champion, Ott knows the value of those sessions.
I was lucky enough to have been invited to sit alongside former World Rally Champion Ott Tanak during a shakedown session on the first day of the WRC's Central European Rally in Bavaria. Over the course of three days the drivers competed across Germany, Austria and Czechia
Safety is of vital importance. Underneath the rather fetching WRC branded racing suit, I am wearing a pair of ankle-length socks, long-johns and a long-sleeve top - all coated in fire resistant Nomex
Getting into a rally car for the uninitiated is a logistical nightmare. The roll cage blocks the exact space your head and legs want to use
Ott's co-driver Martin Jarveoja was sitting out the final session as I was in his place. Martin's job is to describe in detail what the road ahead is like. I hadn't a clue what to expect... and it showed
Walking out to the car, I received a safety briefing which involved not touching anything, especially the roll cage which protects the driver and co driver in the event of a collision. If there is a collision, don’t do too much until help arrives… unless there’s smoke. I’m assured the fireproof socks are able to cope with most issues, just, it is better not to take the chance.
Unlike Formula One, at the WRC fans can watch as the team mechanics work on the cars at a furious pace and meet their heroes after returning from a stage. Wearing a full racing suit people look at you differently. The optimist in me would think that those around would be wishing me well and have an enjoyable time. But, more than 25 years as a journalist has made me rather cynical.
Ott and his co-driver Martin Jarveoja had completed two of their shakedown tests when I was ushered towards the car. It looked like something a five-year-old boy would design, with huge carbon fibre spoilers, massive wheels and a full race-car livery. The only parts it shares with the Hyundai down in the local supermarket were the windscreen, head lights, tail lights, A frame and a single door handle. The other door handle was rejected as it contained some electronic jiggery pokery which added weight.
Very few people ever get the opportunity to sit in a WRC car, especially on the morning of the rally. Getting permission is only a small part of the battle. Unless you are built like a lithe limbo dancer, clambering into the car is akin to trying to enter your home through the letterbox. It doesn’t matter how much you try to lubricate yourself, you will fail. If you try to put your leg in first, as you would in a normal car, your head won’t pass the roll cage. So I had to fold myself in half with my head pointing down at an unnatural angle. With things being livestreamed on the internet, there are downsides to being one of the luckiest men on the planet. In all fairness.
The Hyundai mechanics were performing last minute checks on the car before the ride on the stage
Under the bonnet sits the 1.6litre turbo charged engine pushing out an estimated 360bhp capable of pushing the car to 60mph in less than 4 seconds
Not many components are shared between the rally car and the normal version seen outside your local supermarket. Although the headlights are the same
Another shared component with the normal car are the rear tail lights. Unfortunately for the ordinary motorist, the carbon fibre body panels are not available as an optional extra
Then, using the roll cage, I pull myself into the cabin like an arthritic orangutan feeling each of the 50 spins around the sun I have been on. Tendons more suited to sitting at a desk were stretching well beyond their comfort zone.
Gravity helps slightly with the next stage, as you lower yourself into the carbon fibre bucket seat which is molded around your hips and shoulders. More indignity is yet to come as at the front of the seat there is a large mound which holds the bottom section of the five-point harness. The aim of the harness is to hold you secure in the event of a crash. Sitting on the harness means you have to pull yourself up while at the same time fish out the harness from under, what Phil Coulter once described as the Derry Air.
Having rescued the situation, I fix the harness in place as tight as I think is necessary, which I am soon informed is not tight enough. One of the team grabs hold the harness and pulls, squeezing much of the air out of my lungs. South of the border, where space was at a premium to start with, the straps were at risk of raising my octave to a Snowman-era Aled Jones.
All that was left was to pull on the flame-resistant balaclava, fit the HANS system and put on the helmet.
No drama to my left as Ott leaps into the car. Outside, his crew fit the wheels and lower the car onto the ground. The GoPro pointing towards my face is switched on.
A thumbs up is given from the outside and the noise begins. In front of me is a 1.6 litre turbo charged engine, smaller than the 2.7litres of my own car. It is connected to a five-speed sequential gearbox providing power to all four wheels.
Unlike the normal version of the Hyundai i20, this one has significantly improved brakes and suspension
The massive brakes on the car bring it to a halt in a distance that seems unfeasible for an ordinary motorist to comprehend
As the engine ticks over, the car vibrates as if a slumbering giant has woken up in foul humour. Ott reverses out of his parking spot through dozens of fans videoing the car as it edges towards the road.
It takes five minutes or so to get to the stage, driving along the public road along with normal cars. A Group1 rally car is the top level of the sport. Those who compete in this class are among the finest drivers on the entire globe. It is utterly surreal to sit behind a family saloon in a car which just wants to tear off into the distance leaving behind tyre smoke and noise.
Once we arrived at the closed off section of road, there was still a mile or so to go before the stage began. Ott buried his foot on the loud pedal, releasing the 360bhp in a car which weighs a minimum of 1,180kg, which means it is rapid. Maybe not Hans Solo hyperdrive levels of acceleration, but unlike the space cowboy, Ott’s car is real. To prove so, he sawed the steering wheel left and right to bring the tyres up to temperature. A few hard brake tests are also performed as they are designed to work better when hot. This was an amuse-bouche ahead of the main course.
At the start of the stage, a race official approaches my door and I hand over the time card. Like a golf score card, it records the progress of the car over the course of a rally. Like golf, an error with the time card can have serious consequences. He hands it back and I place it in a special pouch on the co-pilot’s door. Martin, whose seat I was keeping warm, told me not to lose it. Reassuringly, beside the pouch containing the time card is a bag containing a few dozen cable ties. I have similar ones in the shed at the house. Ott informs me they are only there in case we crash and need to hold bits of body together. Crashing is a constant theme in rallying.
With the formalities over, there is a short wait to provide a three-minute gap between each competitor. I asked Ott how hard he was planning to drive the stage. When the countdown clock hit zero, I had my answer.
Before we set off, I ask Ott how quickly he was intending to drive on the 3mile rally stage. He answered in style
The car pushes you back into your seat as it accelerates away from a corner. The racing harness holds you tightly in place
The car has ferocious acceleration and it felt like Ott had decided to take that corner at 700 rather than 70kph
All around the course, rally fans took every possible vantage point to see the cars passing. The most popular spots were normally corners where much of the excitement happens
The car shot off the line at a speed that normally accrues penalty points. Two parallel black lines were left behind on the tarmac. On paper, the Hyundai i20 N Rally1 can hit 60mph in less than four seconds. I couldn’t check the telemetry screen on the dash as my eyeballs were fixed in place… somewhere at the rear of my skull. I think I can see bits of my brain ahead of my corneas, though signing up for such an experience proves I have little enough grey matter to start with.
Moving my eyes required too much effort. The golden-reddish leaves of the trees lining the roadway became a blur, while through the windscreen the first corner approached at a disconcertedly high rate of knots.
The trees on the right hand side - nearest me - seemed like the likely destination, but a couple of downshifts on the gearbox and I’m pushed forward against the harness with my head held tight to the seat.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph are all invoked for what was the first of many times during the two-and-a-half minute spin.
We are travelling at a speed that I would not have thought possible on a Playstation 5. Inside the car, it was like a malevolent force caged under the bonnet and fed on raw meat was trying to escape in order to devour the not yet dead feast strapped tightly to the seat. A human sacrifice to the rally gods.
On the stage I struggled while trying to commentate on what was happening. The air was being forced from my lungs
At the end of the stage, myself and my new Estonian friend exchanged a handshake. One Rally insider said 'Ott never smiles'
That 2:16.4 seconds was the greatest experience of my life, though I thought it did take a good bit longer than that
The power and performance was insane. Every sense I had was being overloaded by information, yet, beside me, my new Estonian friend looked like he was on a leisurely trip to the countryside with a maiden aunt.
Imagine a swan swimming serenely along the river. Above the water line everything appears calm. Below, the feet are working like Michael Flatley on a Riverdance revival tour having been spiked with crystal meth.
On one left hand corner, the car was about two or three millimetres wide of its target when I saw part of the wing mirror shatter having hit a pole. Thankfully the pole in question was not an eastern European rally fan, but rather a marker on the edge of the course. Ott was going flat out. Time was of the essence.
I tried, as a video will attest, to provide a running commentary as to what was happening. Much of what I could say involved a few ‘oh Lord’s’ and the odd ‘Jaysus’. Yet, I didn’t swear once. There was no need. My Estonian compadre knew exactly what he was doing. The car danced to his tune. He owned it, bent its ferocious nature to his will. Tamed it, even.
My heart rate peaked at 117bpm, probably when we were hurtling head long towards a giant haybale. Clenching my sphincter thinking ‘this is going to hurt’, Ott danced the car to the right and immediately to the left - to avoid a second giant bale, before mashing the loud pedal to the floor.
It is hard to explain because the two minutes and twenty odd seconds sitting next to a world champion seemed like it took an hour. So much was happening that you couldn’t process the experience. Yet, it was also over in an instant.
I was giggling like a schoolboy who just learned the German word for exit was ‘ausfarht’ when the car came to a halt next to the timing steward. I struggled so much to open the small window to pass that all-important slip of paper that he opened the door to relieve me of the only job I was tasked to do. I was discombobulated.
After completing the stage, Hyundai's sporting director Andrew Wheatley gives me a briefing on the differences between the rally car and the ordinary version. Unfortunately, my brain was still on the spin cycle after my trip with Ott
At the end of the stage I was asked what it was like. If people couldn't tell from the smile on my face, it was amazing
Unfortunately at the end of my spin I had to return all of the special equipment although it would not have fitted into my luggage
Midway around the stage, the car clipped a pole knocking off a wing mirror. The rear passenger side wheel went off the road picking up some mud and stones which were quickly cleared by a mechanic once safely back in the service area
Not that I had much to do with the run, apart from providing ballast, I later learned that Ott completed the stage in 2:16.4 seconds - which was second quickest overall. When I asked him before blasting off how quickly he intended running, he said ‘full throttle’. The cynic in me doubted it… for about three-tenths of a second by which time my eyeballs were rattling around inside my skull.
The late, great Colin McRea once said, ‘if in doubt, flat out’. I’m eternally grateful that Ott Tanak must have doubted me. Or, he was so aggrieved by my commentary that he decided the best way of bringing it to a halt was to arrive at the end of the stage as quickly as possible.
People have asked me since what it was like. And the answer is easy.
God willing, if you ever get the chance, Ott Tanak will give you the greatest ride of your life.