SILVERSTONE 2015

For the first time with the CTCRC we’re heading for their opening round of the season. We’ve only done so by having a winter dedicated to getting the cars ready early. I’m not planning on a full season, indeed only 4 rounds on my personal calendar, so this is another year of development and experiment.

Well, we say that, but that was the plan last season, and it went completely out of the window when we discovered we were on-pace with the front end of the pre-83 grid out of the box, despite a lengthy snag-list. The Escort chase round Cadwell is going in my top-5 races.

But Silverstone is different. Straights mean power, and brakes. I’ve improved only half of those elements, and there is a large and scary XJ12 to contend with. We know in advance that he’s going to beat me, so that’s alright, I know what I’m getting into. Be nice to be top 3 again, and because it’s March, it might rain.

A race in late March might be the earliest season-opener I’ve ever had. We’ve done first weekend in April before, I think it snowed, but not sure about March. A spot of rain would be fun, because I think we’re dealing with a combined pre-93/83 grid, and last time it rained here with that collection of cars, Helen did alright.

If it’s dry, well, can we get into the top ten? Bit of a struggle with all the quick ’93 stuff, but I know they’ve lost a few M3s to an ongoing argument over weight equivalency. Better get some testing done then, brush some rust off. The good news is that, with the car largely unchanged, but simply modified for reliability, we should be able to get a decent baseline to tune from, no relearning the car.

So, a full test day, which means a Thursday departure. For once we’re ready early, loaded in advance, and on the road at a sane hour. It feels a bit odd. No last-minute panic, everything tidy and the correct stores for each car packed. It has got a bit Thunderbirds at our end these days, crates with car-specific bits in. It’s only taken 8 years to organise.

So to Sillystone, with a sense of enthusiasm and fire I’ve not had for some time, I was up for this. The car, for the record, is 0.6% lighter than last time out, but the prime modifications have been to try and make her last longer at full tilt, no more stroking it home late in the race. I hope. I don’t expect to make the trip to the top step of the podium this season, but I would like to be a hint closer to doing so. Occasionally beating either Primett or Howard would be nice. Either one, I don’t mind, but to cement ourselves into the top 3 would be a good outcome.

Testing dawned cold, but bright, and as the hours wore by it actually became very pleasant. When’s the last time you picked up a hint of sunburn in March? It may have been the wind. Also testing, the FIA GT cars. They were so fast it felt a little like being shot at. The Fiats and Beetles sounded good, the Astons sounded amazing, you could feel the rumble of those cars deep in your guts from a hundred yards away in your own car at full chat. So intrigued was the Bear and even a jaded David that they spent the first test session trying to take video, and ignored the blue XJS that grumbled by, even when it went missing.

Strapping in for the first time with new gear did require some time to adjust belts and learn how to don HANS. It took several permutations over the weekend before an appropriate protocol to do this was settled upon. The easy answer for a low car like this, with little headroom, is to arrange belts, clip HANS to helmet, don that as one unit, then get in. Lap belts first, shoulders last. Pulling those belts tight compressed me into the seat such that my legs felt oddly light. The new seating position, and the positive location of pilot, was immediately superior.

A few installation laps were all it took to confirm that the brakes were out of balance, the rears would lock far too easily, and that gets a bit hairy as you head into a couple of corners here at north of 130mph. 21mph per 1000rpm in 4^th, for those taking notes.

Rather than jeopardise life, limb and paintwork, pulled her in early and set about swapping front pads. We’d bunged the old EBCs in to start off, and they came out glassed-up, which was half the deal, but the rears we had in were also a mistake. The nice lady had sent us Red Stuff by mistake, and with no time to correct that, in they’d gone. Fortunately, Mr David brought the new pads with him, and the move over to the new Pagid front pads would mark an immediate improvement. Rears were swapped for, of all things, Mintex. I hate Mintex pads. It was about this point that my loyal crew noticed they hadn’t timed me for ten minutes, and came wandering back to the paddock to supervise.

Still just a bit tail happy on the brakes, but close enough. Understeer present but not significant save for Copse, rear grip not in issue at all, and the noise that bitsa engine makes on song is quite nice, she sounds very enthused to be here. Bit bouncy on the nose at Copse, I thought, but a 1.07.7 best time of the session. That was a very scruffy lap, but the time was respectable for the narrow balloons we call tyres, 225/50s are as big as we can go on the 7J rims we’re restricted to. It does amuse me that I’m still running the same tyre size I did as a roadgoing class car 6 years ago, but that the time is still there. And there is plainly much more to come. A well-sorted car will take another second off that, no trouble.

 Outbraking myself into Copse and carrying excess speed in merely taught me that the car was capable of being that fast, faster than I’d yet asked of her. With the news that we’d hit that time, we called an end to the day with a session still to go, without the damper tweaking we might have otherwise indulged in.

Why? Well, finding a hole was getting really quite tough, we’ve just gone under the best time recorded for the dreaded Rover Vitesse that dominated the series, and in short the car is therefore fast enough even if I have yet to find her limits. You have to balance where you’re at with the risks of wear, breakage, and screwing up your setup by trying to go too far. If it’s fast enough, you might stop before you louse it up. What we know is that the brakes need heat to balance up, the tyres work well at low pressure, and the car can withstand race distances at this pace. The small changes made to everything over the winter have made her more robust, we’re no longer killing brakes.

Firing her up for a tool round the paddock, an air leak presented itself. Inlet off to address that, which as we know is done by sternly saying "you, air leak" at it, and we’re back in action for session 2. Brakes were better, but still tail happy. Finding space was a challenge, bloody great GT cars everywhere, and little MX5s in the way when there weren’t. As the brakes warmed up, balance improved, but still not quite there yet. Tyres came in, and a rogue 1.07.9 laptime flickered across the stopwatch as a clear lap appeared. The significance of that was that it’s Dave Howard’s fastest recorded time here according to TSL, and he’s the one we’re measuring against.

Lunch, and a modification to the rear pads, a small slot carved into them. Crude, but effective. The next session would prove that this had improved things again. Though there was a Morris Minor shedding its bonnet, and that being run over by something large and flat-floored, the red light to pick up the now very flat bonnet and bits of floor was brief, and a few holes in the traffic appeared. 1.07s clocked up every time there was a glimmer of a clear lap, and if there is one thing we like, it’s consistency.

Post-testing spanner checking included pulling the rear hub for inspection, and refitting with a new nut. No signs of cracking on this one yet. It will be changed after this weekend anyway, whatever now happens. Spares today include a hub/upright ripped from our newest V8.

An arriving Comer therefore found a relaxed encampment, and a rare sight, me actually cleaning the car. It has been seen on very few occasions, but we’re going to be on the tele on Sunday, so I’ll give it a go. There was curry, and the amusing sight of a Comer’s jaw falling off as I ordered a soft drink. That curry house is lucky, every time we eat here we have a great weekend. Just saying.

Race day, overnight rain had dried and gone, leaving only biting wind, scudding cloud, and occasional showers. A late and lazy sign on and scrutineering, both cars sailed through, once Philip had remembered where his own lights are, and it was a question of watching the sky whilst we waited to qualify. We’re told that one Escort pilot was caught out by the sudden squall, and the air ambulance made its sinister appearance. From what we hear, he’s now on the mend after surgery. Sobering though, I know that guy, that car, we’ve qualified together, here. It can happen to you.

Quali. It had dried out, but a little bit slippery with it. Oddly, Howard hasn’t shown up, which I will admit makes it a bit easier. Foot down, play it in and get some heat in the front whilst trying to run from Stanford’s M3. Lap 4 sees a 1.08.5, a nice banker lap as we cut through traffic. 32 cars on a short track. About ready to find a hole and go for a flyer, when the car coughs. Odd. It’s only brief, but it’s there. That turns into a misfire at low rpm corner-exit, addressed by dropping a cog and revving the engine. Fuel starvation? Ok, I can drive round that, but it’s now sprinkling with rain. So traffic, misfire, worsening track. Screw this, in we go.

A few have had the same idea, and we’re held in parc ferme. I had to pull the leg of West, an M3 pilot, about being an XJS yet to smack him off the track. There was some ranting about “that fucking American” which amused somewhat. Comer has come back with a flat rear tyre, punctured in quali. That means he’s fitting his brand new set of tyres, which will make for an interesting race.

We swapped Helen’s fuel filter and pump, cleaned the swirl pot, and I’m summoned to the clerk of the course. Oh dear. I know I went between two cars on the back straight, but it was after the green flag cleared the yellow. Questioning what I’d done, with my best innocent face, and it turned out I was the wrong Andrew and they meant car 13, not 15. That kind of bollocking I can live with. I did, naturally, ask if I could be told off in advance for something I’ve not yet done, get one in the bank, but it’s not how they function, apparently.

If my fronts haven’t come up right, and I go late here, I’m going to lock the rears and clatter into him as he comes round the outside. He’s going to get me at some point anyway, and we’re already gapping the rest of the grid, I’m winning the 83s and scrapping will slow us anyway. There is no real choice but to press the pedal early. Round the outside he comes, squeezes in for the apex, which was brave, and trusted me not to be a cretin about this, which is a sort of compliment, I suppose.

Already the mirrors look pretty clear, I’ve got a good few lengths clear astern. Chased the lead pair for a lap and it was clear we were pulling away from the squabbling pack. It is an odd feeling to be in a position like that. Not going to catch the lead pair. They have, at my best possible pace, 2 seconds over me. Not going to get caught by the pack, I was faster than they were in quali and I had time in hand, this is already over, we’re going to win the pre-83 series for the first time, how good is that, cough, cough, oh no.

The misfire reappeared swiftly. Initially just a quick cough, then a couple of them, by lap 4 I was downchanging an extra cog and screaming the engine to clear it, by lap 6 that wasn’t enough. They weren’t catching me astern, the red and yellow smudge of Wise’s Cossie not closing even now as this green track failed to give up the grip to that understeering rocket and a small white Mk1 Escort hassled him. But the hiccups were bad, and as I came round into the complex it simply gave up, and I coasted helplessly into the pitlane and retirement. The engine caught long enough to drag me back to base and park neatly. I was less than thrilled. Not the fuel system after all then.

Hubris is a bitch. It is punishes so swiftly when I’m racing that the second I decide I’ve got it done, it’s over. My Escort nemesis picked up the win to his surprise, and I’m starting last tomorrow, assuming I can fix it. Shit.

Diagnosis this time was swift. Ignition pickup. We don’t happen to have the right kind spare. Every other type, just not mine. But, there’s a Roger Webster on hand. He’s got one in his garage, so before the engines have even cooled, with a Comer still in his pyjamas, we’re in the Kutuka pit bus and en route to Waltham for a hectic cross-country trip after a dancing Range Rover. It’s listed as over 1 ½ hours each way, we spent 30 min in his garage, yet we were back within 3 hours total, as an increasingly-peckish David issued instructions regarding the lighting of barbeques and the speedometer needle crept ever further round the dial. For the record, he didn’t break any speed limits, ever. And Roger has the largest, greenest car in his garage that the world has ever seen. It just goes on and on, much like this story.

Morning brought rain. Lots of rain. An attack of masochistic enthusiasm saw me up and about early, crawling about changing Comer’s pads, both ends, in the downpour, with a brolly that blew itself to pieces in seconds. I was moved to demand of the world why we do this. An unexpected, disembodied voice from afar called back in response. “It’s shit innit?” If this was the voice of God, he’s from somewhere south of Watford.

A break in the rain, and Helen was swiftly fixed. Reflection on yesterday suggests that, actually, Comer had a good race. He was 11^thoverall, which was 5^th in the pre-93s. That’s pretty good. I know they’re a little light on Cossies and M3s this week, but it’s still 11^th from 32. He beat both me and Dave Howard, who had pulled in when his new superlight bonnet started flapping. As Bear noted with a smirk, lead Jaguar here yesterday was Philip Comer.

That means I’m starting alongside that mighty XJ12, at the back of the grid, on live TV. We discuss a plan of attack, in agreement that what we want to achieve here is a Jaguar win. We don’t mind which Jaguar for the first ten minutes, we’ll co-operate and then fight it out at the end. Works in theory. To win this, we need to be able to see Primett’s Escort in p4 by lap 5. The 32 cars are now only 26, gremlins and Saturday-only entrants missing, so 22 cars to pass in 5 laps. Bravely, I again declared that I was aiming for a podium. Well, why not? It worked last time. Howard and my own long-suffering Kutukans absorbed this declaration with the weary, resigned eye-rolling you might expect.

Rain continued to sporadically fall. A Britcar Morgan destroyed itself on Wellington straight, the roll cage chopped to extract the pilot. An MX5 in the race preceding ours took out the Armco on the pit straight, and the air ambulance again made its sombre thumping appearance. We made a late call on the tyres, sudden rain sending us scurrying for R1Rs. Either a good move or not, who knows, but as we made the call, so did yesterday’s winner, West. I timed our swap at just under 3 minutes, very slick indeed. Only 60 times slower than a poor Formula 1 stop

To assembly, and an eternal wait as they swept up the Mazda wreckage. Time to think. Hope the car is now fixed. Consider that, in the last 3 meetings with this series, I have had a race in which I’ve started last at every single meeting. I must now hold some sort of record for cars overtaken. How does this plan to work with the XJ12 actually function? No plan survives contact with the enemy.

Rain came, and went. The track dried, then moistened, and we chewed fingernails. Eventually, out we roll, a wet track, but no rain at present, and the realisation that you can barely see the boards from back here. Trailing brakes on the green flag lap to get some heat in, and the moment of truth arrives. See if my bravado has any substance. Lights out.

Into Becketts in pursuit of more victims, and round goes Primett. That was easy then. Rare to see Primo spin, I wasn’t sure that was possible, maybe he is human and not some sort of robot sent back from the future to overtake me with old Escorts. I wonder who is now leading then? I have no idea. I haven’t kept count, I could be ninth or nineteenth. The spinning Escort takes my next target, a Capri, wide to avoid him, and as the engine drags me up to my next victim, it’s Philip.

I know he started 10^th, but he could have gone backwards, so this could be any position from 5^th to 15^th. Understandably, he was a little surprised to see me, though a distant corner of my brain noted that, save for a small wiggle, he was pretty neat and tidy. My car advantage, and let’s be fair, it’s a massive car advantage, allowed me to consider going all the way round him, but instead set up for the cutback, and ease back inside to steal his position through Woodcote as we end lap 2, and by the exit of Copse he’s lost in the spray. Modified vs roadgoing type cars is no contest in any conditions. Still no idea where I am in the race.

I had half a plan. It worked. On the drier side of the road I out-launched Howard, drove between the two ahead, then cut right to go down the pit wall to nick the inside at Copse. I’d go outside, but I reasoned they’d be sliding wide. Slither, power on, pop a couple more, into Becketts with the rears trying to lock and succeeding. Gather it up, dodge the two spinners, ease on the power and pop three or four more down Wellington, outbrake the Firenza and hassle the Escort. Very close to him, I thought we touched but not quite, up his inside to sneak by, 12 cars passed on lap 1. I didn’t know that at the time. I knew it had gone alright, but not as well as it had.

Can’t see Howard in the mirror, but to be fair this is the first time I’ve even looked. I know I dropped lucky with traffic, hard to follow that really. So far this is simply keeping it neat and using the power with Bear’s clever diff to get the drive out of the corners. The front is certainly not so happy, but it’s working.

Can’t pass this guy, who turns out to be that 74-year old chap having his first ever race weekend, and he’s not taking chances, slows and tries to get out of the way, but we’re under yellows so I have to wait. My gap to the Capri is eroded, and I have to have another go at it. Gently does this, more rain has arrived and my front end is not happy, any heat I did have has gone.

The yellows are in, but a couple of laps later I can see that XJ12 across the gravel at Becketts again. Having had another attack of trying to slide straight on there myself I have some sympathy. Another little ball of spray coming off the grass is young Sheraton’s BMW. He’s usually a mid-pack runner, so I’m probably about tenth or so. Reeled him in down Wellington, but elected not to bomb him into the complex, get him down the pit straight. Except he just buggered off. That wasn’t in the script, where’s he getting that grip from?

Helen’s proving more difficult to handle than usual, but she is lighter and more powerful than my last moist madness, and a bit stiffer, we only swapped the tyres, didn’t touch a single damper. I should be able to hang with a small BMW though, surely? We both close on more little balls of white spray, which turn into backmarkers, and the last lap board pops out.

Reasoning that this is as good as it’s going to get, a brief debate about whether to lap some of these or not. Well, yes. Wide eyes watch the Alfa not agree with this and get a bit close at Copse, but we’re alive, and it was then tiptoes and horsepower to the flag in a very careful last lap, my sense of relief at not messing this up obvious even to me.

Until we came into the pitlane and they pointed me to pull in behind West to gurn into a TV camera, I didn’t know we’d just won that. The Motors TV man is happy, we gave him a show to film, he says, and he’s Chesire Catlike. The tomatoish Escort that came 3^rd pulls up, certain that he won it. I think I passed him on lap 4, but what do I know, I didn’t know I’d won, so my judgement is suspect. There is a brief moment whilst they check, but it’s right. They dress me like a grand national winner, hand out unexpectedly high-quality tinware, and booze. First win in the pre-83s, my first series win since 2009, indeed first race win since we became a modified-type car.

24^th to 4^th overall. That Sheraton BMW I “let go” would have given me the podium I claimed I was having. No way on earth I would have actually held him though, he spanked me good and proper, the spin I caught him recovering from was an attempt for the race win. Good man.

Back to base, and there are smiles. That effort, the prep, the testing, the dash for spares, the last second kneeling in the rain swapping rubber, all forgiven in the moment of reward. David Bailey is chasing the car about taking pictures, even the Bear looks in danger of beaming. When they’ve been to such effort, you have to deliver. Timesheets say we were 2 seconds per lap faster than the next best, and won by 25. Helen’s wet weather edge may be dulled, but it’s not blunt. I will not claim that there was any great skill involved, that was all in the machinery. Good tyres, a great engine, good rear grip, it made for a simple point and squirt car, all I had to do was not crash it, the work was done before we turned a wheel.

And for that, gentle listener, you can look to the boys that help build and develop her. Thanks to the Bear, David, a distant Dermott, and their wealth of cumulative knowledge all I have to do is steer. Victory being credited to a team has rarely been more appropriate.

Closed and killed a wide-bodied Escort, looks a bit like a tomato. Never seen the car before, but I think he’s one of ours. Ahead, the green and white Capri of Strong. He ought to be high up, finished 6^thyesterday, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone immediately ahead, and if Primett’s astern, this should be for a podium place in the 83s. Hunting him into Becketts and Helen will not stop. There is a long lockup, and a slide, and a slither, and some crying, but eventually she obeys and slows and turns right. That’s not just water, that’s properly slippery, and it’s on one specific line.

Closed the gap over the lap, a better exit puts me on his tail, but there’s good power in that car, it’s the top of the straight before high end power pulls the Capri in, but a half-hearted look to outbrake him actually works, and that’s another one down.

Now, I still don’t know where I am, the big lit-up gantry you can look at to tell you the answer didn’t seem to be working, the only solution is to keep on pushing on, and a small ball of spray in the distance marks another customer. Chased him, lost the Capri, and caught up, but there are yellows as I do so, Howard’s XJ12 in the gravel at Becketts. Oops. I said it was slippery here.

Helen gets wet.

2 intact, finished cars, ready to roll. This only happens once a year. And it's not usually these two.

Lining up for qualifying on this diverse grid meant the usual plan. Be there first.

The car in the mirror costs 20 times more. Probably not made in a shed.

Not trail-braking, honestly. Quali was busy, the bloke behind put his lights on. Would never have occurred to me otherwise!

Green flag lap. p2 in the Capri does his warming up of the car very differently to me. I desperately need front brake heat.

Minimum ground clearance regs present no problems! The ignition, however, did.

How come he's allowed flames and I'm not?

Careful spotters will see two XJS peeking out of the lineup for race 2. Yes, the blue one is last.

I'm not saying it was wet, but this was only the green flag lap.

And back down to third. It was good while it lasted.

End of lap 1. and it's starting to dry out. No, really. Happily, it then rained again.

Fruit, vegetable, or Escort? This was for 2nd place. I didn't know that.

A little oversteer, to entertain. Some of this stuff you don't even notice happening.

No, waiter, I ordered a Korma. The two XJS built in my shed meet for the first time, late in lap 2.

This marked the 12th victim of the opening lap. A fact I had absolutely no way of knowing.

A little power oversteer to keep the driver's attention.

Moving pictures that more or less reflect the text.

My last lap was so careful you could have made a cuppa. But I had no biscuits, so no point.

Stealing the lead. I know we say the XJS is a big car, but the Capri isn't much smaller. The Jag is merely very dense.

A big car in a hurry leaves a trail like a powerboat. I think the low boot floor on the XJS exacerbates it, for what that's worth.

A good day at the office, they gave me a cup and a dead plant .