KEY POINTS:
Wait... wait ... wait ...
Tunnel vision sets in as you concentrate on the lights. A muscle twitch develops from holding the clutch in. You're vaguely aware of the other racers, and hope no one stalls in front of you.
BANG.
You drop the clutch. Maybe a little
too quick. The revs drop, and there's a slight hesitation and then everything happens at once. You launch down the track with everyone else in a cacophony of noise, smoke and burned oil. Twenty-plus vehicles are now hurtling full tilt down the track, all trying to fit through the same corner at the same time. You're aware of people trying to get up the inside, go around the outside, as you try not to ram the guy in front and plan on how to gain a couple of places.
You make a snap decision to go around the outside, mindful of the slight negative camber, control the resulting drift, miss clipping the front of the guy you've passed, avoid running wide and ending up on the grass, straighten up and mash the throttle for the short burst into the esses. All the time your mind is leaping forward to the next corner and where your braking mark is.
Slam on the brakes, change down, wondering if someone is going to stuff it up the inside and how you're going to counter. Everything gets a bit twitchy as the tyres aren't at operating temperature yet, but you fight the understeer and pitch it into the corner. You get the apex a bit wrong and clip the kerb but no one gets past.
Your set-up for the right-hander on to the back straight is good, and as you start to think about the drag down the back straight, you're suddenly heading for the in-field. You snap back to the present where you realise someone has clipped the back end. You start yelling obscenities while at the same time wrenching an opposite lock, easing off the gas slightly, and hoping you can get everything pointing back in the right direction.
Only a couple get past.
Down the back straight you risk a look behind and see the rest of the field charging after you. All with one thing in mind. To swallow you up and spit you out. Well, that ain't going to happen.
You know you've got good speed. Telegraph poles do look like picket fences at this speed, and all you're aware of is tarmac, rear ends, wheels, kerbs, grass and a blur of colour as you pass spectators.
Now for the hairpin, and here's hoping the tyres have heated up. The rear end is trying to overtake the front as you brake and hope a wheel doesn't lock up, pitching you straight ahead into the tyres.
Go in a bit late, slam it hard right and get on the gas as quickly as you can, climbing up through the gears as you head for the next two lefts. Barrel through here, straight lining the two lefts, and try to get the set-up right for the climbing right-hander up and over the hill.
Part of your mind focuses on the fastest line, while also hoping the set-up is right. There are tremendous loads at work on the approach to the climb, with the suspension almost bottomed out. As the chassis ties itself in knots, things get a bit light as you crest the hill. Hold it flat out towards the start/finish and hope you don't drift too wide into the Armco.
Down the front straight you're thinking of where you went wrong on the previous lap, where the guy in front is slower than you. Now the track is clearer, and the tyres are working, you set up for the fastest line into the right-hander at the end of the straight, making sure you don't leave the gate open for the guys behind. All the time the vehicle is shaking itself like a wet dog going over the bumps.
A work colleague of mine asked me if I was ever scared. I don't remember having time to worry about being scared.
* Eric Thompson has raced Superbikes at such famous circuits as Donnington, Bathurst - and Pukekohe.
