What a way to get a facelift
Chris Ravenhall
The headset crackled and Mike asked, 'All right?' I tried to nod assent but the curved headrest, the five seat belts and the close fitting helmet restricted much movement. Raising a leather-gloved hand, I waved and said 'Yes, fine.' My voice sounded strangely high pitched through the microphone and my smile was closer to a grimace than a grin.
'They've fixed the brakes now so I'll be able to open her up this time round.' 'Grand' I managed to squeak.
It wasn't that I lacked confidence in his ability; he'd been doing this for years and had won lots of championships. But, I'm used to driving myself around in a 1.2 Clio and there I was in the navigator's seat of a 2 litre, four wheel drive, Mitsubishi Evo 6 rally car. Motorways, traffic jams, even the North Circular road round London are no problem for me but a rough forest track in a remote part of Scotland was unfamiliar territory.
'Do I need to do anything?' I asked. 'Read a map? Give directions? Navigate or something?' 'No, you're fine. I know where we're going. Anyway I thought women weren't supposed to be able to read maps.' 'Well this one does' I replied and, laughing, I added, 'Oh, and by the way, real men aren't supposed to eat quiche and I just saw what you ate for lunch!' 'Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Relax.' Relax!?! I wondered if anyone had my daughter's phone number, in case they had to let her know I was in hospital following a crash in a rally car. Suppressing a chuckle, I imagined my son in law's exasperated sigh and his raised eyebrows, no doubt accompanied by a shake of the head and a comment that 'your mother's over 60, when's she going to start acting her age?' I hoped that someone would remember to feed my cat.
'We're next at the line. The marshal will count us off.' Although someone had helped me clamber over the roll cage into the car and had strapped me in tightly, no one had explained how to unlock the complicated array of seat belts. As Mike began to rev the engine I decided it was too late now to ask for a demonstration. The stifling air inside the car reeked of hot engine oil and I began to feel nauseous.
'Three, two, one;' the marshal's hand disappeared from the windscreen. The engine snarled and with a clatter of stones and gravel on the bottom of the car we hurtled off down the track.
My stomach somersaulted. A blur of pine trees, grass and rocks passed the window. I clutched the sides of the seat as the car bounced along ruts and careered round bends on two wheels, flinging up a cloud of dust and pebbles in its wake.
'There's a nice fast straight bit coming up' Mike said, as he wrestled with the steering wheel and changed up and down gears rapidly. 'There are a few yumps too.' The 'yumps', I discovered, were like hump backed bridges and for a few moments as we crested them we were flying, before landing with a bone-rattling crump in the dip on the other side. Glancing at the speedometer, I realised we were touching 125 mph along the straight and my helmeted head was forced back against the seat. Perhaps it's 'G' force and will smooth out my wrinkles, I thought. What a way to get a face lift! I let go of the sides of the seat and began to laugh.
'OK?' Mike asked.
'Brilliant!' I replied, giving him the thumbs up.
I couldn't wipe the smile from my face for three days afterwards.
