Campbell Cassidy's blog

So like the flaky crust round a well formed pork pie our novice tale comes full circle back to edge of winter on the Norfolk broads. It?s been a fascinating summer of up downs and far too many all-arounds. I?ve met a whole cast of the weird, the wonderful and the downright holy, with just enough evil characters to keep the plotlines driven. Seriously though it?s statistically unlikely that with 65 separate drivers over the course of a 14 race calendar that you?d find so few cads and rotters. Says a lot about the formula and a lot about the Seven Fifty Motor Club (www.750mc.co.uk) who are in their 70th year this year and long may it continue. I?ve learned almost nothing about the oily, smelly bit at the front, other than Tony?s yer man. I?ve also learnt that practice does not make perfect it only makes permanent.

The seven point haul at Oulton left me with a slender 3 point lead in the highest placed novice competition over Max in the Pro-comp 91 car and coming into the final championship round of the season at Snet. I needed a good result to ensure my place. Friday testing was a glorious affair, a lovely late summer?s day in Norfolk and I was surprised that only the TMC guys (and Sian) showed up. Eager to get as much track time as possible but hampered by my own disorganisation in booking so late that only morning testing was available, it was only through a fine balance of cold hard cash and a willingness to prostrate myself on Dr Jonathan Palmer?s red carpet that got me the afternoon session as well.

Last time we were here my qualifying time was a geriatric 1:33.9 and the first session was starting to look good as my laptimes tumbled toward the 1:30.00 mark that was my goal. The noble little 74 car puts out a solid 90hp however today there was a true beast sharing the track with both a giant Mosler and a variety of other very quick and very large cars. Perhaps this was the inspiration as towards the end of the day I managed to sneak a 1:28.8, some 5 seconds faster than I could manage at the start of the season. Thanks for this should got to Matt at TMC and Mr Laconic himself (www.seanedwards.eu) . I was naturally cock-a-hoop at this however my calvanist genes prevented any distasteful continental style jubilation.

Sunday was race day and from high point of a decent low lap time on Friday it was easy to get nervous in the manic 10min qualifying. I was ready to radio back to the pits and call for the ?F**k?s Sake? board to be shown as rather than a bit of co-operation on putting down a decent lap, the natural untamed aggression of the average Locsost driver left us racing and it was not till I had a bit of breathing room in the dying minutes that I managed to secure 12th on the grid, pretty much equalling the best performance to date but still a good few tenths of my best in testing. Never mind though Max appeared to be having problems with an overheating car and he only managed a few laps and a grid slot well beneath him.

The low sun over the Norfolk countryside lent a dramatic cast to the final round. A season full of terrible starts would not get turned around here, as the mad dash to the 1st corner had me down a few places and by the back straight I had dropped to 15th with max 7 places back. By lap two I was out of the points in19th with Max making ground in 22nd. A spin, I think by Max on the third lap put him at the back of the field whilst I started a bit of go forward, passing David Morrow on lap 4 and then another five cars on the next lap up into 13th . I watched Tim Cheney spear off at Sear, shortly followed by an explosion of titanium, carbon fibre and other pricey parts as there was a coming together of cars. This was the last locost I saw in my rear view. Victoria Pickles was a few seconds up the road from me but she drove a faultless five laps to finish in 11th two seconds in front. I ended up where I started in 12th. Max DNFed and the championship was over for this season. I came in was 26th overall in the championship (out of 66 starters), highest placed novice for 2009 with my best results being 2 x 12th places and thankfully no longer a novice. C

Getting out Jetsetted by LA Rob, Points!!! and Slightly Aggrieved (not Mad) Max.
It is still not clear to me why I had to go to Houston for a fortnight but I did and in order to get back in time for Oulton this involved an overnight flight into Hellrow, a mad dash into Camden to change bags and up on the train to Crewe, arriving somewhat smelly, straight into the, by now very many blues, 74 car and out into the Chesire parklands to try and learn the Oulton layout. At the head of the championship folks were pounding out laps some 2-3 secs below the lap record and now with a few miles under my generous belt my times were also coming down with every lap.

Matt?s dreams of a maiden championship were left behind in the barriers at Silverstone but I had recently been informed that my consistently sluggish races to date had put me in the frame for the other end of season gong, Highest Place Novice. Being an engineer and therefore not to be trusted with numbers and complicated stuff like adding up. I took it on trust and this trust was rewarded when my nemesis in the 91 car showed up round the truck with much gentlemanly pre-race expressions of good luck and may the best man win and all that. Being largely concerned about not getting in people?s way up to now this development rather set me back a bit, could it be possible that after all of the tail-out stupidity to date that there might be a prize on offer? My previous sang froid was now boiling with anticipation and I?m now profoundly worried that we had not, as yet, had to fix anything on the car.

Qualifying
It?s a long lap at Oulton in a Locost, 2m 08sec was the lap record, and even at that pace you don?t get many in a 13min session. I still hadn?t put in a decent turn when the red flag came out and with 5mins left on the session upon restart it would need to be two quick ones, well for me anyway, and an out lap to get anywhere. At the same time Max was tearing it up in the front group, head down and couple of brave pills at Island and I got a 17th and a 20th out of my laps. Not too shabby.

Oulton Park Race 1
With the points starting at 16th and 17th on the grid, there was a reasonable chance of points today. Typically the ninth row of the grid was a long way from flat and again my start left a lot to be desired: and even that?s only if you are in the vanishing small (but tasteful) minority that considers me to be desirable, as that?s exactly what was left on the start line, me, bugger.

Survival was foremost on mind in the first lap as Locosts battle commenced with cars spearing each other into the scenery. LA Rob had flown in especially for this race and rather bravely, a couple of All Comers later in the afternoon, and with four races on his dance card today I could feel the pain radiating off the remains of the 47 car, laid up in bits by the barrier on the first lap.

By lap two I was up to 15th and gathering (or rather maintaining) momentum however a spinning Welshman in the 41car forced me onto to grass at Knickerbock and I fell back down to 18th but a few more retirees, spinners and one instance of two locosts mating like dogs in the street, which I was sure would bring out the red flag had me back up to 15th for laps 5&6. Reeling in the yellow peril of the 93 car was relatively straightforward but passing the erratic machine might be more challenging however with a final brave pill I managed to keep the gas pedal firm to the floor round Island and a wee chink in the door became a mile wide and I was easily through in one piece and into 12th on the final lap. Best result ever, beating my pie loving teenage nemesis down into 15th.

Oulton Park Race 2
With five empty slots on the gird from the carnage of the previous race my 20th was actually 15th and already in the points however the customary poor start left me in 23rd after the first lap and despite having a better drive than the first race the places would not come however my principal competitor for the novice class in the 91 car was visible up the road and although I couldn?t seem to make up place in the overall, Max was coming back to me at a rate of a car or two, each lap. By the final couple of laps I was right behind him, drafting him closer than I had ever attempted, or even considered prudent, beforehand. Going up the hill to druids I had a good tow and moving the 74 car into the clear air I expected to pass him comfortably before the corner however once in the clean air my progress was negative and I seemed to be going backwards. With laps rapidly running out I stuck the 74 car up the inside at Druids, forcing Max wide and I managed to hold onto the minor tank slapper that resulted from the quasi desperate lunge. I planted the throttle however there was clearly something amiss in the oily bit in front of me as the previously gutsy little motor fell off a cliff in puff of white engine smoke. I tried to trundle round to collect a finish but the up hill run from druids was beyond the broken bottom end of my engine and I pulled over for my first DNF since Mallory. Maximus however was unable to full advantage of my despair finishing a creditable but pointless 17th Leaving the race for top rookie wide open going into the final round of the championship at Snetterton, watch this space?

I was fairly sure that the normally redoubtable Mrs Wick had over catered the scones. There were a great deal of scones, there was practically a garage that could take two formula one cars and their assorted paraphernalia, full of scones, savouries and other delicacies. The shining marble floor that Maclaren at put in at some expense was by lunchtime swimming in clotted cream and everyone appeared to have a baby. The TMC truck, never especially fragrant at the best of times, was now being used for nappy changing and it was nearly impossible to find somewhere to smoke without withering under the death ray of the maternal evil eye, whilst their charming offspring played peek-a-boo behind the drums of bioethanol.

After some satisfactory testing in mixed conditions (wet and very wet) it was looking good for qually but on the day I just simply couldn?t put a lap together, being belligerent and Scottish I refused to follow the crowd and ended up 30th more or less last on the grid and for the first time being unable to replicate testing in qualifying, bugger.

The TMC jamboree was joined by the WAGS and WAGS in law but also the stout, well one of them anyway, men of Track and Racecar Magazine. An entertaining duel between the features editor and the editor in chief had been arranged, with LA Rob out in California the 47 car (not be confused with the even bluer now 74 car ? a cider related event in Wilsthire I suspect) was being piloted by the Editor in Chief and Brian ?Catering rUS? Mitcham?s gentlemen?s racer in the responsible hands of Features Editor. Sad to say that there was no Bjorg-McEnroe style sporting Bannockburn as the sprightly EiC ran off with the plaudits and put the 47 car on the podium in his first race. You can read their views on the matter here?.

Being the 10th birthday of Mr Champion?s formula, a parade lap of Silverstone had been organised, as we dawdled onto the famous circuit my car seemed to give up the ghost in a spluttery, sort of, I?ve run out of petrol kind of way. I didn?t even make it round to the start line despite my best efforts at propelling the car forward using nothing but invective and deep understanding of swearing. The long suffering marshals pushed me back to the pits where they availed themselves of scones and angel cakes, whilst I sought out, Cinderella style, an arse that would fit my foot. Naturally enough my total incompetence with the messy oily bit at the front of the car led me to castigate the innocent and it was indeed a proper bit of fortune as there was plenty of go juice in the car but the fuel pump had died a death. Missing the parade lap was a tiny price to pay for being able to swap out the pump prior to the race. Tony works in mysterious ways.

Thoroughly annoyed at my lack of pace in qualifying and relieved to have fuel pumping car, I employed an ancient scottish combat yoga routine that involved smoking half a pack of cowboy killers and then laying upside down on Victoria Pickles ramps till all the blood rushed to my head and then immediately getting strapped into the cockpit.

Finally a decent start with a few scalps on the grid and in the heat of battle my serene yoga and fags combo was paying off. My late breaking routine, which was just rubbish in qualifying, was actually pretty useful in the race and ever more heroic lunges up the inside was gaining me places. Matt was parked at the side of the track, his championship hopes more or less gone with this DNF. It?s a long way from 30th to the start of the points but with some attrition (sorry Matt) and a few passes I was nearly there. Since starting in Locost with some very nervous and shaky driving this was first time I really felt confident behind the wheel and getting out at the finish with a couple of real racers behind me was a feeling of satisfaction that a man of my age usually has to pay heavily for. I joined the features editor for a parc ferme fag and a review of the racing, I?ll bet we looked like a couple turf accountants that?s just seen favourite jockey appear over the fence before his mount?.

The very thought of sliding a locost round the trees at Cadwell in the rain is enough to drive a man to drink. It was to imposing, grey and threatening skies that I arrived at Cadwell on the Thursday night to be up and about for testing Friday. The whole crew were in attendance, including ?LA? Rob Palin and the Birmingham Three. Testing was a fairly perfunctory affair with a reasonable progression of falling laptimes, most of which fell short of being actually fast but were at least heading in the right direction. The most entertaining affair of the day was trying to fit LA Rob?s erection (a very SanFran gayzebo thingy) in the space between the trucks and as for its ultimate usage I personally found it very difficult to swallow.

All looking good for race day and on the way to noise testing there was distinct lack of thrust and being pushed out of noise testing was not the most glorious of starts for the weekend. Tony had the problem narrowed down to the diff in seconds but after hauling the offending piece out of the car we discovered that we had found another new way to break a supposedly unbreakable thing. Thankfully the TMC truck yielded a spare, however it was not the preferred 3:9 but a distinctly un-preferred 4:1 differential which was going to make climbing the Mountain, feel like climbing a mountain.

Qualifying and race 1 were sequential but oddly parallel disasters, a couple of laps in and the carbs started making a noise like a Dyson attached to an industrial sherry trifle, with the occasional bits of raspberry spluttering out the exhaust. Not good. The technical committee met over the engine of the 74 car, which was now starting to look a lot bluer than it did at the start of the season, when it was largely white. Parts of carburettor starting flying about and finally Tony (who else?) put his finger on the problem, an inverted jet that was doing the very opposite of carburetion and may have been more than a contributory factor the strange noises and the lack of progress.

Out on the track there was little I could do about the cars in front as the world turned to treacle on the uphill sections. Frustration got the better of me in the complex and I nearly put the bluing beauty of the 74 car into the very brown and sturdy trees. Passed by two other cars I took me the rest of the race to catch up and pass these two but given the circumstances it was probably a blessing just to get out and round for a finish.