Baptism of Fire and Ice
Sweden 30/01/2003 21:26:44
When a former editor of Loaded joined the editorial crew of rallyXS magazine, they couldn't resist. Last year, they threw him in at the deep end - dressed in thermals, extra socks, fleeces and headgear so he would live to tell the tale. Yes, they packed him off to a bitterly cold, ultra-fast Sweden. By Derek Harbison...
Let's get one thing straight: I know nothing about rallying. The last time I went to a rally it was to get a day off college and protest against government policy. Twenty years later, rallying has changed. Everyone's got a car, for one thing, and they don't seem to protest against anything - except the laws of physics and common sense.
Such is my level of ignorance that the nice chaps at rallyXS decided I should stop annoying them around the office and see what all this World Rally Championship stuff is about. So I'm in Sweden, home of Sven-Goran Eriksson, Abba, Volvos and 1970s hardcore pornography. Oh, and safe driving.
Karlstad, home of the Uddeholm Swedish Rally, is west of Stockholm - but it feels as if it's at the epicentre of the Arctic Circle. I keep expecting to see a polar bear sneak through the hotel lobby. It's proper winter here, of the kind you hardly ever get in England, and never in London. The snow is a couple of feet deep, there's a large minus in front of the temperature and we're getting ready to watch apparently sane men drive on hard ice and snow roads at 100mph plus.
In Britain, if one person sees a snowflake on the Isle of Bute the whole transport system slides to a halt. Here in Sweden, they don't get going until they're up to their armpits in the stuff. Of course, if I tried to drive here I would slide off the road into a ditch even earlier than usual, but the locals have proper snow tyres with metal studs for extra grip.
The WRCs go several steps better, sporting the kind of rubber and spiky metal arrangements that I've only ever seen in, er, specialist magazines.
As soon as they start to move it is quite obvious why. Cars are not supposed to do this. John McIlroy, rallyXS writer, says he recently described this rally as a fantastic optical illusion: it looks completely insane and yet is one of the fastest rallies of the year. I take his word for it, but I still think they're nuts.
Before we see any real action it's off to the Mitsubishi press conference, a very civilised and informal affair with nibbles and booze, and I can check out quite how insane these people are. A chat with Alister McRae reveals that he has a bad cold.
He talks with the calm manner of someone about to go down to Tesco to get the shopping, rather than slide around at top speed along miles of what anyone else would call the worst road conditions in the world.
Lovely guy, Alister, but I can't help noticing that the racing suits look like they're made of the same material used for straitjackets.
I hook up with the guys from McKlein, the world's top rally photographers, to get the best view of the action. If anyone knows where to go and how to get there, it's them. It hadn't occurred to me that, unlike track racing, you can't just turn up and watch for the day.
You have to turn up at a point on a stage, watch the cars go by, leg it back to your car and drive to another stage (while avoiding all the other traffic) to get there in time for the cars again. We'll probably do more miles than the rally cars this weekend. However, when we get to the first stage of the day the drive proves worth it.
Luckily, I had been advised to stock up on proper clothing for the event: waterproof trousers, a good hat, gloves, fleece, extra socks, boots, jumpers, jacket etc. I look like the Michelin Man. Perhaps I'll meet a Pirelli girl and we can swap rubber stories. My wife bought me a pair of thermals that were described on the pack as "anti-bacterial", and I'm glad to be wearing them when the first car goes past.
I'm with Bob McCaffrey and Reinhard Klein from McKlein, so I can sneak into the photographers' area. There are other sports that involve a ton of metal moving at stupid speeds, but only rallying lets people get incredibly close to said metal. Photographers get closer still.
As Richard Burns' Peugeot slides around the corner it comes within inches of us, showering everyone with snow and ice. Half of me is totally exhilarated; the other half is wondering if my apparently impending death will cause an unseemly fight over my CD collection.
However, all thoughts of rewriting my will are put on hold as the same thing happens again and again and again. More stages, more snow, more drivers tearing around a surface I can't even stand up on and coming so close I can smell their brake dust. After a while, I want to jump in and take part myself. Maybe I can buy a suitable car back in town, on expenses?
Actually, I probably could - if only the expense account would wear it. The service area in the small town of Hagfors is full of this sort of stuff: stacks of tyres, car chassis, clothing - and mechanics who can build a full-spec WRC from scratch in what looks like 20 seconds. Luckily, there is another, less costly, option. I find a PlayStation 2 tent, and for half an hour I am a Norse Ice God, invulnerable to the huge crashes I appear to be having every few seconds.
Now drinking and driving is bad, but driving and then drinking seems to be OK. And drinking while watching professionals driving would appear to be the law here. Everyone has a hip flask, cans of beer, bottles of vodka and God knows what else.
At every stage, groups of people gather around campfires, drinking vast quantities and burning enormous sausages. In the evening fires dot the darkness, and the party really gets going when the cars rocket by, a riot of headlights and explosive gear changes.
Everyone gets a cheer, though at the speed they're going in the darkness it's almost impossible to tell who's who. I figure it's rude not to join in and hook up with some fans at a bar made out of two huge tepees. Ari and Tomas are serving cold beer and hot moose. They've come 200 miles for the day, and they want Tommi Makinen to win.
Come to think of it, everyone I meet is cheering on Tommi. Even I know he's out of it, that Marcus Gronholm is running away with the rally. What the hell. This is a purely social occasion, and they've been in the bar all day - or possibly all weekend.
In this sport, the fans truly have a good time. You don't get rally hooligans - Swedes are just too polite for that - and if their favourite doesn't even finish, let alone win, it doesn't matter. It's total enjoyment. They've had a great time, eaten an entire herd of cattle, got spectacularly drunk and fallen over in the snow while watching some of the best drivers in the world doing the sort of thing that would get you and I locked up. What could be better?
Well, I still don't know much about rallying, but I know I want to come again.
© Copyright wrc.com
Buy on AliExpress.com
