Guns buzzing under the canopy. The beaten, damaged but much loved car in all its glorified livery up on the jacks as the tapping and scrapping echoes out from underneath the cover of the temporary garage. Crowds filing by as the mechanics set to work, feet scurrying from one side of the car to the other, a pair of legs sticking out from underneath. The smell of the engine cooling down after an exhausting race, the bodywork clattered with pieces hanging down to show the wounds this beast endured during the battle.
Moving along the dirt tracks that swathe their way through the awnings the continuing sound of buzzing, hammering, tapping and drilling eminating from every direction. Drivers stand in thought, some gazing at their magnificent chariots ahead of the next challenge, others relax in their hospitality zone whilst a few stand outside the canopy meeting the fans who file by.
Walking down the slope to the main drive into the area where the scrutineers stand, eyes concentrating with clipboards in hand. Orange clad marshals trying so hard to keep the feverish crowds at bay as the next batch of grunting machines slowly make their way towards the circuit. Inside the drivers stare forward, not making any eye contact with the fans who walk by so close you could rub the body of the car.
Six cars, six pulsating beasts, line up on the grid their zipping, popping, grunting flame exhaling bodies tense and ready to race. The time has come.
The starter skips off the grid. Engines rev. Hearts beat. Eyes stare. Senses rise.
Off they go, dust spinning up from the track, tyres spinning to gain traction the smell of rubber floats off to the packed side stand and fills the nostrils of every fan gazing out towards the battle which unfolds into the first turn.
The exhilarating spectacle shifts and moves from lap to lap, from joker to joker after every turn and every pass, each bump until eventually there will be one joyous victor who has managed to stave off the challenge from the other gladiators.
Some of these beautiful beasts will have to be coaxed back to the awnings, others limp home....a few will need some loving assistance, broken. For now.
This is the sense of rallycross. This is what makes fans and drivers come alive.