For the most part of a young petrol head’s ascendance into adulthood, it is the ever-daunting prospect of increasing responsibility that make the elusive dream of driving one’s car on a track an unimaginable feat. Sure, the process of booking onto a track day in your own car and driving it is both accessible and easy to do, but the caveats of actually going through with such an endeavour can have costly repercussions.
The immediate question we must ask ourselves is also the most doubt-ensuing question of them all. What if I bin it? Now if you are like me, and you most probably are, you own one car that you use for everything. You might also be lucky enough like me to own a low-sprung, rear-wheel-drive, sports car that is ample ready to be taken on a track. Now there is the connotation that just because it can, doesn’t mean it should, and to be fair, it’s quite accurate.
My car is omnipotent in my life, it’s reliability governs how I live.
As previously covered, my car is in no doubt a worthy adversary for any testing circuit. Even at stock, the Toyota GT86 is hailed as a pure, driver’s car, equipped with uncompromising chassis configuration that provides instantaneous involvement in any aspect of driving. It is a raw, yet sophisticated, machine that really lets you feel like you are driving, as opposed to playing passenger to some autonomous, auto-braking, lane detecting, sports-barge. Now before I rattle on further about my car, turning this piece into some sort of hands-on review, I must address the conflicts I had in my mind about the impending torment I could beckon on my life.
My car is omnipotent in my life, it’s reliability governs how I live. If my car is running smoothly, so is my life, if it isn’t- you get the point. So, when you think about thrashing something you depend on so significantly around a race track, complete with a medley of other cars and Armco barriers, you can clearly see where head kicks in over heart.
Don’t get me wrong, I was scared, and I am more than happy to admit it. My pride and joy could be involved in a multitude of issues, with a guaranteed 99% of them being caused by driver error. I knew my car would be faultless around a track of any description, but I knew it was me that wouldn’t be. So, after much personal warfare, I conned my brain into sending the email off that would add my name and car to the fabled driver list. I took the plunge into the unknown; a world of slick tyres, high octane fuel, and of course, higher-level driving.
I started to feel unbelievably out of my depth, especially with the McLaren almost staring at my car in the corner of it its keen eyes as if it was some sort of prey
With this being a Lotus members club track day, of which I was a guest, I knew there was going to be a plethora of Loti (Lotus plural?) on exhibition. Without surprise, I was correct. Exige after Elise after Evora lined the car park by the track, to the point where I was almost intimidated. The cute, bug-eyed cars are normally playful in appearance, with their distinct design of a smiling grille and innocent looking eyes (especially prominent in the Elise S1), but when in a swarm, they are anything but cute.
Alongside the cars were their proud owners/carers/punishers, whom seemed to assess every car that rolled through the barrier and up to the noise test. It was almost certain that they were shocked by my sheer audacity to show up at the very home of Lotus in anything other than a direct descendant of Colin Chapman’s grand philosophy. I wonder if they thought the same of the McLaren 675LT I coincidentally parked next to.
For me, McLaren is close to, if not the holy grail of British Motorsport. In terms of technological prowess, they are the artisans of some of the finest cars to have ever competed in formula one. So, to see one at a track was certainly special. Black in colour, it was sat ever-poised and ready, almost understated in a way. It’s keeper, Richard, was prepping the tow hooks, something I also decided would be a good idea to do. I started to feel unbelievably out of my depth, especially with the McLaren almost staring at my car in the corner of it its keen eyes as if it was some sort of prey, to a point It actually looked like my car was scared. The bottom line was more so that this psychological manifestation of fear was more akin to my latest concern of crashing into a quarter-of-a-million-pound super car.
It wasn't to late to go home.
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