Where there’s a will - or is there?

‘Motor Racing is Dangerous’ is a well-worn cliché – there are signs of warning at every circuit in the world. But it is also true that racing is safer now for all concerned than ever it has been in the past, and the future promises only for greater improvements in safety to be made.

When an incident occurs during a race of which drivers need to be made aware, flag signals are used. A waved yellow flag means “Danger, slow down, be prepared to stop. No overtaking” Of course, slowing down is not always the safest thing to do; and drivers’ preparedness to stop varies somewhat. At least the prohibition of overtaking is an absolute, describing something that can if necessary be penalised.

In the days when I first starting watching motor-racing, the only alternative to waved yellow flags was a red flag, which signified a race stoppage. And for a race to be stopped in the sixties or seventies, it had to be a pretty severe incident: a blocked track or a driver trapped in his car; that kind of thing.

When races were stopped, they would usually be re-started fairly quickly, and the result would be calculated ‘on aggregate’, by adding together the two parts of the race. This could be confusing and sometimes complicated, but at least it was fair to all concerned.

Some races were even planned as two-part events, with the aggregate result being used for deciding overall positions. Although there was no computer technology to help in those days, at least everyone was used to the procedure and it was not unusual for a driver scoring a couple of solid fourth places to end up on the overall podium, and no-one really complained.

This was the era, thirty years and more ago, when the motor-racing world was emerging from its deadliest phase; when cultural acceptance of risk was undergoing change and when litigation was starting to become the first resort of the victim. People with responsibility had to have contingency plans and were being held accountable. Causes had to be found for accidents and blame had to be apportioned.

At the same time, motor-racing was being televised: brought into living rooms the world over, and the schedule became the king. The TV magnates did not want to have to spend valuable satellite time if the race had been delayed by an hour or two. Weekend timeslots tended to be sacrosanct:  the football results at 5pm on a Saturday; Songs of Praise on a Sunday. Folk would complain in their thousands if their favourite was displaced by some late-running car race from somewhere.

The ‘casual’ spectator had to be attracted and retained; and making things ‘interesting’ often meant making them complex, and that limited the overall appeal. If the first car across the line wasn’t the winner, then who was? And why?

This was the context, then, in which Safety Cars (originally termed Pace Cars), were introduced to European racing in the early 1980’s. When there was a serious incident on the track, the race would not be stopped, it would merely be suspended, neutralised, and everyone would continue to circulate, but in a line behind the Pace Car until everything was ready, whereupon the green flag would be waved and racing would continue.

Nowadays, Safety Car Periods are common in virtually every branch of circuit racing, and many and various are the procedures to be followed in the name of fairness. This is particularly true with endurance races, where pit stops are an intrinsic part of the race, and very often cars are racing in different classes within the race. And while stopping a Grand Prix and restarting it over the remaining distance is a reasonable course of action, stopping and restarting a six, twelve or twenty-four hour race is dubious at best, as we experienced at the Nürburgring this year.

The nonsense of the Daytona 24 hours (in particular), in which no real racing happens until the final dash to the flag, makes a mockery (to my mind) of its claim to be an endurance race. A race of strategy, yes, and with great media appeal, no doubt. But a proper ‘endurance’ race? I’m not so sure.

There have been calls from various quarters in recent times for a rethink. Code-60, GPS speed monitoring, wave-by and drive-past procedures, use of several safety cars, separating the cars from different classes: these are all mechanisms to deal with the basic ‘unfairness’ that arises from bunching the cars up behind a Safety Car and then releasing them again.

My original intention with this article was to explore ways in which use of the Safety Car could be made unnecessary, but in preparing my case I have begun to wonder whether there is one. If we could rid ourselves of the Full Course Caution, would we actually do so?

Lack of driver discipline in reacting to yellow flag zones on the track has contributed to the propensity to use Safety Cars to ensure that racers slow down sufficiently to allow track officials to rescue drivers and move stricken cars from dangerous positions without compromising their own safety. Even if drivers showed yellow flags more respect, there is still the problem of barrier repair. I found it unacceptable that there ended up being not far short of five hours behind the Safety Car at Le Mans this year, mostly caused by the need to fix barriers. I’m not in a position to endorse the products of TecPro, SAFER or ProLink, but I wonder if Armco barriers are as misguided a solution as catch fencing was in the seventies?

But that is tangential to my topic. It merely explains why races without lengthy Safety Car periods are ever more rare. For me, part of the special attraction of endurance racing is because it runs - at least it should run - uninterrupted. It is meant to be a hard slog: a marathon without respite. I could easily run 26 miles and 385 yards if I stopped and rested every half-hour. (Actually, I probably couldn’t, but there’s no point letting facts get in the way of a good story.)

To my way of thinking, a full course caution is an artificial interruption and should be avoided at all costs. If a Safety Car is the only way, then for goodness' sake, its time on the track should be kept to an absolute minimum.

Predictability in any sport is not a good thing, though, especially in these days of short attention spans and TV remote control units. The possibility that a Safety Car intervention might be just around the corner provides a level of uncertainty for fans and race engineers alike. And taking the right decisions when a Safety Car does appear can cause the complexion of a race to change completely.

When the Audi ‘v’ Peugeot battle was at its height, Audi Race engineer Howden ‘H’ Haynes said to me: “The Safety Cars make it interesting. Without any Safety Car Periods, there’s nothing to do.” The trouble is that today’s endurance racers are so reliable that he’s probably right, especially working for Audi.

It’s just that this year’s playing field in the World Endurance Championship has been so level that, more often than not, the Safety Car periods have disrupted the races rather than enhanced them.

On the other hand, looking back at the six hours of São Paulo, Toyota’s strategy, when it realised that the Audi was faster, was to stay on the lead lap in the hope that a Safety Car period would occur, nullifying the Audi’s speed advantage, while still enabling it to take advantage of its better fuel consumption. In the end, of course, we were denied a really exciting race for the lead, but it means that even if Audi has the faster car, a win for Toyota in any of the remaining WEC races is certainly not out of the question.

It hurts the purist in me to admit it, but I don’t think that there is any point in trying to avoid Safety Car periods altogether. They are here to stay, no matter what. No matter what rules are imposed to close the pit lane entrance, to wave GT cars past or to always arrange for the leader to be immediately behind the Safety Car, it will always end up that the smart guys on the pit wall will exploit those rules, and someone, probably with justification, will feel aggrieved. Although everyone will tell you it’s on safety grounds, the fact is that it’s the best way to ensure that races remain unpredictable, that the slower car can still win, that the races are more likely to be entertaining and that the strategists still have something to work out! 

The Americans may have had it right all along - but for the sake of proper racing, it is vital that Safety Cars are used only as a last resort, and circuits must be organised so that ‘neutralised periods’ are as short as possible.

What do you think?

Sweating the Assets in São Paulo

I wrote earlier this week on dailysportscar.com about the World Endurance Championship race in Brazil, but I concentrated on the GTE-Pro class in that article, and I do not propose to repeat here what I have said there. Instead, I want to look a little more closely at the race for the overall lead in Brazil, which, let’s be fair, was less than enthralling.

There were really just two turning points, each of which accounted for one of the leading contenders, leaving just the no. 1 Audi R18 e-tron quattro of Marcel Fässler, André Lotterer and Benoît Tréluyer to take the win.

The first of these turning points happened after just 35 minutes as Stéphane Sarrazin found himself on the outside of Dominik Kraimhamer’s mishandling Lotus and the two of them skittered off into the barriers at the Senna ‘S’ at some speed, inflicting damage to both cars from which neither could continue.

There followed 58 minutes behind the Safety Car, while the cars were moved and the barriers were repaired. Ten minutes after the green flag was waved, the Safety Car was out again, as Toni Vilander’s fiery Ferrari was dealt with, but as we went green for the second time, there was the prospect of more than four hours’ racing to settle the dispute between the two Audis.

Initially, this was between André Lotterer and Tom Kristensen, in the no. 1 and no 2 cars respectively, and as they completed the green flag lap, following that second Safety Car period, Lotterer (making the most of the traffic) was ahead by 5.643 seconds. At this point, he had sufficient fuel aboard for one more lap than Kristensen, so already the odds were looking stacked against the 2013 Le Mans winners.

In fact, it was Lotterer who pitted first, by which time he had extended his lead to 10.457 seconds. Both he and Kristensen took on fuel only, and were in the pit lane for 54.845s and 54.839s respectively. Both Leena Gade and Kyle Wilson-Clarke had taken a risk by going for a double stint on the tyres, but the logic was sound, since 9 out of the 37 laps (8 out of 35 in Lotterer’s case) had been done behind the Safety Car, and in addition, the reduced pace enabled them (independently) to look to the end of the race and count backwards. Stints of 45 minutes, meant that, anytime from half-distance onward, the finish would be reachable in three more stops.

Marginally quicker, but using commensurately more fuel, it was Lotterer who again stopped first, just over three minutes before half-distance. Kristensen stayed out three laps longer, but was by this time 18.498s in arrears. The changeover to Duval was achieved three seconds more quickly than Lotterer’s handover to Tréluyer, but Benoît’s pace in no. 2 was quicker than that of his compatriot, and the margin crept up to over 20 seconds as the second turning point of the race occurred.

Tréluyer had already pitted and taken on fresh tyres as Duval, now leading the race, came in for the equivalent pit stop at the end of his 142^nd lap. Brad Kettler, operating the ‘stop’ board, saw four green lights, and sent the car on its way. Unknown to the team at the time, the right rear wheel had been misaligned, and although the nut torqued up perfectly, the wheel wobbled off as Loïc reached the pit exit. Bizarrely, it then bounced off the right hand guard rail and landed back on the rear deck of the R18. A slow lap back to the pits to have a new wheel fitted and two penalties then put the no. 1 car three laps down and the remaining two hours of the race became largely academic for the LMP1 cars.

As far as the championship is concerned, the no. 2 crew still holds the upper hand. Whether the Toyota has a role to play in stealing points from one or other of the Audis remains to be seen. In the first 25 laps of the race, Allan McNish, in the lead, averaged 1m 23.031s, compared to Marcel Fässler at 1m 23.308s, and Stéphane Sarrazin at 1m 23.580s.

What we don’t know is how long the Toyota would have been able to go between stops, and what its tyre situation was. I believe Toyota was planning 36 lap stints. That would have left it needing a splash of fuel to complete the final ten minutes of the race. But only a short Safety Car period would have bunched the field and, crucially, enabled it to complete the race on six stops.

The same pieces will be there for the next round, at the curiously-named 'Circuit of the Americas', in Austin, Texas. But how those pieces fit together could be very different. Expect the Audis to be doing 23 laps, the Toyotas 24 or 25. And hopefully, with all that space, there'll be no need for Safety Cars this time.

Classic Tracks, part 3 - Monaco

If Le Mans and Indianapolis are iconic race tracks, then so too, in the minds of the public at large, must be Monaco. It is hard to imagine a track more photographically recognisable, one that is instantly associated with the glamour of Formula 1, nor one that is more unlikely in the modern era.

Whether it’s the Lotuses of Stirling Moss in Rob Walker’s colours or Graham Hill in the Gold Leaf livery; Derek Daly’s Tyrrell flying at St. Devote, Ayrton Senna in the barrier at Portier or Michael Schumacher stopped at Rascasse: they are all images ingrained indelibly in the minds of motor sport enthusiasts the world over.

(As an aside, if you are one of those enthusiasts, close your eyes for a moment and try to imagine a 917, 962 or R18 superimposed on the streets of the Principality - no, it doesn’t work for me either!)

Anyway, back to my topic. I have witnessed two Grands Prix at Monte Carlo – the first in 1977 and the second in 1980.

In 1977 I was still at University, and Page & Moy was offering a return coach trip to Monaco that arrived on the morning of the Grand Prix and included a general admission ticket to the “Pelouses Rocher” spectator enclosure that overlooked the Rascasse and the swimming pool.

I decided it made sense to meet the coach at Dover, so I found a side street in which to park my car, and joined my fellow-enthusiasts – most of whom had travelled on the bus from Victoria Coach Station. We took the ferry to Calais, and began the long and arduous journey across France. Well, it was long, but for a passenger, not particularly arduous. I remember not really knowing where I was for the largest part of the journey, finding it hard to sleep, and half-heartedly listening to the FA Cup final on the radio (must have been long-wave).

We arrived at the circuit at around nine or ten in the morning, as I recall, and were given our admission tickets. On the way, I made the acquaintance of another chap who was bound for the same location (quite a few of my fellows had bought grandstand seats), and we browsed the souvenir stalls together.

As we approached the point at which the tickets were being collected, so the crowds intensified and there was something of a scrum to get in. But there was no turnstile, nor any kind of gate, just a loose row of ticket collectors. I reached forward to hand my ticket over to one, only to be barged out of the way by a group of Italians who were slightly, shall we say, more physical, than I. I found myself shoved in front of another of the ticket collectors, except that my ticket was already in the hand of the first ticket collector. Problem! Indicating to my buddy ahead of my and the chap who had collected my ticket over to the side, I shrugged my shoulders at him, and the force of the throng behind me carried me through and onto the Rock itself.

If there hadn’t been a Grand Prix going on, then it would have been a good place for a nice walk, with lovely views over the harbour. As it was, although the view was grand, there were plenty of people and not too much room. Losing touch with my erstwhile buddy, I shoved myself to a point where I could see the track over the shoulders of just two beanie-hatted Italians. We couldn’t see the start from where we were, but we could see the exit from Ste. Devote, up the hill towards the Casino, and then from the exit of the tunnel, down round the swimming pool, and into La Rascasse, albeit at something of a distance. Luckily, I had binoculars.

Of course I had binoculars. Just like I had a stop-watch (an ordinary, analogue one), along with pen and paper for keeping a lap chart. And as the race wore on, and the two Ferraris of Lauda and Reutemann were closing in on the Wolf of Jody Scheckter that had led from the start, my Italian neighbours suddenly were pushing me forward, so they could look over my shoulder and see how many laps were left to run, and see my stop-watch measuring the gap. (There was no chance of hearing the commentary up on ‘the Rock’.)

Much to my frustration, after the race, there was no time to hang about, as I so enjoy to do, as we were supposed to be back at the coach straight after the race for the drive back home.

In 1980, I was lucky enough to go to the Grand Prix again, and in much better style. Although, as I was to discover, the style to which my budget stretched was still way short of the level attained by others. I was living in Lugano, Switzerland, at the time, so I hired a car to drive there and booked a hotel in Nice. I remember it was the Hotel Imperial, whether it is still there or not, I don’t know. The drive down from Switzerland was sublime, I felt like a movie star as I navigated down to Genoa and along the coast past Sanremo towards Ventimiglia. OK so I was only in an Opel Kadett – I remember it was red – but in my head I was Roger Moore in the Volvo P1800.

I found a spot to park on the Boulevard Albert le premier, and tried to mingle with the crowds, but I was hopelessly out of my depth. I had adjusted to the cost of living at Swiss prices, but Monte-Carlo was something else. A beer in Rosie’s bar and a coffee in the Rascasse blew the budget for dinner, so I drove back to the hotel and prepared for Saturday practice.

For Saturday, I had a ticket to a spectator enclosure situated on the inside of the circuit, between the Chicane and Tabac. The F3 support encounter was won by Mauro Baldi from pole position, but the star of the race was Kenny Acheson, who finished fourth having started on the penultimate row of the grid. Nigel Mansell was in there somewhere as well, in the Unipart-sponsored March.

Being there on my own, I was free to soak up the atmosphere of Saturday night in Monaco, and it was a marvellous experience, wandering the streets, observing the somehow obscene displays of glamour, decadence and jaw-dropping wealth that I honestly knew I could not even aspire to. I was in two minds whether indeed I did aspire to it all, but just for a brief moment, I was part of it.

It was also possible to wander around the paddock area (then, as now, along the harbour front from the actual pits) and get up close to the cars being worked on. At the time, I felt very much that this was the 'modern era', when technology (turbo-charging, electronics, etc.) was at its height, but to look back now on cars being worked on under awnings, on dirt floor, by mechanics in t-shirts and shorts, makes you realise how rudimentary it all was, by modern standards. One wonders how the current age will be regarded by the next generation?

 

The race itself on Sunday was almost an anti-climax, compared to the exhilaration of actually being there. There was a support race for Renault 5s, then Prince Rainer arrived to take up his position in the Royal box.

Didier Pironi, starting from pole in the Ligier, was heading for victory until he crashed as there was a brief rain shower. This handed victory to Carlos Reutemann (Williams FW07), who had started alongside the Frenchman on the front row of the grid. Overtaking was never easy at Monaco (unless you’re Kenny Acheson).

But then again, nothing that I have ever experienced in racing comes close to the thrill of watching full-blooded Grand Prix cars threading their way through the streets of Monte Carlo. You are so close to the cars that you feel the impact of the air in your face as the cars go past. Constantly just inches away from concrete barriers, and occasionally glancing off them, by the end of the grand prix, you are exhausted from the physical exertion of watching.

A classic setting for Grand Prix cars, and some very special memories for me.

The Spa 24 Hour Casino

Trying to follow a race when you're not actually there is never easy. But even if you are there, you really need to be able to see the track to stay on top of things. For the Spa 24 hours, John Hindhaugh, Martin Haven and I were following the race from afar, with invaluable information
being provided by Graham Goodwin, who was talking to us from media centre at Spa-Francorchamps. Although we managed to stay on top of things, (I think), there is nothing like trawling through the numbers afterwards, to make sure that the contemporary impressions are matched by the data.

Thanks to the kind folks from 'Blancpain Timing', a few days after the race, I managed to get hold of the data file which provided such analysis.

The first thing that I wanted to confirm was the impression that for the HTP Motorsports Mercedes SLS AMG and the Manthey Racing Porsche 911 GT3-R, Bernd Schneider and Patrick Pilet, respectively, were the outstanding drivers. Looking at single laps is often misleading, so in the table below, I show the average of the best 50 laps of each driver.
No. 84 HTP Mercedes

Driver	Average of best 50 laps
Schneider	2m 23.314s
Buhk	2m 23.621s
Götz	2m 23.848s

No. 150 Manthey Porsche

Driver	Average of best 50 laps
Pilet	2m 23.792s
Lietz	2m 23.963s
Lieb	2m 23.994s

This shows quite clearly, the contribution that each of the respective team's drivers made to their result. Looking at the time spent by each driver behind the wheel is also interesting:

No. 84 HTP Mercedes

Driver	Driving Time	No of Laps
Buhk	8h 17m 26s	205
Götz	6h 38m 05s	161
Schneider	8h 07m 27s	198

No. 150 Manthey Porsche 911

Driver	Driving Time	No of Laps
Lieb	8h 03m 49s	196
Lietz	7h 57m 02s	195
Pilet	7h 06m 09s	172

Note that the driving time does not include the time spent in the pits, which explains why the total does not add up to 24 hours (in case you were wondering)!

Another way of looking at average lap times is to take the time of a driver's stint and divide it by the number of laps completed. On this basis, let's look at the best full stint for each of the drivers of the no. 84 Mercedes and of the no. 150 Porsche.

No. 84 HTP Mercedes

Driver	Best Stint	Average lap time
Buhk	8:09am - 9:11am	2m 23.4s
Götz	5:10am - 6:12am	2m 23.8s
Schneider	1:54am - 2:57am	2m 24.2s

No. 150 Manthey Porsche 911

Driver	Best Stint	Average lap time
Lieb	9:27am - 10:32am	2m 23.8s
Lietz	10:34am - 11:39am	2m 23.8s
Pilet	8:23am - 9:25am	2m 23.9s

Somewhat surprisingly, both Schneider and Pilet are the slowest! Undoubtedly, Schneider's ability to set a quick time for a stint was compromised by the safety car periods during the fastest part of the race on Sunday morning. But perhaps also, although he and Pilet are quick when the track conditions allow, they are a little more cautious in the traffic? It's a theory, at least.

Another thing that was noticeable during the race was that the HTP Motorsport team was far more eager to have its drivers do double stints than Olaf Manthey's team was. Here are the longest stints done by each driver:

No. 84 HTP Mercedes

Driver	Driving Time	Driving Laps	Stint Time
Buhk	2h 07m 15s	52	3:00am - 5:07am
Götz	1h 51m 17s	44	5:10am -7:01am
Schneider	2h 08m 19s	52	6:56pm - 9:05pm

No. 150 Manthey Porsche 911

Driver	Driving Time	Driving Laps	Stint Time
Lieb	1h 04m 41s	27	9:27am - 10:32am
Lietz	1h 42m 36s	40	0:06am -1:48am
Pilet	1h 04m 14s	22	11:42am - 12:46am
Pilet	1h 03m 03s	26	6:40pm - 7:43pm

I have shown Pilet twice in the table because the 22-lap stint was partly behind the safety car, and although his 26-lap stint took less time, it is perhaps more relevant as a 'long stint'.

The other key to the Mercedes win was the speed with which the HTP mechanics changed the brakes at half distance. The Mercedes brake change was 1m 51s quicker than on the Porsche.

However, the amount of time spent in the pits for each car was as follows:

No	Car	Time Spent in pits	No of stops
84	HTP Mercedes SLS AMG	57m 11.467s	24
150	Manthey Porsche 911 GT3	53m 15.354s	23
2	Team WRT Audi R8 LMS	56m 08.677s	23

(Note that, for the purpose of this table, I have excluded Manthey's drive-through penalty.)

Arguments can no doubt be put forward from both Renaud Dufour (from HTP) and Olaf Manthey that they lost out due to safety car interventions, and it would be naïve to suggest that none of the five safety car periods had an impact on the race. Dufour had a strategy though and pitted on four of the five occasions that the safety car came out. The Porsche pitted only once when the safety car was out, but try as I might, I could not find conclusive evidence that either strategy was the correct (or the wrong) one.

It seemed to me a bit like betting on 'red' or 'black' at roulette - it is the best way of ensuring that you win something, but neither of them is better than the other: whether you win or not ultimately comes down to chance.

But it does seem to be clear that the key to the Mercedes win was its pace on the track. And also, that Schneider (who, don't forget, set the fastest lap of the race), was very ably supported by his two co-drivers. Oh yes, and the Manthey car had a misfire.

The Goodwood Festival of Speed

What on earth to make of the Goodwood Festival of Speed? Thanks to a work colleague who had a spare ticket that he was willing to part with, and to Goodwood’s policy that 12-year-olds could get in for free, I went along for my first-ever proper Festival of Speed on Saturday. I use the word ‘proper’ as I had visited the “Moving Motor Show” in 2012, but this was my first time at the Festival of Speed itself. I had been to the Revival Meeting in 2003, and had really enjoyed it – it is a race meeting, after all – but the Festival had never quite held the same appeal for me.

My son Robin was in his element though. From the moment we parked up in the car park, and a McLaren MP4 12-C drew up alongside us, until we spotted an Austin Healey 3000 in the same car park on our way back to the car some nine hours later, Robin delighted himself, getting up close to some true motoring icons.

For a young, impressionable Top Gear Magazine reader like Robin, there was something to see at every corner, but for me, somehow the event failed to hold me in the same thrall. The Festival of Speed is, as someone said to me, a big garden party. It unquestionably attracts some extremely well-heeled folk, for whom perhaps the British Grand Prix has fallen out of favour, but for whom the social ‘see and be seen’ events at Wimbledon, Henley and Glyndebourne are opportunities to parade the latest addition to their wardrobe, jewellery box, garage or (dare I say it?) bedroom. And like all good garden parties, you invite some ‘ordinary people’ as well, in order to gain credibility in the eyes of the public.

But this is too cynical a view. Especially as the over-riding feeling at Goodwood is one of naïve enthusiasm, where the commercial and political realities of modern motorsport are far from evident. Gathering together winners from F1, WEC, WRC, BTCC, Moto GP and other disciplines beyond my ken, means that there is indeed something for everyone; and the wealth of manufacturer stands presenting their message, gives even more breadth to the appeal of the event. A Festival indeed.

It may be that the very breadth is what makes me feel uncomfortable at Goodwood. At Le Mans, there is a certain security in the knowledge that my fellow-spectator knows about the WM-Peugeot, about Jean Rondeau and about Jaguar’s and Bentley’s heritage. But at Goodwood, there is the Sin R1 and the Peugeot Onyx, about which I know nothing, and there is a song and a dance about Peter Fonda and Captain America. And the fact that Spana and Tauro make road cars has somehow passed me by. I know about the 250 GTO’s racing heritage, but what is a 599 GTO? Am I alone here in feeling somehow overwhelmed by it all? I did take some recompense at Robin’s joy at seeing a real Ferrari F40, though.

I found the whole affair somewhat unstructured: we never quite knew what was happening or where we were supposed to be. It was unfortunate that the Vulcan bomber display coincided with the action on the track before us, although there had been nothing going on for the previous hour. Maybe I should have been listening to the commentary more closely on the radio – quite how that could be described as “free”, when the event programme cost £15, was something of a mystery. The raceday programme at Le Mans was a mere five euros. At least the queues for hamburgers and ice cream were pleasantly manageable.

The ‘festival’ mentality was carried over into the lack of structure of the event. The fact that one would suddenly ‘happen upon’ something or someone of note – for example Lord March himself strolling through the crowd trying (and failing) to look inconspicuous, or Andy Wallace on his way from A to B, or Derek Bell on his way back, was kind of nice, but if there was something you particularly wanted to see, then it was rather random whether you would succeed or not. You always had the impression that by doing this, here, now, you were missing something else happening somewhere else.

The activity on the hill was similarly haphazard. Some runs were competitive, being against the clock; but most were merely demonstration runs. With the track being so narrow, and run-off areas non-existent, you couldn’t doubt the wisdom of this approach, but it meant that watching the action on the track was as much of a lottery as the goings-on in the paddock. And again, this may be as much a reflection on my approach as on the event, but I found the “blink and you’ve missed it” nature of the runs up the hill annoying as well. Driver interviews, when they were out of the car at the top of the hill, were sometimes live, and sometimes delayed; the pictures on the screen, similarly were sometimes of live action and sometimes repeats. If you’re only looking occasionally at the big screen, you’re not in a position to follow a narrative flow of pictures.

This sounds far too negative; you’d think I hadn’t enjoyed my day. Wrong; I had a really good time, and I am so glad I went. Many of my gripes are because I didn’t have a proper strategy for the event: I just turned up and followed my nose (or Robin’s). Maybe I needed to be a VIP or have a proper guide, telling me where to go and what to do next.

Or maybe it’s because the pleasure is in just being there. History is not made at the Goodwood Festival, but it is celebrated. And for that, you need to approach the event in a different frame of mind. I’ll know next time!

(All photos: Robin Truswell)