Tommy Collison

John, Dad and a number of others went karting yesterday, and loved it so much, decided to go again, this time bringing me.

So, we’d booked a slot for around 1 and rounded up 7 others to go with us. We arrived in good time. This was the first time I’d ever been tall enough to go karting. My childhood is littered with visits to these sort of places and I can clearly picture me getting into one of them and trying in vain to reach the accelerator. Not this time. John had grabbed me aside, tape measure in hand, and measured my height. I clocked in at 1.67 metres, also known as 5″ 6′. Perfectly tall enough to go.

I was nervous though. I bought John “As You Do” by Richard Hammond for Christmas. I read a bit of it on the way home. He was in a dragster crash. What if that happened to me? I didn’t want to die.

Basically, I was being irrational. Karting, in comparison to lots of other motor sports, or indeed Dragsters in general, is quite safe. The karts we were using have 11 horsepower each, but let me tell you. When your arse is practically sitting on the engine and you could lift a finger and touch the ground, it feels like a lot more.

Anyway, we arrived and watched the guys here before us finish up their race. Two of them spun out of control on the final lap but no bright flames like you see on TV. Bet they’re added in with computers.. :P

Then it was our turn. We were all given forms that we had to fill out. Name, address and *gulp* signature for a waiver relinquishing (god that’s a long word) the Karting Centre of all responsibility. I hoped that wasn’t an omen.

We were given blue jumpsuits, snazzy red helmets and gloves made out of some weird material. I slipped them all on and proceeded outside. The 11 karts were lined up and mine was *gulp* the very first one. There was a man standing with his foot holding my wheel in place to stop it drifting off. Very high tech.

I went up and asked: “Can I’ve a hand there please?”. My helmet probably muffled it though so it might have come out as “Mmmh a Hmnh Tmher Phhm?”. Either way, he held out his arm obligingly. I grabbed it and squeezed myself into the seat.

My first impression. “F**k.. these are low”. I was no more than 6 inches off the ground. My dad adjusted my feet so that my left was hovering on top of the accelerator and my right was slightly tucked beneath me. I only needed one. Taking my foot off the accelerator would serve the purpose of slowing down. Then Dad got into his own Kart and another man waved a checkered flag. The first row of Karts flew off, then it was my turn.

I got a nod and I floored the accelerator. The Kart jerked beneath me and the tires squealed. I was off like a flash.

At this point you’re probably thinking how glamorous this all sounds, and thinking how this should be in the next 007 flick. You’re expecting the words ‘everything was a blur’ or ‘the roar of the engine’ or even ‘the scream of the tires’, in the next paragraph and maybe, if you’re lucky, a near death experience. For it is my experience that blog readers are hungry vultures, praying on calamity and destruction. In short, you’re a bunch of adrenaline junkies! You want action! :)

The reality is somewhat different. Nay, it’s very different. With only 10% of a car’s horsepower, I can tell you that everything stayed in sharp focus. Everything was not a blur. Nor did I hear any engine roaring. Purring maybe. For you see, the helmet is incredibly padded. Ever seen the opening to Saving Private Ryan? When the protagonist gets shell shocked and becomes deaf. It’s like that. I could sort of hear it, but not really. It’s also kind of like the Doctor Who thing we saw at the end of Season Three. The necklaces that did something with your brain. You could see people, but they didn’t make an impact. I could hear stuff, but it didn’t really register.

I really was in a world of my own. Not being able to hear anything is weird. And when I absentmindedly began singing Amanda Palmer to myself, I got a shock at how loud it was.

…and I am still not getting what I want!
I want to touch the back of your right arm…

reverberated around my head for about 10 laps.

As for the scream of tires, I only noticed that when I took a bend too sharply and went on the grass.

You’re probably wondering what position I came in. Let me put it this way – if we measured it from the bottom, I’d be 1st :). If we measured it by who got overtaken/lapped most, I’d be a clear winner.

Still, as I walked onto the track, Dad said to me “worry about doing well only if you wish. If you want to drive at 1.5 miles per hour, that’s fine.’

And that’s what I did. I was the ‘granny’ of the track. The one that went at 0.01 MPH and stayed on the outside. The one that all the others overtook a million times and may have occasionally given a wave to.

One time, John and Dad were beside each other, getting ready to lap me. One went left, one went right and next thing I know is that I’ve two Karts either side of me. I shout an expletive and yank my foot of the accelerators.

Feckers.

Bottom line though, I did enjoy it :). Not the granny part, the karting part. OK, my hands were swollen when I finished