Until this year I had considered that driving a track day was a pretty full on kind of experience.  The lessons learned from my first races at Oulton showed me that there was a need for an adjustment of perspective.  Even hanging onto the tail of the field at the Cheshire circuit had required the kind of sustained effort not called for at the average track day.  With twenty five cars entered for the championship’s third round at Rockingham, it was now obvious that achieving my goal of further top twenty finishes was not going to be at all easy.

It is five years since my first (and until now, only) visit to the Corby located Motor Speedway, long enough to have blunted the sharpest of recall facilities, let alone mine; and to make things more challenging, there have been track revisions since then which mean that to me, about a quarter of the track is totally new.  In other words, I was acutely aware that I needed some quality driving time on the (deep breath) International Super Sports Car Circuit layout.

Therefore, when given the opportunity to attend an official Rockingham test day, on a gloriously sunny Monday in late June, I was pleased to complete a decent number of laps and acquire at least the beginnings of some track knowledge.  Further good news was that Matt seemed to have fixed the power sapping misfire that has cost me a couple of positions in the previous race with a new set of ignition coils.  This time out, a failed throttle pedal control unit (on the very first lap of the day) was the only mildly annoying fly to be found in the ointment of reliability.

Getting back into the car that morning after a ten week lay-off was something of a shock.  When not on race duty, the speed, the noise and the heat intrinsic to this car are all quickly forgotten, but as I drove down the pit lane and out on to the circuit proper, the intensity of the experience threatened to overcome senses dulled by a period of inactivity.  Still, at least it wasn’t only me having to adjust.  Sharing the team’s garage was Howard Fuller, new to the Volkswagen Cup, but despite his tender years, very much a hand.  Howard is contesting the highly competitive and hard fought Formula Palmer Audi championship in 2010, and was joining us for this test day (in a rented Golf racer) to gain more experience at Rockingham prior to the visit of FPA later in the season.

I was in the garage when he returned from his first exploratory laps in the GTI.  Although this is not the kind of blog that would repeat some of the words often used by racing drivers, it is fair to say that Howard was quick to express his surprise and appreciation for the pace of the Racing Line prepared car.  I think the point here is this: if even hard chargers like Fuller are able to get their racing kicks in a Volkswagen, then these cars have to be quite special.  Special enough for Howard to be last seen negotiating with Championship Coordinator Melissa Wright for a slot on the race grid for Round Three, races five and six of the 2010 Volkswagen Racing Cup.

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As we lined up on the grid on the afternoon of Saturday July 17, to start our first race of the weekend, the clear blue sky of the test day had been replaced by a colour tone that, if it ever appeared in a car brochure, would surely be described as "Traditional Midlands Grey".  At least the downpours of the morning had passed, leaving a gusting wind to dry the track and blow grit into contact lenses.

Sitting low down in the car as we assembled for the start, peering up at the towering concrete grandstands, themselves mute witnesses to a unique folly, it was difficult to decide where pre-cast slabs might end and the rest of the world might begin.  This banked and walled circuit induces a sense of claustrophobia, a sense of restriction - perhaps which is why so many cars are attracted to the wall - seeking to smash their way to freedom.

Or perhaps not; but whatever the cause of his car to wall interface on the very first corner of the very first lap, we were all glad to see Martyn Culley walk safely away from the wreck of his Beetle.

Further accidents on lap one confirmed the need to abandon the race.  The restart was delayed for long enough for the remaining runners (fireproofed, helmeted and heavily restrained) to be gently broiled under a Corby sky until tender.  As the minutes ticked by and the adrenalin drained away, I thought about snow and drifted away into a special place of contemplation.  Which is probably why I missed the moment that the red light was extinguished for the second time, and promptly lost three places on the run through turn one to the first hairpin.  Rats!  Not all was lost though and by the end of the race the time sheets had positive news for number 24.

Race one in summary: started 20th, finished 18th.

Race two followed on Sunday.  This time a burst of mid-July sunshine illuminated this happy band of brothers (and one sister) and, perhaps dazzled, some of our number proceeded to spend a large portion of the event’s twenty minute duration driving into each other.  By lap eight, the racing line was delineated more by the need to avoid shed bodywork than by any traditional notions of trajectory and velocity, and the safety marshals had sensibly taken cover as a cloud of plastic and carbon fibre shrapnel, splintered and spat out by eighty fat Hankook slicks, filled the air.

I had started from row 9, a promotion from Saturday’s row 10 that reflected the finishing order of race one. One place behind me was Simon Andrews in his annoyingly rapid Mk V GTI DSG and one place in front was Barrie Culley in his Vento VR6.  What I didn’t know right then was just how familiar I would become with these cars during the next nineteen and a half minutes.

I thought I had a good start, but in reality I made no impression on Barrie and at the first hairpin Simon had positioned his car alongside mine and taken the line. Thirty seconds into the race and I had dropped a place. What’s more is that having fitted two new tyres to the front prior to this race, I was under strict instruction from the team not to root them by overdriving in the first two laps but instead to carefully bring them up to their optimal operating temperature and pressure.  This meant that I needed to hold back a little now if the tyres were to survive for a push at the end.

At the end of lap one I had dropped another spot to 21st, but at least the tyres were now starting to find grip and give feedback.  The time had arrived.

On lap 4, I moved up one position and was then able to close on Andrews and so we completed an exciting ménage a trois with Culley; and now began an eight lap scrap that would see the three of us swapping places throughout.  The deal seemed to be this: the leading two of this triple set were duty bound to challenge each other at every opportunity.  These battles would inconvenience both, allowing whoever was lying third in the group at that time to take an advantage and surge to the front; at which point history would repeat itself.

Running millimeters apart, each allowed the other racing space; by the halfway point of the race, this had become the most fun I’d had in a car for quite a while.  Barrie dominated the chicane, I seemed to be quicker on the banked oval and Simon was quicker than both of us through the two hairpins.

Although I like to maintain that had I not lifted to avoid an uncharacteristically slow Andrews at the exit of the first hairpin on lap 10, causing me to slide wide over the kerb and through the gravel trap (escape technique: flat in third, aim for the grey stuff) then I would have led both of them over the line onto lap 11, and driven neatly and rapidly from there to the finish and glory, it really wouldn’t have worked out like that.

In fact, the dusty excursion cost me a couple of seconds and I began to despair of catching them, let alone overtaking.  But neither of them could shake the other, and once again the ebb and flow of their battle allowed me to close the gap.  As we started the final lap, we were racing for 14th place, although it could have been first place in the Grand Prix of Monaco as far as I was concerned.  After eight laps of racing that ran the gamut from nose to tail to side by side, all three of us were, I’m sure, equally confident of success at this point.

Across the line and through turn one I closed on the fleeing pair again, but as we approached the hairpin one last time I could see that Simon, on the outside, had left his braking for the 180 degree left remarkably late.  Also I could see from the body language of the Vento that Barrie was fully prepared to delay his braking a little longer in order to defend his line from Simon’s assault.

At this point, I would like to say that although it can never be good to suffer brake failure at high speed, if it must happen, then turn two at Rockingham, with its mile or more of disused oval track doubling as a handy escape road, is the place to experience it.  With brake pads refusing to go to work in any meaningful way, Simon disappeared stage right at more than 100mph while poor Barrie was unwittingly suckered into overshooting the corner and I, rather fortunately, scuttled through and headed for home.  I was so amazed that I twice came close to driving completely off the track as my brain struggled to process the events of the previous minute and simultaneously navigate the car round the 13th and final tour.

I am informed that the crowd loved it.  We three had not been alone in our struggles; the lead of the race had changed hands a half dozen times, and throughout the field further battles raged.  This race had real drama as deep in the heart of the amphitheatre, the chariots raced by, each striving to be champion for their own particular Caesar; every new collision, slide and spin changing the course of events until from the smoke of battle emerged a winner - Howard Fuller!

I told you he was good.

Race two in summary: started 18th, finished 14th.