Article by Duncan Drye

In the late 1980′s the final round at Silverstone of a national sports car championship was approaching. Only one other driver was capable of denying me the title. Throughout that season’s races the ‘points’ lead had see-sawed between us. The coming weekend would be the decider – first or second on Sunday afternoon would also be our final title positions.My problem was there was no difference between us. Whilst both our cars suited different venues, the Northampton circuit favoured neither of us. In terms of ability there was nothing to separate us. My rival had a very slight edge in respect of raw ability, but he was more temperamental. He had the tendency, in situations of extreme stress, to make mistakes, whilst I was more prone to the same mistake during a “boring” race.Throughout the season I had capitalised on his weakness – to such an extent that coming into the final stages I was driving under a formal caution from the authorities for “winding him up.” Regardless of the tactic I planned for this weekend, it must be subtle – I was skating on very thin ice and did not want risk a post race inquiry and subsequent exclusion.In Saturday’s practice I adopted my usual tactic. I would set an early pole position time and then wait in the pit lane whilst we monitored the other leading drivers’ times. Should anyone pip me, then I would go out again for a further three laps – one to warm up, a second to regain pole, then a final one to slow down and return to my vigil. In the final seconds of the session, as I sat helmeted in the pit lane, my rival set a blistering lap, far faster than any of his previous. His tactic was perfect, he stolen pole position and left me with no time to respond. At tomorrow’s start he would have the coveted inside line into Copse; this was the first, very fast right hand bend, at the end of the start line straight.That night I sat in my transporter and racked my brains for a solution to the problem. If he just drove “his own race” and dominated the racing line, there was nothing I could do but follow him into second place. My sole hope was that I could repeat the tactic that had worked for me many times that season – to pressure him into making a mistake. By looming large in his mirrors throughout the race, my headlights boring into the back of his helmet, I might just force a misjudgement.I sat and considered this option, I suddenly realised that he had stolen the small advantage the difference in our personalities granted me. As all my moves were now being scrutinised by the race stewards and observers, in the event of any contact between our cars, the weight of any doubt would favour him. The pressure was now firmly on me.Realising there was nothing more I could do; I decided to clear my mind prior to an early morning start. Moving to the front of the transporter, I switched on the TV. Scrolling through the channels, I settled on a wildlife programme. It featured a bird called a Plover which had evolved an interesting technique with which to protect its young. When threatened by a predator, it lured the attacker away by mimicking a broken wing. As I watched the bird using the lure of an easy meal, I realised that I may have the solution to my tactical problem – perhaps I could win by driving slower!Race day dawned warm and dry. At the end of the warming up lap, the field formed on the grid. I took my place on the front row on the outside of the track in the second place slot. All the lights turned green. We both made perfect starts and as we braked to line up for the first bend, I slotted tight in behind him. As we powered into the short next straight I was just inches behind, the nose of my car was tucked underneath the tail of his. Our eyes met in his mirror.It was the same all around the circuit. At every braking point, in every corner and at each straight it was as if we were linked by an invisible cord. Sometimes I would feint to the left, or right, but my rival would sense my move and without leaving the racing line, would move imperceptibly to cover my moves.The only exception was on the straight before the finish line. On each lap, at around the midway point, I would gradually drop back. Not by a lot, just enough to allow a gap of around twenty metres to open up between us. Gradually I sensed that my rival was reacting to the lack of pressure imposed at that particular section of the circuit. This was manifested by a very minor extension of his braking point. Whilst under my intense pressure he was hitting the brakes at the 150metre marker, as the gap developed this gradually opened out to 200metres. I put myself into the mind of my rival – he believed I had a problem. Around most of the circuit he thought I could compete on an equal footing. He would not care about the nature of my problem – the relief he experienced on every lap was everything, a chance to check the dials, take the tension out of his muscles, flex the tendons of his hands, and take a breather.The last lap arrived and we both knew I had to make my move. As soon as we entered the lap I acted as if in desperation. At every corner jinking out of his slipstream, out braking manoeuvres to try to steal the lead. But he held the racing line, forcing me to take the longer and slower route. Without the scrutiny of the official observers, he knew I would have nudged him. He felt secure within their protection.At the midpoint of the last straight he sat on the right hand side of the track, firmly on the racing line, dominating the perfect line for the last corner.This was the moment: Had he really believed my “wing” was broken? The next few seconds would tell! I aimed to his left; at the 200 metre point I would have my answer. Precisely at the marker his brake lights lit up.I shot past him and hit my brake pedal 50 metres later, my hot tyres teetered on limits of adhesion. I slung my car to the right under viscous braking, missing the front of his by inches, to steal the racing line. There was no gap between us as we both slid perilously close to the grass on the exit of the last corner. 300 metres ahead the chequered flag was held aloft. From the finish line perspective we must have appeared as one car. Then my rival flicked out from behind and began to draw level. But I held the shorter racing line. As soon as he was beside me, committed to the outside route to the flag, I began to drift towards him and gaining vital inches – making his longer route just that crucial bit longer.With only a fraction of a second separating us I took the chequered flag.

Duncan Drye 31.12.09http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002YQLQEM

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