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Round One – Skip Brown -North Wales (Forest)

(Stage one. Great Orme is Tarmac).

The Terrifying Start

I remember the phone call as if it was yesterday; "We have picked you to drive our Metro." said Alan Clegg It was New Year's Eve 1985, and it was a moment that changed my life. When I had stopped effusively thanking Alan of Clegg Bevan Company Motorsport for the phone call and the offer of the drive, the reality of what I had accepted began to dawn on me. I had just been offered a drive on the 1986 Marlboro Autosport British Rally Championship in a MG Metro 6R4. The then equivalent of a world rally car. 

The sense of fear and the size of the task ahead came flooding into my brain. "Bloody hell,” I said to my friend Alan Filsell "They have picked me to drive their 6R4!" I guess I considered myself a reasonable driver at the time. I’d won a few top rallies, even done a few RAC ones, but I had planned to hang up my helmet at the end of that year. 

The Opel Ascona that I’d been driving had become unreliable and was rapidly draining my funds. On top of that I was getting grief at work for paying too much attention to my "hobby" and E.T. Sutherland and son Ltd needed me at my desk. 

I felt like I’d been thrown into a fine mess. My successes had obviously convinced Alan I could do the job of winning the Championship for him, but now I had to look in the mirror and convince myself I could do it! I started to recall all my past performances, I searched deep inside for confidence but found no assurance that I could drive that well, let alone win the championship.

Alan Clegg and John Bevan were investing in me and my skills as a driver to win rallies, earn points, not crash their huge investment, and be professional always; had they got the right man, where they sane? The more I thought about it the more fretful I became.



It got no better as the first rally approached. It was February, there was snow, it would be the first time I’d driven on the white stuff. We were at the Great Orme in North Wales for the first stage, it was my first drive in the Metro, and I’d had NO practice! That was a lot of firsts for one day. Cleggy suggested I might take out his pride and joy for a spin. It was gone midnight, when we returned to our hotel in Llandudno, John Bevan had finally arrived after working flat out for months getting the car ready for the season.

As I reported back to the two, I tried to soften the blow of the outcome of my first “spin” in the car. "Over the crest we came, huge sheet of ice, we were just passengers as the car crunched sickeningly against the wall" I said, pathetically. "Sorry," I said, quietly: first run in the car ever and I had crashed her. I stood there anticipating my bollocking only to hear Bevan quietly reply..."Back to Rugby then for some bodywork...bugger;" and on that note he left. If the earth could have swallowed me up it would have been better than standing there, feeling like a schoolboy about to be sent to the naughty step. Unbelievably by 6am the car was fixed. The weather was dark, cold, icy and gloomy, we could have been twins, the weather and my thoughts! As I stepped outside, the boy’s had the car started to warm her up and did tyre pressures, oil levels and requested that I sit in the car and check everything from inside the car. All was fine as my trembling fingers fiddled with the controls. If you're thinking was I nervous—HELL yes, BIG time. I felt, despite dreaming of this moment for a lifetime, the reality was alarming!!

Tired and shaking, I had another seat fitting trying to get comfy; no chance, I was bricking it. We returned to the hotel for the breakfast I could not face, the feeling of terror ran through me. I now believed you could taste fear. If I was happy I had forgotten to tell my face, indeed the whole day was going to a be a steep learning curve of which I hoped to survive Wattsy shut the flimsy car door with a loud crack, "Morning boyo, how you doing chap?" He, as always, was fun and brought light relief to my anguish. I hit the start button, a thousand wailing banshees invaded the cabin, there was a clunk as I selected first gear and the terrible yet beautiful noise of the V6, 4 cam invaded our souls. O my God! I thought as we made our way to the first stage, the black tarmac gave ground to the deceitful gentle snow that coated it with a smooth sheen which hid a deadly, slippery surface on which we would try to drive.

Waiting, waiting, more waiting, waiting to move up, “clunk-clunk” everytime, as we approached the final count down. I realised as Dai Llewellyn in the car in front powered away from the start, that we were in serious trouble. It was like waiting in line to go on the most terrifying ride of your life except I was “in control”  I was driving!
30 seconds; adjust helmet again. “100 flat right,” Wattsy repeated, adjust seat belts again, rev the engine, yes, the Devil was having a party in the back and he’d brought all of his cousins along. 5-4-3-2-1, dropped the clutch, and the beast skewed to one side as four tyres searched for grip on the shiny ice. I nailed the throttle further, up a gear, up a gear, and again as the car accelerated crazily almost out of control towards the first bend. The engine revs kept rising, some crazy person was piloting the car; whoever it was, it certainly was not me. I was possessed by this terrible fibreglass monster, as it invaded my body and mind completely. It was so loud it felt like my ears would bleed. It was the most unbelievable feeling as we approached the finish line, we had tamed the beast - or so I thought. Time? Not good, but I reconciled the fact, it was my first ever drive in the car and at least we didn’t end up in the sea. We pulled into the service area to change to forest tyres, Cleggy repeated his question to me, "How was it Al?"

"I could drive my mum's shopping car faster than that!" (such consoling words do wonders for your confidence) "What the devil is the matter with the damn thing?” Wattsy demanded to know in his Welsh lilt. "Wattsy," I said "If the world class drivers that I now consider to be demi-gods, can drive this at full tilt, I am going home, hanging up my helmet, and taking up knitting. I tell you Peter you accelerate, and it goes left or maybe right or maybe straight, and when you brake it does the same. I am not driving this car, it is trying to kill us." "Cleggy," my voice croaked as I cleared my throat, "You have given me the chance of a lifetime, but I am going to let you down if I continue to drive your car, finishing in 26th position is no good to you, and I need to launder my overalls, I am inept, you must find someone else Alan ." I walked away with my heart in my boots, I was glum, shaking still, as over and over again I repeated the stages in my head - but I found no solace in the memories.

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