Carrera Cup a life-time memory

Here's the scenario. With a trip to Queenstown on the horizon, my two travelling companions were constantly in my ear about bungy jumping. “Throw yourself off a ledge, it'll be fun,” they squawked as the cold sweat ran down my spine at the mere thought of it. I felt the excruciating pain of pulling my fingernails off one by one would be more fun than jumping to what could possibly be my death.

As a self-confessed wuss, I stubbornly stood my ground. They were going to have to pick me up and literally throw me over the edge. Then I had a phone call from the good people at Carrera Cup. Would I like to put my life in the hands of a race-driver, hit the track and experience some fast, erratic driving, where anything could happen, such as slamming into a fence or performing a 360 in mid-air before crashing to the ground?

OK, so maybe they didn't quite put it in those words, and maybe the excitement was a little more prevalent than fear in this adventure case. Especially since I'd had similar track experiences in the past.

But suddenly I had a thought; “The Carrera ride could be a stepping stone to the more extreme activities. If I survive and, more importantly, enjoy the hot lap, surely bungy jumping would be a breeze.”

So it was off to Oran Park for some fast action. After some stressful driving to get there, with a late arrival adding to the clenched fists and rising heart rate, it was time to get ready.

On went the non-figure flattering, oversized white overalls, and with the heavens opening up for the day, I predicted a slippery ride awaited me.

It was time to squeeze on the unattractive helmet, although I wasn't going to complain, and as engine began to rev, so did the adrenalin.

I crawled through the roll cage on the right-hand side of the car; that's right, these race cars are left-hand drive; and planted my backside on the race seat.

Before long, mixed thoughts settled in.

“Boy, my mates would be so jealous right now,” was the main one popping up, followed by “This is going to be so much fun,” before switching to “Hold on, how old is this driver? How much experience does he have?”

Some unidentified hands came into the cabin, fastening me in tightly, before my trusty Paul Cruickshank Racing driver; Michael Trimble gave a quick “Hey”, followed by a giggle, probably at the ridiculous expression I could feel plastered on my face.

I had 100 questions to ask him, or rather grill him about. I had a picture in my mind bearing similarity to a painful job interview, me the interviewer of course. “Where's your resume?”

“How many times have you crashed?”

But there was no time, or no hearing ability above the roar of the engine or my ears squashed inside the helmet. So off we went. Surprisingly my mind seemed to wander as we entered the track, paying more attention to the cockpit-like setting of the car. “Hmmm, where could the eject button be?” I pondered.

But Trimble displayed a huge amount of skill to give me all the confidence I needed to sit back and relax. Well, as much as you can while doing 200km/h on a wet track.

While his actions mimicked that of a young child in a toy car, moving the wheel rather quickly, I felt comfortable with his abilities and began to take more notice of the skill involved, rather than worrying about the actual lap itself. His hands were quick and alert, as though they had a mind of their own. The right hand jumped from wheel to gearstick, from gearstick back to the wheel without missing a beat.

And that's just what you want in hands that hold your life in them. Upon seeing this master at work, my mind and heart were at ease.

On the straight, the speedo read out close to 200km/hr, but this felt like a walk in the park, with the kid-in-a-candy-store-feeling; not kicking in until the corners. As you can imagine, a wet track plus fast speeds equals some slipping, adding to the adventure.

While the seatbelts were buckled tightly, holding me as securely as a hug from a sumo wrestler, I still managed to feel the force, with my head bouncing back and forth.

Trimble proved to be a real specialist on the racetrack, knowing exactly what to do and where to go, without even flinching. I even felt a yawn overcome me, although that was more to do with those sleepless nights I mentioned.

After my three laps, we headed for the pits, the fear completely thrown out the window as I felt a little more adventurous.

Needless to say, the stepping stone worked. From a thrilling ride in a gorgeous Porsche 911 GT3, to some exhilarating bungy jumping two weeks later, which even led to some breathtaking sky-diving. Formula One here I come.