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A quick chat is all you’d need to establish that I’m
no racer. I’m not rich, don’t have any serious
mechanical knowledge, have embarrassed myself
in pretty much every karting knock-about I’ve
been involved with, and possess a healthy fear of
injury. In fact, the only thing that qualifies me is
a burning desire to go circuit racing, and I’m sure
it wouldn’t be hard to establish a psychiatric link
between that and mental instability.
The plan is to do one season, release pent-up
adrenaline by dicing with the mid-runners and
dine out on the experience until dead (hopefully
of old age). But is it possible to start from
scratch, spend as little as possible, and still be
competitive?
The lack of cash means finding the cheapest race
series in Britain, and that’s got to be the Stock
Hatch Championship. Standard cars here are
bargain-basement Fiesta XR2s and Peugeot 205
GTis, which you’re not allow to modify. This is
meant to prevent the well-heeled from running
away with it, and switch the emphasis to driving
talent.
But with entry fees alone costing £1500 in a 14-
race season, I’m still not rich enough. Bringing in
a friend, Simon, to race alternate meetings
halves the cost and the stress.
The drunken January evening that sealed the
deal also produces the first black flag when my
girlfriend discovers that 14 meetings will mean 14
lost summer weekends. You have to drive up the
night before when practise sessions start as early
as 8.30am. I’m already in the doghouse, and the
poorhouse is only a few stops away.
But first we need a car. The two options are: buy
one already prepared to Stock Hatch regs or start
from scratch. Thinking the first would save time,
we check out the sole race-prepared car for sale
(tip: start looking well before January), an XR2 up
for £2900.
The trip gives a sobering insight into the one-
tracked mind of the dedicated racer. The seller,
let’s call him Mr Suicidal from the sticker on his
door mirror, eats, sleeps and breathes Stock
Hatches, and is working on a newer XR2i. While
his family home slowly crumbles around him, he’s
pointing out all the weight-saving, sometimes
rule-stretching alterations he’s made. Such as
taking the motor out of the rear-windscreen wiper,
but leaving the casing to fit the ‘original profile’
regulation. But he wouldn’t budge far enough on
the price, and despite learning that the no-mods
rule still allows for plenty of expensive tweakery,
we decide to start from scratch.
Finding a cheap hot hatch is easy, but finding one
without multiple support roles in Police, Camera,
Action isn’t. An XR2i (the Mk3 version) in the grim
depths of Uxbridge looks immaculate, but is
more filler than metal. A white 1986 Mk2 XR2 in
High Wycombe on the other hand turns out to be
sound, and is ours for a bargain £525.
It’s now mid-February, and we have until March 28
(the second race of the season, but our first) to
prepare it. But we’ve already jumped the gun:
what if we fail our race licence? The test is in two
parts: a written exam and circuit laps with an
examiner. You prepare by watching an instruction
video from MSA, which features one the scariest
crashes I’ve seen. And the unfortunate car? Yup,
a Fiesta.
Our first test date at the Silverstone Racing
School is cancelled due to fog, and we don’t get
another slot until March 16. Driving the school’s
surprisingly agile Proton Satria GTi hatches
(thanks to Lotus input), I believe I’m invincible
through Chapel and Stowe – until I’m easily
overtaken by my teammate. So have I passed?
The examiner draws out the tension by calmly
filling in boxes at the end before writing the
magic word: Pass. My heart soars – if this is what
winning a race feels like then I’d better savour
the moment.
Now we can concentrate on turning a bog-standard
XR2 into a racecar. Attacking the interior is a
blast, and we remove the weight of a small man
(68kg) in the form of seats, carpets,
soundproofing and sunroof (which has to be
replaced with metal). The lightened Fiesta is now
even more fun to drive, and we repent ever
sneering at razzed XR2s – you just can’t help it.
We lack welding equipment, so the rollcage
bought from Rollcentre in Cambridge and the
seat will be fitted by a local garage. That leaves
just the engine cut-off and extinguisher, which we
can just about do ourselves. However, the costs
are mounting and we’re beginning to regret not
buying a race-prepared car.
The struggle to get everything ready had
suppressed The Fear, but that returns in spades
while watching the first race of the season at
Mallory. Stock Hatches attracts more entrants
than any other UK race series (119 and counting),
so meetings usually run two races split by
qualifying times. With around 30 cars in each the
racing is tight, beset by accidents, and a hoot to
watch. Except if you’re about to join in. Race one
was red flagged after a first-corner multi-car shunt
and the list of retirees was long. About one in
three cars afterwards had some kind of panel
damage, one in five will cost a small fortune to
repair. The owner of a shortened Peugeot 106
was beside himself: “I don’t mind if it’s just body
damage, but please not the steering…”. The local
scrappie will know us by name.
I also discovered that the front-runners aren’t
short of readies. We’ll be driving the XR2 to the
first meeting (leaving a sad pile of road-tyre-shod
wheels in our paddock spot during the racing), but
a few transport their cars in liveried lorries and
construct touring-car-style tents. As the resident
Minardi, I feel a season-long moan coming on.
With the car finally ready I’m poised to fufill a
lifetime dream. But is it possible for an ordinary
motorsport fan who isn’t rich or a mechanic to
successfully move from the grandstand to the
grid? Dunno, but I’m about to find out.
BOX
Every step toward your first race costs money, and
there’s plenty of them. Your National B race
licence will cost around £350 in total, while race
fees for a season in Stock Hatch will cost around
£1500. Because the series takes you from
Pembrey in Wales to Brands Hatch in Kent, you’ll
need a trailer (from around £900 new).
A race-prepared Stock Hatch will cost around from
£3000 to £1000 depending on its history. The
750 Motor Club website is a good place to start
looking (www.motorsnippets.com/750mc).
If you want start from scratch, the car must be a
hatchback over three years old and under 1600cc.
The Peugeot 205 GTi and Ford Fiesta XR2 are the
most popular, but it’s the stiffer, newer Peugeot
106s or Citroen Saxos that win. It must be able to
pass an MoT, but doesn’t need one.
Basic race preparation is a rollcage (around
£350), a race seat (from £100) a harness (£120
for a six-point version), an extinguisher and a
battery isolator.
Race clothing and a helmet add another £400 to
the cost, but further equipment purchases can be
offset by the Demon Tweeks sponsorship
programme. Offering 2000 places a year all the
way down to Stock Hatch level, the ubiquitous
equipment supplier gives out £150 in vouchers
every time a participating car appears in a
motorsport magazine with their sticker visible.
Crunching the figures over the year reveals we’ll
spend a wallet-crushing £19 for every minute
spent racing. And that’s if the car stays intact.
Our costs:
MSA Go Racing pack: £45
Medical: £65
Race licence test: £195
Race licence: £41
Join 750 Motor Club: £42
Join Stock Hatch series: £50
Season race entry cost: £1500
Car: £525
Road insurance: £275
Roll cage: £350
Roll cage fitment: £150
Extinguisher £42
Four control tyres: £147
Seat: £197
Harness: £129
Helmet: £83
Boots: £67
Race suit: £200
Repair fees: please lord, make
them low
Total: £4103