Opinion: Why I love hillclimbs

For the thrill of competition, opportunities for family bonding and meeting new faces, there's nothing like a good old-fashioned hill climb

I’ve been competing in hillclimbs for decades — ever since my eldest son turned 16 and he’s just celebrated his 40th, poor old thing. In fact, it was he who provided the perfect excuse for me to get involved in something I’d always meant to try properly since a brief foray in university days.

He’s my stepson, actually, and I’m sure he won’t mind my telling you that his natural father died in a car accident when he was three. I turned up when he was five, married his Mum when he was seven, taught him, his brother and a horde of their friends to drive in the woods in an old Landie from 11 upwards — but it still concerned me that as they approached licence age, we needed to find a way of keeping them away from danger.

When Jon turned 16 I bought a second-hand Caterham Supersprint, hired the Curborough sprint track for half a day, buttonholed an instructor I knew and let him teach us the ropes. The smiles said it all: my son proved to be a pretty decent driver and for the next decade or so we did sprints and hillclimbs together, always double-driving the same car (we’ve competed in six of them, over the years). Sometimes we were as little 0.01sec apart. Jon usually beat me in the dry and I was occasionally better in the wet.

Point is, we learned to love it. As my son approached 30 he started to be diverted by career, mortgages, girlfriends and the rest (though he still makes the odd cameo appearance) but I found myself continuing to do three to five events a year just for the hell of it.

There are many good reasons for getting involved. It’s entirely amateur, the people are friendly, the car variety is amazing (once, at Shelsley Walsh, my Lotus Elise was parked next to a monoposto Lotus built for the Indy 500!) and the venues are welcoming, scenic and never more than pleasantly crowded. The entry fees aren’t extortionate (£120-£140 an event) and you get to behave like a proper racing driver: overalls, helmet, race numbers, scrutineering and all the rest. You always find someone in the field who’s exactly as quick as you, so you can compete politely hard, and you’re always rewarded by employing the usual racers’ edges - practice, concentration and good preparation.

At our level you drive your car to the meeting (we did a few trailer years but I’d never go back) so at the end of a meeting you just amble happily home, always assuming you haven’t stuck your car under the Armco. We never did. Your licence doesn’t require any ARDS test; you simply fill in a form, send it to Motorsport UK with a few quid and it comes back in the mail.

Best of all, your accident is entirely your own. You won’t be driving along, keeping it tidy, and suddenly have some overcommitted pillock come along and knock the corners off your car. And it’s safe: speeds are fairly low (at our level) and marshals’ skills have been honed to a peak over many seasons.

The loudest criticism of hillclimbing is always the same one — you don’t do enough driving — and for many people that’s true. At a place like Prescott, my nearest local track, your flat-out driving, including practice runs, amounts to six to eight minutes a meeting.

Yet even that has advantages: you get plenty of time to chat to the friendly folks you’ve inevitably got to know, and look at their cars. Your anticipation of competing is always as good as driving itself. And while you’re actually behind the wheel you are absolutely and totally flat, driving your car as fast as you can make it go. Accuracy counts for a great deal. One slow gearchange and you’ve blown it.

Yet because you use your car sparingly, you rarely do any mechanical damage. It’s all so different from creeping home depressed after a circuit meeting with your tyres and brakes in tatters, and £2000 to spend to be competitive again. Best of all, you don’t have to be a hero. Those around you will help if you have problems, but none of them cares a jot whether you’re fast or slow.

They’ll only be concerned if they think you’re not enjoying yourself.

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