Unforgettable
When I was asked to work at the Indian Grand Prix alongside my father I was hugely excited. I have worked in F1 many times, mainly for Force India, but the prospect of working with Dad was really exciting. It would be a first, on the first Indian GP but I wasn’t aware just how many more firsts I would be adding over the weekend.
F1 weekends tend to be the same as the standard motorsport working weekend, loads of track and no feel for where you actually are. I tend to use this as an excuse when talking to mates about my trips, ‘Yeah I am going to X but you don’t get to see anything other than Airport, Track and Hotel.’
Landing in India I suddenly realised this would be very different. The Indian people are not very patient and I was soon being barged off Emirates 515, through passport control and then once belted into my Tata Indigo my not-so-chatty driver for the weekend was the one barging his way through Delhi rush hour. I would love to describe this too you but its very hard to portray just how crazy the roads are…. Shanty towns line the 3 lane highways, with men and women, young and old overflowing out of them to sell you a packet of crisps. On the roads themselves, bicycles fully loaded with produce or people jostle for space with Tuk Tuks, Donkey and carts, cars, Buses and the family mini van. Somehow the riders and drivers manage to fit 7 wide down the roads paying no attention to the white lines. That would be bad enough, but there is such a huge speed differential and the minivans, buses and bikes tend to be well overloaded with people hanging out window or just hanging on the smashed rear window, Its plain scary
The technique as far as I can work out is you flash, honk and nudge your way alongside your fellow transportee and then ease them out the way. As long as you’re a nose ahead you have control. It made me nervous for a while until you realise everyone does it, its an unwritten code of conduct, alien to us but our driver was as cool as a cucumber!
So to the track; or first to the shack which was the track office to collect my pass. It is true that the circuit was built on farm land but I am not sure there was any reason to keep the farm buildings to use as a dusty office! Back to the 70’s!
Such is the uber efficiency of everyone at Buddh that a helpful soul had already picked up my pass so the ensuing treasure hunt allowed us to explore the facilities, which were extensive but somewhat….well..old! Amazing as it sounds, the pit buildings and main grandstand felt like they had been built in the 50’s and needed a lick of paint and a polish! How this aging has happened in less than a year is quite spectacular!
Fast forward 24 hours and as the clock struck Midnight, I aged another year. I figured no-one would, know, care or make a big deal but how wrong I was. My father woke me up with a small present from home and then during the morning most of the UK press came and said Hi. I was then able to call Qualifying with the old man before sharing a few very strong Vodka cokes. At home, messages were flowing constantly and in the hotel Radisson Nioda lay an immense chocolate gateaux and bunch of beautiful flowers. The Curry munching was less exotic but the flavours were out of this world. Kingfisher flowing and good banter with some of my close paddock mates in the centre of Nioda added yet more culture to the trip.
Sadly this tale does not end well. I started to feel a little rough on Sunday morning which I passed as a hangover but the thick dusty polluted air was getting to my lungs and throat. There was no soundproofing in our booth so by the end of the day my voice was shot and I started to feel quite faint. There was a lot of exhaling and not a lot of inhaling going on!
I was flying out that night to JFK and so it was a quick turnaround to get to the airport having taken into account the huge traffic I planned to leave at 6. Our driver turned up at 7 with the flight due to go at 9:20 and a 70minute drive. I stupidly mentioned the word fast, and that was what he did. Flat out! Because of the traffic he went back roads frequently off in the dirt to ease passed a tractor, out braking others into potholes, all in a days work I thought, it was a little more extreme than the other trips but I trusted our man until he started praying and crossing himself. Despite his efforts and my heart going mental, we didn’t make to Delhi Airport and I was forced onto an Air India return at great expense because the only seats left were business. I had 5 hours to kill which I spent mostly in the Lounge munching on free curry and chatting to drivers and media all dressed down and happy to chat. It was a good lesson that you may learn more from the relaxed pilots there than in the paddock.
