The Man in the White Suit_ The Stig, Le Mans, The Fast Lane and Me - Ben Collins [0]
IN THE WHITE SUIT
THE STIG, LE MANS, THE FAST LANE AND ME
BEN COLLINS
Dad, thank you for every opportunity that life brought through your guidance.
Mum, your moral compass is a shining light; thank you for putting up with me.
All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.
T. E. LAWRENCE
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Epigraph
Chapter 1 - Audition
Chapter 2 - Need for Speed
Chapter 3 - Winning
Chapter 4 - Snakes & Ladders
Chapter 5 - Le Mans 24
Chapter 6 - Daytona Endurance
Chapter 7 - The New Stig
Chapter 8 - Green Fatigue
Chapter 9 - Live at Earl’s Court
Chapter 10 - Rockingham
Chapter 11 - Hard Routine
Chapter 12 - Tortoise or the Hare
Chapter 13 - Chin Strap
Chapter 14 - Cowell’s got Talent
Chapter 15 - A Walk in the Park
Photographic Insert
Chapter 16 - Pass or Fail
Chapter 17 - Happy Landings
Chapter 18 - Stars in Reasonably Priced Cars
Chapter 19 - Driving Blind
Chapter 20 - Taking the Rough with the Smooth
Chapter 21 - If It’s Got Wheels
Chapter 22 - Bitten by the Bug
Chapter 23 - Track Record
Photographic Insert
Chapter 24 - Match of the Day
Chapter 25 - Smoke and Mirrors
Chapter 26 - Jet Man
Chapter 27 - Street Fighting
Chapter 28 - London Calling
Chapter 29 - Pedal on the Right
Chapter 30 - The Scud
Chapter 31 - Untamed: Hampshire Heist
Chapter 32 - Bus Racing
Chapter 33 - Loose Cannon
Chapter 34 - The White Bubble
Chapter 35 - Who is the Stig?
Chapter 36 - Give My Regards to Dunsfold
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Index
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Audition
Intermittent shafts of sunlight sliced across the damp carriageway through the canopy of trees. Leaves spattered away from the spinning wheels. I still had plenty of time, but this journey was worth enjoying, so I kept pulling gears and cranked the stereo.
The suspension shuddered as I braked hard on the worn tarmac and rounded a long hairpin. The car was busy but my mind, as usual, was elsewhere. Was this a good idea? Who was this guy I was meeting? Where the hell was this place?
I glanced down at my complex route directions, then realised my turning was about to appear on a blind bend. I slowed to check for oncoming traffic before veering off down a track with no discernible markings.
My left thumb clicked at the handbrake button as I toyed with the idea of a sharp about-face. I topped a gentle crest and the view widened. Just past a field of grazing sheep lay a security entrance. Three feet and two inches to the right of the middle of nowhere.
The security guard spilt his tea and leapt to his feet as I pulled up at the gate. He emerged from his cabin and approached my window. ‘Do you know where you’re going?’
‘Yes,’ I lied.
‘Who are you here with?’
That was a trickier one, but I dealt with it.
‘ Oh, OK, just follow the one-way system around.’
I drove into a vast expanse of clear skies, grass, concrete and airfield. The path ahead led to an old DC3 passenger plane. I followed the broken concrete track to the right. An office building stood amongst a haphazard collection of large green metal warehouses. I dropped down a ramp into a staging area in front of a much larger hangar. At the far end of it, on the edge of the airfield, lay a very dilapidated cabin with ‘Production’ daubed on its side. A Harrier Jump Jet was parked in the middle distance.
It seemed I’d arrived at the ‘Studio’. With a little time in hand, I walked the site.
The airfield was as flat as a billiard table, with neat green fields surrounding the tarmac landing strips. I couldn’t make out any kind of circuit in the sea of grey mist. A tired silver tree-line separated the earth from the clear blue sky.
The place must have had a real buzz in its glory days, first during the Second World War and then as a Harrier proving ground. On this still morning I could almost hear the banter