The Man in the White Suit_ The Stig, Le Mans, The Fast Lane and Me - Ben Collins [139]
Hammo was stuck in the middle of the throng, presenting superb pieces to camera whilst Armageddon unfolded around him. The Route-master charged up his inside with two wheels on the grass, and the second Bendy followed suit to his outside. The violence of the ensuing collisions made everyone take two steps back, watching through the gaps between our fingers. Hammo took the hits and rolled out some spiel about disabled access and seating capacity.
There was absolutely no room for another vehicle on the track, but that didn’t stop Reid. All four wheels on the grass, then teetering on to two, he speared his way up alongside the Routemaster, windows breaking like clashing cymbals.
Reid flew around the park, getting pinched occasionally between the bigger boys who otherwise trailed in his wake. Showers of broken glass filled the air, pneumatic fluid bled, radiator steam hissed and rubber bubbled. There was no such thing as a glancing blow with these leviathans; every knock sheared off a sizeable chunk of metal and spun it across the tarmac. One access panel landed right in front of us.
The Bendies slid down the main straight, tails swishing one way then the other at 90 degrees to the front deck. One stonked into the cab of Hammond’s machine then swatted Tom Chilton’s snail-like double-decker on the rebound, but Tom soon had an opportunity to restore his honour.
During a break in the action we set up cameras by the sharp bank at the Rally Cross intersection and told Tom to roll it. The earthen mound looked perfect for the job if he could turn sharply with enough speed. After several attempts, Tom became the first person I know of to drive a double-decker on two wheels without toppling. Luckily, we had an ace up our sleeve.
‘So you want me to ram him going into that corner over there, yah?’ Reid enunciated in the crispest Queen’s English, as if being asked to serve tiffin.
I nodded. ‘I’ll cue you in on the radio so you can run up and hit him on the rear right just as he goes up the bank.’ I directed his thousand-yard stare towards the appropriate point on Tom’s flank.
‘O … K …’
We handed Tom a neck brace and some extra Brylcreem to help ease his blond afro into his helmet as Reid started lapping well in advance of the shot, for no apparent reason.
‘He’s not all there, is he?’ Owen said. ‘I mean, even you guys reckon Reidy’s a bit out there, right?’
I shrugged. ‘A little crazy. He’s still got it, though.’
Reid burst past the stationary double-decker one final time at terminal velocity.
‘Tom, is that thing running now?’
‘All set. Let’s do it.’
Given the fact that he’d never rolled a bus before, Tom was a model of composure.
‘OK, go now!’
He lumbered off, gradually building speed whilst Reid continued to circulate at full pelt. Tom reached the corner as Reid flew down the straight.
‘Feather it a touch, Reidy …’
Tom lurched up the bank on two wheels and Reid pummelled into him, kept his foot down and punched the Routemaster on to its side. The top deck fell with a mighty crash but was barely damaged. The Bendies were also – depressingly – indestructible. We sawed through the joint in the middle of one, so the front and rear sections were only held together by pneumatic hoses, and they still wouldn’t separate when rammed.
The rest of the buses were toast. The freshly coiffed grass in the middle of the circuit had been shredded and seared, and the track was littered with their remains. Despite repeated heart surgery, not one was driveable by the end of the shoot. They bore fitting testimony to how much could be achieved in a single day with some nifty planning, a stellar group of drivers and a great crew.