The Man in the White Suit_ The Stig, Le Mans, The Fast Lane and Me - Ben Collins [85]
The supercharged Range Rover was the ultimate tracking weapon. It provided a moving platform for the camera crews to film whatever the presenters got up to in their cars. It was big, ridiculously fast and had a tailgate, allowing a cameraman to shoot from the back without falling out.
At six the following morning, the crew were busy rigging at the start line in Palma, surrounded by palm trees swaying in the morning breeze under a clear blue sky. Complementing the Titanic yachts in the harbour were numerous Porsches and muscle cars, any of which boasted more power in their headlights than the bhp of our three entries put together.
I was charged with filming James May with Barbie doll Madison Welch aboard their 1970 Citroën Ami 8. It would take more than clever tracking to make that little biscuit tin look dynamic. James played on his Captain Slow character and hammed up his eccentric, mad professor image, but his real personality was never far from the act.
Before the cameras started rolling, he was trying to look in every direction other than the bulging Page 3 breasts bobbing next to him. When Madison asked for some help to tighten the shoulder harnesses that clicked into her waist belts, the set came to a standstill. Our sound operator was first to drop his bacon roll and dive in through the passenger window to assist her. Whilst he craned his head around in our direction to have his picture taken, James shifted uncomfortably in his seat and snuck a sideways peep at what he dubbed ‘the work of the divine potter’.
Having secured Madison’s breasts, it was time to start the rally. Everyone climbed aboard, with Casper filming from the boot, his assistant and the sound recordist in the back seat, and Phil, the young up-and-coming director, alongside me.
We rolled out of Palma in convoy, with the other Rangies leading Jeremy in his little Austin Healey Sprite and Hammond in the lumbering Lanchester. Casper, Ben and Iain blazed away with their cameras, cleaning up Grand Vistas of the glistening beach, the rugged yellow stone mountains and close-ups of the star cars, with Phil monitoring the dialogue via the soundman.
‘Fast Porsche coming through on your right, Casper,’ I shouted.
‘Thanks, Buddy. Casper hoovered a shot of James being zapped.
‘EYES, RRRIGHT …’ An anonymous voice over the crew channel. The spotting game was off to an early start, with a hot blonde in heels and a snug bikini strolling the ocean drive.
‘What’s he saying in there?’ Phil asked.
‘He’s asking her to calculate speed and distance formulas, and she’s telling him to shut up and drive faster,’ replied the soundman.
‘Beard …’ the radio crackled as we passed a pedestrian in a trench coat with a set of outrageously bushy mutton chops.
‘Bearded woman with DOG,’ Iain called.
That spot was declared a winner.
‘Jeremy’s making a phone call to James,’ the soundman reported.
I turned to Phil. ‘I’m indicating right but James isn’t.’
James was prattling away whilst Madison gazed out of her window. Neither seemed too concerned about the direction they were travelling. All they really needed to do was follow the Rangie. I slowed in front of him and pointed to the slip road. James flew straight past and missed the junction, blinded by the headlights in his passenger seat.
I put the supercharger to work and caught him up again.
‘We’re going the wrong way,’ James squeaked. ‘We should have turned off the motorway by now.’
‘Er, we know. Just follow the tracking vehicle from now on, Jimbo. We have to make a U-turn.’
The rally course followed the coast for a while before peeling up into the tree-lined mountain roads. ‘Rally’ exaggerated our mission. The aim was simply to mark the most precise time and speed over a set distance, although that rule didn’t apply to anything with a Porsche badge. Those guys were taking huge risks on the closed mountain passes and waiting at the end of the stage to