I took a ‘violent’ ride in a rally car ahead of Moray’s McDonald and Munro Speyside Stages 2024 with stages in Elgin, Keith and Huntly
Register for free to read more of the latest local news. It's easy and will only take a moment.
WE turned off the back road onto the forest track and the fear set in.
I was riding shotgun in a family hatchback driven by Northern Scot photographer Beth Taylor, gazing into the trees as we slalomed to avoid craters.
We were on our way for a ride in a rally car, ahead of Moray’s huge annual rallying event — the McDonald and Munro Speyside Stages.
In previous years, I went to see dozens of competitors skelping their way around the tarmac stage at Cooper Park, along with gravel stages across the forests and moors of Moray and north Aberdeenshire.
And, given the rare opportunity to experience it first-hand, I knew I had to accept the offer.
But, crawling along the bumpy tracks I would later barrel down at motorway pace, my fate became uncomfortably real.
Upon arrival, I was handed a race suit, and I performed an extended physical comedy routine while putting it on.
A helmet was then levered onto my head, the world went silent, and I felt as a neck brace was fitted.
I was guided towards a waiting car, Number 10, and with my senses and movement restricted by the safety gear I couldn’t help but feel like I was already in a coffin.
The Pro 4-grade car, the rally’s fastest class, was a custom-made Ford Fiesta R5 driven by Scott MacBeth and co-piloted by Northern Scot photographer Daniel Forsyth.
Looking at the seat in which I was to sit, I was faced with a seemingly impenetrable wall of roll cage bars and equipment.
Using gymnastic skills I was previously unaware of, I forced myself through the hole and thudded into the hard seat.
An unknown hand plugged a cable into the back of my helmet and buckled my harness - pulling the straps tight and nearly folding me in half.
However, as I sat there beside Scott I realised I couldn’t hear the helmet radio sounds well-known from in-car rallying clips.
By the time I clocked that something was wrong, the door had been shut and we were on the move.
I have no way of knowing, but I just hope he wasn’t speaking the entire time as I sat there in dead silence staring blankly at the road.
Our only interactions during the ride came from two questioning thumbs-up gestures, which I returned.
Scott seemed to have a slightly sympathetic look in his eye.
Maybe this is exciting enough?
The ride begins
The car pulled away carefully, and cruised down the same forest track I had rattled along minutes earlier.
I wondered whether this was as fast as we would go.
After all, maybe this is exciting enough? Surely a press taster event wouldn’t be that full-on?
But I was mistaken.
A few minutes later, we turned a corner as the road narrowed. Two small flags came into view at both sides of the road.
I realised, too late, that this was the start line and that things were going to take a turn.
We pulled up sharply and, after Scott and I exchanged the second and final awkward thumbs-up, the launch control began and the car started screaming.
It felt like the car had been at the line, bouncing off the limiter north of 6000 rpm, for a lifetime before the clutch dropped and we were flying.
We shot along the claustrophobic gravel stage, reaching motorway speeds immediately.
But more shocking than the acceleration was the speed at which we stopped, each stab of the brakes felt like a sledgehammer belting the back of my seat.
You couldn’t ignore the absence of traction, with the sound of tyres fighting the loose surface and the back end shaking violently back-and-forth under braking.
When Scott turned into each corner, he seemed to point the car directly into the verge — two feet deeper than any ordinary driver would assume was the point of no return.
But, miraculously, he made it work.
Disobeying every layman driving instinct, he could predict exactly how each four-wheel powerslide would pan out, successfully dragging the car around the bends at impossible speeds.
For me, however, every corner made for another surprise.
I could see only milliseconds ahead, so when we launched into a bend I was clueless about what lay beyond.
But, every time, the puzzle was solved and Scott kept it moving.
I had absolutely no say in what was happening — which I was delighted about.
Having no control, I figured, meant there was no longer any point in worrying. I started to get a sick thrill from it.
Before each corner I would feel the car shaking and wonder if I was going to die.
But when I saw the first signs of the exit, and I started to believe we might just make it, I felt like laughing.
Before long, I was willing the car to go faster and faster.
I wanted the car to carry more speed into the corner. To cut it further, to aim it well into the verge and gun it.
Trusting that, by some unknown force, we would appear on the other end unscathed.
But, at the end of the day, reading out detailed pace notes — or actually driving the car — were the last two things I wanted to do at that point.
Whether in the car or otherwise, it’s a spectator’s life for me.
When the car finished the stage, I was unbuckled, unplugged and I posted myself out of the door. Scott drove away.
The helmet was prised from my head, I could hear, and I felt able to speak without shouting for the first time.
I turned to Beth, who was waiting for her turn, and said: “That was the most violent experience of my life. It was great.”
After a botched departure from the race suit, we retraced our steps to Elgin. We were both on a high and completely wired.
Back at the office, as the adrenaline began to fade, I planned how I would watch the McDonald and Munro Speyside Stages 2024 that weekend.
