Everything calm as we gazed towards the coverage being streamed from Colin Clark’s phone, our colleague Alasdair Lindsay’s entrance was confirmed by the opening of the rear door.
“Did I miss any action?” he quizzed, coffee and a snack in-hand from the Circle K gas station.
How prophetic. He hadn’t. But as soon as the car door was slammed, our new reality revealed itself.
The plan had been to hit the road section between SS13 and SS14 and film a piece as the crews readied their Rally1 machines for the fading light. But Adrien Fourmaux decided to screw our thoughts into a ball, and hurl them into the trash.
Rally Sweden had finally swallowed its first victim. Fourmaux’s Hyundai had been pulled into a snowbank like quicksand, and with nobody around his forthcoming efforts to free himself were always going to be in vain.
This is when a World Rally Championship weekend comes alive working for DirtFish. We absolutely do not pray on the downfall of any competing crew, but chasing an accident and making sure we are there to report on it is where the adrenalin really starts pumping.
Little did I know how much my heart would be later on too…
Things started serenely. A slide (which was well controlled it has to be said) in the morning around a roundabout reminded us how icy the roads were, so it was a leisurely drive to the start of the Sarjöliden stage which had caught out Hyundai’s new star.
In these scenarios you ultimately pray for two things: that the car and crew are still there, and the route required to reach them isn’t too hazardous. But the rub is you don’t know about the first until you’ve conquered whatever lies in wait for the second.
Mercifully, Rally Sweden’s organizers saved us. We’d met a man and his snowmobile on Wednesday during the recce, who explained his job was to clear a path through the deep layers of snow to greatly ease spectator access.
Either he or one of his mates had given this stage-start that very treatment. So car parked, layers added to combat the chill, we were feeling pretty confident. Path paved ahead, let’s go find Fourmaux and Alexandre Coria!
We were even treated to some rally action, as the serenity of the wilderness was sharply interrupted by the crackle of Rally3 backfire, with the WRC3 and Junior WRC cars warming their cars up for the stage start. These machines may lack the power and aero of their bigger cousins, but they’re noisy little beasts!
Watching some rally cars was a rare treat - everything was looking wonderful
But just ahead was Toyota Challenge Program driver Hikaru Kogure in his GR Yaris Rally2. Watching him launch into the next seven minutes of his life was awesome – the pace at which these cars and drivers climb up to speed is staggering as he shot by, having only started the stage a few hundred meters behind us.
Where was the challenge? Everything was going too well. And often when life gives you lemons, it decides to offer a sour apple just to balance things out.
The marshals were brilliant and understood our situation, but the words from one of them would prove prophetic: “Good luck!” he said, with something of a nervous laugh.
Fourmaux was not far onto the stage, so in terms of pure distance this would not be an arduous trek. But that beautiful path had ended as we were venturing beyond the spectator point, so we would be trudging through the woods instead. Tricky enough in ‘normal’ weather – a far more daunting task when the snow’s been around.
Slightly psyched out, we headed for the trees. But almost as quickly as we’d entered, life offered us a lemon again. Time to introduce you to our new friend: Sam Lay, who was working as meteo crew for Hyundai (and is also a capable rally driver I’ve since found out!).
With a shared target instantly bonding us, he advised that the route we were about to take was a no-go. So off three Scotsmen and a Belgian went in search of a new direction. It’s a joke that doesn’t begin by walking into a bar, but a frozen forest instead.
Why am I throwing my legs forward through a tidal wave of snow in rural Sweden, air temperature -10C and my heart rate +1,000,000?
Trying the other side of the road, the gravity of the challenge was instantly felt by poor Alasdair who fell down into the snow and scrabbled for traction to get going again. But we’re committed rallying people; there was no going back now.
Each step was literally a step into the unknown. At times our feet were greeted with friendly frozen clumps of snow, and others nasty traps of the soft stuff that sunk us in waist-deep. This was when the experience levels began to show.
Leading the pack was Sam, along with Colin who’s a veteran of these adventures. Alasdair and I meanwhile are still working on our odometers, so I elected to hang back and stick with him instead of attempting to chase those more travelled.
Unquestionably this was exciting, but excitement isn’t the emotion that grabs you when you’re somehow sweating profusely in a sub-zero climate. It’s at times like this you seriously begin to question your life strategy.
It’s a Saturday afternoon – I could be in the pub watching soccer right now, or binging Dexter on Netflix with my girlfriend. Why am I throwing my legs forward through a tidal wave of snow in rural Sweden, air temperature -10C and my heart rate +1,000,000?
Gorgeous scenes like this were enough to briefly distract from the gruelling mission
Then I was reminded why: a clearing. My photo (above) doesn’t do it justice, but it was breathtaking. My racing heart was content again, filled with its new love for this wonderful country and event. But more importantly, a clearing gave way to an access road and we had a chance to stop, regroup and take a rest.
I’ll be honest, I was relieved to see Colin had struggled too. He’s twice my age so it’s probably not the best reflection on me that I was still faring worse, but hey – at least Alasdair and I weren’t alone.
Here we met more marshals, snapped a selfie “for the memories” and had a decision to make: plow on through the wilderness, or wait 10 minutes until the stage has finished?
What do you think we did?
I’ll answer that by saying the chance to watch some rally cars attack this sweeping left-hander, with the light fading and sparks flying from beneath the Hankooks as the studs bit into the gravel exposed in second pass conditions, was majestic.
But the one car we were dying to see was the sweeper. Its presence meant it was ‘go’ time.
The DirtFish team and their new accomplice
Saying goodbye to the marshals, I forgot my earlier tactic and activated the afterburners. Sam was sprinting, and so was I. For about 500m I was able to keep tabs with him – squeezing in a “I’ve just hooked fifth gear” gag to really let him know how much of a rally nerd I am.
But running along a rally stage is cool, and actually fascinating to feel where the grippy line was beneath my feet.
However, sure enough, ambition overtook ability and I was forced to slow. Another fantastic reminder that the gym membership I’ve been putting off getting may need to finally be sorted when I arrive back home next week.
Anyway, whatever happened next, I’d had an adventure and gained this story to share with you. But through all of this, we still did not know if Fourmaux was there.
Sam was long gone, so I wouldn’t even get any cues from him. Colin and Alasdair were in my slipstream, but I was the leader of the DirtFish pack. The only option was to soldier on and pray.
Would Fourmaux be round the corner...?
A cambered left-hand corner was approaching – one that looked promisingly like what caught Fourmaux out.
Screw it, time to run again. Breathing getting heavy, my eyes were on stalks in search of a flash of orange and blue beached in the winter wonderland.
And breathe. There the #16 i20 N Rally1 was – perched exactly where we’d prayed it was.
Autopilot takes over: take pictures, film B-roll, speak to Adrien. Colin turned it on and did his thing for the video while Alasdair filmed, and our mission was complete.
But not before my day got weirder. “Luke!” I could hear someone shout. ‘Me? Who wants to speak to me? Who even knows who I am?’ I think.
Fourmaux's Hyundai was finally found after an adventure to get there
“Calle Carlberg,” the voice explained, offering out his hand. The European Rally Championship driver I’ve interviewed on the phone but never met in person. What a bizarre way to meet.
I’m sorry we never really got the chance to chat, Calle. Instead I parked my backside on a snowbank and filed a news story on Fourmaux’s reaction to the DirtFish newsdesk; one of the stranger places to do this, I’m sure you’ll agree.
But since when has rallying ever been straightforward? Just ask Fourmaux, whose day was even more bizarre hours earlier with his helmet fastening debacle.
He’ll bounce back, of that I’m sure. His start to life at Hyundai has been seriously impressive, so bigger things must surely be on the horizon.
As for me? I’m back home now; my heart finally recovered but eager to see what happens next. What else does Sweden have up its sleeve for me tomorrow?
