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The Accident
“Easy left into
medium right”, and a quick glance up to confirm. Noticed
the very rapid Volvo PV544 of Nils Bergquist leaning
over at a crazy angle parked up at junction 19, but
driver and co-driver out and giving us the ‘thumbs up’,
made a quick cross on my map so that I could report the
‘off’ at the stop line. Eyes back down on the map, no
‘pace notes’ on this event, and called the 300 metre
flat into medium left. Repeated the medium left call at
approximately 100 metres before and glanced up to
confirm.
As
all stage co-drivers know, you get into rhythm when calling and when it
is going well, your concentration is keen and your expectations are
high. The glancing up to confirm your call begins to get routine and you
expect the road to be where you called it.
The ‘medium left’ was
approaching and I expected the car to flick sideways, probably flat in
second, maybe 60 to 70 mph, so I looked back down to my map to prepare
for the next two calls. Instinct is a wonderful thing; something made me
look back up. The forest road, with the car sliding into a medium left,
should have been to the right of the windscreen, but it wasn’t.
Now my attention has been
grabbed, I can hear the engine screaming its nuts off and some
expletives from Pete trying to drown out the engine noise. I am looking
at the road now out of my door window and the windscreen is full of a
forest view. The car lurches into the ditch on the right and threatens
to roll over, but Pete is fighting the steering and manages to
straighten it up so we are now driving along the ditch. My eyes are
transfixed; the inevitability of the process that is about to happen
causes an automatic reaction in all of us. I felt my hands tighten down
flat onto my map board. Previous experience has taught me not to let my
hands and arms flail around inside an ‘out of control’ rally car.
The out of control bit is a
difficult moment to define, but there comes a point at which you know
that despite the best efforts of the driver, the rally car is now in
control of the process and there is nothing that I or the driver can do
about it. That moment has now arrived. The forest view out of the
windscreen is now denser. Low hanging branches are hitting the screen
with resounding ‘thwacks’, then ‘crunch’ that tree on the right has just
removed the offside wing, wheel and suspension leg. Momentum has slowed
somewhat but we are still travelling at 40 or 50 mph.
That solid
looking tree now appears from between the low branches. We hit it plum
centre. As if in slow motion, the bonnet rises up like a tent, the back
edge chopping the wipers off and sending them over the smashed screen. I
feel my knees rising up as the floor begins its journey towards me; my
chin is now on its way to my chest, the transmission tunnel is moving
backwards, the steel folding as though made of putty. My chin hits my
chest and starts its rebound; helmet hits back of seat and then silence.
Out of the silence, which seemed
to last an eternity, I could hear the crackle of red hot metal cooling
down, the hiss of steam and a mumbled “you ok” from somewhere very
distant. My senses where slowly adjusting to the situation, I could
smell the hot metal and steamy radiator water, then the smell of the
forest, crushed pine needles and pine sap. Couldn’t focus my eyes.
Double vision. Had to get out, pungent smell of fuel now in my nostrils.
I look down and to my horror I can see two quick release buckles, which
one do I hit! My right hand moves to the buckle, relief, there are two
hands. Belts loosen but will the door open? Yes, I tumble out on the
forest floor with Pete in close attendance. Self-preservation takes over
and we get ourselves over the other side of the road and take a look
back. What a mess. Then the pain hits, my chest feels like a herd of
elephants has trampled over it and Pete has done something to his lower
back, blood is pouring from a deep cut on his chin and I have cut my
hand. After what seemed like forever, the next rally car appeared and
disappeared just as quickly. Then the sound of running as a marshal with
a hand held radio came round the bend that we had failed to negotiate.
After assessing our situation he suggested that we make our way out
towards the finish control, which was only 500 metres away, where a
doctor would give us the once over. Hindsight is 20 20 vision. Looking
back now we should not have moved, Pete had three crushed vertebrae and
I had broken ribs. It’s the macho thing taking over, we didn’t want the
organisers to stop the stage and we could walk away from anything.
Be advised, break a fingernail
and let the medics come to you!
Peter White |
