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