by Guy Martin
One trick six-cylinder, 3-litre machine had gone, to be replaced by another trick six-cylinder, 3.5-litre machine. The black Transit, FT13 AFK, had been stored at Radical Ventures’ garage, on the outskirts of Las Vegas, since May’s Nevada Open Road Challenge race. The TV lot had the idea of killing two birds with one stone. They and James from Radical in Peterborough looked at the record for the world’s fastest van, and reckoned my Transit could break it.
All the word, when we were at the Nevada race, was about the Transit getting to 170 mph and feeling like it wanted to keep going when I had to back off. It did feel to me that it had a bit more in it, but only enough for about 180 mph, and only if it had a long enough stretch of road to keep going. Ewan, the TV director who’d been on that job, had an inkling it could do 200 mph at Bonneville, but I never thought it could. I was the least confident, and I knew the salt would add drag that the engine would have to overcome, but I didn’t know how much.
James had flown over from Radical’s Peterborough headquarters and met with Brian from the Las Vegas outfit. James was there to handle all the computer side of things, mapping the fuel and the engine management, making any changes to squeeze more power out of the engine. The Transit had been brought up in a big enclosed trailer, pulled by a V8 pick-up. The van, my van, looked mint, with just a bit of shop dust on it, and it was good to see it again. Even though loads had changed in the interior, it still felt like my van.
Compared to the streamliner there was hardly any preparation or messing about to do before a run – just get in and turn on the Transit. Brian parked the truck and trailer at mile zero, an easy walk to the Honey Buckets. Mike Cook was there again, like he had been all week.
Brian and James got on with unloading the Transit, then Paul from North One, who had been nicknamed the President because he looked like Bill Clinton, rigged up the interior with miniature cameras to film the onboard footage. While he was on with that, the medical helicopter from Salt Lake City landed, letting us know that it was seven o’clock and we could run as soon as we were ready.
The record we were aiming for was 177 mph, set by Supervan 2, the two-thirds-size Ford promotional van that was fitted with a Cosworth DFV V8 Formula One/Le Mans 24-hour engine. This was just a peak speed, not a two-way or an average through a timed mile. All that had been changed since the Nevada Open Road Challenge race was a new set of Pirelli P Zero supercar tyres.
I was in my race overalls. I got in it and was told to just go 100 mph to get a feel for it, then stop at the two-mile marker so Brian could test the tyre temperatures, but I either didn’t hear them or I forgot, because I thought I’d see what it could do on the return run. I checked that all the numbers were right – I could see oil temperature, water temperature and boost temperature gauges – and they were all good, so I thought I might as well give it the berries.
When the salt was a bit rutty I was clinging on for grim death, sawing at the steering wheel to keep it in a straight line, but as soon as I got it on the smooth stuff it was spot on.
On the return run the van did 155 mph, but I had my foot to the board for what must have been a minute and it wouldn’t go over that speed. I got back to the truck and James plugged in the laptop, had a look at the data and increased the turbo boost.
Turbos increase an engine’s power by forcing more air and fuel, the charge, into the combustion chamber to be burnt. It does this by compressing the air. More air and fuel equals a bigger bang and, in turn, more power. Increasing the boost means compressing the air more to force a greater amount of mixture into the combustion chamber, to increase power. You can’t just keep increasing boost, though. More heat is generated, and the increase in power puts a strain on the engine that will eventually lead to something failing.
Conditions were perfect, but the van felt a bit weavy, so it was a good time to swap the AGV for the car helmet and HANS device. Mike Cook reminded me that I had to wear a wrist strap as well, but I couldn’t find mine. I probably left it on the seat of the streamliner. James and Brian had a dig about in the back of their trailer and found one I could use. I only needed it on the right arm, the one closest to the side window.
I put the diff lock on to try to stop the van’s back end squirrelling. This locks the rear differential so both wheels spin at the same rate. Normally, rear-wheel-drive cars need a differential because when they are driven around a tight bend the outside wheel has to travel further, and faster, than the inside wheel. The rear wheels of cars with front-wheel drive are mounted independently, so they can spin freely at their own speed.
I climbed back into the retuned van and set off towards Floating Mountain with the rear wheels spinning and a cloud of salt following. This run was quicker, at 161 mph, but, again, I had my foot hard to the floor and the engine had no more to give. The diff lock hadn’t made a lot of difference, and the van was unstable for some of the run. It felt like it was going to break into a big sideways slide. Mike Cook had the best explanation for what was causing the van’s back end to feel so squirrelly. He said the back of the van was driving the front, but the front was hitting a wall of air that it didn’t have the power to break through, so the back then starts trying to overtake the front. It’s to do with wind resistance, and the Transit Custom isn’t the most aerodynamic vehicle ever built.
Another thing Mike pointed out was that the Transit would have been helped if it had regular rear-facing exhausts to help break up the vacuum behind it. My Transit has side pipes that exit through the sills in front of the rear wheels, because it wasn’t built for running at Bonneville.
The van was nowhere near hitting the speeds it had to if we wanted to break the record. It was actually slower than it had been on the road, which had to be down to the increased drag of the salt on the wide tyres. Most salt racers use narrow wheels and specific Bonneville tyres for the minimal amount of drag. It’s not like Formula One, where you need loads of grip for intense acceleration and mental braking; Bonneville racers leave the line gently and steadily build up speed. By now the Transit’s V6 had been tuned and given enough to make it the most powerful engine Radical had ever built, with about 800 horsepower. I was all for taking the narrower wheels off the rental van – they’d have fit straight on my Transit – but James wasn’t keen. He said he didn’t know their history – the tyres might have some damage that we couldn’t see. I was willing to take the risk, but no one took the suggestion seriously, so I forgot about it.
The van had the big wing on the back, to keep it planted. Mike noticed a lip on it – he called it a gurney lip – and suggested we take it off to try to gain a bit more speed. It was likely to make the handling even more unstable, and I joked that they should get the helicopter started up just in case.
By now James had increased the boost to 1.45 bar (21 psi), and he didn’t really want to go any higher than that. James really knows his stuff, and he’s only 25. He knows everything about the Life System engine-management system. He emailed the engine’s map – all the different settings for ignition, boost and timing – back to Peterborough from the Salt Flats, and we waited while the Radical factory rewrote it, sent it back and James uploaded it.
James suggested getting the van into top gear, then only giving it half-throttle before flooring it for a blast at the timing line. I was taking the engine to the rev limit in every gear while I was going up through the ’box. It felt like the new map had leaned off the fuel ratio, giving it slightly less fuel, because the engine was misfiring a bit. It was demanding more fuel, but we reckoned the fuel pump couldn’t keep up. I soon found out I was right about the lip – removing it made the handling even worse. I had to get off the throttle to settle it down, because it felt like it was aquaplaning.
Even with all that, I only hit 163 mph. And now the charge temperature – the temperature of the air and fuel mix going into the engine – had increased. It was in the 60s, when you want it 30 degrees lower. It was because the turbos were working harder, compressing more air. When air is comp
ressed it makes more heat.
James was worried that if we gave it any more boost we could blow the engine, so we called it a day. I could understand why James and North One believed FT13 AFK could break the van record, but I never shared their confidence. There was even talk that what we’d filmed that morning might not make it into the TV programme, so how much had all that effort cost them? Then Andy the soundman said, ‘Well, it’s the fastest full-size van,’ and a light bulb went on over the producer’s head. Supervan 2 was a fibreglass body over a racing-car chassis, so he had a point.
Even though we hadn’t beaten 177 mph, it was still a great Wednesday morning, and I wasn’t feeling down about it. I was disappointed for Radical and the TV lot, because of the effort and expense they’d gone to, but it’s only money. I find it easy saying that when it’s not mine.
CHAPTER 20
I know I have a bad earth or two
YOU REMEMBER BRIAN? Looks a bit like Don Logan, Ben Kingsley’s character from the film Sexy Beast. But in chimp form. Well, he doesn’t and he isn’t, because he’s part of my brain, with an added bit of my imagination. He’s my inner chimp.
The idea of the inner chimp was first explained to me by Dr Steve Peters in his popular self-help book The Chimp Paradox. The chimp is one of three main parts of the brain; the other two, according to Peters, are the human and computer. The chimp area gets the blood flow first, and that lets it react to situations slightly quicker than the more evolved human part of the brain. That can be a problem because the inner chimp deals with things the way animals do, and in a way most humans have moved beyond – or wish they had. So, Peters explains, the inner chimp is aggressive when it feels threatened, it wants to shag to further the species, it wants to have power over others, be the alpha male or female. To realise how that affects people in normal situations, just think about the bloke who doesn’t have their inner chimp under control and gets bumped into in a pub and has their pint spilt. They handle it aggressively, not realising that it was just an accident and 20 pence of Carlsberg is nothing to get wound up about. Every argument has some chimp reaction. The inner chimp is also the part of the brain that has you chucking spanners around the workshop when things aren’t going right. So understanding your inner chimp and knowing how to keep it on a lead is important.
Brian was such a big part of my life that he had his own chapter in When You Dead, You Dead, but something’s changed since finishing that book. I’ve hardly had a peep out of him in 12 months. I’m not that surprised, because I knew what was setting him off. I could feel him rattling the bars of his cage when I came into contact with the bullshit that has been shovelled on some of the bigger motorbike races. If I couldn’t get out of the situation I couldn’t do much about it, and soon Brian was screaming. Crowds, however friendly they were, would get him going. Even though the Ulster is one of my favourite meetings, the crowds were just getting a bit much for me there. A crowd creates a crowd creates a crowd.
Keeping Brian quiet was helped by not putting myself in positions that would set him off, and that means not attending any motorbike shows, big races or signings. I nearly raced at a classic motorsport show at the NEC, racing flat track as part of the event. I said to Boastie, my mate from Lincolnshire who had organised the dirt-track racing, that I’d turn up and ride my bike if no one advertised that I’d be there. Then the show’s organiser started advertising on the internet that I was going, and encouraging folk to buy tickets because I was going to be there. In the end, I was too flat-out building the wall of death bike to go, so I had to duck out of it, but the whole internet thing made the decision easier. Not going wasn’t a problem, from my point of view, because no one was supposed to know I was going anyway, but maybe some people bought tickets thinking they might see me. I don’t get why they would go to a show just to see me, but I’m sorry if it buggered up their day.
It felt like a big weight off my shoulders when I knew I wasn’t going racing, and I wouldn’t be asked the same questions again and again while I had to stand there nodding, smiling, agreeing. This isn’t me being ungrateful or rude – it’s just the way I’m wired up. I know I have a bad earth or two.
The chimp is still there. He, or she, is in most of us. I’ve always thought that cycling kept him quiet, and even when I was wasting time getting lost on the Tour Divide he didn’t affect my mood or decision-making. But I felt Brian waking up for the first time in ages when I was at Bonneville. He was trying to stick his oar into things that didn’t concern him: ‘I knew that. Why did they say one thing when I knew the other? Why didn’t they just listen to me?’
Compared to past Brian behaviour it was nowt, though. I reckon Brian will always be a part of me, but not racing is the biggest change. It’s yet another reason why it feels like the right decision.
CHAPTER 21
I don’t want anyone to believe the hype
I’D NEVER SAY 2016 was the best year ever, because I don’t think of things in that way, and it’s only September, so I’m not counting my chickens. But it has been fascinating. I don’t plan things too far ahead, and even if I did, if anyone had asked me five years ago about what I’d be doing now, I wouldn’t have come up with riding the Tour Divide, trying to break the motorcycle land speed record and racing a V6 Turbo Transit van flat out through Nevada. Who would?
Who else in the world gets the opportunity to do 400 mph on a motorcycle? Very few, and doing that has put me in a circle where I’ve proved I’m not a messer. Now Matt Markstaller’s mate is talking about letting me have a go in a 3,000 horsepower Freightliner truck to see what I think of that. I’m able to talk to people like Ed of Carpenter Racing, who shows me the Triumph streamliner’s inlet ports, and it’s great because they look nothing like I expected. One thing leads to another, like everything in this book. Who would have thought that talking about tea to some TV bods in 2009 would lead to a programme about the Industrial Revolution to Pikes Peak to Latvia to the wall of death to Bonneville?
So, if I had been asked five years ago about what I’d be doing in the future, I know I would have said, ‘Fixing trucks.’ And I’m still doing that, thanks to Mick Moody being the best boss in the world.
I thought I’d have a chance to breathe when I stepped out of racing for a while, but I have hardly had time to think. Even though road racing was such a big part of my life for so long, I don’t miss it one bit. I look forward to having Sundays to myself now. I take the dog for a walk, spend some time in my shed, sometimes go to the pub for Sunday dinner. There’s always been more to me than racing, whether other people believed that or not. For a few years, the Isle of Man TT was the big thing in my life, but I won’t go back to racing regular stuff. Right now I’m getting my Martek ready to go race the Burt Munro Classic hill climb in New Zealand, and I’m dead looking forward to it.
I’ve changed my opinion on the telly stuff too. In the past I thought I wanted to give the TV job a rest, because I felt I was doing too much and getting lost, but I’m not thinking like that so much. A big part of that is because the ideas North One are coming up with are good – they’re things I want to do. It’s stuff you’d pay to do, but I still want the dog to wag the tail. I’m the dog in this partnership. That’s why, when Moody puts his foot down and says I can’t go filming, whether it’s me that’s cocked up the dates or not, I’m not too fussed, even though it does cause grief for Spellman and the TV lot, and I’d prefer not to do that. It does always get sorted, though. This is probably the busiest year I’ve had with the telly job since the first year, when I took six weeks off work and knocked my teeth out. So I must be doing something right.
I can be awkward sometimes, but it’s nothing to do with having been on telly and thinking I can throw my weight around. I’m just a truck mechanic who works for Mick Moody. I don’t want people blowing smoke up my arse – I want them telling me to get on with a job, because that’s what happens in the real world. I don’t want people scared to tell me stuff, because, when it comes down to
it, I am only a wanker. When I did that thing in Lincoln, pedalling up and down Brayford Pool in the failed human-powered speed-record boat, hundreds of people lined the waterfront shouting encouragement, and it reminded me that I just do stuff for me, not for pats on the back.
I liked it when I first met Matt Markstaller in Portland. He wasn’t talking down to me, but he was telling me how it had to be. He wasn’t rude, but he was blunt. He was the same when we met on Bonneville Salt Flats, but a few days later, when I proved I could ride the machine he’d built, he started talking to me differently, and I didn’t know why. I have more respect for people when they don’t pussyfoot around me. I don’t want people to think I’m doing something they can’t do, because I don’t want anyone to believe the hype.
Sometimes I’m so busy I want it all to stop, but every time I do stop I’m itching to start something else. Like I’ve explained, even before I finished the Tour Divide I was wondering what was next. I have to find the next thing, but I also like getting back to Moody’s.
I was hoping to have had a good go at the land speed record before this book went for printing, but the timings changed because of the condition of the salt, and I’m finishing this with the dates up in the air. Initially, I thought all I had to do was turn up and open the throttle, but there’s a lot more to it than that. I’ve shown everyone involved that I’m man enough for the job, but everything’s got to be right to really go for the record. I like that the limiting factor is now the bike. Up until the end of the first test it had been me, but by the end of that first week I was ready to go faster than it was able to. And I’d gone faster in it than anyone had before.
