ITALIAN STALLION

To lift or not to lift, that is the pressing question as I exit La Source hairpin and hug the pit wall like a comfort blanket. Pros: the conditions (warm and dry), the car (a highly sophisticated V12 mid-engine Ferrari) and the race situation (I have the track to myself). Cons: circuit knowledge (I’m a Spa newbie, never driven Eau Rouge let alone taken it flat) and driver talent (I’m Jacky Rix, not Jacky Ickx).

Pros have it. I steel myself, shuffing an inch lower in the seat – simultaneously dropping the centre of gravity and hiding behind the binnacle. Downhill straight crashes into towering incline, left-right-left, it takes every ounce of concentration to ignore my rational mind and prevent my right foot from retreating. A bead of sweat sidesteps my eyebrows and stings the corner of my eye, the front wheels track straight and true through Raidillon, the engine flexes its diaphragm on top of the hill and bellows a 12-gun salute to the memory of the endurance racers