The stands at Paul Ricard are not very high, unlike Le Mans, and are not covered, so it’s quite a grueller bagging a decent spot to see the start, hours before the 3pm start. The main support event is the Classic, open to bikes between 1969 and 1991 in three different capacity classes. It’s a two stage four hour race, so 2hrs night racing on Friday, with the remaining two hours raced on Saturday morning which keeps everyone occupied along with the following stunt show. One downside of being on your own is having no-one to save your seat should you need to leave it for whatever reason. Having a few beers was out of the question, as was going to the toilet.
After a jet fly past, similar to our Red Arrows, and a practise start by the riders, the bikes were lined up in their qualifying order, held by a mechanic whilst the rider stood on his mark on the opposite side of the track. At 3pm the starter dropped his flag, and a mad dash for the bikes began. All were cleanly away, unlike Le Mans earlier in the year when Bradley Smith got dramatically rear ended. Although not on pole position the Sert Suzuki was soon leading the pack, although about 90 minutes later it was to retire with a serious engine problem. Not long after the Yart Yamaha and factory BMW also had to call it a day. Even though it required a clutch change the Ducati lead until around lunchtime on Sunday, when it pitted for too long due to a problem, allowing a Yamaha team I’m not familiar with,Viltais Racing Igol taking the win, followed by another Yamaha from the big Polish outfit Wojcik Racing. At least we had a Brit on the top step as James Westmoreland had been reserve for Viltais.
The mad dash to leave the circuit began as the race ended. I’d made sure I had enough fuel to get me to my next stop about 100 miles north, as getting petrol on a Sunday in rural France can still be a problem, so at least when I was out of the gate there’d be no stopping until Digne les Bains, my next campsite.
My 90 litre Ortleib bag became very handy, as I could just throw stuff in without too much order, and made my exit quite quickly. The route I’d chosen on minor D roads meant I would encounter very little traffic, and had made this journey twice before and was confident in making my campground in good time, which was the case. My allocated pitch had a lovely view over the nearby rock formations. A hastily rustled up chilli got the catering out of the way. It was luxury to just walk to the washing up facility, rather than have to boil a kettle to get the washing up chore done.
After a jet fly past, similar to our Red Arrows, and a practise start by the riders, the bikes were lined up in their qualifying order, held by a mechanic whilst the rider stood on his mark on the opposite side of the track. At 3pm the starter dropped his flag, and a mad dash for the bikes began. All were cleanly away, unlike Le Mans earlier in the year when Bradley Smith got dramatically rear ended. Although not on pole position the Sert Suzuki was soon leading the pack, although about 90 minutes later it was to retire with a serious engine problem. Not long after the Yart Yamaha and factory BMW also had to call it a day. Even though it required a clutch change the Ducati lead until around lunchtime on Sunday, when it pitted for too long due to a problem, allowing a Yamaha team I’m not familiar with,Viltais Racing Igol taking the win, followed by another Yamaha from the big Polish outfit Wojcik Racing. At least we had a Brit on the top step as James Westmoreland had been reserve for Viltais.
The mad dash to leave the circuit began as the race ended. I’d made sure I had enough fuel to get me to my next stop about 100 miles north, as getting petrol on a Sunday in rural France can still be a problem, so at least when I was out of the gate there’d be no stopping until Digne les Bains, my next campsite.
My 90 litre Ortleib bag became very handy, as I could just throw stuff in without too much order, and made my exit quite quickly. The route I’d chosen on minor D roads meant I would encounter very little traffic, and had made this journey twice before and was confident in making my campground in good time, which was the case. My allocated pitch had a lovely view over the nearby rock formations. A hastily rustled up chilli got the catering out of the way. It was luxury to just walk to the washing up facility, rather than have to boil a kettle to get the washing up chore done.
Whizz kid sitting pretty on his two wheeled stallion.