Castle Combe, Wiltshire. When you start dead last on a thirty-two car grid for a three-lap sprint, common sense suggests you might want to settle in, wave at the spectators, and hope for a gentle top-twenty finish. Our brave duude, however, looked at his P32 slot in the Chevrolet Corvette C6-R GT2, chuckled darkly, and treated the start like an invitation to a demolition derby combined with a time-attack session.
What the numbers say
Gilles Chevrier took a clean victory in his AF Corse Ferrari F430 GT2, completing the three-lap dash in 3:25.745. David Poel brought his Spyker C8 Spyder home in second, just 2.256 seconds back, with Mike Scott rounding out the podium in the Sun-Red SR21. A tight, conventional podium fight fought out at the front while utter anarchy unfolded behind them.
Now let us look at the stopwatch and weep for the laws of physics. Starting all the way down in thirty-second place, Fernando Horta hammered in an astonishing fastest lap of 1:03.100. To put that in perspective, pole-sitter David Poel's best was a 1:06.930. Horta was nearly four seconds a lap faster than the entire front row! He carved his way through thirty cars in three laps to finish 6th overall, crossing the line just 4.582 seconds behind the winning Ferrari. If the race had been four laps long, he would have lapped the paddock twice and stolen the Clerk of the Course's lunch.
As for how the grid got so thoroughly scrambled: starting thirty-second means your first lap involves dodging thirty-one cars behaving like shoppers at a Boxing Day sale. The timing screens weren't just used as coasters this time; they were practically thrown out the window.
Quotes
Fernando Horta (Corvette Racing, 6th): Thirty-second place! Who put me down there, the local council? I spent the entire first lap playing pinball with Spykers, Ferraris, and a very confused Panoz. The Corvette had so much pace it felt like it wanted to launch into low Earth orbit. I'm exhausted, my mirrors are missing, and I demand a recount.
Gilles Chevrier (AF Corse, winner): Look, I saw a yellow blur appear in my mirrors on lap two, and I simply drove as fast as humanly possible so I wouldn't become a statistic. Winning is great, but surviving an encounter with a raging Brazilian starting thirty-second is the real achievement here.
David Poel (Spyker Squadron, 2nd): Started on pole, led the race, and still spent the final straight checking my rearview mirror for a Corvette flying six feet in the air over the chicane. That is not racing, that is an anxiety disorder.
Mike Scott (Sun-Red Racing, 3rd): Third place feels fantastic. Even better is the fact that I didn't get torpedoed by the #1 Chevrolet coming through the field like a freight train with no brakes.
The council investigates
The Super Mario World MotorSports Off-Road Solo Slow-Paced Drivers Council Foundation (SMWMSORSSDCF) has convened over a lukewarm cup of instant coffee and issued the following binding decrees:
- Motion 20170622/11: the backmarker handicap. The council notes that allowing Fernando Horta to start 32nd just to see how many cars he could overtake in three laps is a violation of basic civil safety. Future grid positions must be assigned by a random game of musical chairs rather than letting him lurk at the back.
- Motion 20170622/12: telemetry hallucinations. The council formally requests an investigation into how a Corvette can be four seconds a lap faster than a Spyker while simultaneously dodging thirty backmarkers. Suspecting dark magic or an overly aggressive throttle pedal, the telemetry box has been sent to the forge to be melted down.
No further thoughts will be given on this matter, and the ElderCouncil will now return to their heavily fortified nap bunker. *snore*
So what now?
Another wild afternoon at Castle Combe, where starting last is apparently just an aggressive strategy to see how many bumpers you can tickle before the checkered flag drops. The champagne is gone, the carbon fiber dust has settled, and the rest of the grid is double-checking their locks.
Next time, the saga continues…
Ps. Dave, seriously, we are begging you now. Even a three-lap sprint needs someone to anchor the very back so Horta doesn't get lonely down there! Come back!
