Damp dykes and cold bums ….
Well, there I was sitting on the cemetery wall above Dervaig village. Dangling my legs and sooking a soor ploom, just waiting for the lights to appear over the skyline. It’s at times like this, with dead punters behind, odd noises oozing from the undergrowth and the damp stone seeping through the troosers, that the old brainbox starts ticking into overtime.
This year’s Tunnock’s Mull Rally had a full entry of 120 cars and crews and yet few other events in Scotland over the past year could make the same claim. At 550 quid, the Entry Fee is pretty steep until you consider that there are damn close to 150 miles on offer. That compares very favourably with the 45 stage miles for more or less the same money for a one day forest event!
Tarmac events are usually a bit cheaper and longer, but limited in scope. Otterburn and Epynt are great venues, but there is only so much variety that can be extracted from their limited road network. Otherwise we’re reduced to airfields and seaside promenades.
Closed roads represent an alternative, but progress is painful. I simply don’t understand why politicians are so slow, maybe they should have less holidays so they can do more of what they were elected to do and are being paid to do. If they could exercise the same speed and ingenuity in considering and passing laws as they exercise when compiling expense forms and voting for longer breaks then there would be fewer complaints from the populace.
Unfortunately, they seem to encourage this painfully slow political progress on those who have to work with them, like our own governing body for instance. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad, but a governing body which represents one of the fastest sports in the country has to operate at the pace of the slowest MP or quango. It’s like riding a bicycle as slow as you can without falling off, the concentration levels are similar, but progress is like getting stuck behind a dejected road roller driver on a work-to-rule go-slow.
In other words, Road Closure Orders are about as imminent as three wise men bearing gifts descending on Oban.
Like the Manx and the Circuit of Donegal, the Mull Rally is unique, and much of the appeal lies in the romantic notion that it takes a boat ride to get there.
Then of course, there’s the roads. In has been said that the Misnhish Lochs road was laid by contractors following the trickle of tar left by a drunk staggering home one evening from the MacDonald Arms to the Bellachroy with a hole in his wheelbarrow.
The Isle of Mull is also smaller than the Isle of Man, so the atmosphere is more intense and the sport more concentrated.
And then there are the two Legs run in darkness. Sitting there with the damp seeping through the denim, the sudden shafts of halogen and xenon piercing the dark velvet sky like searchlights looking for enemy bombers, signal the arrival of action. That is quickly followed by the staccato of furious internal combustion accompanied by the glow and sparks from brake discs as the cars approach and then screech round the hairpin and away again.
And then there are the nutters. I saw six or seven young blokes stripped to the waist in the frosty night air. And as certain cars sped past, they dropped their trousers to wave to the crews, and no, they were not mooning. Mind you, given how cold it was, there wasn’t much to wave, but the intention was sincere!
The rally exerts a magical pull. Two ‘Mull virgins’ did exceptionally well this year. Alistair Inglis spectated 26 years ago and promised to come back and do it. He did, this year, and finished ninth just 4 seconds in front of Daniel Harper. At the finish line in the floodlit Dervaig village, Alistair said: “He was taking 2 seconds a mile out of me, and that last stage was 22 miles – I have no idea how I finished, but that last stage is what rallying is all about.” Calm? He was about as cool as a goldfish swimming with an electric toaster.
In the same way, the rally left an impression on Donnie ‘I don’t even like the Jim Clark Rally’ MacDonald. At the finish he was soaked in his own sweat and struggled to express the word “marvellous” as he finished 12th. They’ll both be back.
It wasn’t just the rally, it was the duration. Two nights and an afternoon of intense competition. Modern rallies are too short. Over before the adrenaline and testosterone has had time to reach room temperature.
In some ways I hope the rally never changes. Yes it has to move with the times, but I hope that in adapting to modern needs and ever tighter regulations it never loses that special appeal. Like the first Mini, it’s a wee nugget of national treasure in the world of rallying.
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