Matt Rostron, Captain of Hollingworth Lake Rowing Club, took John Matthews out in a racing boat this summer.

We asked Matt to to swap places and co-drive for John Matthews, Rochdale Exchange rally driver on a night rally stage. John is in the middle of preparing for next season and used this as a practice session.

‘Five, Four...’, Oh no! ‘Three...’, the voice in my head shouting “Why are you doing this?” is so loud I look round to see who is in the back of this screaming, vibrating almost coiled rally car only three seconds away from, to be honest, I don’t know what. But there are no seats in the back. ‘Two!’ I’m conscious of a low, barely audible groan coming out of my mouth.

The starting procedures at rowing regattas, which is my usual sport, are much more polite and a whole lot less scary. ‘One...’, now I’m panicking, I take a look at John Matthews - the driver, he’s grinning madly. The smell of fuel and hot oil strong, whole body shaking, the noise incredible. I reach out and try and find the door handle. Too Late! There’s a strange feeling in my throat; either my heart or my lunch. I clamp my mouth shut just in case.

We hit the first bend doing sixty miles an hour. Hit is the right word, I’m waiting for the brakes, the bend is now upon us and I realise that he’s not going to use them at all. I hear myself shouting ‘brake brake, come on brake for ...’ and without thinking stamp my foot down hard on to the floor of the rally car. ‘What the hell is that racket?’ I scream but it is my foot that is pressing the horn switch on the floor. We attack the first bend with no brakes whatsoever, the horn blaring and me the co-driver moaning like a speared animal.

John shouts at me to sort myself out. I take my foot off the horn and remember that I should be giving him instructions. Being in such a small car in complete darkness makes me totally underestimate the speed we are travelling at and I am already 2 - 3 seconds behind were I should be. And I am getting further and further behind. ‘Come on Matt! Next next bloody next!’ I take it he means what is coming up next. I don’t know, I am that far behind. ‘I just don’t know’. Next!! is the reply.

The rattle of the car and the incredibly loud bangs of the stones and rocks on the wheel arches mixed with the engine noise is terrifying. There is no sound proofing, no carpets, nothing in this car. Anything that could catch fire has been removed. We are now three minutes into our 10 minute practice session and the car is hurtling towards the bends ridiculously quickly.

We had discussed the stage and what I was expected to do. I always thought that co-drivers were like average coxes in racing boats; only there for the ride. Not so. Not only is the co-driver expected to do all the navigating on the 10 stages that day but also the 200 plus miles between stages on normal roads. Add to that the mopping of several brows, peace keeping and sandwich suppliing and you understand just how little I was doing.

I wasn’t prepared for this one bit, but John knew this stretch of gravel, which was just as well because as we approached the last two or three bends I realised that I hadn’t given him one single command. The co-driver effectively steers the car with instructions. I had been following with my finger along a map but after a particularly harrowing section I had covered my face with my hands and, to be homest, I couldn’t take my eyes off the road to check where we were supposed to be!

The rollercoaster and smell of petrol and oil had made me feel really sick, but then we were gearing down for the last time and we had stopped. A couple of seconds went by, I wasn’t speaking. I was suddenly aware of my hands aching. My last attempt to get out of the car at the start had left one hand clamped onto the door handle and the other had clenched the map so hard I can still see contour lines on my fingertips.

I was aware of John talking to someone about times, performance, ETA’s, fuel consumption, time cards. I had no clue of any of these but he was definitely looking at me for even more information. I was beginning to feel better though, even a little smug, having survived my first and last ever rally stage. ‘Would you do it again’ John asked. “Oh, sure” I said breezily, knowing that I would never have to, “Great, let’s turn around and go back the other way then”.

Five, Four, oh, no! Someone in the car was moaning again.

Matt Rostron was a guest of the Rochdale Exchange Cancer Research rally team. The team are preparing to represent Rochdale in a national rally championship next year.

Matt Rostron

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