Now with points:
And what do points mean?I think that counts as a successful start to the season. Nobody froze to
DETH, unless you count my chain getting thoroughly jammed
[1] on the first bend, leading to me playing catch-up for the remainder of the race. And while the bottomless pit of doom claimed one victim, he still managed to finish. Russel's Battle Mountain contraption demonstrated that it could, technically, go round corners. Any my untested tubeless tyre stayed inflated for the duration. AndrewS wins the fboab award for (literally) forgetting to bring gears, and Chairman Al wins the award for poorly-positioned flag-waving.
The time team were delighted by the indoor facilities with abundant electrons, comfy seats, a promising coax cable leading to The Wrong Kind Of Aerial molished into the track, and a bidon of suspicious yellow liquid lurking in the corner. The lack of easy track access from the timing hut is a bit of an oversight, as I had to climb over the fence while wearing The Wrong Kind Of Shoes when troubleshooting an aerial problem in a hurry. I reckon we should get Jon Woolrich to molish a miniature siege engine for the purpose.
All we need is for someone to make the track about half as expensive to hire, and move it to somewhere sensible like the East Midlands.
[2][1] Behind the thinger that's supposed to stop the chain falling off. You had one job...
[2] Travel rant beyond the scope of this post, but in brief: a) Brexit bonus! Fewer lorries on the A14! b) The A12 is still horrid. c) Got lost in ACME territory. d) Range anxiety issues due to poor availability of motor-spirit dispensing stations on the right fuel card network that were both open and had working petril pumps. e) Stupid substitute car club car lives on The Wrong Side of Mordor.