I didn’t even know how to tie the laces of my regulation shoes. And, although it seems silly, it all starts there. You have to put them through the booty tape that hugs the ankle so that there are no loose ends. It is the basis of everything, that nothing is left untied, that everything is controlled. When you act as co-pilot for a day, you understand: the world of motoring has nothing to do with what you see from the outside, with the neverine in the praos. There is work, rules, strategy, tenacity, frustrations and a lot of desire.
Lets start by the beginning. Uniformed for the occasion (flame-retardant clothing, overalls and helmet) and with the laces securely tied, she had to get inside the car. Between the roll bars, almost touching the ground, was my seat. Sorry, bucket. It seems complicated to enter, but once there, there is enough space. They anchor you to the seat like a child in a travel seat; at four different points. And the party begins.
In the Peugeot 208 Rally4 owned by Óscar Palomo from Madrid, everything goes a thousand miles an hour. They are just a few minutes of speed for which you have to work hard and make decisions. Palomo’s headache in the hours before the Llanes rally was choosing the tires well. I got on with him to do the section where the pilots carried out the tests prior to the race. A fast circuit, with curves and a striking elevation change; one of those in which the stomach rises to the mouth.
For someone like me, outside the motor world, getting into a rally car is as impressive as a roller coaster. In tenths of a second you pick up great speed and, instantly, you stay stuck in a brake. “Like this all the time”, jokes Palomo when explaining the dynamics of the section. He also tells me what the buttons on the car are worth. Where the radio goes in conventional cars, they have the keys with which they change the driving mode once they enter the section. “The car runs more like this,” he points out. Underfoot I could feel it. The vehicle became rabid. Controlling it from there was up to Palomo, who quickly moved the steering wheel and operated the gear lever without stopping. In my field of vision, the road disappeared without giving me time to appreciate it. Only the colors of the fans’ jerseys and sweatshirts at the key corners stood out in the green and gray watercolor that faded before us. “Just like a street car, right?” It was the first comment from him when we returned to calm and circulated on the highway back to the parc fermé where the team was waiting. My answer: “It has nothing to do with it.” It’s more uncomfortable – it’s impossible to get out of the seat even to scratch your ankle – than a car, but infinitely more fun.
What does a good co-pilot have to have? “Calm and safety”, he replies. “I’m guided by sensations and even if I’m doing terrible in a section, I need my co-driver to give me security; the feeling that everything is fine,” says Palomo.
The balance after “the trip” as co-pilot is positive. I keep three things. The first, the great work behind each rider (it’s not just racing and that’s it). The second, the welcome news that no one is surprised to see a woman interested in “these worlds.” To go passenger weight matters, not sex. The third, a phrase from Óscar Palomo’s mother: “You don’t run much, but win.”
