My organisational issues evaporate when the first kids go out on track on the Metrakit 50s. It's absolutely, utterly mad and quite terrifying to watch. These dwarves with oversized crash helmets are attacking the final double apex right hander next to our van like their lives depend on it. It's like something out of Star Wars, and Oli the photographer goads them further by pointing £9,000 quid's worth of Canon zoom lens at them. As if on cue, we have our first 10 year-old highsider right in front of us. Wallop! But, being children, the kids bounce like rubber and this lad is straight up on his feet and running for safety, nappy intact and completely clean I would wager.
If the 50cc Metrakits were an eye-opener for us junior racing virgins the 70ccs are biblically insane. We stare, slack-jawed, at the deep braking, knee-down cornering and ferocious, tyre-squirming exit speeds offered by our nearby corner. These eleven and twelve year olds are setting each other up for a pass three corners previous and using proper race craft in this first timed practice session like adults. And make no mistake, when you're just a wee nipper these Metrakits are big enough to make the ground an awful long way away - especially over the side.
I busy myself with fettling the gearing on Adam's Polini. Paddock advice (free flowing and copious - it's a friendly place) says we should run a seven-tooth front which means a load of pissing about with watchmaker's-sized Allen keys, 7mm spanners and the horrible and inaccurate issue of chain alignment. When your fingers are the size of Cumberland sausages (hello) these bikes are just shit to work on - make no mistake. I'm too cack handed for this kind of precision work. Gearing suitably altered, Adam heads out with the mini-moto equivalent of BSB and suddenly both he and I realise the gulf in ability between quick track day kids and a full-on British series. Oh well, there's nowt like chucking 'em in at the deep end. Thankfully my precious son returns with a big grin, undaunted. The cheeky little sod even has the audacity to complain about his clutch and says it's biting too late.
The level of riding throughout all the confusingly complex minimoto classes is equally spellbinding. Watching the fastest kids through left/right/left complexes is incredible. Their inputs are so precise and so forceful that it all seems to be happening in a speeded-up film. Are they fast? They're rude fast. Filthy rude. Anyone who doesn't believe that Britain hasn't got talent should come to one of these events. It's just the system that stops them going all the way - that, and the big-money lure from karting. The hot money seems to be on riding both classes for the extra track time and the experience that offers, so we decide to scour the paddock to meet the hard chargin' culprits.
It's a bit odd interviewing 10 year-olds. And doesn't photographing them have all sorts of complex issues surrounding the subject? Regardless, we press on in the interests of journalistic endeavour. Some take to the 'I'm being interviewed' scenario better than others. When most of us at 10 were quite happy to be doing skids on our push bikes or ringing people's door bells and legging it, these kids are actually being exposed to dealing with the media and it all seems slightly surreal - for both me
and them.
"So what do you enjoy about racing then?" I ask a pint-sized racer, trying not to tower over him or block the sky with my considerable bulk. "It's dead good. I really like it," comes the answer from somewhere near my feet. "What do you want to do when you're older?,' I ask, clearly at the bottom of my stockpile of questions for 10 year-olds. The kid in question, a lad called Bradley Ray, looks me in the eye through spectacularly spectacular spectacles (his, not mine) and simply says. "MotoGP."
Perhaps it was the lack of hesitation that caught me slightly off guard, or even the way he looked so relaxed about his chosen path at such a precious age. Either way, it really hit me. But Bradley's focus and determination isn't totally unique in this travelling circus. Amongst the younger competitors (and ignoring the adults competing on mini-motos which, lets face it, is fun but a bit dead-end) it's a common thread. Hunger, dazzling ability and appetite for success is everywhere in this paddock.
For a clue to this just watch them in the holding area - they're like microscopic caged fleas desperate to be let loose onto the tundra of unexplored tarmac beyond the fence. Adding to this amusing sight, you can occasionally spot a dad in the holding area coming to administer a proper bollocking for getting a bit giddy with the throttle.
But sod them, it's time for my second session on the Metrakit 70cc in the fun class. The irony is that these 21bhp (!) fun bikes are fast enough to cause at least several fractures if you get it wrong. And what's fun about that? But fun it is - by the skip full. Anyone who's ever ridden a KX65 Kawasaki or an RM80 Suzuki will know what I'm talking about. Light-switch power delivery, nervous but accurate steering and six gears so close together that you'd swear the revs didn't drop between up-changes. It's competitive, too. Five of us are all lapping within a few 10ths. These bikes come with super-sticky Sava semi-slick tyres, wide motocross bars and rear set footrests. My son is impressed but not enough to stop him taking the piss. "You look really big on that bike" he says, in a masterful stroke of understated fattist put-down. I qualify fifth. Okay for a big bastard, I thought.
But the fun class is just a way for the dads who travel the length and breadth of the UK to let the kids race, go racing themselves. Racing can be a slog - and the fun class is a great way of letting off steam.
As I drive away from the meeting one thing really hits home. Where is all the backing and sponsorship? It just doesn't exist. Ron Dennis would be mortified to see the lack of investment in the MMRA paddock. These kids are bike racing's future. Such talent, unadulterated bravery and incredible commitment needs more than just financial support. It needs nurturing, coaxing and educating. It gets no help from governing bodies - clearly we'll have to do something about it ourselves. Anyone got any bright ideas?
