Ice Racing - Going to extremes

To say that today is a cold day would be something of an understatement. 'Cold' just doesn't do this weather any justice. Not at all. It's more of a frigid haze, a gelid snowscape. The outside temperature gauge in the car reads -28ºC. It's unwise even to go outside in these conditions. And that's borne out by the deserted service stations and dormant villages that punctuate our route along the ice-bound highway leading us to the frozen port town of Sundsvall, perched on the edge of the arctic tundra that is northern Sweden in December.

As we stop for a coffee in the centre of the town, I ponder what my priorities would be if I lived here. I'd probably want to keep warm, first and foremost. And I'd make sure to eat lots of rich food to build up a nice layer of fat. And I'd have lots of hot drinks, and watch a lot of telly. Then I think about what would be at the bottom of my list of priorities. Easy. Riding motorcycles. What kind of people would want to do that? In Sweden? In deep winter? Well, I'm here to find out, and the answer's simple. Swedes. Really mad ones.

And just riding bikes isn't enough. These Swedes like to race their motorcycles, speedway-style, on ice. If you fancy yourself as something of a speed demon or a trackday hero, prepare to be belittled. Ice racing is most definitely not for the faint-hearted. You need a certain degree of valour just to be a spectator.

"Welcome to the world's most dangerous sport," grimaces Lukas Lundkvist from beneath his rufty-tufty moustache. He may be the organiser of this very low-key local event, but judging from the scar which snakes through the stubble on the left side of his face, I suspect that Lukas may have some personal experience of this particular sporting pastime.

Those with an interest in no-frills, high-octane motorsport need look no further. Here's the scene: an ice track within a snowbound industrial estate; some vans; some scary-looking motorcycles with 28mm spikes sticking out of their tyres; a bunch of even scarier-looking people wearing battered motorcycle leathers, home-made steel chest plates and sundry items of ice-hockey armour; an ambulance. And that's about it. No sponsorship, no bar, no hospitality area. Just a couple of officials in fluorescent bibs on hand in case someone gets killed.

Just by walking around the hastily arranged paddock, I can tell that this ice racing lark is going to be a raw spectacle. Although I haven't yet seen one of the evil-looking motorcycles turn a wheel, I can just tell that they're probably downright bastards to ride. They're the motorcycling equivalent of a featherweight boxer. The looks of a pre-pubescent lad, coupled with a right hook that could smash your face in half. Eek. Ulf Engenström, the number 12 rider racing for the JMK Östersund team, shows me around his bike.