ONTHE HUNT

INSIGHT: TESTING SPIES Eagernesstoseevw’snewr5presentedourmanwithamission.by Davidevans FORAPOLO

For Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and Hugh Grant read Pontus Tidemand, Richard Browne and Gerard Jan de Jongh. Three of those folk have spent much of their adult lives dodging the press and being hounded by paparazzi. The other three were hounded by Motorsport News for one day in Wales earlier this month.

Not for us the thrill of the chase through the back streets of Notting Hill. Not for us careering through LA, hanging off the back of a moped, weighed down by 600 millimetres of Canon’s finest. No, we were doing this job properly. In a Range Rover. Well, if you’re going to get lost in the middle of Wales, you might as well do it in a car which offers you a massage – in all four seats – and the chance to watch Homes Under the Hammer on top of a mountain.

And ‘we’ are myself (obviously), MN columnist Colin Clark and Steve Jones (aka @rallyinguk). Between the three of us, we have a vast knowledge of Wales, its lanes, its backroads, rally roads and access roads. I’d even brought with me four OS maps (124, 125, 135 and 136), safe in the knowledge that Volkswagen Motorsport and its new R5 had been spied heading into mid-wales.

Once the team was in position, we were confident our network of sources would offer detailed intel on where to find them. Given that it was still dark and we’d been on the road into Wales for hours already, priority was given to breakfast. Normal people would have feared the lack of Golden Arches or an absence of Starbucks offering a cup of tea and bacon sarnie. Not us. After years of following rallies around this part of the world at ungodly hours, each of us has an in-built cafe tracker with rally refreshments on tap.

So, to Mallwyd and the greasy spoon attached to the filling station. Great sausages, but usually a bit too much butter on the bread. But no matter. Darkness. What. Not a soul about. No bother. Brigands Inn, just around the corner. Lights on, nobody at home.

OK… Up the A470 to Dinas, Buckley Arms? Nope. Phones were beeping. Spotted, trucks in, north of Corris reckoned to be somewhere around Aberllefenni, west of Aberangell and south of the north end of the woods. In short, somewhere in Dyfi. That’s the 6000 hectare forest of Dyfi.

Now the real dilemma: if we chased the picture, we wouldn’t be eating for hours. Volkswagen had made it clear this was a private test, so even if we found them, they would be offering more hostility than sustenance. In fairness, there was no dilemma. We would starve for the good of feeding Twitter. Yeah, right. We turned south and headed to the classic rally town of Machynlleth, where the famous clock tower refused to make it get to 0800hrs any quicker. In the end, Clark stepped from the Rangie and headed for the Maglona Cafe. He’d seen the lights going on.

The lovely ladies took pity, fired up the burners early and shipped us a couple of sausage and bacon sandwiches early. Great form.

Another beep and 124 789107. The 1:50 000 of Dolgellau and surrounding area was retrieved and the map reference traced to the junction opposite the start of the Gartheiniog stage. Happy days. So, to Corris. And Corris dressed for Christmas. That was a first with Rally GB’S date falling earlier and earlier into the season.

We crawled the last half mile towards the junction, windows down, ears cocked for the sound of a Polo GTI R5 being fired into life. Nothing. And there were possibilities in just about every direction.

“They’re bound to use part of the Rally GB stage,” I reckoned. “They could trace that off the onboards and get a comparison time for their car.”

Noise. Generators. And, more importantly, a sign. ‘No spectators.’ Even more important an arrow.

We were in. Nosing the Rangie through the woods, a couple of miles in we rounded a corner to see the glorious sight of avw-branded truck. And a man in a hat walking towards us. Fortunately, we knew him. It was Pirelli Rally man Brian Kinghorn. We told him we were expected. He went to check.

In fairness, we were expected, but we weren’t expecting to be welcomed.

Jan came out to meet us, not looking too impressed. More of the same from Browne.

“You take no pictures around here,” says Jan.

“There’s a really interesting place to watch about 800 metres up there,” adds Browne, “but you’d better go now – the car will be out shortly.”

And we fell for it. Some way past the 800 metres, Browne’s devious plan made sense. They’d probably taken the car on another road. Just as we were starting to curse, our walk guided us into a long, fast left, braking into a hairpin. And, even better, the car was coming.

“Who’s driving?” said Jones. “Get a good look inside…”

Standing on the inside, I was sure there was no way the water running through the apex would reach me. How wrong can you be? With water dripping off my nose, I tried to remember what my job had been.

“Well?” called Clark, “who was it?” My reply required only half the number of words he’d offered. Back down the road, Clark and Jones filmed and clicked while I looked and learned. “He was tall…” I said. Marcus Gronholm? Hmm, don’t think so. Next time through… “Tidemand! It’s Pontus.” More clicking. Gotcha. Back to the Rangie for a mass upload followed by the inevitable social media frenzy. Momentarily, I almost forgot about the mud in my ear.

Laptops fired up, pictures downloaded and…

No service. No signal. Not a G, let alone three or four in sight.

Sod it. We went back, turned the cameras off and chewed the fat with Pontus, Jan and Richard. Paparazzi wasn’t really for us. We’re rally fans. And anyway, lunch was on... ■