Cadwell Park, in Lincolnshire, might be the most atmospheric race circuit in the world. For a while, it was known as the UK’s ‘mini Nürburgring’ – but that’s a bit like calling the late Verne Troyer a mini Vin Diesel.
Disrespectful? Absolutely. They may have comparable relative proportions, but surely – and you can call me pedantic if you like – what makes the Nordschleife utterly unique and therefore profoundly different from any other circuit in the world is the fact that it’s 13 miles long.
Cadwell is mostly known as a venue for motorbike racing, and for good reason. It’s narrow, flowing, fast, undulating and quite unlike any other track in the UK.
It’s also one of the motorsport world’s finest examples of a natural amphitheatre. Sit in the pint-sized grandstand at the top of The Mountain – the circuit’s infamous jump – and you can follow bikes around four corners as they course towards you, take to the air right in front of you and then disappear through the shady, often treacherously slippery Hall Bends.
Seconds later, they blast back down the pit straight 50 yards farther below you and then through the devilishly quick bends at Coppice and Charlies.
You feel like you can watch about half the lap from one seat, with visibility of two separate sections of track, a little bit like you can these days from the Becketts grandstand at Silverstone – except that, at Cadwell, one of them includes a whacking great jump.
Ah yes, The Mountain. I’ve never tackled it on a bike but have in a few cars – typically failing to get more than a couple of wheels off the ground because of the limited entry speed you can carry (a very good job they don’t run it in reverse!).
It must be utterly terrifying on two wheels, and the biking fraternity’s penchant for jump shots of their heroes taken here, often getting so much air that there’s no asphalt in the frame at all, seems to confirm as much.
Check out Josh Brookes on YouTube to see the finest exponent of the art.
I used to watch a fair bit of bike racing, following my brother-in-law on his old Suzuki GSXR600, and if I could only watch the sport once more in my life, it would be from here.
The sense of excitement and jeopardy is heart-stopping, and the bravery of the race marshals, whose only option when someone falls off is to stand right in the middle of the track with two yellow flags waving like lightsabers, is almost as incredible. I dearly hope they get danger money.