I’ll admit it: dangle the carrot of competition in front of me and I’ll chase it around a field all day long. That’s how I found myself wearing racing pyjamas and slippers, a giant furry hat and a silly coat whilst standing on a frozen lake on the outskirts of Siberia, waiting for my team mate to pit in. Mazda Russia had invited teams from around the world to take part in a double-headed race in Mazda 3s and MX-5s, and Mazda UK had invited me to be part of the team.

I’d been lucky enough to not only do an ice race before some years ago, but actually have two days of ice driving lessons from none other than Juha Kankkunen, four times World Rally Champion and world record holder for the fastest speed on ice – 205 mph. Frankly, I had no excuses.

But the most important weapon in a racing driver’s armoury is not a steely glare, driving talent or an ability to chat up women but the skill to explain away any error or failure with a cast-iron explanation that absolves them of all responsibility.

The first practice day brought to light two important pieces of information. Firstly that all the other teams consisted of journalists who were also successful racing drivers, and secondly that our team consisted of journalists keen to follow the local traditions – particularly in regard to toasting our hosts.

Regardless, my team got stuck in to the practice day – stuck being the operative word, as one of our number stood at six feet seven inches in height meant that getting in and out of the diminutive MX-5 was the work of minutes rather than seconds. The timesheets also showed that we were somewhat lacking in the required pace.

The day’s travails were completed when one of our team (not me, before anyone suggests it) stuffed our Mazda 3 so hard into a snowbank that it was deemed out of action. As we left for our hotel we would be only starting one of the two races, and from the back of the grid too.

Day two was race day, and while we started with clear heads we also faced an uphill struggle. The first miracle was that our hosts had helpfully found us another Mazda 3, which meant we could qualify for the first race. As the quickest driver on day one I was given the full 30 minutes of qualifying to get as far up the grid as possible.

As you might expect, driving at race speed on ice means a lot of sliding about. The Mazda 3s were on road tyres but with studs, which give more grip than you might expect but still way less than on tarmac.

In my 30-minute stint I gave it as much beans as I dared, managed to keep it generally pointing in the right direction and was left sweaty and exhausted.

Returning to the pits there’s no tickertape parade or dancing girls but my teammates seemed happy; I managed to bag seventh place on the grid.

Considering there are nine teams taking part it was some way short of bagging pole at Monaco.

Come race ‘o’ clock our first driver jumped in the car and trundled down the pit lane, but rather than being let on to the track to line up on the grid we’re told we’re too late, the pit lane has been closed and we have to start from the pits.

Our Russian advisor’s broken English didn’t provide an explanation, so we assumed that comprehensively bending our first car resulted in a harsh penalty.

We had no choice but to suck it up, and as the flag dropped our car was left sitting in the pit lane for what seems like an hour before eventually being let go to chase the pack.

Three laps later and it was time for a driver change, and we remain firmly last. Three further laps later and it’s my turn to race, except now we’ve been lapped. I optimistically try and work out who I need to pass in order to gain track position, but the reality is it’s absolutely everybody.

As luck would have it I came out into a clear piece of track, but rather than helping me go faster it left me wondering if everyone else had gone home. I didn’t see another car for a good ten minutes, and although I wasn’t overtaken I wasn’t close enough to anyone to overtake myself.

On my last lap I made the mistake of trying too hard and end up stuck ignominiously on a snow bank. We lost at least a minute before being rescued. I pitted for the last driver change, and all too soon the chequered flag dropped.

While the podium finishers soaked up their success, we decided there and then that next year we’ll return the favour for a Russian hosts by setting up a race around a north London industrial estate whilst being chased by the police after a night on the Jägermeister. I reckon we’ll win that one easily…

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