Cheri 48-hour endurance

​​The Time:

First week of September 2008.

The Place:

Gerotek Vehicle Testing Facility near Pelindaba, about an hour’s drive from Joburg. More specifically - the 3km high‑speed banked oval.

The Cars:

Three Chinese Chery QQ3 1100cc models and two QQ3 800cc models. - Don’t laugh.

The Objective:

Set new 48‑hour endurance records for 800cc and 1100cc vehicles. - I said don’t laugh, dammit!
I got roped into this thing at the last minute by long‑time Formula-GTi single seater racer Gerrit de la Rey.

Wait, what? 

Me of all people, driving a pokey little slow‑poke, puny‑engined, front‑wheel‑drive noddy car around in circles for hours on end? 

Oh, what the hell - why not? I’m a track junky and, frankly, I’ll drive a damn motorised wheelbarrow if it presents an opportunity to learn something new.

Besides, this could make one more entry in my been-there-done- stupid shit storybook.
I remember something landed in my inbox a few days before, outlining the event, but to be honest, I didn’t read the email.

At the drivers’ briefing, the organisers handed out information packs with schedules and whatnot. - Teams of four drivers per car. Thank heavens they put me in one of the 1100cc cars and not an 800cc jobbie.

The modus operandi was simple: drivers would do stints of about two hours and twenty minutes - basically the time it took to run a full tank dry at full taps in top gear. Driver changes were done during scheduled refuelling stops, with tyre changes as and when required.

That was the gist of it.

​The event started at noon on September 2nd. I was scheduled for my first stint around midnight, so I watched the start and went home to catch up on some sleep.
​

​
What the little 1100cc QQ3 felt like on the high‑speed oval:

I wasn’t there for the trial run a few weeks before and didn’t do a single practice lap, so this was one of those take-control-of-the-situation-just-get-in-drive-and-learn occasions.

So, I did exactly that.

Climbed into the little thing during a scheduled driver change and got it up to top speed as quickly as possible - though I’m not sure quickly is really the operative word here.

Balls‑to‑the‑wall turned out to be a mind‑boggling 160 km/h on the dial.

And believe me - you wouldn’t want to go much faster than that in one of these little cars.

Once it was up to speed, I kept the accelerator planted for the entire two‑hour‑and‑twenty‑minute stint. I never lifted a fraction until it was time to come in.

To get the best lap times from such a small engine, I was told to keep the sunroof and windows closed to eliminate unnecessary drag.

I was also instructed to switch off the air conditioner, dashboard fan and radio to reduce alternator load. Small engines really suffer when you drain power off the crankshaft pulley.

In fact, night‑time lap times were, on average, a full second slower per lap - purely because the lights were on, sapping crankshaft power through the alternator pulley.

Funny thing was, I couldn’t just sit there picking my nose. Keeping lap times consistent and as low as possible meant running as close as I dared to the outside Armco, lap after lap after lap. That was the fastest line.

Instead of being bored, I found myself locked into a prolonged state of monotonous concentration.
The only real irritations were dodging the slower 800cc cars, my arse going numb after about two hours, and my right foot developing pins and needles - all pretty much par for the course.
​

​I did learn something new about aerodynamics, though...

You don’t have to be tucked right up behind another car to catch a slipstream. With the Cherys circulating at similar speeds and lap times, I could feel exactly when slipstreaming kicked in. The rev counter would sit at around 5,500 rpm, then start to climb with the car ahead still a good fifty to sixty metres away, eventually hitting 5,700 rpm once I closed to a few car lengths. Lap times dropped accordingly.

It happened time and again.

My synopsis:

All other things being equal, there is noticeably less drag on a car travelling through turbulent air than on one travelling through still air.

Oh, and I also discovered that an oval track had four corners. Believe it or not. The entry to the first corner is T1, the exit T2; the second corner entry is T3, with the exit being T4.

Bet you didn’t know that.

I imagine things get very complicated once you start talking about tri‑ovals.

And then Murphy struck.

About twenty minutes into my second stint, during the early hours of the morning, I hit a huge porcupine in turn three.

There was nothing I could do. I collected the poor critter the instant it appeared in front of me. I sent out a warning call to the other drivers over the two‑way radio. I monitored the gauges. Everything remained normal. The car survived the impact, and I was able to continue without losing much time.
But I felt terrible. That sickening thud when you hit an animal at full speed lingers in your mind if you’re an animal lover.

As if that wasn’t enough, in the last ten minutes of my stint I narrowly missed a big stray dog feeding on the roadkill from the porcupine incident.

I sent out another warning over the radio and, on the next lap, hugged the inside line through turn three to stay well clear of the debris.
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​
And what happened?

I hit the freakin’ dog.

Figure that. I had never killed an animal on the road up to that point, and here it happened twice in one go.

Five cars. Twenty drivers. And it had to be me who knocked an animal - twice.

How’s that for shit luck?

I parked the now well‑and‑truly stuffed‑up car in the pit lane, went home, and climbed into bed just as the sun came up, feeling miserable.
​

​
Back in action

I woke up around noon to a gazillion missed calls, voice mails, and SMS messages.
They had fixed the car and wanted me back.

I could hardly believe it, but I went in anyway.

The front‑end damage had been repaired, and from that point on the gold car became the chase car - used to punch holes in the air for the lime‑coloured number one and blue number two cars.

The Drafting Mule...

I played the dutiful team member, letting them latch onto my slipstream and then moving over at the last moment so they could slingshot past.

I’d slow right down, then build speed again a lap or two later once I picked them up in my mirrors.
Gerrit de la Rey was in the lead car, and together we perfected this little ritual, repeating it over-and-over through the night.

At least it kept my tired mind and body occupied.

​And that was that. 
​

The final day,..

I did the penultimate stint in the leading car and then handed it over to rally driver Charl Wilken for the final stint and the run to the chequered flag.

It felt as if we’d just completed Le Mans.

We were completely knackered - bloodshot eyes, day‑old beards - but elated. We’d done it.
As far as anyone could establish, this was the first time a Chinese vehicle manufacturer had achieved anything like this.

As for the cars...

People love to slag Chinese products in general, and I’ve done so myself on occasion. But I was genuinely impressed by the stamina and reliability of these little machines.

All five cars completed the event without a hint of mechanical hiccup or failure. Even the gold car ran flawlessly before and after the animal incidents.

Yes, the cars were thoroughly checked and properly serviced beforehand - but remember, they were driven absolutely flat‑out, at maximum speed, for forty‑eight hours straight.

The records stood at 7,262 km and 6,369 km for the Chery QQ3 1100cc and 800cc respectively. In total, the five cars covered more than 33,351 km in the allotted time.

_________________________
As for me, I finished with a sore arse, and a small red certificate on my trophy wall,
proof that I was part of this event.
Big freakin deal.
​_________________________

- Pierre Martins

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