Going wheel to wheel with other drivers tells you more than any lap time ever will. From karting into cars, you start to pick up what I think of as a kind of sign language. Every driver gives something away. For me, close racing is the best part of it — but only if you stay calm. You’re not really looking at the cars anymore, you’re looking for space. You can almost see a driver’s head in their wheel tracks.
As you close in on a single car, you start to understand how they’re driving.
You notice the small things:
- Are they making mistakes?
- Are they tired or just on the limit?
- Are they fighting the car or working with it?
- Do they have grip underneath them?
Over a few laps, you build a picture. You translate the way the car moves, where it’s placed, how consistent it is. That tells you what’s possible.
It’s much harder in a pack. That’s when it becomes a proper fight. At Silverstone, I was racing against newer Formula Fords. In clean air I had the pace, but in a group they used the tow really well, and that changes everything. You start to read intent. One driver might want the position no matter what. Another will give you a bit more space if you push them. You learn quickly who you can race hard, and who you need to be more careful with.
In single seaters, you can’t be as physical as tin tops. You’re always aware of the risk of interlocking wheels. But that doesn’t mean it’s gentle. You take space. You deny runs. You squeeze. You ask the other driver questions. But above all, there has to be trust. Not soft racing — just the understanding that both drivers will go to the limit, but not beyond it.
When you’re in a proper fight, the space around your car shrinks. The bubble becomes tight. Almost claustrophobic. Then suddenly, into Brooklands and through Luffield, everything opens up. Cars fan out, and you start to see lanes that weren’t there before. It’s like a Scalextric track — lines forming through the corner, side by side, each car balancing throttle, making small corrections, trying to get that one moment right where you can commit to power. Most of the time you blend into the corner, working towards the exit. But sometimes, those extra lanes are real — and that’s where moves happen.
Not every driver gives you the same picture. Sometimes you catch someone and the signals aren’t right — stabbing the throttle, jerking the wheel, missing apexes. When that happens, I give more space. But you don’t wait around. It’s pass and go. Afterwards, you can see it in them — the emotion is written all over their face.
Wheel to wheel racing needs full commitment. If you go in half-hearted, it never works. One poor move and you lose more than just the position. Trust is earned. And if you don’t trust the move you’re about to make — don’t make it.
