RUSH HOUR IN JOKKMOKK
We’re in fourth gear, full throttle, and the left bender is approaching ominously. Walls of ice zoom past my peripheral vision as I focus on the right turn-in point – some 100 meters before the actual bend. Get that one wrong, and 1,300 kilograms of metal and ape flesh hurtling forward at 120km/h will meet a very abrupt and painful end. I apply a quick left jerk to the steering and a good liftoff to give the front of the car some extra grip. As the machine rolls and changes direction, I do an “all-in” slam on the gas pedal and apply a full opposite lock. We’re now in full dynamic drift, doing some 200 meters worth of “Scandinavian ice-skating” all the way to the back straight of the frozen track, somewhere north of the Arctic Circle.
I wear a smile of an adolescent who just lost his virginity. Fred, the Swedish coach from Stig Blomqvist Driving School, on the other hand, sits next to me emotionless. You know, Swedish.
“Want to meet your childhood hero?” he asks as a matter of fact.
Childhood Hero called Quatro
Growing up in the ’80s, I was hooked on Group B Rally. Who wouldn’t? These were the fastest, most powerful, and most sophisticated rally cars ever built. 40 years later, their era is still commonly referred to as the golden age of rallying. Group B races had no fencing, no crowd control, no driving aids, and no cap on power. I would have said that these were real racing monsters for “real men,” only thing is 1982 WRC’s world champion was a woman – Michelle Mouton of France. She was driving an Audi Quattro, which dominated the early 1980’s rally scene.
I was especially proud as my father drove a 1981 Audi 80 – which, at some angles (and applying a lot of youthful imagination), could look a bit like the dominating racing car in the magazines. Of course, my dad’s Audi had only 85 paltry horses compared to the Audi Quattro Sport S1’s 600, but, hey, it had the same logo and headlamps on the front.
The greatest Audi of them all was Stig Blomqvist’s Quattro Sport S1 which gave him the 1984 WRC title. This lightweight Velociraptor was the Alfa Dog of the last true reckless, safety-is-for-cowards race car championship in the history of the FIA. And boy, did I adore it!
This time it’s for real
And now it stands next to me.
Little rivers of anticipation ran down my spine as I approached the unapproachable. The grand-daddy. The real thing is here. Its lights are on. Its motor burbling baritone. Would somebody pinch me, PLEASE!!!
I open the flimsy super-light door and drop inside the low, bare bucket seat. There’s a 5-point race harness which takes a few extra seconds to figure out, a steel roll cage, a dizzying array of dials and switches, and Florian, a race driver. No, they didn’t let me drive it on my own. Bummer as it may, I can’t blame them. We’re heading to the frozen lake as the sun sets on another frigid north-Swedish winter day. All 600 raging horses, four razor-thin spiked tires, and two Orangutans. I do hope at least one of them knows what he’s doing.
Hot thrills on cold ice
Ever since he returned from a Porsche ice driving course in Lapland, my older brother was talking nothing but the great experience he had there. I placed the idea on my virtual “to-do” list but never found a good opportunity to entertain it. Not until one damp and dark December day when I see a small advert from Dean Apfel in one of the online forums. It was about a group he was organizing for an ice-driving course at Stig Blomqvist (Yes, the “real” Stig) School of Rally Driving. I have known Dean for some years. The quiet, friendly, and professional race driver who traded an engineering career in high-tech to pursue his motor-sport passion is also a neighbor. So it was only natural I would inquire for more information.
I can’t recall his exact words, but they must’ve been convincing because I next offered my petrolhead buddies to join. They did. We practically filled in all the vacancies making the driving course play a supporting role to a friendly meetup. They all knew Dean as well. The gateway was shaping up to be all the fun with none of the downs.
Of course, there was still the minor issue of getting there without freezing out bones en route. And while at it, also hope the weather would smile on us and that none of the cars would break down (or crash…). But, come on, what are such trivialities compared to a weeklong of ice and fire?! Suffice it to say, we all counted the days ’till the flight to Stockholm. And then a flight to Luleå. And then two hours of drive to Jokkmokk, wherever that god-forsaken place may be (In the middle of f***ing nowhere 5km north of the Arctic Circle if you really want to know).
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Jokkmokk, here we come!
So we got to Jokkmokk at quarter to midnight on Sunday – about five full hours after the last person in town went to sleep. We woke up the receptionist, got our room key, and crashed into bed. I was so tired I couldn’t remember my head hitting the pillow.
We woke up to a rare sunny Scandinavian morning. We quickly finished our breakfast, got our gear, and rushed into a transport that would drop us some 20 minutes drive later on the shores of a large frozen lake. A throughway led from the lake’s edge up to a small cabin, where our three practice cars were parked – a red 987 Porsche Cayman, a red E46 BMW 3 series, and a gray E36 Bimmer, all armed with spiked tires and ready to go.
We start with a slow drive around the frozen icy track on what used to be a lake the previous summer. The 2km path has been marked and cleared of snow, which now borders the trail on both sides. The snowy mounds also double as cushions absorbing the impact of runaway cars and their panicked drivers. To make sure none of us would be over-motivated to try them out, I pull out a pennis neckless I got from Harry in Sturgis as a migrating “trophy” awarded to the last driver to skid his car off the slippery course and into the snowy barrier. You might not be surprised to learn that the shameful medallion had exchanged numerous hands until it somehow somehow got “lost” (yeah, right) on the eve of the second day.
Day 1
The first thing we notice on our initial run is how slippery (like, duh) the track is. Despite having hundreds of tiny metal spikes glued to our tires, the cars barely manage to gain traction. Turn the steering wheel, and the car would just continue straight in terminal understeer. Press hard on the accelerator, and the darn metal carriage will spin out of control. “The idea here,” tell us Fred and Dean, “is timing and accuracy. You need to steer the car not with the wheel but with the brake and gas pedals. Break into a corner to get a more frontal grip (which allows the vehicle to turn). Accelerate the car once the front end faces the exit to rocket the vehicle up the straight and into the next turn.
Easier said than done
Sounds easy, but it isn’t. Your timing will make all the difference. Get it wrong, and it’s the snow barrier (and the pennis neckless) for you. First, you need to brake the car into the turn precisely at the right time. Once the front end faces the right angle for the exit, accelerate hard enough for the rear end to spin out of grip. Catch the rear of the car with a quick opposite steering lock, and keep the accelerator pressed as the car shoots out of the corner and into the next one. Congratulations! You’ve just witnessed a grand drift – Scandinavian style. It will take the doctors at least three hours just to wipe the smile off your face. But don’t get too cocky now, as you’ll need to repeat the endeavor for each and every turn of the 2km track. Good luck!
The first day ends with a time attack, in which we try (and miserably fail) to get a lap time remotely close to the ones set by Fred, the local Swedish coach, and Dean. I found some consolation in the fact that throughout the day, I managed to avoid getting the shame neckless. We return to the Jokkmokk Hotel at dark, have a mediocre dinner (Culinary practices do not venture beyond the Artic Circle), and hit bed.
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Day 2
On the second day of the course, we get a more serious car in the shape of a 1990s 3 series Bimmer equipped with a roll cage, four-point race harness, and razor-thin tires with a much longer set of metal spikes. Initially, we scoff at the old hag of a car, that is, until we start driving it. The race-speck ice tires have tremendous grip, allowing to push the vehicle much harder and faster. Later that afternoon, I managed to set the car perfectly on the course navigating the last turn before the main straight in fourth gear and full throttle – about 100km/h – on ice!! The car drifts wide across the full breadth of the straight. My smile is just as wide. Heck, if it was any wider, my head might have fallen backward.
And then a loud metal grinding sound put the party to a complete stop. We limp outside the frozen course to find the rear differential has been torn out of place. The Bimmer is totaled. Bummer!
Time for the big guns.
Quatro time
Florian powers up the Audi Quatro Sport S1. Its carbon and aluminum fins and gills give it the looks of a giant Piranha Fish out to catch some fray. Its Five-straight 2.1 liter, 600hp engine burbles like the mean machine it is. Only its tires – cartoonishly thin – look out of place, like Stiletto Shoes on Usain Bolt. Looks aside, the extra-long steel spikes on the tires are the critical factor here. The narrow tires help to apply more pressure on each of them as they grind the ice below and shoot the car forward like a rocket on amphetamines.
The 40-year-old Audi makes quick work of the track, zooming like a Hurricane through a Caribbean town. The turn I bravely took at 100 km/h is taken by Florian at 180 km/h! The pace is incredible, and so is the noise, thanks to the insulation-free bare metal cabin.
This rally race car weighs 1090kg. That’s almost half a ton less and 150hp more than my 2020 BMW M2 CS. This old Audi has a better power-to-weight ratio than most modern hypercars. Managing it through a glassy, super slippery ice course is beyond my capabilities.
I step outside, trying to catch my breath. The silly grin on my face tells the whole story. While Florian takes the other group members for a quick spin, I try to relax and recollect the experience. Fortunately, we all have the distasteful North Swedish dinner ahead to help bring us all back to reality.
Extracurricular activities
When night comes and our two ice-driving days are over, we gather all at the dinner table to conclude the experience. The food is crap, but at least the beer is OK. “there’s one more thing we need to do,” reminds one of my friends, “Northern lights.”
He’s right, of course. With all the activity, we forgot to check one of Lapland’s “must-dos”.
We get our coats, gloves, and woolen caps and venture out to the van waiting outside the hotel. The Aurora Borealis is dim. We don’t see a thing when we get out of the van in the middle of our frozen racecourse. “20 minutes drive for nothing,” sighs one of the team members. As our eyes adjust to the darkness, we realize our initial disappointment may have been premature. What seemed at first as little light pollution from the nearby town reveals itself in its full glory.
Yes. We’ve been lucky. The lights change slowly, go out, come back, and move about in the sky above us. At a certain point, we realize that we are on a frozen lake in the middle of north Scandinavian winter, and we’re cold. Having ticked off both driving on ice and seeing Aurora Borealis, it’s time to get back home to the warm, sandy Middle East.
