WORDS: DANGEROUS IMAGES: ALEX JAMES PHOTOGRAPHY
Sun, slicks and scorching lap times; this wasn’t to be your normal 18-30 soiree to Spain, rife with gonorrea, street fights and two-for-one shots… or at least that’s what the paperwork said. See, while most of my mates pack their trunks with tyre warmers, pressure gauges and the odd tube of lube (sun cream) at least once a year, I was something of a European trackday virgin and gagging to see if the reality fitted the hype. Could three days of unadulterated track heaven top the doldrums of a UK winter, with its darkened skies and roads as slippy as a freshly oiled baking tray? There was only one way to find out, and for the sake of you good folk, I was prepared to join the masses of migrating trackday addicts and find out first-hand.
No Limits Trackdays were to be my hosts, luring me in with their provocatively priced three-day escape to Parcmotor in the north of Spain, where the sun was still scorchio and circuit still open. All I had to do was load a bike, some paddock stands and a spare set of hoops onto a stillage near Swindon, where a haulage company was set to shift these worldly goods direct to the circuit. It couldn’t have been easier, and after bagging a £90 return flight to Barcelona, all that was left was to let the missus know I was leaving her (again).