Rallying school:From the 'picnic route' to the to the shimmying of the Mini Cooper S - one morning at rally school made a huge difference to attitude and training, writes Caroline Madden
The night before I was due to try my hand at rallying for the first time, I found myself hoping for rain. Torrential flooding to be more precise, so that the next day would be a washout, I could bow out gracefully and put it off indefinitely.
No such luck. The rain held off and I pulled up at Rally School Ireland in Scotstown, Monaghan the next morning, wondering what I had signed myself up for.
Boy racers swaggered around in red racing suits, and their modified "poser mobiles" lined the car park.
A first glimpse of the track revealed cars careering round a hairpin turn (which, just in case it wasn't treacherous enough, was being hosed down with water) at breakneck speeds, while the sound of squealing tyres and roaring engines filled the air. Racers stood around comparing lap times and arguing the merits of the Mark II Ford Escort and the Subaru.
Wondering what they meant by "sideways driving", I clambered into an Escort, buckled up and tried to impress on my instructor Séamus exactly how inexperienced I was at this rallying lark.
I was relieved to discover that (a) he didn't seem too worried, and (b) I would be able to hear his instructions through a mike in my helmet while driving.
And with that we were off, albeit at a rather timid pace, and I nervously negotiated the first bend with a constant stream of reassuring advice in my ear, coaching me through it - "Brake in a straight line in the approach, turn, now accelerate out of the bend."
However, the heavy steering meant that I struggled to haul the car round the turns, and even on the straight I ambled along cautiously Sunday driver-style.
By the time we reached the fifth bend, I had built up an impressive tailback of racers fuming away behind me, so on Séamus's instructions we took a long route (known as "the picnic route") to let them roar past.
But by the sixth and final lap, I began to get into the swing of it, and discovered why the Escort is considered such a legend in rallying circles.
Because of the rear-wheel drive, no matter how straight the approach, we screeched round every corner, chicane and bend at crazy sideways angles like we were in a 1970s cop show car chase.
Hurtling across the finish line, I couldn't believe my best time was an unimpressive 1.17 minutes, which I spied was a good 10 seconds slower than most times jotted down beside previous drivers' names.
In my second attempt in the Escort I failed to shave more than a couple of seconds off, so when the time came to take the wheel of the Subaru Impreza Turbo - which everyone seemed to talk about in hushed, reverent tones - I was determined not to hold back. This time my instructor was David Smyth, the brains behind the rally school, whose relaxed style of instruction immediately puts the driver at their ease while encouraging them to push themselves to their limit.
Flooring it (as instructed), the Subaru produced the kind of acceleration that pins you back in your seat, whips your breath away and floods your body with adrenaline.
Its four-wheel-drive means you can ask for the sharpest turns, and it never fails to respond by gripping the track effortlessly and hugging the corner tight.
As David chatted away calmly in my ear (even describing one manoeuvre as "good, confident driving") I decided to trust him when he urged me to build up even more speed, and to put my faith in the car's cornering ability.
Gradually I started to understand when best to brake, how to handle the steering more effectively and when the tyres are squealing more than they should be. Most importantly I managed to pare my time back to a far more respectable 1.06 minutes.
In my last rally stage, I finally got to drive the Mini Cooper S Works I'd been eyeing up all day. After powersliding around in the mighty Subaru, I didn't expect such a thrilling drive, but the Mini's acceleration and grip stood up to the comparison remarkably well.
By now the rain that I had hoped for had arrived, and cars were spinning and skidding out of control all over the track. Coming into the chicane at speed, I felt the Mini shimmy from one side to the other, almost shooting off the tarmac as we aquaplaned on the wet surface, but somehow it regained its grip.
The rain dashed any chance of improving my time, but eminently more satisfying was the sight of a boy-racer in an Escort having to wait in the picnic route to let me tear past in the Mini.
At the end of my final lap, David's brother Malachy, who has worked with the Subaru World Rally team, asked me to hold out my hand. It was still shaking, but this time from exhilaration rather than nerves.