Water torture for land lovers

13 April 2012

I am groping the knee of a man I have known for three minutes, and screaming. I have never screamed like this. I can't even get the breath to shriek any obscenities. So I am just screaming, on and on.

The man is called Jerry Peachment. He is glancing at me curiously, and every now and again he gives the thumbs-up sign. Then he goes a bit faster, and I scream again.

Peachment is a former world champion powerboater. This weekend he will helm one of 18 boats in the ExCeL British Powerboat Grand Prix at the Royal Victoria Docks. The organising company Team Sprint Group thought it would be a great idea to invite journalists "to experience the personal thrill of riding in one of these supe rcharged boats, capable of reaching 120mph in seconds''.

To your reporter, this " personal thrill" was very nearly as tempting as a day in a pit of tarantulas. Some people like being frightened. It's just that I don't.

At the Docks my hopes were high that the necessary insurance bond would not come through in time. God was not on my side. It came through. "Don't eat anything before you go out in the boat,'' advised the public relations person helpfully. Not to worry. I was already contemplating throwing up on the jetty before climbing aboard, in order to save time later. Somebody handed me a disclaimer form. Several paragraphs asked me to confirm I understood the entertainingly varied ways in which I might die during the boat ride. I signed. Actually only one powerboat competitor worldwide has been killed in the last decade, and even his death was indirect.

The medics placed Viktor

Kunich in the wrong recovery position, causing the Latvian technically to drown in the ambulance. So that was comforting.

"Also," announced Carlos Maidana of Team Spirit Group, "the driver's monocoque is constructed from the same carbon and kevlar material as a Formula One car, cocooning you in a safety cell. If the boat flips over, any bits of the boat which fly off do so by design to absorb the energy of the impact. Then buoyancy aids are triggered, ensuring the boat rights itself and driver's monocoque sits clear of the water.''

Super. But I couldn't help noticing all the safety precautions that will be in place on race day were required for my little outing. The powerboat - especially created with two seats side-by-side, rather than the single seater of racing - was subject to race standard scrutineering.

A wetsuited diver stood by in a speedboat poised for rescue, accompanied by a paramedic and three St John Ambulance crew were peering at me with interest. "Have you made your will yet?" queried one of the support crew, chortling. How I laughed. Crash helmet on. Life jacket on. The obscenities which would elude me a minute later formed orderly queues in my mind. I got in the boat beside Jerry, legs straight out in front of me, just the keel dividing me from the water.

The 240bhp engine took us out on to the course - two buoys divided by a 750metre straight. I grabbed queasily at the handlebar in front of me.

"How fast was that?" I jabbered. Jerry looked thoughtful.

"About 10mph," he said, meaning it. "Let's take it up a little. Pat my knee if I go too fast."

He put his foot down. In fact, he put both feet down. The right controls acceleration, the left the trim - the degree to which the nose lifts out of the water.

Powerboats aren't designed to sit on the water. In fact, if you leave them sitting motionless on the surface, they will actually sink within 20 minutes.

The whole point of powerboating is that the boat all but flies. The skill is lifting the nose to reach the limit of speed without flipping the boat over.

Jerry took us up to 50mph, scorching round the buoy. That was when I started screaming. Some people merely gasp, apparently. Others scream.

Turns out I'm a screamer. This is the odd part. I wasn't actually frightened. Once I'd had a good scream, I started laughing. Positively hooting. We tore down the straight at 85, boat slapping the water. Felt good.

"Round the buoy. Couldn't tell if I was screaming or laughing by then. But absolutely not frightened at all, or in any danger of depositing any recently consumed meals on to my lap.

Jerry took us round again twice, then headed back to the jetty. I was cackling madly.

"No need to stroke my leg quite so much next time," Jerry advised politely. I cackled some more. Actually, I can't seem to stop.

The ExCeL British Powerboat Grand Prix takes place tomorrow and Sunday. For tickets call 08700 766 700.

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