Reality flies out the window when you take off in a rally car for the first time.
The order of things gets thrown aside for a bit.
The misty forest comes to meet you.
The trees, gravel, bumps and bends rush towards you — the rally route roots you, not the other way around.
At least, that’s how it felt as a passenger.
For my driver, Dunedin’s Tim Mackersy, everything was going in the correct direction as we sped through the Flagstaff hills ahead of this weekend’s Otago Rally.
He expertly navigated this bending of space/time while I stared ahead in a daze.
He wasn’t even giving it 100%.
I was sitting in the seat usually occupied by his co-driver, and wife, Lauren.
And I was not going to start spitting out pace notes — "medium left, I think!"
Of our run on the 3km media day stage, Mackersy said he was not fully committed.
Fair enough.
The rally had not even started and I had stolen his co-driver’s seat.
The Ford Fiesta Rally4 usually requires full aggression to turn-in, but Mackersy was taking it easy, maybe braking a bit earlier than he needed to.
But I wouldn’t know.
While Mackersy became one with his machine, I was trying — and failing — to pay attention to their combined movements.
I had entered the car with confidence — so much so I had tried to get in the driver’s seat.
Fancying myself motorsports-mad, I figured I would be able to analyse Mackersy’s form, judge his apex speed and admire his footwork.
But there is no time to spectate at speed.
I was already hypnotised by the next corner, the next tree, the next fog-drenched crest charging towards you.
Rocks and branches popped in and out of existence for split seconds.
Then it was over.
I felt hungover.
Outside the car, reality returned.
Engines idled, sponsors got their joy rides and crews yarned and laughed.
Mackersy said he preferred the rallying discipline compared with his touring car days.
Circuit racing was stuck in one place, he said.
Rallying was an adventure.
The Otago Rally has stages from Macraes to Milton.
There’s tyre life to worry about.
Stages can stretch for more than 30 rubber-melting kilometres, 10-times the distance I was taken on.
There’s the mechanical elements, too.
Using his dash, Mackersy needs to monitor his engine temperature, oil pressure and a whole lot of other bits and bobs.
And then there are logistical hiccups.
Mackersy couldn’t even drive his Fiesta for part of last year as it got stuck in bureaucratic limbo because of an errant chassis number.
Rallying is a test of endurance, after all.
"Should we go again?" Mackersy asked me, already putting the car back into gear.
Easy answer.
My eyes darted around as we accelerated into the stage again and I tried to soak it in, but Mackersy was faster this time, his confidence building, and I fell into that trance again.
