► Graham King takes the ARDS test
► There’s quite a lot of preparation
► But it’s worth when there’s a race in prospect
‘Right, if you could head to the pits now, please, Graham.’ Wait, what? Is that it? I pull up in the pit lane. ‘Congratulations, you’ve passed.’ Really? I didn’t think it’d be over so quickly. The build-up to this moment has been huge and pretty intense. I wanted to pass this test so much and now that I have the feeling is… anticlimactic. I didn’t expect that.
If you haven’t read the previous instalments in my series on how to become a racing driver, I’m endeavouring to do exactly that. I was prompted to by the occasion of my 40th birthday in 2024. It’s a midlife crisis or the realisation of a decades-old dream; either way, most people who start out in racing are middle-aged men, so I’m a good case study.
So far, I’ve explored the fitness requirements and financial demands of racing. What I’ve learned has been fascinating, instructive, inspiring and terrifying. But none of it matters if you don’t have a racing licence. To get one, you have to pass an Association of Racing Driver Schools (ARDS) test. And that’s why I find myself at a cold, wet and windy Silverstone on a Thursday in February.
Before you book your test, you need to buy a Motorsport UK Racing Starter Pack at a cost of £115. You can buy one from the MSUK web shop; I got mine from the Grand Prix Racewear shop at Silverstone when I was passing one day. The pack contains some leaflets, a licence application form and a QR code to all the information you need before doing an ARDS test.
That information includes a video on all the flag signals that can be used during a race. It’s vital that you know them off by heart. As well as the practical, there’s a theory element to the ARDS test which covers the flags and you have to score 100% to pass. My partner made some flash cards for me to practice with.
You then have to book your ARDS test. I chose Silverstone on the advice of seasoned racer Gareth Evans, digital editor at CAR sister title Motorcycle News. Gareth reasoned that Silverstone is a huge circuit that’s relatively easy to learn and a more challenging circuit would only make a difficult job even more so.
For financial reasons, I booked the half-day course. I have just about enough track driving experience that I don’t necessarily need the full-day course. That gives you well over an hour in the car on the circuit, and time on a skidpan. The half-day course includes up to 40 minutes of track time. Both include the practical and theory test, plus lunch. You can take your own helmet if you have one, or use one Silverstone provides.
It’s unwise to turn up to an ARDS test if you’ve never driven on track before. It’s a completely different kettle of fish to even fast road driving. There’s a right way to do it and a wrong way and the track is very unforgiving of the wrong way. And yet people do turn up cold and fail the practical test.
I was booked in for an afternoon session, so I got to Silverstone good and early. The weather was terrible. We were based in the enormous Wing building. The two other people doing the same session arrived, one a young karter upgrading to a car racing licence, the other retaking his test after a couple of decades away from racing.
The course starts in the classroom. The head instructor explains what we should expect and what’s expected of us, then talks us through the International layout we’re using. Then it’s down to the cars for the first track session. My instructor, GT racer Michael Broadhurst, directs me towards a waiting F87-gen BMW M2 Competition. I’ve only driven an M2 once before and loved it, but I’m not convinced a powerful, manual, rear-wheel-drive car on trackday tyres is necessarily the right tool for the cold, wet conditions.
Michael drives first for a couple of laps, showing me the way round the circuit. I’ve driven it before years ago during a Mazda event. Given the conditions, the racing line goes out of the window. It takes in painted lines and kerbs that are lethally slippery. You need to hang out wide where the grip is. It’s not the fastest way to get round, but the instructors really don’t care about your ability to go flat-out. You need to go reasonably quickly, but their primary concern is that you get round safely.
My turn. It takes a couple of laps to warm up to it but I’m soon going around as fast as is reasonable given the circumstances. I’d be pushing a lot harder in a race, but that’s not what we’re doing. Yet I catch myself out twice.
The kinked straight known as Vale links the very fast Stowe corner with the very slow Club complex. In the dry, you move over to the right after Vale’s kink and brake for Club along the edge of the track. In the wet, you take a diagonal line from the apex of the kink to Club’s turn-in point, braking somewhere near that point. I took the dry line and hoofed the brakes too hard, which pitched the car sideways. Twice. I gathered it up and there was never any danger. But doing that during the test would be an automatic fail.
After about eight laps – roughly half the 20 minutes I could have in this session – Michael directs me towards the pits. ‘Right, let’s do the test,’ he says, much to my surprise. Despite my snafus, he evidently contented himself I’m not a complete idiot, and who am I to question his judgement?
I’m determined not to make the same mistake again. Coming down Hangar straight towards Stowe. There’s water running across the track, that’s the mark to brake. Hit the pedal hard, but not too hard, we don’t want to lock up, and down a gear. Now, roll off the brakes and turn the wheel as smoothly as possible. Don’t aim quite for the apex, the kerbs are slippery, remember. We’re through, so open the steering and squeeze the power back on.
Apex the Vale kink and brake in a straight line across to the Club turn-in point. Down to second, late turn in, dab of throttle, swing back the other way. Balance the throttle as we turn, then gently feed it in until we’re past the apex and floor it down the pit straight. I’ve never concentrated so hard in my life.
Two flying laps done and back to the pits. ‘Congratulations, you’ve passed,’ Michael says. Really? He shows me his checklist. Ticks on all the driver safety points. A grades on all but two skill level points; I’ve got a B on ‘transition braking to steering’ and ‘throttle technique’ – both weak spots I’m aware of. The comments read: ‘Very smooth session, consistent with excellent vision. Lines were clean, could use more track width with extra track time.’ I’ll take that any day of the week.
We shake hands and I get out of the car. I look at my watch. Hang on, I’ve had less than 20 minutes of a possible 40 in the car. A feeling of anticlimax hits me. Actually, I don’t care. I’m just happy to get it done and to have passed. But there’s still the theory test to do.
It consists of several sections. The flags, for which you have to write in your answer; the rest are multiple choice, covering aspects of racing’s rules and regulations, driving standards and various ‘what would you do’ scenarios. You have to get full marks on some sections, 80% on others. I pass with correct answers across the board – the first time I’ve ever done that in a test that matters. My reward: a signed and stamped application form saying I can be a racing driver.
A few days later, I have the mandatory eye test – applicants over 60 need a full medical – and send my form in to Motorsport UK. A few weeks later, my licence card arrives in the post. I’m incredibly proud to have it. In many ways, it feels like the end of a journey. But it’s actually just a waypoint on a much bigger adventure – actually going racing.
That’s difficult when you haven’t got any money, but I’m in negotiations with the 750 Motor Club to race its car in the new-for-2025 Suzuki Swift Sport Challenge. I’m thinking I’ll do it during the second half of the season. Then I get an email from 750MC communications manager James Winstanley. “Do you want to do the first round on 11 May?” Yuh-huh. But it’s only three weeks away. I scream inwardly.
I’ll bring you that story in the week after the race. Wish me luck.