Inside Montreal, journalist Louis-Philippe Messier travels mainly on the run, his office in his backpack, on the lookout for fascinating subjects and people. He speaks to everyone and is interested in all walks of life in this urban chronicle.
It is not the high speed in a straight line that provides sensations in a Grand Prix hydroplane, as we see at the Régates de Valleyfield. It is rather the crushing brutality of the turns!
“You can’t resist that force, it sticks to your right… you’ll see! exclaims Ronald Breault.
This 60-year-old regatta regular has been racing these kinds of cars since about the year I was born, so he knows that!
He is the one who will take me on a ride on the race course aboard the Concordiaan old-style model without a seat belt (but with a small handle to hold onto) and with an open cockpit.
To me, who knows nothing about this sport, Mr. Breault explains a basic reality: a racing hydroplane is equipped with an aileron to turn sharply to the left only… never to the right since the courses only involve turns at left.
“We’ll go up to 130 miles per hour (230 km/h), but I’ll slow down a bit just before turning,” he assures me.
And if Mr. Breault decided to veer sharply to the right, what would happen?
“We would turn on the top! We would take a nasty broth! »
Photo QMI Agency, Mario Beauregard
At the pit with my pilot, just before the start.
He also has some other tips:
“If the boat goes up in the air, drop everything and let yourself be propelled out of the cockpit to fall far because the fin and the rudder are like knives,” adds Mr. Breault, whose own brother mutilate the calf during a race.
“Our nautical team is there to pick you up in the event of an accident: we have divers,” a Regatta manager tells me.
Was she thinking of reassuring me by saying that?
Astonishment
When the crane lifts the Concordia from the well to put it on the water, I have a special request to the pilot: “Come on! Scare me ! »
“Our engine, a 468-inch Chevrolet supercharged with methanol, is as powerful as those of competition hydroplanes. I burst out laughing at the sudden, pleasant acceleration.
The wind whips the visor of our helmets, but it is difficult to feel our speed.
Our hydroplane, its name suggests, flies rather than floats.
Photo QMI Agency, Mario Beauregard
Should I have dressed more sportily?
During turns, I have the impression that a colossus of the opposing team, sumo format, presses me against the boards and tries to keep me glued to it.
I am amazed at the closeness of the spectators around this perfect enclosure for this kind of event.
The crowd waves at us. I return their greetings.
There are a lot of people, already, because it is the great post-pandemic return of this 82-year-old tradition.
My pilot certainly did not push his machine to the end.
My experience was intense enough to understand how one can dedicate one’s life to this sport… even if it means risking it!
Hydroplane racing has become less perilous since enclosed and reinforced cockpits. The pilots, harnessed, also have oxygen masks.
This written column, I will go see the pros race, while eating fabulous grilled meats.