Bobsleigh Run

December 2017. Riga, Latvia. Apart from our general liking for a city break to witness some “proper” winter, our main reason for heading to Riga was the opportunity to take a bobsleigh ride.

Of course, Riga provided many other reasons to be cheerful, although the anticipated snow was conspicuous by its absence. Locals were distressed at the lack of cold, worried that their traditional white winter had been replaced by warmer weather and regular downpours. One guy looked out across the terrain and shook his head. “This should all be white”, he said, with some sadness. He also said it was the first time he’d ever been able to go to a car wash in December.

A few miles outside the city is the small town of Sigulda, home to one of the longest bobsleigh runs in the world, a run which is the chosen destination for most national bobsleigh teams when looking for practice. We were very keen to give it a try.

The booking system carries no guarantees though, as the public can only access the run if no national teams need it for training – so you can book, but only on the understanding that they have the right to cancel right up to the last minute, should the run be needed by professionals. We got lucky; the Chinese had booked the afternoon, leaving the morning free.

The drill is this. First, you go down in a “soft Bob”, a slower, cushioned version of the real thing, in a group of six, on your own, with no driver. Once you’ve had that practice, if you’re still up for it, you join a professional in the real bob for the full experience. Except that, on this occasion, word went around that there was serious congestion at the head of the run, due to high demand, and consequently, they were asking for volunteers to miss out the soft bob and do the “big one” first. I gulped when I sensed Michaela raise her hand. I was about to say “are you serious”, but it was too late. 

The first thing that hits you is just how flimsy the thing is, but then I suppose it needs to be, to keep the weight low. Once we’d clambered in, lowered ourselves into position and donned the crash helmets, we received our instructions from our driver, a former Latvian Olympic bobsleigh team captain. He was rather forceful, stern and direct. Michaela, placed directly behind him, was told in no uncertain terms to keep her head completely still to avoid clashing heads and diverting his attention from the track ahead.

And then we were off. To say the rest was a blur is a complete understatement. We expected to see the white walls approaching, to feel the adrenaline rush as we turned sideways against the ice wall, to feel the icy air on our faces – but that’s not how it was. Put simply, the action is too fast for the brain to interpret. You see absolutely nothing, not even the white of the track – the speed is incredible, the violence of movement uncontrollable, and it is frankly impossible to keep your head still, despite all the warnings.

In fact your head, weighed down by the crash helmet, rocks and jars of its own volition. Your brain doesn’t cope: it’s all too fast and violent to process thoughts, and you don’t register anything you might see. The whole thing is madness. A whole 45 seconds of it. Yep, a 45-second journey which we will never forget.

As a very last challenge as the bob slows to a halt, we had to climb out and walk along thirty yards of slippery packed ice with unsteady legs still feeling like jelly. Michaela’s stunned expression mirrored my whirling brain.

“How was it?”,  the driver asked.

“Unbelievable. God, those uphill bits really hurt your neck though”.

“Phil, it’s a bobsleigh run. There aren’t any uphill bits”.

“………..!”

For more on Latvia click here