Always Forward

During the build up to the 2018 Indianapolis 500, I had chance encounters with several drivers in the recalcitrant media centre lift, but one stood out. To his great credit, the then series rookie lasted a whole level of our painfully slow journey before curiosity got the better of him and the inevitable question about my bionic leg brace appeared. As Robert Wickens stepped out of the elevator, still laughing at my 'bungee jumping accident' reply, I had no inkling just how poignant that brief chat would soon become... or that I had in fact been travelling with my hero that day.

Three months after our meeting, the Canadian endured a brutal crash at Pocono, causing widespread major injuries. That Wickens survived at all is a testament to both his fitness and the safety measures implemented within Indycar. That he and fiancé Karli Woods have openly shared online their determined journey to overcome the spinal cord injury he sustained is a testament to something far stronger. 

The extraordinary courage and attitude Wickens displays to his paraplegia has rightly earned him massive respect and made him an inspiration to many people over the past year. On a personal level, myself very much included. During the off season the real reason behind my joked about bionic leg, a not quite so funny incurable genetic disorder, went into overdrive. And, as my own body fell apart, I found that each new social media update from Robbie not only reassured and amazed me about his own recovery, but also offered a fresh injection of encouragement in fighting my own battles too.

I’ll openly admit to many ‘leaky eyed’ moments during those months. Some from pain and anger at my own situation, but many more from sheer pride and respect for Wickens. My frustrations at having to cancel longed for trips to races, only tempered by my delight at seeing the much-loved Arrow Schmidt Peterson driver returning to the paddock. His achievements spurring the growing need deep within me to get back to my ‘Indycar family’ as soon as possible.

In many ways, Wickens unknowingly became an extra driving force behind my determination. So, when the unexpected, last-minute opportunity to attend Toronto presented itself, I grabbed it with both hands. After all, what better place to return than at my ‘hero's’ home race? Yes, it was risky and probably not the most sensible thing to do and yet, somehow, it made perfect sense. I won’t pretend I wasn’t scared as I boarded the plane just six days after receiving permission to fly again, but I figured if Robbie can do this, then I sure as hell can too. Any lingering fears and doubts vanishing completely as I read, through yet more leaky eyes, that he would in fact be returning to the track that weekend, driving a pace lap in an adapted Acura NSX.

It may sound rather trite, but that’s when I knew for certain this trip was meant to be.

As soon as I arrived at the track, the tidal wave of emotions hit me. The unusual indoor paddock set-up at Exhibition Place seeming to intensify the unique sights, sounds and smells I’d missed so much. Stepping inside, I stopped after only a few paces, closing my eyes and breathing it all in. A big grin spreading across my face as I whispered, “I’m home’. The warm welcomes, far beyond my wildest imagination, from friends both old and new, fully cementing that feeling.

Toronto more than delivered the ‘therapy’ I needed. Even before on-track action began, fate had us in the right place at the right time. Standing in an almost deserted facility on the Thursday evening, we were privileged to watch Robert Wickens take his first few test laps around the circuit in the hand controlled NSX. In that moment, all the pain, effort and hurdles we’d overcome to get there just melted away – it was already worth it.

As the weekend progressed, yes, my body suffered, but it didn’t matter because my heart and soul were happy. I ‘danced’ with delight during first practice, soaking up that indescribable feeling only race cars create, the one I’d been aching for. I savoured every moment of track action I could. I watched qualifying from the pit lane in awe of my incredible friends, experiencing the intricacies of this sport I adore. I smiled and laughed so much my face hurt. I was back where I belonged; back in my happy place.

Just as Wickens was behind the wheel of his car on that Sunday afternoon.

I felt genuinely honoured to be on the grid before the race, standing alongside a very special gold and black #6 Acura as Robbie and Karli prepared for their pace-lap. The atmosphere was electric, crackling with pure, raw emotion, as they took to the track. The crowd’s cheers only matched by our tears. Judging from her reaction and screams, Karli might not be quite so willing to go along for the ride next time, but I know this is only the start of the journey for Robbie. And, as they pulled back into the pits ahead of the race, I thought my heart may burst with love and respect for the man who was, unwittingly, partly responsible for me being there to witness it.

The race was, as ever, kind of bittersweet, being both the focus and climax of the weekend. That odd mixture of emotions - excitedly watching the battles play out, willing your drivers to the best result, but conversely not wanting the chequered flag to fall on another race. Strangely though, after celebrating the podium, I was still feeling on a real high. The wave of ‘damn, it’s all over’ being held at bay somehow, as we soaked up the paddock one last time and bade our farewells to colleagues.

I had of course seen Wickens several times throughout the event but, despite my desire to thank him for inspiring me to be there, I’d not spoken to him. Mostly through respect and not wanting to intrude, understanding how exhausting it is being in such ‘great demand’ by the media and public alike. While saying goodbye to some friends within the team after the race though, the unexpected opportunity arose to offer my ‘thank you’.

Inevitably, I froze. An irrational fear of talking to people overwhelming me, even though I knew I’d regret it forever if I didn’t say something. As I struggled to gather my thoughts and find some scrap of courage, Wickens just happened to make eye contact with me, a warm, welcoming smile across his face. It was just what I needed in that moment. I then regrettably garbled my way through thanking him for inspiring and helping me to get to Toronto, unsure which of us was more embarrassed as I did so.

Thankfully things did improve from there, leading to a short conversation that will stay with me for many reasons - not least being dared to sit on the CN Tower’s glass floor! (Yes, I did and yes it was terrifying!) Of all the things we could have discussed that day though, the price of air fares from the UK and Indy respectively wasn’t one I’d ever have expected. Ironically, what Wickens doesn’t realise is that the ‘price’ I paid, both financially and physically, was totally worth every single penny and hour of pain and recovery. In fact, I’d happily pay double for what I gained on that trip.

I needed it all even more than I’d first realised. But perhaps, if I’m honest, the part I gained the most from was that unexpected chat after the race. In just a few precious words Robert Wickens gave me everything I needed and more. Much more than any doctor or medicine ever has or could, sending me home with the gift of positive thinking and the determination to focus on the team’s motto – Always Forward. Just like my hero.

Thank you, Robbie.