Drifting in a Caterham is the most fun you can ever have

I’ve spent a decent amount of time trying to fine tune my track driving ability lately, focusing on smoothness and searching for miniscule improvements in lap time. Avoiding, at all costs, any form of sliding or wheelspin, because that kind of hooliganism is slow and inefficient. To throw all of that out the window and channel my inner hoodlum was both refreshing and eye opening. And at the wheel of a Caterham? This might have been the greatest day of my life. At least it would have been, were it not for my incompetence.

Drifting is an art form, the kind of thing you don’t just pick up at the drop of a hat. I knew that going in, but there was still a little part of me that hoped I would just stroll in and immediately cast a spell over the rear end of the little Caterham 360R I was climbing into.

It’s a very odd thing, having to force yourself to forget everything you’ve ever learned about driving. Climbing into the seat for the first time you’re told to be smooth, progressive, gentle. Even as I’ve transitioned into learning how to drive on a race track, that same philosophy remains for the most part. As I lowered myself into the hot seat of this Caterham though, that would all have been thrown out of the window, if there was one.

With all my driving experience cast firmly overboard I was given one instruction: give it a boot full and see what happens. The results were actually far from disastrous.

The Caterham Drift Experience provides a platform on which to learn in a controlled and cooperative environment. The cars themselves are set up specifically to oversteer, with special low-grip tyres on the rear axle that have conveniently had the differential removed. It’s also been raised substantially to tip all of the weight into the nose, meaning if you so much as look at the throttle pedal the car will be sent into a massive power slide.

I certainly had no problem getting the rear end to play ball. Following the instructor’s guidance, I slammed my right foot to the floor and immediately felt the traction break. From there, it was a case of finding out what would happen next, basically trying to do what I’d seen other people doing, normally on YouTube videos. And I was pleasantly surprised to find out that it’s a far more intuitive experience than I expected.

With nothing to hit other than a set of cones that got an absolute battering over the course of the next few hours, it was the perfect opportunity to just learn on the go. You could sit in a briefing room and listen to all the theory and tuition, but getting out in the car and feeling it for yourself is by far the most valuable experience.

Within two or three runs I’d got a decent handle on how my inputs were affecting the behaviour of the car, and gradually I was able to experiment with the throttle, when to use it, and for how long in order to initiate the amount of angle I wanted to navigate round each cone. It’s all about keeping the revs high. That’s where all the power is, so it’s far easier to find a bit more wheelspin if you need it, rather than having to climb all the way up the revs for a more delayed response.

Piece by piece, you start to build a picture of what you want the car to do in a certain situation, and it’s incredibly satisfying when you’re able to make it happen. Pulling off the perfect drift, with the right trajectory and a bucket load of opposite lock, might well be the coolest thing you can ever do in a car.

I’d liken it somewhat to snowboarding. You have to look at where you want to be in five or even ten seconds' time, and then allow your inner gyros to take you there. It’s so easy to keep your head down and try and focus on the minutiae of every steering input to keep the car perfectly in line inch by inch, but you’ll always be too late and before you know it, facing backwards. Although, styling out a mistake into a perfectly formed donut is a great way to say “I meant to do that.”

If I may continue the comparison to alpine pursuits, the learning curve is also reminiscent of sliding down a mountain. You’ll fail many times, and look stupid doing it, but then suddenly it’ll click and you’ll begin to make progress. For me, a heavy rain shower over lunch transformed my drifting experience. I’d been struggling to teach myself to be brutal with the throttle, often softening my touch too much and losing the revs, but on a wet surface, my smoother technique came into its own. Suddenly I didn’t need to be quite so savage, I could coax the car into a slide and balance it there for seconds on end. Out of nowhere, I felt like I knew what I was doing, and it did the world of good for my confidence.

And confidence, as with so many things, is key. Once you get a feel for it the scope for progression is limited only by how much time you have to practice. And believe me, if you haven’t done this before, you’ll be wanting your own drift car complete with a big patch of land to play on. It’s addictive.

Coming away from the day I was left with a feeling of fulfilment. I'd learned something new, and at the same time become a better driver. Learning to drift is of course a great way to have fun, to enjoy messing around with cars, but it’s also an incredibly useful exercise to help you become a better driver. You’ll develop a stronger understanding of weight transfer and car control, two things that will refine your skills in other forms of driving.

Spending a day drifting in a Caterham might be the ultimate experience for people who enjoy driving. I may have a personal bias - I would pick a Caterham to drive absolutely anywhere in the world, but messing around in a small, lightweight, open-topped, overpowered toy is absolute bliss.