Features
Northern Light
The arctic is a beautiful, inhospitable wilderness. And Tom Ford thought it would be a good idea to take a track car there. Prepare to see an Ariel getting whiter than white
I am frozen meat. My weak, temperate circulation waved the white flag some 30 feet from Norwegian customs, and at 60 feet I couldn't feel my feet.
An hour in and 30 miles covered, my legs below the knee and my hands might as well be plastic. My senses seem to be a bit muddled, because at one point I swear that my feet are bleeding; that my boots are full of blood.
I try not to think about it and desperately mumble a confused version of Captain Sensible's Happy Talk into my helmet while ice clogs the inside of my visor. Lifting the plastic to wipe it clear, the tears in my eyes freeze solid, scratching my eyeballs with unforgiving, vicious little crystals.
'We are, quite patently, not going to make it the 1,000-miles to the Arctic Circle. Not in an Ariel Atom'
My nose hair stiffens, my lips crack, and a stray lock of slightly sweaty hair locks solid, flash-frozen. Fifty miles in, I whimperingly pull over to discuss the trip with Matt, Sim and Lee - the support crew in the Land Rover.
We are, quite patently, not going to make it the 1,000-miles to the Arctic Circle. Not in an Ariel Atom. Not at this time of year. It all seemed so easy from the comfortable refuge of four pints of cider.
We would spend a few days driving to the Arctic Circle in a car quite obviously not designed to do so. Like an Ariel Atom. We would wrap up warm, take some nice pictures and be home in time for tea and sticky-buttered crumpets.
In a nod to preparation we had a pair of race batteries installed under the pointy nose, topped up the anti-freeze and asked Ariel to change the standard, almost cut-slick Avon tyres for something more aggressive.
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