Mingling with the rally-mad masses

The sight was incredible: people everywhere - literally thousands of them lining one side of the road. The sound was perfect: Queen's Under Pressure boomed out in stereo from 100 radios. The smell was pure Finland: Karjala and fags.

This was Palsankyla, last Friday morning. Just after nine.

Spectating on the '1000 Lakes' is always about so much more than the cars. Or, at least you think it is. And then the cars come and you remember that all the other stuff is just peripheral to a car going ballistic at 100mph.

But the other stuff makes for an entertaining sideshow as you wait for the first car. And year on year, nothing changes. It's like a great musical or a long-running opera - the cast may be tweaked here and there, but the basic plot line is the same.

And it's a very straightforward story, loosely based around man drinking beer and man falling over. The best stories are always the simplest ones.

We're a little late getting to our side of the stage and pretty much all the most convenient viewing points are taken. We have no option; if we want to see some cars, we're going to have to get into the thick of the crowd. We're going in.

The smell of booze is intense as you pick your way around the people. Don't get me wrong, it's not like everybody is lying around comatose... these folk are fairly hardcore and it's still early. Comatose is not cool. Not before lunch.

And they're a good-natured bunch. There's nothing like the kind of agro you'd expect with this level of big-crowd communal consumption at some sporting events in Britain.

Picking through the fans is a battle in itself in Finland © XPB

Eventually, we find our spot. But it's not been easy. We've had to pick our way through the woods, stepping over big tree roots and hopping across the boggier bits. Stone-cold sober, it's been a challenge. Full of sauce, it must be bordering on impossible.

There's a degree of devilment in our spot selection. Yes, we can see the downside of the big, big jump and the following fourth-gear left-hander. But equally, we're right next to a drop-down into an ankle-deep - grass-covered - bog with a big step up out of the hazard. The only dry way through is to jump across or take your chances on the one tree root dissecting the hazard.

It doesn't take long. Man down.

He'd come into this tricky section way too quick and completely shorn of the visual ability to make a proper assessment of his options. His right foot sank beneath the surface. There was a momentary look of confusion on his face; he was still walking, but not getting anywhere. How strange.

Confusion turned to blind panic. Not because he was going over, but because he was now confronted by the most difficult choice of what to save: in one hand a can of lager, in the other a plastic bag full of more cans of lager. He grimly held onto both and slowly toppled sideways into the undergrowth.

Such is the regularity of these moments, the crowd took little more than a passing interest. His mates hauled him back to his feet and out of the ditch.

It was a good couple of minutes before it dawned on him that his shoe had remained submerged...

Perfect piano. Fingers click. Hands clap.

Pressure! Pushing down on me, pushing down on you...

Queen and Bowie arrive on the radio with sublime timing.

Accompanied by the noise of inbound helis, it's clear - the cars are coming.

It's only been a year, but still, nothing prepares you for what goes before your eyes. We're some distance from the jump itself, so the engine noise doesn't really carry until the last possible moment.

And, such is the speed of the car, your eyes don't have a chance to register it as it takes off - so the first focused view is of Jari-Matti Latvala's headlight-blazing Polo R WRC flying dead level. At head height. Just after take-off there's a rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat noise of the engine bouncing off the limiter. Trailing throttle, back on the gas for landing. Bang, bang, down two gears, flick right, slide left, use the near-side front as a camber anchor, throttle buried and steering straight.

Gone. Silence.

This is our last dance. This is ourselves... under pressure.

Awesome. Rallying has come home.

And it just keeps on coming. Talking to Jarkko Nikara about spectating, he'd recommended this place in Palsankyla. His sponsors were coming here. He was out to impress...

As promised, the Finnish Mini flew furthest.

We thought we might have seen it all. Then Evgeny Novikov appeared. Again, well in the air. But with his bonnet up. And Kris Meeke's Citroen a car-in-the-air-length behind.

Entirely clear-headed, this one took a moment to compute. Shoe-less man had no chance.

No matter what came after that, nothing could compare to the mid-stage, mid-air rallycross that had just been played out before us. It was utterly immense. And so was Meeke.

Meeke, in a works Citroen, delivered the drive of his life © XPB

Twenty months since he last competed, Meeke grasped the massive opportunity/poisoned chalice that was a works Citroen in Finland and delivered the drive of his life.

Having done everything he could to play down expectation and play up his lack of match practice, he and Chris Patterson got into Khalid Al-Qassimi's DS3 WRC and drove it harder and faster than it had ever been before. Meeke knew he had one shot. And he took it.

Ultimately, he binned it. But he binned it in the best possible fashion...flying through Ouninpohja at record-breaking speed on the fastest and most famous stage of them all.

Meeke was fifth when he inverted the Citroen, comfortably less than a minute behind team-mate Mikko Hirvonen and comfortably more than three minutes ahead of Dani Sordo's DS3. Ultimately, you can point to his crash and criticise.

Ultimately and ironically, Sordo finished fifth. But which driver truly delivered in Jyvasklya last week?

Yes, the Spaniard hauled in more points, but Dani really wasn't Dani in Finland. The Sordo we've seen before is better than that. Much better.

But Meeke turned heads. And not just with his second-fastest times and his raw speed. With his attitude as well. Gone was the kind of cock-sure borderline arrogance that had turned people off in years gone by. Here was a fella realising he'd swung through the door to the saloon marked 'Last Chance'.

And, with humility, good grace, gratitude, grit, determination, balls and bravery, Meeke drove a brilliant rally.

On the stage we'd seen him blocked by the self-styled 'Russian Rocket', Meeke was a different driver. In days gone by, he'd have gone off properly in pursuit of the Fiesta ahead. And if he hadn't, he'd have had far more to say to Novikov than he actually did.

Instead, he focused on changing his puncture. Or half-focused on changing his puncture. Understandably, his mind was elsewhere when he forget the team's vital advice: "Don't put your hand on the top of the jack... you might lose a finger."

Hand on top of the jack, he almost lost a finger.

Meeke didn't let the Novikov incident disrupt his rally © LAT

The road back from Palsankyla to service in Jyvaskyla takes you almost past the end of the Mokkipera stage, allowing a finish-line chat with the wide-eyed boys.

Meeke arrived, windscreen machine-gunned and the front of the car caked in mud from one stage earlier. He calmly did the post-stage story for the radio and then breathed deeply.

Alone at his door and taking in his blood-splattered overalls, I asked how his hand was. He smiled an ironic smile and suddenly the car absolutely fizzed with emotion. I've known Kris a long time, worked with him for a lot of years and seeing the frustration being burned into his soul at that very moment was tough to take.

Words wouldn't work, I patted his shoulder, shut his door. He had a job to do.

And he did it. Finger end stitched back on, he got back in that car and boomed it through the rest of the day like an absolute hero.

Too early on Saturday morning, Kris and I found 10 minutes and talked through what had been so far. The gratitude he had for Citroen was incredible. He'd walked into another world. And his desire to stay there was and is overwhelming.

And he deserves it. Now more than ever, Meeke is close to being the finished article. He's fitter and faster than at any point in his career. Yes, he made a mistake and yes, there's still the odd rough edge to be filed down. But he's got the speed. And, as team principals down the ages have always pointed out, that can't be taught.

This column was supposed to be about a stunning show from Thierry Neuville as well as shoe-less man and Meeke. In the end, there's no time to talk Thierry. We'll save him for another day. He will be in Germany, Australia, Alsace... Seat safe, his time in this corner of cyberspace will come.

And, if there's any justice and common sense left in our sport, he'll be racing Dungannon's finest.