Girl Talks Racing

A Pirate Code for Race Fans

I’ve been a race fan for most of my life. I’m proud of that and I strongly feel the motorsport fan community has a good thing going. In all the years I’ve followed the sport I’ve never encountered a motorsport hooligan; and up until this day I’ve never had any of my belongings stolen at a race track. *knocks on wood* I also like that the fan community feels like a big family, especially when it’s cold and rainy and you’re all together huddled beneath a grandstand to wait out a weather-induced red flag.

However, human beings are never perfect and neither is the motorsport fan community. I’ve encountered situations over the years that left me thinking: “Is this really necessary?” One of the most poignant happened last weekend, during the final hour of the 24 Hours of Spa. A rain shower had unexpectedly hit the track and was causing chaos. Cars on slicks were sliding off the asphalt left, right, and centre. At some point it became evident that the utterly out-of-control Konrad Lamborghini was going to hit the beached Black Falcon #57. Several seconds before it happened many people on my grandstand were already cheering and when the crash finally took place they screamed their lungs out and even danced. Seeing as the crash was big enough to hurt someone, I found this rather appalling behaviour.

The incident left me rueing the fact that there is no Code of Conduct for Race Fans, a bit like the Pirate Code featured in Pirates of the Caribbean. I know the rules in that code are “more like guidelines” than actual laws, but to me the codex always seemed a neat thing to have. So on the way home last Sunday night I came up with a list of ten rules that I think race fans should follow to make the fan community even better. No doubt there’ll be people who disagree with these rules, but that’s the beauty of democracy, isn’t it? Anyways, here are my ten cents.

At a track you’ll be surrounded by a myriad of people who support different teams and/or drivers than you do. Accept this. Don’t pick fights with them or yell things at them.
Never boo a driver/team who makes a public appearance in the fan area or the pitlane. It’s insulting and they won’t be able to defend themselves against a crowd.
Never boo a driver/team who stands on the podium. This is possibly even more insulting than 2, because not only are they unable to defend themselves against a crowd, they can’t even leave the podium if they wanted to.
Never cheer when you see a crash, regardless of who is in the car or what you think of them. Accidents are part of this sport, but they’re also what makes this sport dangerous. Even if the cars are safer than ever now, even the most innocent-looking crash can still kill a driver. So if you must cheer, do so when the crashed driver gets out of the car unharmed.
If a sign says “team personnel only”, don’t try to sneak in regardless. This’ll only put teams on their guard and ultimately make them more strict.
Similarly, don’t try to sneak into a pitlane or onto a race grid when you have no permission to be there. This’ll only make organisers more strict and less likely to organise pit/gridwalks.
Never insult track marshalls. They may not always be perfect. They may not always be right. They may sometimes tell you to get out of an area where you’re allowed to be. But always remember that without them there would be no racing at all. Reason with them if you must or find a second marshall to prove the first one wrong, but don’t call them names.
Treat grid/promo girls with respect. It’s hard for me to understand why they evoke the responses in male fans that they do, as I see no appeal in the presence of scantily-clad women (or scantily clad men, for that matter) on a race track. But if you’re inclined to look at them, please treat them as you would any other woman. Don’t stand in front of them and loudly comment on who is prettiest/ugliest. Don’t take pictures up their skirts. Don’t touch them unless they’ve given you permission.
Don’t compare a female driver with a grid or promo girl. This is the 21st century. Girls are capable of fulfilling any role in motorsport that they want and there’s no need to revert them to the role they played historically.
Obviously 9 also goes for female team managers, engineers, mechanics, communication employees, catering workers, etc.

No Pressure

Dear 24 Hours of Spa,

How are you doing? I’m fine and I hope you are too. I know we haven’t spoken in a while. It must have been about a year. I guess the silence has been mostly my fault. I wasn’t very nice to you in 2015, when it rained heavily during all the days of your event. I can particularly remember the Saturday. By the time I got back to the hotel, my socks were soaked, there was a centimetre of water in my backpack, and even my skin was wet. I know I used some very choice words then, especially as I was wringing out my backpack, but I hope you know I didn’t mean them. I was just very tired. That was all. I swear!

Right now it’s my biggest wish that things between us can go back to how they were before. Not just because I genuinely want to rekindle our friendship, but also because I need your help. (And when I say ‘I’, I technically mean ‘me and all endurance fans everywhere’). You see, it’s been a tough season for 24-hour racing.

At the 24 Hours of the Nürburgring, the weather was deplorable. Hail balls cannoned from the skies; and at one point there was even snow! But the real hitch of the event was the finish. Some fifteen minutes before the end of the race various strange things happened within the Mercedes camp, which lead to the two frontrunners switching places on the last lap and the eventual number two-finishers accusing the winners of ignoring team orders and claiming they’d been robbed off the victory. One of the drivers of the number two-car even refused to go on the podium and only one of them showed up for the press conference. The mud-throwing went on for days afterwards, tainting the entire race.

At the 24 Hours of Le Mans, the finish wasn’t a much more cheerful affair. Toyota had looked set to claim their first victory – at last, after all those decades of trying! – but a lousy three minutes before the clock hit zero their car broke down. The looks of the Toyota crew as they were watching it happen on tv were heart-breaking, especially if you know that this wasn’t the first time this happened to them. (In 1994 a transmission problem ended their victory dreams 90 minutes before the finish.) I’m one of those nerds who frequently cries at the end of a 24-hour race, but I swear this is the one and only time I cried for sheer sadness.

And all that, my dearest 24 Hours of Spa, is what brings me to you. You’re the only remaining European around-the-clock endurance race left in 2016. After the anger of the Nürburgring and the heartache of Le Mans, my fellow race fans and I could honestly do with a dose of proper racing topped off with some no-nonsense, unmitigated happiness at the finish line. I know the proper racing-bit probably won’t be too difficult for you. However, I am hereby officially begging you: please try – really try – to give us a nice finish, without fights, without heart-rending drama, and with a winning car that has deserved the victory without a single doubt. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but me and the other endurance fans around the world are putting all our hopes on you. Please, please make it work. Please?

Kind regards,

Girl Talks Racing

How to Show Affection in Motorsport

I don’t like bullies. This is partially because of principles, but also largely because I was bullied myself as a child, by a boy at my primary school. He taught me how to hate recess. Every day he would come after me, kick me, hit me, spit on me or at one point even push me off a climbing frame. I tried to tell people of authority. Of course I did. But the teachers said they couldn’t do anything until they actually saw the boy bullying me, which they never did because he wasn’t so stupid as to do anything when school staff was around. My mother also laughed at my complaints. She said the boy was probably just teasing me because he ‘liked’ me. In the end the bullying went on for a year, until the boy moved schools, and in all that time nobody ever came to my aid.

I’ve never had cause to connect my experiences with bullying to motorsport. Of course motorsport has always encased political tricks, intimidation and mind games, but somehow I’ve never really classed those as ‘bullying’. It’s not that I approve of any of those behaviours. It’s more that that self-centered way of dealing with the world seems to be so interconnected with professional sports that it has transcended common bullying and become a culture, an athlete’s way of life. All behaviour spawned by this culture serves to help achieve a goal; the goal of winning. For example, a driver who is verbally intimidating an opponent is doing so in the hope that his words will result in a beneficial mistake on-track. In that sense, the behaviour isn’t even personal. It’s just a means to a selfish end.

When I think of ‘bullying’, however, I imagine a type of behaviour that’s not aimed at achieving a specific goal, but that stems from internal frustration and is taken out on another person for the express purpose of putting him/her down and causing pain; all to make the bully feel better about him/herself. As far as I’m able to tell, such bullying is relatively rare in motorsport, even if I did hear rumours last year about Formula 3’s Maxi Günther being bullied out of Mücke by his teammates. The story was never fleshed out though and no official action was ever taken. Who knows, maybe that ruined some of the series’ karma.

Off-track driver behaviour has been questionable in formula 3 this season. In the past weeks there were two major incidents that have given me cause to genuinely worry. The first one happened in Hungary, when Nikita Mazepin thought it was justified to rough up Callum Ilott for blocking him in free practice. Mazepin was called to the stewards and handed a whopping one-race suspension. Various people, myself included, felt the punishment was too light. A three-race ban for the whole weekend would’ve sent a far stronger signal about where the uncrossable line between good and simply unacceptable lies. Now, however, it feels like Mazepin got a very-nearly-free pass out of trouble. And I can’t help but wonder: is that a possible reason we saw a second incident at the Norisring?

In the third Norisring race, Mücke-drivers Beckmann and Jensen crashed into each other, both retiring as a result of the clash. During live coverage, Jensen (21) was shown hanging over Beckmann’s cockpit to have a good shout at his 16-year-old teammate. Later on, the duo was shown standing side by side behind the barriers, with Jensen shouting some more at Beckmann and deliberately invading his personal space to make him uncomfortable. If that wasn’t enough, the last few seconds of the highlights reel showed a shot of Jensen in which it very much seems like he’s grabbing Beckmann by the hair.

Click here to view.

I’m not sure what to make of the footage. As far as I know, Beckmann didn’t file any assault charges and the stewards didn’t get involved either, even though they had an obvious reason to do so, especially given the precedent of the Mazepin incident. It would’ve been a fantastic opportunity for them to make up for the mediocre way in which they handled that indiscretion. But all there was after Norisring, was silence. Utter silence. And no clarity.

Ever since I’ve often found myself thinking of my school bully. I’ll never forget how lonely I felt when I realised no one of authority was going to help me. I can imagine that Ilott and Beckmann (if the scene pictured above is indeed what it looks like) have also become familiar with the feeling. After the stewards’ questionable responses to their respective incidents, who can they turn to now for protection? In fact, who can anyone in formula 3 turn to for protection if something like this were to happen again? And why wouldn’t it happen again, if the punishment is practically non-existent? I’ve always believed that, despite the culture of mind games and intimidation, sportsmanlike behaviour existed in motorsport and that it was championed by those in charge. But maybe I was wrong and naive. Or maybe sportsmanlike behaviour has started to die off. Or perhaps this is simply how Formula 3-drivers show they ‘like’ each other. Don’t people say boys will always be boys?

Got a Light?

I’m loquacious.

‘Loquacious’ isn’t exactly a word I use a lot. In fact, up until five minutes ago I didn’t even know it existed. I only stumbled across it in my dictionary when I decided to look up a nicer-sounding way to say that I talk a lot (possibly even too much) and if forced you’d be hard pushed to shut me up.

So again, I’m loquacious.

Ask anyone that knows me well, or even just a little. I may seem a bit on my guard when I first meet you, but once I’ve gotten used to you a bit the stream of words starts flowing. Fast. However, even I must admit that words, though my preferred way to communicate, aren’t always the best way to bring a message across. I realised that once again during the Blancpain GT-weekend at the Nürburgring two weeks ago. In between the races there was a demo by a customized truck that instantly made me think “I need to blog about this!” Unfortunately, though, with only a description in words, the demo lost all its power on paper. So I decided to convince my father, who was there too, to give me some of the pictures he took with his fancy camera – compared to his photos, my iPhone snaps are honestly worthless. I think they’ll bring the story to life much better than anything I can say. (Although I’m still going to add some worded by-lines. Ha.)

Once upon a time there was a truck, that looked surprisingly
like Jeremy ‘Powerrrr’ Clarkson had installed a huge engine
on the back of it.

I wonder what the purpose of that smoke is?

WOOOOOOOWWWW.
I definitely don’t what the purpose of that is.
But wow.

All Belgians Look Alike

I’m part of a group of girls who all love racing, but we don’t all have the same interests within the sport. Some prefer motorbike races, while others (like me) lean towards car races. Some prefer to watch single seaters, while others have a soft spot for endurance events. Within my group of friends I’m probably a bit of an odd-one-out, because my main interest lies with GT cars. Or, as my friends call them, “cars with a roof”.

It’s not always easy to have a group of friends with such varied interests. For one thing, we always struggle to plan a race visit with the entire group, because invariably not everybody will be equally interested in attending the event. Luckily, though, diversity also has its advantages. It’s an ideal opportunity to learn about new things. For example, my friends have taught me the basics of motorbike racing. Some years ago they even dragged me along to a British Superbikes event. Bike racing’s still not my thing, but it was great to get a taste of the atmosphere.

Of course it’s not just my friends influencing me. I do a good deal of influencing my friends as well – and by “influencing” I mean I shower them in unsolicited GT racing propaganda. I’m forever trying to get my friends to watch it. The results so far have been mixed, but I’ve gotten one friend hooked on GT Masters and another is now very keen to take a bigger interest in GT3 races after I dragged her to Germany last year to see VLN. My current mission is to get the latter friend to watch the Blancpain GT Series. It has big fields, close grids, fierce competition, and both sprint and endurance races. It’s ideal to get started, if you ask me.

Yesterday my ongoing promo campaign reaped its first results. My friend decided to sit down and watch last weekend’s qualifying race on the Nürburgring. Afterwards I immediately rushed up to her to ask her what she thought of it. I’m glad to say that she enjoyed the race! But at the same time I’m also somewhat humbled to admit she stumbled across a characteristic of the series that could possibly be problematic for new fans.

“So, what did you think?!”
“It was really fun! But it could’ve been better.”
“Really? How?”
“It would’ve been even more fun if it had been easier to tell the cars apart. Now I kept muddling everything.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“Yes! I wanted to follow Nico Müller’s race, but I could barely even recognise him!”
“I can sort of get that. WRT has six cars in this series.”
“Six?!”
“Yeah, and they all look pretty much identical.”
“And you wonder why I got confused…”
“But Nico is in car number 4, if that helps. He has teamed up with Vanthoor.”
“Laurens?”
“No, Dries. Laurens’ younger brother. You can really tell they’re family if you look at his face.”
“Great. So there are six near-identical WRT cars and two near-identical Vanthoors?!”
“Yes. Kind of…”
“Originality in sport isn’t a crime, you know.”
“Say that to the Belgians. Most others in Blancpain are relatively easy to tell apart.”
“True. The Nissan is easy.”
“Bless the Japanese.”

I know it’s one of those fiddly-tiny tid-bit problems, but my friend does have a point. The more GT cars a team is entering into a race, the more homogenous a GT grid tends to look. If you’re a regular viewer, that’s not a problem; but if you’re a newcomer, it could be discouraging. Although of course it could also be seen as a challenge, since recognising cars on livery colours alone is somewhat of a right-of-passage for many fans. Still, I personally wouldn’t mind if WRT became a bit more like my group of friends, with some more shades and some more colours, and generally more diversity.

The Night Before

The night before I go to a race event is always a bit of a double-edged sword. I can never quite make up my mind if I like it or not.

On the one hand, I dislike the night before a race weekend. By the time it comes around I’ve usually already spent the entire day looking forward to attending the event and after all those hours and hours and hours and hours of not being able to do anything but think of the great things to come… the day still isn’t done and I still have the entire night to get through before I’m allowed to finally be on my merry way. Sometimes I try to trick myself into thinking that the night won’t be so bad, because I’ll spend a large part of it asleep – and when humans sleep, they’re oblivious to the passing of time. Neat trick, right? Nope. Wrong. The more I think that time will go quicker when I sleep, the less I’m actually able to sleep. I often end up spending two thirds of the the night tossing and turning, waiting in agony for the arrival a morning that never seems to come because my alarm clock simply isn’t ticking fast enough.

Sigh.

On the other hand, I also like the night before a race weekend. It’s a moment of relative quiet. The work week is done, but the action hasn’t started yet – although the anticipation excitement is definitely there. It’s the quiet before the storm, only without a tornado approaching on the horizon and more butterflies in the stomach. What will happen during the races? Who will be quick? Who will be slow? How will my favourites do? And what will the weather be like? In all honesty, for rather selfish reasons, it’s usually the last two questions that weigh heaviest on my mind. I don’t count a lot of drivers among my favourites, but I definitely have a soft spot for the rare few I do like. I always want them to do well, obviously, but when I go to see them race live I really want them to do well. As a result, a small part of the night before is usually spent checking out the competition and estimating the chances of ‘my lot’.

And then there’s the weather question. It’s probably a no-brainer why that one has caught my systematic interest. You know, if I truly have no other option I will sit in the rain to see a car race, no problem. However, when it’s not absolutely necessary that I almost drown myself for the love of the sport, I really rather wouldn’t do it. This means another chunk of the night before is dedicated to staring at the weather website, especially when the initial forecast was bad, because until the last second I’ll hold onto the hope that the bad news will somehow turn good. This is why it’s only at the very last moment that my rain gear gets packed.

Packed?

Oh blast.

PACK.

It’s nine o’clock and I still have to pack my suitcase. AND I still need to shower, too. Goodbye butterflies, hello stress. Never mind this whole balanced goody two-shoes discussion above. I hate the night before.

Motorsport Quartets (No, Really)

If you were online at the right time a little while ago, you might have seen me post a tweet about a game of VLN quartets that I bought during a VLN-weekend at the Nürburgring. I was a bit disappointed about the buy, because when I got home it turned out that the box didn’t contain a quartets-game. It contained a top trumps-game. Apparently in the German language both have the same name and you’re supposed to tell by the description of the game rules with which game you’re actually dealing. Who knew!

Even though top trumps is pretty fun too (and I definitely recommend VLN top trumps; go buy your own pack if you ever get the chance!), I felt it was a shame that there was no such thing as VLN quartets. Or even motorsport quartets. As a joke, I posted on twitter that I might develop my own set of motorsport quartets-cards. Responses to the tweet were surprisingly positive and some of my friends even started pitching ideas to me. It became clear to me that this could be one of those crazy ideas that was worth pursuing for real. So I did.

It has taken me a while to get the job done, because I have a busy job and the little free time I have I often spend on race tracks. But after a month of using some bits and bobs of free time here and there, I can now finally present to you all: Girl Talks Racing’s Motorsport Quartets Game! I should warn you in advance, thoughr. The quartet themes may be a bit bonkers. Oh, and I made all the cards pink. I couldn’t let that opportunity pass me by. Obviously.

In an attempt to make the game a little more diverse, I tried to make sure that no team or driver appears in the game more than once. It meant that I sometimes had to make tough decisions. I would’ve loved to put Michela Cerruti in the quartet ‘Girl Power’, but since she and her lovely F3 car from way back when were already in the quartet ‘Best Race Cars Ever’ I wasn’t allowed to do it. *cue sad face* But after a lot of swearing and puzzling, in the end I managed to shove all my quartet nominees around in such a way that only two of them appear more than once. I unfortunately couldn’t get around putting Laurens Vanthoor in both ‘Bromance’ and ‘No Hair Anywhere’; and I couldn’t avoid putting Alex Toril in both ‘Flying High’ and ‘Spaniards Who Speak German’ either.

Apart from that, I think the game turned out to be quite varied. It includes references to, amongst others: formula 1, GP2, GP3, VLN, Blancpain GT (multiple series), WEC, GT Masters, formula 3, formula 4, 24-hour endurance racing, and some other things. If you want your own copy of the game, you can download it at the link below. The file includes a description of the rules too, so all you have to do is print the cards, cut them out, and start playing. Have fun!

Download Girl Talks Racing’s Quartets Game here: download link.

Sad Magic

I had a brilliant idea. After the 24 Hours of Le Mans were finished, I’d have an hour or two to kill before Formula 1 would finish too and I’d be able to watch back the recording, so why not spend that in-between time writing a blog? I’d even picked out a topic: the magic of the finish of a 24 hours-race. It’s a solid topic, one that a lot of people would recognise themselves in. How could I possibly go wrong with a topic like that? Looking back, maybe I shouldn’t have asked myself that rhetorical question. After all, when man can’t provide answers, fate often feels tempted to step in and tie up the loose ends.

The reason I wanted to write about 24h-finishes, is that they are my favourite moment of an around-the-clock event. It’s the moment the whole intense journey comes to an end and at last you get to see the competitors’ relief of having defied all technical woes, as well as their joy of finally reaping their rewards. For a few minutes, you get to see exactly what they had been working for all those months. It’s generally such a raw, honest moment that it easily brings tears to my eyes. Even if I’m not at the track, it makes me happy just to be able to share in that moment through watching the TV footage.

However, 2016 is a season that’s cruel to the magic of 24 hours-finishes. Some weeks ago the spirit of the Nürburgring 24-finish was killed by a discussion of did-he-or-did-he-not-hear-the-team-order? And today the 24 Hours of Le Mans saw a finish shrouded in a similar funereal atmosphere. It has left me with very little finish-line magic to enjoy and right now I’m not even sure where to steer this blog post. I’ve spent most of my in-between time so far staring at an empty sheet of paper – that’s not something that often happens to me.

Even recounting the cold hard facts of the finish is almost too painful to do.

Three minutes before the end of the race, a technological gremlin killed the engine of the Toyota #5, costing the Japanese crew an overall victory that it has been seeking for over thirty years. The Toyota then hobbled into the final lap in second place – a bittersweet consolation prize by all means but a consolation prize nonetheless – only to take so long to complete the final lap that an archaic (and dare I say, stupid?) rule decided that they were no longer worthy of being qualified in the final results. By the time the Toyota made it back to its garage, the crew had literally nothing left to show for their 24 hours of hard work, other than a ceremonial P45.

So far Toyota has made only the shortest of short statements via twitter: “Heartbroken.” As far as I’m concerned that one word will do. It sums up their entire day; their entire race; the entire set of complicated feelings currently experienced by everyone involved in their Le Mans effort. It’s a word that expresses a very deep sadness, so profound that it might seem impossible to ever rise from it again. But maybe, just maybe, if we look that sadness directly in the eye, then maybe we might find some deep dark 24h-finish magic hiding at its core. After all, can a heartbreak like this ever occur without an equally profound love for the sport having preceded it? And if not, shouldn’t such love and dedication be celebrated, rather than mourned?

It’s not much to hold onto, but it might just be enough to save this finish.

Going out with Eeriness

I love the 24 Hours of the Nürburgring. It has the same kind of friendly atmosphere you can find at a VLN event, only bigger. Much bigger. For me personally, this friendly atmosphere culminates at the end of the race when the fans give a big show of respect to the race winner, regardless of which driver/car/team/brand won or who the fans supported during the race. Everybody always stands up for the winner, everybody always claps, and everybody always cheers. Usually there are even some people with fireworks to lighten up the celebration some more.

This year, however, the finish was vastly different from what I’m used to. I doubt you would’ve noticed it if you watched the race on TV; but for those who were there, it was impossible to ignore. The friendly atmosphere was missing and, frankly, I’m not even sure if there was much respect. The whole affair felt rather cold and it has left me feeling more than a little bit confused.

At first, the final stage of the race seemed promising. The audience was on the edge of its seat, watching the fight between HTP’s Christian Hohenadel, slowed down considerably by a fuel shortage, and Black Falcon’s lightning-quick Maro Engel. When a backmarker held Engel up for a bit, there were disappointed shouts all around the grandstands. Nobody wanted the fight to end like that! Luckily, Engel soon closed the gap again and, separated by mere tenths, he and Hohenadel shot into the final lap. Thousands of voices cheered them on as they passed through the Yokohama for the last time. Only a handful of corners later, Hohenadel made a tiny error and left open the tiniest hint of a gap. Engel dived into the crack of space and… ran into Hohenadel, hard. The clash pushed Hohenadel outward and almost into the gravel. Engel shot passed, claimed P1, and ultimately victory.

On the grandstand, the clash was met with a loud “oh!”. After that, silence fell. It felt eerie to me. Silence is not what you expect on a race track that’s still active. Around me people were looking at each other, confused. At length some muttering arose around me. “Was that on purpose?” “Do you think he meant this to happen?” “Should the stewards penalise him?” The footage on the video screen of furious-looking HTP personnel didn’t help the matter much. It probably made it worse. I could clearly hear some people behind me claiming that Black Falcon was “unworthy of the victory if they think this is acceptable racing. LOSERS!”

I didn’t know what to think. And to be honest, I still don’t. I’ve known Engel for years. He’s kind as a person and professional as a driver. He’s also a fair racer. Would he crash into Hohenadel on purpose? No. Never. But his overtake was very aggressive, wasn’t it? Yes. Maybe even too aggressive? Possibly. One could even argue that it was unnecessary for him to take so much risk at that particular moment, since he was obviously faster and probably would’ve found a far safer way to pass Hohenadel in the remaining 22 (!) kilometers of the track. So where does that train of thinking lead me? Were the stewards right to investigate? Were they right not to hand out a penalty? Was Engel simply too eager? Or was he wrong to dive into that almost-gap?

I don’t know. I really don’t.

I only know that this year’s 24 Hours of the Nürburgring-finish was the strangest finish I’ve ever seen at the event. When Engel crossed the finish line, the entire audience remained in its seat. I tried to stand up, but I got weird looks so I quickly sat down again. Nobody clapped enthusiastically. Some people didn’t even clap at all. Engel did a celebration donut and even that only resulted in a meagre applause and one or two cheers. Compared to previous years, it was a funeral. There were no fireworks, no party atmosphere, just a sense of ‘that’s it then, let’s go home’. People left the grandstands in a downbeat mood. The contrast with the happiness of the Black Falcon crew on the video screen was almost painful.

In the end I’ve decided I’m going to be happy for Engel and his comrades. Few teams work as hard towards their successes as Black Falcon does, so every member of their crew has a right to be proud. I’ve duly extended my congratulations to them and I meant every word I said. However, I’ll never forget that eerie finish. Something about it just felt wrong. A part of me is hoping that Engel, Christodoulou, Schneider, and Haupt’ll win again in 2017, so we can do this whole miserable business over. I’m sure Black Falcon won’t mind cooperating.

The Writing

There’s an old saying that says you should always look at the writing on the wall, because that’s where you’ll find what you truly need to know. During my most recent Nordschleife visit, to attend the third VLN-race of 2016, I learned that the wall isn’t the only place where you should look for interesting writing. The race track is another one.

Anyone who has ever visited the Nordschleife knows that it’s a bit different from other race tracks. Where modern circuits boast about how smooth and clean their asphalt is, the asphalt at the Nordschleife is covered in, well… basically anything and everything, really. The complete length of the track is covered in graffiti, mostly done in white spray-paint, but black, yellow, and red are popular colours too. I think I once read somewhere that initially the Nordschleife owners had the asphalt cleaned every time a new message appeared, but when the graffiti just kept coming and coming they eventually gave up and let the writings be.

Over the past few decades, anonymous people have covered the Nordschleife in a diverse array of messages. Some stick to egocentric phrases (“X was here”), while others praise their home town (“city Y is the best”) or showcase their business data (“Check Youtube @ZZZZZZ”); while again others use the opportunity to put their artistic talents for drawing boobs and genitals on display. Most messengers will leave their words on the track itself, but over the years catch fences and curbstones have also become popular writing surfaces.

When I’m trackside, I rarely pay attention to the writings. I quickly got used to them and came to accept them as part of the scenery; the background. I think it works that way for most people. It gives you a better chance to focus on the cars and the ongoing races. However, during VLN3 I suddenly found myself distracted by three words, written on the asphalt at the entrance of the Galgenkopf: “Estamos en Nurb”.

The words are Spanish for “We’re at the Nurb”. They’re painted in bright white paint with the exception of the final letter B, which is white-greyish in colour and half faded away. The message caught my eye, because it seemed so unfinished. Surely the messenger had been aiming for “We’re at the Nurburgring”. But if so, why didn’t he finish? Did something happen to distract him? For the first time ever I found myself wondering where the Nordschleife messages come from exactly. Do the messengers climb onto the track at night? Or do they do their work during the day, when they think the Ring is (temporarily) closed to car rides? Is it possible then that this particular author was surprised by the sound of an oncoming car and had to make a dash for safety? Or was he chased away by an official? Or was he perhaps so intoxicated at the time of writing that he forgot how to spell ‘Nurburgring’ and simply figured ‘oh sod all this, I’m going home’?

As with many other things related to the Nordschleife, the message will forever hold an element of mystery. It’s a shame really, because it seems like an interesting tale that I would love to know; but at the same time it’s also okay. The Ring is such a special place, it can handle a little bit of mystique here and there. In fact, it’s probably the better for it. But still, the mind can always wonder.