Category: Nürburgring 24h

Some Cars Live in Your Heart

Last weekend I went shopping with my friends. At some point, we drifted into a pop-up mall where the ground floor was taken up by an outlet store from Audi, consisting of some fancy show cars and a tiny merchandise shop. It sold most of the stuff that Audi also sells on race tracks. T-shirts, vests, sweaters, caps, key chains, the works. But unlike race track outlets, this shop also sold toys. Amongst them, a Lego model of the #4 Audi R8 that won the Nürburgring 24 Hours in 2014. I recognised it immediately, pounced on the display table, grabbed a Lego box and, to the confusion and disbelief of the shop attendant, started re-analysing half the 2014 24 Hours race.

If you were on twitter last weekend, you probably already know that I bought the Lego car and then spent a good two hours trying to piece it together. (If you weren’t, I’ll insert a picture of the car below so you’ll know what I’m talking about.) I know some of you may find it childish that I bought a kids’ toy and was utterly chuffed with it, but I simply couldn’t resist. You see, for various reasons that #4 Audi R8 is very dear to me.

Part of its specialness has to do with the fact I attended the Nürburgring 24 Hours that it won. It may not sound very special that I was there, since I’m known to attend a lot of races, but believe me, back in 2014, it really was. I have a chronic illness that made my life very difficult for many years, but luckily by the end of 2013 I had pulled through it really well; when the visit to the 2014 24 Hours was planned, I was stable and relatively healthy. Unfortunately, though, in March 2014 I relapsed out of the blue. For months, I struggled to get through the days and the trip to the 24 Hours was almost cancelled. Looking back I’ve no idea how I convinced the people around me that I was capable of going or where I pulled the strength from to attend. I only remember that I was determined not to let the disease beat me. So I got permission from my doctor to double my meds for the weekend, bought crutches to help me walk – and, come Green Hell or high water, I went.

Another part of the #4’s specialness has to do with its drivers. One of them has been my favourite driver in all of motorsport for almost ten years now. I watch most A-class GT races anyway, but when he’s in them I pay special attention; and when he’s in a B-class race, I watch that too. My friends always find it funny that, of all available racing drivers, I picked him as my favourite. I understand where they’re coming from. For one thing, in terms of personality we’re almost polar opposites. But, despite everything, he ended up my favourite driver anyway due to good timing. In 2007, he happened to compete in the very last race that I got to watch live from the track before I became too ill to leave the house. He came into the race as an underdog and somehow pulled off a performance that everybody thought was impossible to achieve. He caught my eye that day and I’ve never taken it off him since. In my worst sick days, he became one of the special things that helped to distract me from my worries and, I guess, in a way you can say that he was also one of special things that helped me get through those dark days altogether.

So when the number 4 Audi R8 crossed the finish line and took the 24H-victory, I did something I’d never done before on a race track and have never done since: I absolutely cried my eyes out. Part of it was the exhaustion, part of it was the pain, part of it was the nausea caused by the meds, part of it was that I had won my own 24 Hours race, part of it was that my favourite driver had won the real 24 Hours race, and part of it was that I’d never before seen him win a race live at the track. All those parts put together made it a moment I’ll never forget.

When Audi released a model of the black-and-white #4, I bought one immediately. I just had to have it. And when I saw the Lego version of the #4, I had the same feeling. I just had to have it; even if the shop assistant thought I was weird for almost starting to cry all over again. Some cars just live in your heart. End of story.

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.

Flame War!

I tweet on my own behalf, but I’m by no means the only girl who talks racing. I’m surrounded by a tight group of (girl)friends who all enjoy watching racing. I even met most of them on race tracks. Maybe that sounds strange, but it isn’t. Not really. The hard-core motorsport fangirls’ community is a rather small one. And only a small percentage of the fangirls in that community are capable of paying regular visits to race tracks. So during events you quickly start running into the same people, over and over again. It’s practically impossible not to form friendships.

But don’t be mistaken. It’s not all sugar and spice. Sport doesn’t just bring people together, it can also drive them apart. This has lead my friends and I to pick up a few odd habits over the years. Most prominent among them is our tendency to keep a Flame War going amongst ourselves. I can’t even remember how it started. Probably really innocently. Gags usually do. But after nearly a decade, it’s become a monster than can hardly be ignored. It works more or less like this: once it’s become known that one of us supports a certain driver, nearly everybody else will instantly develop a grudge against him (or her). This leaves the fangirl in question to defend every single move of ‘her guy/gal’. The fierceness with which this needs to be done varies from day to day, message to message.

Most of the flames I receive are messages like “why did your guy push mine into the gravel?!” or “HOW does your guy dare to qualify in front of mine?!”. During a race things sometimes get a bit more heated: “No offense to your guy, but my guy is faster so I’m going to tell him TO CRUSH YOURS.” But all that I can all handle. What I find difficult is talking my way out of the messages that tend to arrive, out of the blue, on week days: “I just saw this photo of your guy on twitter. Explain. Those. Flip-flops.” When something like that comes in, you have to have an intelligent retort ready in an instant. If you don’t (and I often don’t!), your only option is to try and improvise your way out. Luckily that’s more up my street. For example, whenever my Nico Rosberg-supporting friend puts me with my back against a wall and things get hairy (pun very much intended), I always find a way to remind her of the existence of My Little Nico:

Source: WTF1

That usually annoys her so much she forgets what she was on about before.

But even though I love annoying my friends on purpose, the best thing about the Flame War is that it can become a Lame War in a matter of seconds. Take this year’s Nürburgring 24h weekend, for instance. My friend and I had been arguing for literally days about whose favourite would come out on top. But when my guy got pulled into somebody else’s crash 45 minutes into the race, the bickering stopped straight away. All of a sudden everything was forgotten and we were on the same page again, supporting each other as well as our drivers. I guess that’s the beauty of friendship. No matter how much of a git you’ve been, friends will still be there for you when it matters.