For years I’ve called the Nürburgring my second home, but I’ve never been so foolish as to consider her my friend. I’m not sure she has friends. I know she sometimes comes across people she likes and is willing to favour for a while. When in her good graces, these people are able to dodge tricky track situations or miss going off-track by millimetres. But the Ring takes at least as much as she gives. The very people she favours one second, may find themselves thrown against a barrier the next. This principle goes for competitors and fans alike. Maybe it even goes doubly so for fans, because they can’t run to the pit building for cover when the weather games come into play.
The first time I visited the Nürburgring was in the spring of 2005. I’d been told the weather would be ‘nice and sunny’, but I quickly realised ‘crisp and toasty’ was a more accurate description. My friends and I sat on a grandstand at the exit of the Dunlop Kehre, where there were no roof or shade in sight, just endless square meters of concrete that projected the sun’s heat right back at us. Sunscreen was no help against that kind of heat, so we were forced to keep ourselves wrapped in blankets all weekend long to avoid being burned alive.
When I returned in the summer for my second visit, the Ring had undergone a makeover. She’d turned grey, cold, foggy, and her rain fell uninterrupted so that within the hour I was chilled to the bone. I’d been smart enough this time to buy a ticket for a roofed grandstand, but the Ring didn’t permit me any solace. It turned out the grandstand roof had sprung a leak, naturally, directly above my head. The stream of rain drops that dripped down my head, shoulders and inevitably my neck seemed endless and I can still remember it well to this very day.
Over time I’ve learned the Nürburgring enjoys switching between hot and cold weather. Sometimes she even fancies having both in one weekend, like during the GT Masters weekend in 2014 when she dropped temperatures by 29 degrees overnight. But on the whole it seems she prefers cold weather. As a regular Ring visitor you learn to expect this and dress accordingly. Still, last October during the vln9 qualifying my six layers of clothes were useless against the frost. Not even the two scarves I’d wrapped around my head could stop the wind from biting my face. After 50 minutes my body had gone so numb I knew I couldn’t safely stay where I was. So I stumbled away from the track towards the nearest piece of shelter, my personal Walhalla, my own piece of heaven on earth: the loo cubicle.
I sat out the last half hour of qualifying there. Perhaps it’s a somewhat embarrassing place to be, but at the time I thought myself pretty smart. I’d outfoxed the Nürburgring! I was within earshot of the track speakers and could still follow the action, but was out of the icy wind’s reach! However, I’d counted my chickens too soon. Shortly after qualifying I learned my favourite driver’s car had been crashed beyond repair. And before the race had finished I was running a massive fever. It was obvious the Ring wasn’t amused with me. I’d ruined her little game and she was making me pay for it. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thirteen days until my next visit.