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A little less then two weeks ago I arrived in Germany to stay with good friends. After a month of constant movement I collapsed for two days (More on the whole of my Germany visit later). Fair warning to all blog readers: this entry is chalk full of pictures of cars and manly things.
Exhausted and tired of traveling I immediately took off on another adventure. To see a Formula One race, the European Grand Prix at Nurburgring Germany. What the Super Bowl is to America each F1 race is on the world stage. Six-time Champion Michael Schumacher is to the world of racing, and the world, what Micheal Jordon was to the US in his heyday.
Forget introspective spiritual journey for truth and meaning, this was pure, unadulterated, boyhood lust for speed and shiny things that are loud. Not only was there races by the fastest cars in the world, there were Mini races, and best of all, 40 top line Porsche 911’s racing each other during the weekend. Top this all off with the ability to drive the Autobahn in a turbo diesel.
On Thursday morning I picked up the turbo diesel, okay so it was
Windmills
There are Windmills all over the place. These where captured at 130 kph. a Ford Focus, and headed out of the road. I don’t know about you but my assumption about the Autobahn was that it was one road of unlimited speed where only super sports cars and silly racecar wannabes ventured. Anyone of any worldly intelligence, or any intelligence at all, would realize that the Autobahn (auto way) is the national highway system of Germany.
Like any highways system it is A) designed to be straight and safe for the speeds posted and B) most often under construction. So, while I did get passed by a very nice looking Porsche at slow speeds, the whole experience was a bit like, well, driving a freeway. There are in fact sections with no posted speed limit. How fast can a Ford Focus turbo diesel go? How about 190? Even in kilometers per hour that is rocking.
Once arrived I set up my tent at a campground right outside the racetrack with 1,000 drunk Germans. I don’t know how it is at a NASCAR tailgate but the Germans bring their living room, column speakers with amplifiers and a small RV to hold the cases of beer (or kegs and portable tap). Several of
the beer gardens where the size of a kindergarten playground. One had a projection screen showing concerts with laser show and stage smoke. I have seen a lot of drunk people in my day, but none beat the drunk Germans on race weekend. The contest was not do you sway when you stand still but how much can you sway before you need to take a step to steady yourself. Unlike Americans, they do clean up after themselves.
I knew it was going to be a long weekend when the opening song for the neighboring encampment was by Judas Priest. Lucky for me, as the racing intensified over the weekend and the revelers got more tired, the volume of the competing fiefdoms lowered. The lowest point had to be waking up at 1:00 am to pad German punk rock: “I talk too much, I talk too much, I talk too much,…” You can say that again.
Not speaking the language, and being by myself I felt invisible. In one sense it was feeing. But it made me understand just a little bit what it must be like for immigrants to land in a new country where they do
Porsche Carrera S
You have admire someone who has the balls and skill to park a $85,000 car here. not speak the language. How easy it is to become isolated and to hide. I felt more alone among the throngs then I did by myself on the western shore of Ireland.
Thursday night they opened the pit lane for a walk through and then took everyone on a bus ride of the racecourse. Eighty present of the people there where dressed in a uniform of red shirt and baseball cap of bright Ferrari Red. Now I knew this show of scarlet fever was not for Dale Jr. and I knew that Schumacher (Shumi) was popular, but Ferrari is Italian. “Oh, right, Shumi is German” realized my slow moving brain.
Shuffling slowly past the pits the crowd ever so carefully gravitated to the holy alter; the F1 pit lane of the Ferrari team. It was as if we where all Muslim pilgrims circling the stone at Mecca. Not knowing exactly why, I too took photos of the men in red jump suits fussing over a disassembled car that is basically a jet plane on wheels.
I have described several times on this blog how loath I am to be near tour buses full of camera wielding tourist
Porsche Supercup
This is turn one at Nurburgring. On the first practice lap about 1/3 of the Porches overran the turn - good fun! - but this is Nurburgring and a bus ride takes us around a F1 racetrack - I am there. Even at the speed of a large bus one can feel the g-forces puling you as it winds around the tight corners and s-curves. Just think what it would be like in a car able to go 230 mph.
I have to say until the real racing got underway on Sunday the highlight of the weekend was sneaking out of the campsite to drive the country roads and villages in the surrounding area. Small villages tucked between rolling hills of farms and small multi-colored forest: it is absolutely breathtaking. Spring trees where blooming in different shades of green and white. Church steeples rose above small tidy looking villages as the sun sparkled from behind clouds. Here I am at a race taking off to wonder around outside and take pictures. I guess I know how I truly like to spend my time. I did not even mind losing my parking space next tot my tent.
The areas country roads are pure driving pleasure. Automotive writers often test drive cars in this area, and now I understand why. Well-paved, windy
German Countryside
And it could have been a good picture too! country roads with long sight lines, little traffic and beautiful scenery is just about too much to take. I got a kick out of The roads signs of small orange circles that came in pairs; the top one had a picture of a truck and car and some indication of speed limit, the bottom one had a picture of a tank and what speed limit they should, apparently, obey.
Sunday came along and I got to sit in the grass surrounded by a sea of red, bake in the sun, watch four races of four different class of cars (the best being the Porsches) and give thanks that I got that out of my system and did not get too enamored with what could be a very expensive past time.
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abalada
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road signs
> small orange circles that came in pairs; the top one had a picture of a truck and car and some indication of speed limit, These are signs for military vehicles only. At bridges or similar constructions. They give the maximum weight in tons for the types of vehicles allowed on this construction.