Yahoo Autos The Lure of Lapping the Nurburgring
Other places exist. Other things outside my immediate situation are playing out right now for the 8 billion people on our little planet. Later, I’ll recognize that. I’ll remember to call the family, get around to that email I keep forgetting to write, and enjoy a cold beer and a hunk of steak cooked on a hot stone at a restaurant nearby. Life, in all its rich, wonderful, annoying, and exhausting ways, will continue. I hope. Right now, though, it’s irrelevant. My brain can’t allow any deviation from what’s ahead. Sixth gear, the car underneath me leaping from curb to curb as I plummet down Fuchsröhre, digital readout clicking up and up, shift lights starting to burn bright. I’m out of gears, but the big number keeps getting bigger... 250 km/h, 253, 256.
This story originally appeared in Volume 17 of Road & Track.
The track ahead turns left just as it bottoms out and then climbs steeply out of sight. I know deep in my soul that I don’t need to brake. In fact, I don’t even need to lift. The slick tires, the aero, and the compression will keep the BMW M4 GT4 sticky side down. But my soul and my rational brain don’t always see eye to eye, especially around here. It’s a battle of wills, and this time—this time I do keep the throttle wide open. The compression as the car hits the bottom of the gradient pushes my neck into my chest like Wile E. Coyote after a collision with a sheer rock face. Milliseconds later, the rebound almost lifts me out of the seat, where I’m tethered by harnesses pulled painfully tight over my HANS device. I sense my eyes bulging from the forces. Guess it’s time to blink.
About now, relief should flood through me like a cool breeze. If only. There’s no time. Hit the brakes, flick the left paddle for a downshift; turn left again and rattle the curb, sending the car on two wheels; wait for it to settle and stamp the brakes hard; two more downshifts and aim right, left, right. The M4 is being assaulted, my mind is reeling, and my body will be suffering tomorrow. All in just a snapshot of the Nordschleife, the north loop of the Nürburgring. Hallowed ground? Green Hell? The two are not mutually exclusive.
Peak speed at the compression through the left turn of the Foxhole: 158.72 mph. This whole sequence of five corners—starting at around the two-minute mark into my lap—is done in 16 seconds. Before it even started, the GT4 has tackled a sixth-gear blind kink at 165 mph, jumped over a crest at 160 mph. Jumped. All before rushing through a bumpy, Armco-lined downhill toboggan run with zero runoff. If the track looped back on itself right now, it would be reasonable to declare the Nürburgring the greatest circuit ever created. It doesn’t. There’s another 8.5 miles to run.
That’s about five minutes in the brand-new M4 GT4 at something approaching competitive speeds. In that time, nothing else will creep in. No thoughts of unpaid bills or when Grogu might show his full Jedi skills in The Mandalorian. But you don’t feel trapped by the Ring. You are freed by it—all-encompassing, totally engrossing, sometimes terrifying, utterly elating freedom. This fine magazine will try to persuade you that there are other hallowed grounds you must visit, and there are. But I’m here to tell you that nothing beats this place. It may be a cliché. It may be so obvious you want to rail against the truth. But you can’t. If you love cars, if you love driving, the Nürburgring is the beginning and the end.
The history of the Ring is well known. Its construction began in September 1925 in the Eifel region of Germany to stimulate the local economy and create a track that called to mind the epic scale of road races like Sicily’s Targa Florio. Architect Gustav Eichler and his eponymous company, Eichler Architekturbüro, handled design. Racing started in spring 1927, and the track featured the Nordschleife and shorter (4.81-mile) Südschleife courses. Many early races were held on the monstrous 17.6-mile Gesamtstrecke, or “whole course.”
After World War II, the German Grand Prix was held regularly on the Nordschleife, and it became famous for its unpredictable weather—perfect sunshine on one section could become rain and thick fog in an instant. Following a nightmarish race in ’68, winner Jackie Stewart christened the sprawling circuit the Green Hell, and the name stuck. Modifications attempted to make the course safer. There were boycotts and controversies, and then, in 1976, Niki Lauda’s horrific crash put an end to Formula 1 racing at the Ring. I interviewed him 30 years later and asked if he’d returned since. “No,” he said with a chuckle. “Maybe I should. Perhaps I’ll find my ear.” These guys were a different breed.
This chilling, grotesque, and irresistible F1 history is just part of the Nürburgring’s greater story. Back in the Twenties, an unusual but wonderful decision to make the vast new track a one-way toll road created something unique, something so much more vibrant than a closed racing facility that hides its secrets from all but the very few. This place always belonged to the people, and Touristenfahrten laps drew enthusiasts to the area in ever greater numbers. Rudolf Caracciola, Tazio Nuvolari, and Bernd Rosemeyer may have been the first Ringmeisters, but thousands of other personal narratives were written every year, one lap at a time.
That one-way toll-road status survives to this day. There’s still racing on the Nordschleife. In fact, the purpose of my laps today in the BMW M4 GT4 is to prepare for the upcoming headliner, the Nürburgring 24 Hours, where the big old beast and the new GP track are combined to make up a 15.8-mile lap. For the most part, though, it’s a facility for anyone to enjoy. Turn up, pay €30, and off you go. It’s like showing up at Wimbledon, sticking your credit card into a machine, and watching the barrier to Centre Court rise with no questions asked, Roger Federer waiting on the other side of the net.
Somehow, the reality here is even more special. It starts when merging onto the A1 autobahn from the southbound A61, south of Kerpen. Just seeing “Nürburgring” on a road sign sets butterflies swarming. This particular stretch of autobahn is lightly trafficked and derestricted. It’s the gateway to a beautiful, surreal bubble of freedom and unabashed car enthusiasm, and so it seems fitting you should pass through it as fast as your wheels can travel. On this occasion, I’ve driven from the U.K. in a BMW M5 CS. I don’t quite touch vMax, but an indicated 190 mph makes my intentions clear to the Grüne Hölle. I can’t wait to see you, old friend.
The remaining 35 miles or so heighten the sense that you’re headed to a kind of promised land. With every passing village, there are more and more race shops. Murals on the sides of hotels depict the track and the cars made famous there. Signs advertise the price to hire fully prepped track cars—everything from an entry-level Suzuki Swift to the latest Porsche 911 GT3 RS. Race cars are huddled together around what look like normal residences. Soon you start to catch glimpses of the track through the trees or running parallel with the road before it plunges back into the dense green. Sometimes on both sides. Remember, the circuit might be 12.9 miles in length, but it sprawls over acres of thick forest and swallows up whole towns. The Nürburgring is everywhere.
