Yahoo Autos The Pain and Ecstasy Of the Rolex 24 at Daytona
As R&T photographer DW Burnett put it, this year's Rolex 24 at Daytona was especially "brutal." It was unseasonably cold for much of the race, and consistent rain defined the nighttime action. Standing in the infield at turn one at around 6:00 a.m., cold and wet, I wondered why anyone was there.
What's the draw? Where's the glamour? You hear the word "Daytona," and if you don't immediately think NASCAR, your mind goes to images of Porsche 962s duking it out on the banking; the gorgeous Ferrari GT named for the marque's famous 1-2-3 finish here in 1967; the Rolex that Paul Newman made a legend and that every racer dreams of having.
It's hard to see any of that glamour when the track is so damp, racing has all but stopped.
The day started innocently enough. On a pre-race pit walk with Sports-Car legend Hurley Haywood, he remarked at the perfect weather. It was sweatshirt temperature, for sure, but dry and sunny. That cool air would be good for the engines, and it goes without saying that dry weather makes for fast racing.
Daytona's many grandstands were far from NASCAR-level packed, but in the hour leading up to green flag, tons of people were milling around the infield trying to snap pictures of their favorite cars and drivers during the grid walk. The mood was overwhelmingly positive.
This year marks a the dawn of a new era for IMSA. The DPi formula injected some much-needed life into the top-level prototype class, and in the GT categories, an increased level of manufacturer involvement was also on display. Lexus, Acura, and Mercedes-AMG all made their GTD debut this year, joining a class filled with Porsches, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Audis. At the top of the grid, Cadillac's brand-new program was grabbing a ton of attention, and not just because one of its drivers is a semi-retired NASCAR legend.
Amid the grid-walk revelry, track officials began to usher spectators off the grid. After around five minutes of this, pit lane was cleared and drivers embarked on their pace laps.
As soon as the flag drops, the Speedway becomes a cacophony of noise, led by the tinnitus-inducing V8s of the Corvettes. The frenetic energy soon settles down, and it's this point you realize
Then everything sorta turns into a blur. It's hard to take in the action from a good vantage point and know what's going on. Still, the atmosphere is positive. Tons of people are just happy to be here, and everyone scopes out the best place to hang onto the catch fencing. I parked myself right at the entrance to turn one, right where the cars come off the banking, braking heavily before entering the infield.
I spent the rest of the afternoon watching from different vantage points, frantically trying to see as much as possible. As we've said before, this is a futile effort, so you're better off just soaking up the vibe of the event more than anything.
I left the track for dinner and didn't get back until about10:00 p.m. That's when things started to get strange. The picturesque afternoon gave way to a dark, rainy, and cold night.
It felt like a full day had gone by this point, so seeing that there was still around 15 hours of race left on one of the many countdown clocks threw me for a loop. This seemed like it was wildly impossible, but the cars were still on track, racing hard as ever.
I took a walk around the pits. Crew members were weary, with many feasting on soup to stay warm. At this point everyone's fighting the harsh reality of a 24-hour race held in January.
But the pit crews were on it as soon as a car pulled in–an incredible physical and mental feat to behold. Just watch a pitstop by one of the Lexus' two RC F GT3s entered in the race. It's carefully coordinated, high-intensity madness. Once the car is out, the crews relax. It's all on the driver now.
At this point, I caved. While I'd love to have been a badass and stayed up for the whole race, it just wasn't in the cards. Three hours of sleep at the hotel would have to do.
I got back around 5:30 a.m., during a full-course caution. The track was fairly quiet. Some people are milling around the infield looking for a new vantage point, shelter from the wet, something warm to drink or, perhaps, all three. The day before, the drink of choice was an overpriced beer in a plastic cup, or a cocktail if you were watching from a hospitality box, but now, it's coffee.
When I imagined my first Daytona 24 earlier in the month, I didn't think I'd be drinking a lukewarm cup of coffee, just to try and stay warm. And awake.
Around 6:30 a.m. (or at least, I think it was around 6:30...) the green flag dropped again, and then things started to heat up. Once the field got up to speed, I stopped questioning why I was there. It all clicked.
It's moments like this that make all the challenge of racing worth it. You start to understand why not only fans keep coming back, but racers, crew members, and engineers too. In racing, there's a hell of a lot more frustration than glory, but man, that glory is rewarding unlike anything else. It's brief moments of total and utter ecstasy, surrounded by wanting to bang your head against a wall.
For me, this comes in even sharper focus at sunrise. Well, calling it a sunrise would be generous thanks to a thick cloud cover, but watching the track getting blanketed in light from the grandstands was still a damn-near religious experience. Suddenly, the whole place felt like it had a renewed sense of energy. I certainly did.
Racers talk about seeing the sun rise over Turn One, and being filled with a new sense of hope. After hours of darkness, there's an end in sight.
The action is far from over, though. Thanks to increasing reliability across the board, more cars than ever survive the entire race, making Daytona feel more like a 24-hour sprint than an endurance race.
A sprint I was not up for. From around 9:00 a.m. until around 1:30 p.m., I don't really remember any specifics. Well, other than falling asleep in front of Stewart Wicht, the extremely affable CEO of Rolex U.S.A. My bad.
At this point, I was watching from the fairly empty grandstands (sports car fans prefer the infield to being locked down in the stands), which give you a gorgeous, panoramic view of the track. From here, you can follow battles lap-after-lap, rather than standing at one corner waiting for the pair of cars come by.
The last hour of the 24 was especially intense. Thanks to a couple of safety cars, a number of tight battles emerged. In the DPi category, the Cadillacs of Filipe Albuquerque and Ricky Taylor were locked in a tough fight for the lead. Further back in the field, the #911 Porsche RSR gave chase to the #66 Ford GT, all while trying to hold off the #62 Ferrari 488 GTE.
The Cadillac fight ended spectacularly. Taylor made a late move. Albuquerque defended. The cars hit. Albuquerque spun, Taylor didn't. In GTLM, the Porsche and Ferrari held their positions, but it made for one hell of a battle.
This all happened in the last 10 minutes, by the way. It was as exciting as any racing I've seen in person.
In the end, the #10 Wayne Taylor Racing Cadillac, driven by brothers Ricky and Jordan Taylor, Jeff Gordon, and Max Angelelli, took the checkered flag. It was a well-earned and hard-fought victory.
For the past three years, Wayne Taylor Racing had come within an inch of first place, only to lose out for a number of reasons. Gordon raced with Wayne Taylor himself in 2009, finishing a 'disappointing' third place. The NASCAR driver promised he'd return to the 24 as soon as that nagging stock-car career was out of his way. Angelelli, who won the 24 in 2005, would be retiring after this race.
Their victory was a reflection on all of racing. Years of hard work and tough losses, all paying off in glorious fashion, and with a shiny new Rolex.
It's moments like these we all fight for. Racing is a hard sport for everyone involved, but when it pays off, it's the best thing in the world. This year's Daytona may have been brutal, but man, it was satisfying.
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