von Henger » 3. Nov 2010, 01:44
Hier noch eine Textpassage aus dem Netz in Englisch zum Eröffnungsrennen :
It was one of those evenings when you look around yourself and say, “Well, if the roof collapses or I get hit by lightning, at least I can die happy.”
We were dining at a grand old German restaurant in the Eifel Mountains, not far from the Nurbrurgring, perhaps 150 of us, divided into rough thirds as journalist, Mercedes-Benz officials and famous racing drivers.
A lot of famous racing drivers.
More, in fact, than I had ever hoped to see in the chance meetings of a lifetime, much less sitting down to dinner in a single room. Half the heroes of my protracted, ongoing childhood were there. Casting aside all civilized restraint and the usual social taboos against name dropping, I’ll describe it.
Phil Hill sat across from me, and over his shoulder I could see Denis Hulme and Jack Brabham at the next table. Niki Lauda and James Hunt stood out from the sea of dark evening dress – Lauda with his trademark red cap and Hunt, whose luggage had failed to arrive, in a plum colored corduroy sport coat and blue jeans. Moss chatted with Surtees nearby, whle Prost, Rosberg and Reutemann looked on.
Behind me, the camaraderie was all in German stories and laughter coming from a gathering of pre-war Mercedes greats that included Karl Kling, Hermann Lang and Manfred Von Brauchitsch (on leave from East Germany) and their wives and friends. At the other table nearby were those grand gentlemen of racing, Rene Dreyfus, Piero Taruffi and none other than Juan Manuel Fangio himself, looking very sleek and tanned. There were others I no doubt missed, lost in the clouds of after dinner cigar smoke. John Watson was supposed to be somewhere in the crowd, and Jody Scheckter, whose name card and place setting lay unclaimed beside my own, was reported to be late with airline problems.
The effect, especially after a couple of glasses of Crozes-Hermitage (81er), was slightly heady and unreal, like dining in the midst of a photo montage come to life; the racing counterpart of a Hollywood poster that purports to show Monroe, Bogart, James Dean, Mae West and the Marx Brothers all standing in the same crowd. That, or a little like sitting down to the Last Supper with the original Twelve, Fangio getting my vote for center seat; a sort of baroque Upper Room with candles, cut glass, brandy and real Cuban cigars.
Why, you ask, was all this driving talent concentrated under one roof?
Mercedes-Benz, never a company to work in half measures, had invited the drivers for the opening of the new Nurburgring and the introduction of the 16-valve Cosworth headed Mercedes 190E 2.3-16 (just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?), thereby killing two birds with dozens of stones and hundreds of thousands of Deutsche Mark. Mercedes was sponsoring what was essentially a showroom stock race of the Cosworth 190’s around the new Ring. Twenty of these great drivers would be pitted against one another in a 12 lap race during Sunday’s opening ceremonies. It was ostensibly just an exhibition race, but in Saturday’s practice the drivers were clearly taking it seriously. Not one of these men had become a racing legend because he liked following other cars around the race track.
At Saturday night’s dinner, a young journalist asked Phil Hill if he were “really going to try hard tomorrow.” The color rose in Hill’s face and he said, “Of course I’m going to try tomorrow. Are you kidding? I was driving my tail off in practice today. I still can’t figure out how Prost is going so fast . . .”
Prost was indeed the fastest qualifier. I’d spent most of Saturday afternoon watching practice from just behind the Armco on the Romer-Kurve, a tight sweeper leading onto the front straight. Prost and some of the other young F1 front runners were whistling through in perfect balance, tail slightly out and the right front tire nailed to the inner curb, as if held there by a hook running just beneath the surface of the track. Most of the old pros were still experimenting, trying to get ahead of the sedan’s understeer and floating out a bit from the apex, or tossing the back end to bring the car around. By the end of practice, however, lines and lap times tightened up all around (fast learning curve, these retired champions) and everyone looked remarkably smooth and fast.
I won’t describe the whole race, as correspondent David Phipps did that nicely for us last month, but a few high points are worth mentioning. Brazilian F1 newcomer Ayrton Senna won in beautiful style, holding off a determined charge from Niki Lauda, who in turn was closely followed by Reutemann, Rosberg and Watson. Hulme was fastest of the back-from-retirement crowd, crossing the line right after Watson. Jack Brabham was 8th, behind Scheckter, while Surtees, Hill and Moss finished 11th, 12th, and 14th respectively.
Beyond a few shunts and spins, the finishing order generally reflected how recently the drivers had been racing. Current GP stars, right off the F1 circuit, were obviously the quickest. Those who retired four or five years ago tended to be a little faster than those who retired 20 years ago.
More remarkable than finishing position were lap times. Senna, the winner, had a best lap of 2 minutes 13.54 seconds. Surtees, back in 11th spot was only 0.15 sec off that pace, and Hill was just 0.97 sec slower than Senna, with a 2:14.51. (Try counting to 0.97 sec sometime; it doesn’t take long.) Moss, who never put a wheel wrong and refused to take an off track shortcut that many drivers used to improve their lap times and positions, was only 2 sec slower than Senna. Even the drivers on current GP grids are commonly separated by 6 or 7 sec from fastest to slowest.
In all, it was a marvelous event; 20 legendary drivers in equal cars, drifting and sliding on street tires. If this race were part of a series, I’d stand in line all night to buy season tickets. I can’t help feeling that, by autumn, certain drivers with a touch of gray in their sideburns would have little trouble finding those long lost second and fractions of seconds.
Gruß Fränk
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