Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in Volume II of B.H. Magazine. For access to future issues, subscribe here.
Hidden in the woods two hours west of Frankfurt is the mighty Nürburgring, a motorsports mecca defined by almost a century of tragedy and triumph. Farms and forests – the peace of which is shattered by the wailing of flat-six engines on any given day – shield the circuit, and those attempting to conquer it, from civilised society.
The scale of its Nordschleife, meaning “north loop,” is without rival. Drivers fight their way through 154 turns and 21 kilometres that comprise every conceivable test of engineering and skill – punishing compressions, bumpy off-camber sections, jumps, corners of every shape, deep braking zones, and a long straight where all but the most famous high-speed monsters can reach their V-max. It’s why the circuit serves as the testbed for manufacturers, and a pissing contest between their PR departments when lap records tumble.
Today it’s my turn to give the “Green Hell” a crack, but with no more than a hundred Nordschleife laps clocked on Gran Turismo, I’ve been told to leave the stopwatch alone and enjoy the ride.
Before collecting my vehicle I can’t help but head to the carpark feeding into the circuit for a proper geeze. The space is rammed with the world’s most desirable track-focused machines, capable of eclipsing 300km/h down the main straight, piloted by drivers of probably a dozen nationalities in the unofficial UN Conference of Going Really, Really Fast.
It’s not just egos at stake here, it’s half-a-million-dollar supercars. Once I’ve processed the combined value and retrieved my jaw from the bitumen I’m off to RSRNurburg, a specialist rental company delivering bucket-list experiences at both the Nürburgring and Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium.
With about 30 models in their fleet, choice of weapon is only limited by your bravery, and budget. A Ford Fiesta ST is an accessible entrée, but if you have a lazy thirteen grand and the stomach for it, you can enjoy ten laps in a full-fat 911 GT3RS, or a dedicated track-day if your pockets go even deeper. This fun doesn’t come cheap, but neither does maintaining track cars and offering insurance to clueless tourists.
My day starts with a briefing on having fun and returning in one piece, where advice includes driving to seven-tenths of your ability, avoiding high kerbs that are guaranteed to flip your car, and only overtaking on the left, as the ’Ring is technically a public road. Finally, to ignore the spectators egging you on at “YouTubecorner” – they want to see a crash and are often successful in swelling driver’s heads to the point they do something stupid.
My instructor, Etienne, hands me the keys to a new BMW M2. Being lucky enough to own one back home, I’ll confirm the new M2 can be a numb device within the confines of Aussie road rules. Now’s my chance to experience the car – with upgraded brake pads and an Akrapovič exhaust – infinitely closer to its limit, with the support of a driving coach, and without the fear of being lit up by Highway Patrol.
After negotiating the left-hand-drive setup we arrive at the circuit, the boom-gate raises and I roll onto the accelerator. The muscular S58 twin-turbo inline six breezes past the 200-mark and it feels so, so naughty. Part of me wants to explode, finally realising my fantasy of thrashing a fast car at the ’Ring, but the excitement is tempered, almost overpowered, by the €50,000 bill waiting for me in the event of a crash.
Within two minutes of groping my way around a handful of motorsport’s most infamous corners, it’s clear I’m completely outmatched by the car’s performance. The previously easy-going Etienne becomes my co-pilot and peppers me with instructions, encouraging me to plumb the depths of the car. I’m cornering with as much speed as I dare and the car just… sticks. It whispers to me: “You’ll run out of talent before I do, my friend.”
Simulators haven’t prepared me for the mental and physical demands of driving here. Performing a full-body workout while navigating the blind corners, nauseating undulations, quick direction changes, and other cars hustling for the apex, is all a bit much. The mind boggles at how endurance drivers race here for a full 24 hours.
My fears of crashing are validated as we slow down for a yellow flag at Schwedenkreuz. The fast left-hander has claimed a Tesla Model 3 and debris is everywhere. Aside from a big repair (or replacement) bill for your car, and any others you’re at fault for damaging, you also have to pay to repair the circuit. It’s a sickening thought for the driver, who, fortunately, has emerged unharmed.
An exchange of stale Tesla-owner stereotypes occurs as we recollect and push hard into the Foxhole, a steep downhill section consisting of four rapid direction changes, before a big compression into a hard left.
Traffic has built up, there’s nothing but a strip of grass separating me and the fence, and at 220km/h with tunnel-vision and the throttle pinned I feel like I’m in free fall. Etienne tells me to keep the power down, but I’ve run out of courage and lift mid-corner, upsetting the car and forcing stability control to save me from myself.
The rest of my time is spent wide-eyed at seven-tenths, laughing, and having my doors blown off by much better drivers in much slower cars. Highlights include being gapped by a clapped-out Volkswagen Golf MK II, driven mostly on three wheels, and feeling the M2 shake as a flame-shooting Porsche996 Turbo, driven by some maniac, threads it past us through the Foxhole at about 260km/h – it’s an average Thursday at the ’Ring, apparently.
My heart rate normalises over lunch in Adenau, a nearby town with a delicious mix of medieval architecture and battered supercars. It’s where two things become clear. Having my ass handed to me by a modern, mid-level sports car proves the irrelevance of this performance arms-race between manufacturers. This numbers game is purely academic for all but the most outgoing owners, who’d still struggle to find a circuit catering to a fraction of their car’s potential.
Will brands begin prioritising accessible driver “feel” or are we about to see a 2,000 horsepower SUV because there are enough customers willing to pay for the bragging-rights?
I finish lunch with the realisation that Nürburgring is more than just a bit of tarmac and a few trees. It’s one of the last places on Earth where enthusiasts can test the limits of their cars, mostly unimpeded by the insidious reach of bureaucracy. The income from manufacturers and tourists keep it viable for now, but there’s no telling how its fortunes could change. Consider me grateful for having experienced the circuit in all its glory. I hope this wasn’t our last dance.
Jordan drove the Nürburgring as a guest of RSRNurburg.
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