Why the Nurburgring Sucks
In a Playstation fantasy world, one where my driving abilities match the limits of my high strung super car, I would happily run sub eight minute laps around the Nurburgring track all day. While I’m at it, I’d date the lovely Sabine Schmitz and draw love notes in the pavement with burned rubber and fill the air with the smell of high octane race fuel. I’d do this all day, every day – until I managed to single-handedly convert all dinosaur remains to CO2 at wide open throttle. Global warming be damned.
That was fun. Now let’s reverse back to reality.
In our current reality, the Nurburgring would probably be something of a disappointment. For starters, it’s in Germany, which is one continent too far away for me to reach by car. Even if I could magically teleport myself and my not-so-sporty compact car to the famed thirteen mile track, I’d be stopped before I started to pay 24 euros for toll. With the US and Europe in all kinds of global financial troubles, 24 euros probably works out to be just shy of *ONE MILLION DOLLARS*. But hey, it’s just money right? At least I’ll be able to lay down some fresh rubber while I feel those g-forces pull the seat of my pants left and right. Some of the adrenaline from the earlier fantasy might even start coming back. I’ll start getting into the groove of things — feeling that mythical “connection” between man and machine auto journalists are always barking on about. Then bam! I run off the course. I’ll die at some later time from blood loss. Unfortunately, I’ll live just long enough to see Sabine drive by with her hand cocked in an “L” on her forehead.
Dying sounds terrible. Being mocked right before death sounds a bit like overkill. But my terrible demise isn’t why the Nurburgring sucks. In fact, as irritating as all the details of the ring are, what really makes it suck isn’t something real at all. All the fees, the CO2 emissions, the noise (glorious, oh glorious noise) combined wouldn’t be as awful as what makes the Nurburgring truly suck: it makes cars that only automotive magazines love.
Lift your right foot off the throttle for a moment and think. What happens after you drive off the meticiously maintained race track and start the long journey home? Those same sporty seats that provided so much bolstering in the hairpins are a far cry from your lazy-boy in your living room. Sit back and try to relax. Every road imperfection will be a gentle (or not-so-gentle) reminder of the stiff spring rates, aggressive damping, and low-profile run-flat tires. As you pull into a gas station, a cute girl pulls up next to you in a Prius. She takes one look at your car, one look at you, and shakes her head. She’s finishes pumping gas and quietly whirrs away, before you could try to strike up conversation.
Harsh ride, terrible fuel economy, and disdainful looks from the opposite sex. This is all caused by a stretch of pavement in some country I’ll never drive in. The next time you read about a new ‘Ring record for a production car, ask yourself: is it worth it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get back to running a Mercedes 190E on the Nordschleife on my Playstation 2.