For almost a decade now I have been lusting after just a week on the Nurburgring. A day or two just to get situated on it. If my PS2 could talk, it would tell you how many hours I spent racing on the Nurburgring. I drove it using everything, a Supra, Shelby Cobra, E46 M3 CSL, and an R34 GTR. There’s just something so magical and awe inspiring of thirteen miles in the German country side when you’re all alone with something as visceral as your favorite car. I’ve had many dreams of rolling into the parking lot in an M3 GTS. The radio off, the windows down, the sound of the V8 screaming through the Akrapovic exhaust. Kind of like what this guy is about to do.
Now why the title for this current entry? The Nurburgring fell into quite a bit of debt because of a pair of businessmen who pretty much lied to the government and everyone around them. A museum was built, a single ran rollercoaster, and quite an empty mall. A good friend had visited the Nurburgring a few years ago and he said it was a ghost town. There were more bars than people. Hotel rooms were being given away because of the problems that had come across the area. The pair of clowns had inflated the numbers of people attending. They were given more money on top of the money they had already received and left the Nurburgring with an empty sack. But sometimes, there’s more to it. So let’s hope it’s saved.
Just some experiences can never be replicated, the idea of blasting through the Karussell, the four liter flat six behind you echoing off the trees. There’s just something about that that makes it seem it could never happen again unless you do it yourself, again. Memories are forged on the pavement. Lifelong memories, relationships are built, and one day, I hope to climb into either the previously mentioned Porsche or BMW for a lap or six of the Nurburgring. I also wouldn’t mind a Ring Taxi ride with the ever so vibrant Sabine Schmitz in her personal GT3RS.