Le Mans 1950 was a year for plucky outsiders, few more so however than this Iron Curtain entrant.
The Circuit de la Sarthe has been a Mecca for speed and endurance since 1923. History records the many who have attempted to conquer the 24 heures du Mans; from those dusty, wide boulevards of old to today’s billiard table smooth tarmac, and rightly lauds those victorious few.
Racing CXs in the desert. What could possibly go wrong?
Frequently, one can witness famous people on TV performing acts of a nature for which they profoundly lack the talent, relevant image or physical capability. A programme such as Dancing with the stars (or its local equivalent) is an example, as are those occasions where politicians, in a bid to appear ‘with it’, allow themselves be tempted to Continue reading “So You Think You Can Race?”
We conclude our history of the last Grand Prix race staged in Ireland.
As we rejoin the story of the 1938 Cork Grand Prix, the drivers come to terms with the circuit, the unprecedented levels of public interest and the task of setting a pole-setting time.
Wednesday practice saw French ace, Réne Dreyfus set a provisional fastest time of 4.4 minutes, despite his poorly-running Delahaye. At the time, teams concocted their own unique witches’ brew of hydrocarbons to fuel their racing engines. Most employed combinations of methanol and ethanol, acetone and even small amounts of water. Teams would often jealously Continue reading “Racing Green – (Part Two)”
“A spectacle of speed and excitement which Ireland may not have the opportunity to see again…”
It was still dark as they began to gather along the roadway, past the newly erected grandstands, all the way back towards the hairpin at Victoria Cross. As the fading moonlight reflected upon the surface of the river, the people of Cork arrived on buses, by bicycle or on foot as dawn slowly broke across the Lee Fields. In the half-light, amid the red glow of the men’s cigarettes and the hushed voices of the spectators; their breath coming in wisps in the chill morning air, they waited for 6.00 am practice to commence.
Neither Carrigrohane, nor Cork itself had ever seen the like of it.
In this part of the world, people are not particularly au fait with the concept of ambiguity, tending more towards the literal approach. So in the proud city of Cork, should a resident Continue reading “Racing Green – (Part One)”
The motorsport season doesn’t necessarily end when the mercury drops. Not in some places at least.
Get that Foreigner song out of your head immediately; this setting has far less cheese and way more cool, in terms of both occurrence on track as well as rather low temperatures usually due to being held 2,000 metres up an Alp. This is the e-Andros Trophy, a fully sideways, ice-crystalled love affair that’s now into its thirtieth year. And now it’s gone all modern, bidden au revoir to the combustion engine along with a big Bonjour! to electric power and some French stars of motorsport.
A potted history for you. Frédéric Gervoson and Max Mamers were friends sharing tastes and values; those of competition, friendliness, loyalty and racing cars. Classing themselves as (Mamers), “a sports entrepreneur” and (Gervoson) as an “entrepreneurial sportsman”, they collected up some interested parties to Continue reading “As Cold As Ice”
Motor racing is coming to Newcastle, courtesy of a former driver and the entrepreneurial spirit of a local lad made good.
At exactly 7kms, the track resembles Spa-Francorchamps and contains elevations and sinuous curves inspired by famous tracks the world over. Totally unlike Spa, Geordie Raceway is devoid of trees. Or indeed much else for this track is to be built on the former Prudhoe muck stacks of yore. Questions there are many.
Scrubs up well for a forty year old. She’s kept her figure, had her wild years, now slowly gravitating toward middle age with maturity and style.
As a child I was mesmerised by the BASF colour scheme on the BMW M1. The car screams out speed, aggression, power; language that only red can truly deliver. The white circles emanate a sense of power, creating reflections akin to water ripples or the blast wave of an explosion, placed on the bodywork at jaunty angles.
Maybe on my tenth birthday the model arrived, not to be raced or hurled into the garden with abandon. No, this Red Devil was for cherishing, made centre stage, set apart from all those lesser model cars; pretty well untouched. My memory does not serve me well, did I Continue reading “Thirty Minutes”
Andrew Miles dons his Rally jacket in praise of the WRC.
For the past fifteen years, should you be named Sébastien and you hailed from France, you were World Rally Champion. No-one got else got a look in. Some came agonisingly close, but nine championships went to Sébastien Loeb whilst the other six fell Sébastien Ogier’s way.
That is until late in October in Catalunya, when rally fans the world over witnessed a new dawn. Ott Tänak from Estonia was the new boss, finally. And then promptly four days later informed the world he was to Continue reading “Finally, Ott”