Nürburgring

On facing fears, assessing risks, and knowing what gives us joy

“You are doing the Nürburgring, right?”

“Oh…sure. Of course!”

I have answered this question with more confidence than I feel.

The Nürburgring always comes up in conversations when I am at car events talking about my upcoming road trip. This racetrack is the holy grail for many car enthusiasts and unlike other racing venues, the Nürburgring has allowed Touristenfahrten (Tourist Driving Days) since it opened.

The Nürburgring is located in the Adenau Region of Germany in the Eifel Mountains and opened as an economic development project of the District Council in 1927 (I also suspect more than a few of the Council members were car fanatics which weighed heavily when they decided a racecourse was their project). The track is the longest permanent racecourse in the world, and the original circuit, known as the Gesamtstrecke (Whole Course), was 17.6 miles long and included the Nordschleife (North Loop) and the Südschleife (South Loop). From its completion it has served as a one-way public toll road on non-race days and has been characterized by its unique design: a narrow roadway running along the mountains around Nürburg Castle, the large number of turns, major grade changes and roadway jumps, and lack of runoff areas.

The Nürburgring hosted Formula 1 races from 1951 to 1976 and it was during this time it got the nickname of “The Green Hell” from racing legend Jackie Stewart. After a serious accident in 1976, Formula 1 no longer raced there until the new GP-Strecke (Grand Prix Course) was built in 1984 alongside the Nordschleife. From the mid-1970s the Südschleife was abandoned, and is now a regular public roadway in some parts, other sections are no longer in use, and still others were replaced by the new GP-Strecke.

The Nürburgring is best known for the challenges and dangers it presents drivers. The Nordschleife now hosts the 24-Hour endurance race and other events and is a venue for Tourist Driving Days. The track is 20.8 kilometers (13 miles) long with 73 corners and 300 meters of grade change. As the website says,

”The Nürburgring. The Green Hell. Rapid pulse, racing heart, adrenaline rush. Experience the legendary track first hand through your own visor.”

If I am going to Germany with the Blue Car, it would be unthinkable to skip a visit to the track for Touristenfahrten. I probably won’t have another chance to do this, and the Blue Car would never forgive me (and I try to keep the Blue Car happy). That said, my stomach tightens in a knot when I think of driving the course.

The part of me that likes challenges, that believes it’s good to push outside my comfort zone, that tells my children that something isn’t worth doing if it doesn’t scare them at least a little bit –that part of me scoffs at the knot in my stomach when I think of the Nürburgring. Because there is also a thrill that comes with this knot. A sense of excitement and anticipation that tells me I am alive, that there are new and fabulous experiences to be had, and that I am not growing too old or cautious.

I had knots in my stomach the first time I did Auto Cross. To deal with my worries, I did what I always do and assessed the risks, thought briefly about the worst that could happen, and then moved forward. (As I write this, it sadly occurs to me that I almost always move forward after considering the risks and that maybe this isn’t a sign of my courage but rather that the risks I consider are minimal. Well, that is an article for another day.) In the case of Auto Cross, the risks had truly seemed negligible. I would run the course alone, on wide former airport runways, allowing plenty of space if I spun the car out (I did) or went off course (I did that too). If I hit a traffic cone (yes), no big deal. Perhaps the biggest risk was a bruised ego – dismally slow times seemed a likely outcome and I could live with that; I was there to have fun and to get to know my car and myself better. The knots were gone the minute I hit the gas on my first run. There was no time to be nervous or worry – every bit of my concentration focused on making it through the course as quickly as possible. I love Auto Cross.

The Nürburgring is different. Or at least I tell myself that to justify my fears, layered over a sense of excitement and anticipation. Then I assure myself: Tourist Driving Days, no timing or racing allowed, no pressure to go fast, to test the car’s (and my) limits on the first run or any run. And while all of this is true, it is a challenging course and there will be other drivers of all kinds. If it is a busy day, there will be many drivers.

I have driven on a racetrack with other cars exactly once before in my life. I look back at that experience in disbelief. Two months after my husband died, I put my five-year-old and seven-month-old in the back of the Blue Car and drove to New Hampshire for the weekend. We stayed with cousins, and they watched the boys that Saturday and Sunday while I participated in a PCA-NER Women’s Drivers Ed weekend at what was then known as the New Hampshire International Speedway in Loudon (now the NH Motor Speedway). What was I thinking? It’s all a haze now, but I was determined to know how to drive the Blue Car if I was going to keep it. And drive it I did. I was cautious on the track and an instructor was always beside me. What I best remember are the two off-track exercises. The braking activity was a revelation, and I was shocked at how far I stopped from those cones the first time it was full gas and then full brakes on the tarmac. I learned the Blue Car’s brakes were a lot more capable than I had ever given them credit for. And the skid pad activity was just pure joy. Driving in tight circles, I pushed the car to the limit – the Blue Car’s tires squealing with delight at the fun of it all as my instructor shouted encouragement. I was bursting with adrenaline, and I think it was the first time I had laughed in months. Then I pulled over, took off my helmet, and cried, wishing my husband had seen me and been there to share the joy.

But that one track experience was it. There was no big melding of me and the Blue Car, no bonding, no new yearning to be behind the wheel. It was a big ask of my cousins that summer and I didn’t repeat the experience. Over the coming years I did not have the luxury of a weekend away for track days and I hardly ever drove the Blue Car. If I had been lucky enough for more weekend breaks, I would have slept the entire time in the impossible attempt of a single parent with young children to grab back lost sleep.

Things are different now and the Blue Car and I are one. I have no other way to explain this. We silently communicate with each other on the road. I know what my car is going to do, and it trusts me too. But Nürburgring isn’t Loudon. It’s not a controlled drivers ed event with experienced or supervised drivers, all in Porsches. From what I understand, Nürburgring is something of a crap shoot, a wild west with some rules. On any given day there may be many drivers, there will be a wide range of experience, and many different types of cars. Anyone can attend Touristenfahrten; they simply need to have a valid license, registration, valid insurance, and a car that meets basic German road regulations. I know from experience when you get a group of people together with varied skill and confidence levels, with a wide assortment of equipment, and perhaps a wide range of common sense, bad things can happen. And there seems so little room for error on the Nordschleife, no matter how fast or slow I may be going and how well I know the Blue Car and myself.

How little room for error?

I made the mistake of googling “What are the biggest dangers at Nürburgring.” Google’s general AI overview offered an extensive list of hazards:

“The Nürburgring Nordschleife, often called the "Green Hell," is a notoriously dangerous racetrack due to its length, lack of runoff areas, blind corners, and varied skill levels of drivers. Accidents are frequent, and the track has a history of fatalities.”

Specifics? To paraphrase the AI results:

• The track is almost 13 miles long and filled with blind corners, making it difficult to anticipate what's ahead and to react quickly.

• Many sections of the track have limited or no runoff areas, meaning that drivers who make a mistake have little space to recover and can quickly enter the barriers or other hazards.

• The track features significant elevation changes and jumps, which can cause cars to become airborne and difficult to control.

• On Tourist Driving Days, the track is open to drivers of all skill levels, from novice to experienced racers, who can all be on the track simultaneously.

• This mix of drivers leads to significant variations in pace and speed, making it challenging to judge overtaking maneuvers and navigate the track safely.

The AI search engine went on to tell me about specific danger zones on the track. As much as I love their names, the descriptions tightened the knot in my stomach:

• Flugplatz: features a jump that can launch cars into the air, posing a significant safety risk.

• Schwedenkreuz: a tricky left-hand corner with elevation changes and limited visibility, known for causing accidents.

• Radillion: a blind corner after Eau Rouge that requires drivers to rely on their instincts and practice rather than clear visibility.

• Pflanzgarten: A section with significant elevation changes and jumps, making it a challenging and dangerous area.

There are rules of course, including (high) speed limits during Tourist Days and an edict to pass only on the left. However, warnings are found everywhere online: “It’s crucial to approach the track with caution, respect the rules, and be aware of the risks involved.”

Where does this leave me? I like to think I am brave. I have written about testing myself, attempting new things, failing, and learning. Blurry Bears is one article about my last road trip that sums it up nicely, but I was writing about photography there, not driving on a famous racetrack in Germany.

When I ask the question, what is the worst that can happen on the Nürburgring?, the answers are further along the danger spectrum than I typically contemplate. I could break down at Radillion with no runoff area to coast off the track and out of the way, and be slammed from behind by the next driver coming around that blind corner. I could be on my fourth run of the track, gain confidence and speed and slam someone else from behind on that same blind corner. I could misjudge the Blue Car and myself and lose control on a turn, hitting a wall or flipping the car on that narrow roadway. I could go on, but I don’t want to. This isn’t my nature – to go down the rabbit hole of bad things that can happen.

It occurs to me it’s time to refocus; my first query to Google should have been “What are the joys of driving at Nürburgring.” So, I just plugged that into the search engine. And waited. And plugged it in again. Ironically, no AI general overview results appeared as they did for my dangers and challenges query. What came up were a series of YouTube videos made at Nürburgring.

I think there is a lesson here.

Dangers can be based on fact, but joys are personal. And our evaluation of the dangers vs. the joys is personal as well. At Nürburgring, one can know the risks by looking at accident statistics, looking at the number of times cars became airborne at Flugplatz, or how often cars went off the road at Pflanzgarten. In life, we can know how often planes crash from the sky, how many people are mugged on a particular street, of how often the commuter rail is delayed or simply not running on our route. Risks run in a wide spectrum; what are the chances of being late for work, not making it off the plane, being stood up by that blind date? Weighing the risks vs the perceived rewards? The joys? The benefits? That’s a personal thing. We all have different things that make us joyful, that fill us with pride or accomplishment, which make us feel whole and alive. Knowing those things is important. And then we can weigh the pros and cons, the risks against the rewards. We all have our own comfort zones, our own fear thresholds, our own capabilities and resources.

I decided to answer my own query, as Susan. What are the potential joys from doing Touristenfahrten?

• Driving a world-famous racecourse. Full stop.

• Pushing the limits of the Blue Car on the straightaways and feeling that adrenaline rush.

• Pushing the limits of the Blue Car and myself on the turns and feeling the joy and accomplishment of it all.

• Learning something new – studying the track before I get there, planning my first run, and then having the satisfaction of getting better and better on every subsequent run.

• Knowing I overcame my fears and worries to do something outside of my comfort zone. Being proud of myself.

• Loving it so much I stay and do it the next day. Because I can.

• Loving it so much I sign up for PCA Drivers Ed events when I return home and have something new to look forward to with the Blue Car.

• Upping my cool factor with my kids. A big deal.

• The pure unreal and fantastic reality of being in Germany and at the Nürburgring in the Blue Car! This was never in my wildest dreams at the track in Loudon so many years ago.

I have registered an account on the Nürburgring website and a day at the track is in my itinerary. The knots in my stomach are not as tight as they were before, but no matter – I know those knots will transform to concentration and adrenaline the minute I am on the track. As the trip gets closer, I will also keep an eye on the dates for next year’s After Work Classics events that are reserved for cars over 30 years old. And I will do my best to avoid joining the “Bongard Club.” That is the name given to drivers who crash into barriers, suffer mechanical failures, or otherwise must be towed off the track during Touristenfahrten. “Bongard” is the name of the company that operates the large yellow flatbed trucks involved in car recovery, which happens as quickly as possible due to high traffic volume and lack of runoff.

That’s a club membership I will do my very best to avoid.