FEATURE RIDING THE RING…
If I told you to put a pair of pants on your head, bark like a dog, and try to order a pint from the local Post Office, you'd rightly question whether I'd gone crazy. Well, let me tell you, that would be considered tame when pitched against the madness of the Nordschleife. There are some things that just can't be described, and the Nürburging is one of them. It is one of those instances in life where you have to do it to believe it, and even then, you won't fully compute what your brain is telling you. And if you did, and if you were sane, you'd be looking for the nearest exit quicker than a bull in a butchers. As a friend put it, ‘it is the Wild West of motorsport’, encapsulating a level of lunacy you'd struggle to find elsewhere… which is, ironically, exactly what makes this place so special. In a world so soft that it can make cotton wool seem harsh, the Ring is nothing short of a tonic for those who love speed and motors, and blurring the lines between limiters, kerbs and an abundance of Armco.
On paper, it just doesn't make sense, especially so in today's risk-averse society, and even less so when you come to realise that it is open to anyone with a driving licence in pretty much anything (as long as it's road-legal). Cars, vans, bikes… this place is home to them all, alongside some of the most exotic, pricey, or even not purchasable prototypes the world has ever seen. Just take a second to let that sink in… picturing the likes of little Bobby in his 1.0 litre Fiesta, scrapping it out with a professional racing driver in an 800bhp hybrid, while you're there on your bike trying to figure out whether to make that pass, give them space, or call the police to have them both arrested.
It is a savage playground, believe you me, as I learned from the get-go just a few weeks back. It's also one of those places that's been on my bucket list since I was a kid. I'd seen it on TV, heard all the stories from my mates who'd done the deed, but had yet to
