Boys’ Big Drive – Part 1 – Belgium

It started out as idle banter, then gentle persuasion, then belligerent insistence. By fortuitous calendar fluke, 2012 saw the Belgian and Italian Grand Prix taking place on consecutive weekends. The world’s foremost motor racing championship over its two most historic and significant circuits. With an under-utilised Aston Martin nestling in my dad’s garage, it seemed inappropriate not to hit Continental Europe for the road trip of a lifetime. And then we realised the Goodwood Revival was taking place the weekend after Monza. You couldn’t even dream it…

The trip didn’t start well. Dad and I were converging – from our disparate homes in the north – at my grandfather’s house in West Sussex on the Wednesday evening. Buoyed by the kind of self-congratulatory smugness only the chronically inept can muster, earlier in the week I truly believed I had fixed my beloved Exige’s misfire with kitchen roll and WD40. I decided to take start the trip in the old nail, recognising that it might be one of the last proper drives before winter rolled it. My mechanical conceit bit me hard as the car spent the entire day sat outside my office in the rain. Sure enough, as I fired the old girl up to set off for Sussex at the start of a two and a half thousand mile trip the misfire returned.

So I headed home, took all my (now sodden) possessions from the broken Lotus (did I mention the boot leaks too..?) and decanted into my even older and barely more reliable Peugeot. This was not going well.

Eventually, via myriad diversions, average speed limits, middle lane hoggers and – worst of all – the M25, I arrived at my destination where our stead for the fortnight was waiting. Fortunately, the guys and gals in Gaydon know how to build a sports car which doesn’t leak or break when it rains.

One sleep later and it was departure day – the one we’d looked forward to for so many months. And it was my first turn behind the wheel of the car my father worked his entire career to earn. No pressure then. Once accustomed to the fly-off handbrake and sheer heft of the mechanicals, the Vantage became a trusted and predictable friend over the trip. With a focus on interaction and feel rather than absolute fleetness of foot, this isn’t a car you might approach like a mid-engined flyweight, but it’s refreshingly honest in its approach and the noise when the exhaust valves open above four thousand revolutions is glorious. Capable of maintaining a comfortable three figure gallop all day while still compelling company on the Alpine passes, it’s hard to think of a better vehicle for such an ambitious jaunt.

Making the Euro Tunnel in plenty of time calmed our nerves and it started feeling like a proper racing road trip when we followed a Vanquish S onto the train, with Mercedes-Benz SLS directly ahead and a McLaren MP4-12C just a carriage in front. As if by some kind of submarine miracle we were on the Continent within half an hour and let loose on the flatlands of Flanders. This was the most visually uninspiring drive of the whole trip, and it was simply a case of clicking off the kilometres until we passed Brussels and could enjoy the rolling forests of the Ardennes.

Sure enough, once off the autoroute and into the countryside, our base for Grand Prix weekend loomed ahead. Set in dense woodland high above the road, Chateau Bleu is an imposing traditional chateau and owned, as it transpires, by a particularly amiable couple who also happen to share our passion for the motorcar. We knew we’d landed on our feet when we noticed a pre-war MG racer nestling in the hotel garage. Several other guests were in the area for the Grand Prix including several Brits. One couple had driven their Elise from Leeds – evidently not every Yorkshire Lotus is currently broken.

The omens for Friday were not good and the rain which had started on Thursday evening had apparently not relented overnight so it was waterproofs and umbrellas to the fore for practice day of the 2012 Belgian Grand Prix. The former only available to those who’d remembered to pack them. So dad remained dry while I was soaked. The famous Spa Francorchamps rain seems to move in dense curtains across the valley and remained in force all day, finally easing for the last practice session of the day in the early evening.

Following some fairly amateur navigating – compounded by some fairly ambiguous signing – we followed the majestic sweeps of the ‘old’ Spa circuit into a grassy car park, irritated by a late arrival but excited by the prospect of the best drivers in the world tackling the daddy of all modern European circuits. Well, on that basis we were left somewhat disappointed. Two 90 minute Formula One practice sessions saw barely a handful of laps between all competitors. We took the opportunity to follow the entire circuit length, but it was a struggle to really get to grips with the expected spectacle as there were so few runners out on the track. We watched some of the first session from the entry to Les Combes. With the long Kemmel Straight signalling the cars’ approach as they nudged the limiter in top gear, it provided a visceral reminder of the capabilities of the modern Grand Prix car – and the modern Grand Prix driver. Aided by an uphill approach, even with standing water and appalling visibility, all the pilots were braking impossibly late. Banging it down a couple of gears and turning in relying on blind faith in their downforce and the water-moving abilities of those Pirelli tyres, it was great to be back at Spa and great to be watching F1 cars at full flight again, irrespective of the precipitation.

If the lack of running from the F1 boys was frustrating, the GP2 competitors went some way to allaying our disappointment. They hit the track with customary gusto and treated the now-depleted crowds to a terrific show. I hadn’t seen GP2 live since Spa 2008 and was reminded of what a great formula it is. Being a self-acknowledged motor racing elitist, I generally have a dislike for one-make formulae but GP2 really works. The cars are no less handsome than any other in the modern era and they sound fantastic – close your eyes and honestly it could be a pack of DFV-motivated 70s F1 machines in front of you. Their slight lack of downforce compared to a contemporary F1 car means they slide around and particularly in greasy conditions this means you can see the drivers’ car control, especially from those who are greedy on corner exit where the kerbs are at their greasiest. They also spit flames in the most dramatic way on the overrun; maybe not the most efficient approach but definitely the best for those on the spectator banks.

By the time the Porsche Supercup runners hit the track for the final practice session of the day, we decided to head back to the Chateau to dry off and warm up. While the lack of F1 action was a disappointment, there is nothing like the magnificence of Spa to make you fall in love with motor racing all over again. The sheer size and topographical majesty of the place is so unlike anything we see in the UK, not even a bit (or even a lot) of rain could dampen our spirits and enthusiasm. And there was even a silver lining to the literal and metaphorical clouds. Accustomed to rather haphazard British circuit parking and the daily battle to withdraw your car from a muddy car park, the Belgians surprised us with their pragmatic approach.

Those readers who’ve attempted to leave the Goodwood Festival of Speed on a rainy day will know that feeling of vague anxiety which greets you as you steel yourself to leave the sludgey, hilly car parks at the end of a wet day, genuinely worried you will be unable to extricate yourself. We found the Spa car park to be small enough not to suffer from too much traffic over its delicate grass surface. Additionally, there was a stone base at the entrance and, equally crucially, at the exit. The entrance being at the car park’s highest point and the exit at its lowest. This meant leaving the soggy pitch was a doddle and we simply drove out onto headed along the old track towards the terrifying Masta Kink, the corner which so challenged the great drivers of days gone by. Race organisers around the world (I’m looking at you, BRDC), please take note – this is how to do grass field car parking.

That said, you don’t visit Spa to admire the car parks and spirits were raised when Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Avoiding Friday’s chronic navigational errors, we drove straight into the much-admired car park and headed for Rivage corner right at the top of the circuit, where an unobstructed view permitted good photography opportunities, as well as the chance to enjoy the cars barrelling into Rivage downhill at considerable speed, brakes glowing as they scrubbed off speed for the late apex and a slingshot back towards the mighty Pouhon.

The form was hard to judge, but Felipe Massa defied his recent poor results by looking mega committed early in the session while the track was still very green. He showed no fear of the throttle and, in common with former team mate Michael Schumacher, delicately controlled twitchy slides with engine revs flaring as the rear tyres struggled for grip while the tarmac rubbered in. A busy hour of running was over in a flash and, with no big screen to observe, we were none-the-wiser over the formbook so wandered down to adopt our places on the bank high above Pouhon where thousands of spectators naturally congregate on the stony slopes to enjoy watching their heroes tackle the enormous double-apex downhill sweep.

The current qualifying format is fantastic in my opinion – remember those days of Friday and Saturday sessions when the results carried virtually no tension at all? As a result of the extended summer break and the lack of running over the weekend it was something of a surprise to see Jenson Button top the timesheets but there was jubilation among the crowd with so many Brits travelling the short hop over the Channel to enjoy one of Grand Prix racing’s most iconic races. That two Saubers filled places in the top four was even more surprising.

With qualifying done, we wandered over to watch GP2 at Blanchimont. The fearsomely fast, ancient, left-hander is a relic of the old circuit and now safely flat in a modern single-seater but for the humble spectator it remains an awesome spectacle as the engine notes continue to rise throughout the turn as drivers spear towards the Bus Stop chicane and the end of another lap. A small bump part way through was causing the cars to ground out slightly, with a puff of dust from the diffuser adding to the drama.

The race was halted early on after Nigel Melker suffered a frightening high-speed impact at Radillon, necessitating emergency repairs to the barrier and the driver ending up being transported to the local hospital by helicopter. Never let it be said that motor racing – or indeed Spa – will ever be safe.

When the race recommenced, tyre strategies were split, after most drivers pitted under the safety car which was deployed as a result of Melker’s smash. Giedo van der Garde had his turn in the sun for Caterham, staying out on his first set of tyres as long as he could to try and claw back some track position. In the end, the strategy worked and he managed to finish fifth, having started tenth and would’ve been shoo-in for more points had the race lasted an extra couple of laps; such was his pace at the end. Ultimately, though, nobody had an answer for Marcus Ericsson’s speed and he was a convincing 11 seconds up the road from James Calado. The Brit was as committed and combative as ever, but seemed, as is often the case, to be struggling towards the end with tyre wear. Watching the race from the Bus Stop provided highly entertaining viewing though, and barely a lap passed without a move for position and the GP2 Dallaras looked terrific with brake discs glowing and flames bursting from the exhausts on the overrun.

By comparison, baby brother GP3 suffers from being a formula almost devoid of all vehicular excitement. While the racing is often excellent, the cars themselves are dull to watch in isolation and blessed with one of the most anodyne exhaust notes of any racing car I’ve seen. Evidently the series bosses feel the same as next year’s car will be motivated by a considerably more powerful – and doubtless more sonorous – V6.

We watched the opening GP3 salvo from the bottom of Eau Rouge and even with comparatively little power and downforce, they still looked mega as the pack careered down into the compression and out towards the countryside and Radillon. Ultimately it was to be another truncated race with only four racing laps completed after Robert Cregan made heavy contact with the Pouhon barriers, requiring extraction. Daniel Abt kept the pressure on Mitch Evans in the title race with a win. Sunday was another stunner with more bright sunshine and high spirits among the crowd.

Compared to what we found at Monza a week later, Spa is more male-dominated in its demographic and there’s plenty of the local beer consumed over the weekend. Given its natural ampitheatrical nature, generous size and the proliferation of big screens we decided to base ourselves at Pouhon once again for the day. The crowds build up over the morning and soon enough the spectator banks were packed, with a fairly neutral balance of enthusiasms, though it’s clear that McLaren’s British duo carry a great deal of respect among the punters.

It was slightly disappointing that the Grand Prix support bill was the same at both Spa and Monza, with even the timetables being identical. It would’ve been great to see a local championship or Historic F1 take a bow but homogeny reigns these days in Formula One.

The Porsche Supercup race was close but static with the leading title protagonists running in close formation throughout, but there was little in the way of action. Further down the pack, though, there was almost too much drama as Jeroen Mul was flipped onto his roof as they pack headed up the Kemmel Straight on the opening lap. The collective intake of breath from the crowd watching on the screens could probably have been heard across the border in Germany. Fortunately he emerged unscathed but only after the car had completed much of the length of the straight inverted. Nicki Thiim (son of former DTM racer Kurt) took the win in his rookie season under strong pressure from acknowledged Supercup master Rene Rast.

GP2 was chaotic during the opening few minutes but settled into a rhythm with Josef Kral taking a comfortable win. James Calado looked good for second but once more suffered with tyre wear and Felipe Nasr snatched the place into the Bus Stop on the final lap in an incisive move. You can’t fault Calado’s progress though and his debut season has been superb with a combative style allied to strong raw pace. He left Spa ahead of highly-rated team mate Gutierrez in the title battle.

 

The GP3 guys and girl managed a full race distance on Sunday with Matias Laine taking his first series win. Scot Lewis Williamson looked good for a strong race but ran wide in front of us at Pouhon early on and slide down the order. Further back fellow Brit Alice Powell continues her impressive rise through the single seater ranks and ran well mid-pack. Mitch Evans suffered accident damage and failed to score but left Belgium with his championship lead intact, though with three pursuers behind him all in with a mathematical chance in Monza it was all to play for.

Watching Grand Prix cars around Spa is one of life’s great must-dos. Like watching dusk fall at Le Mans or seeing IndyCars at full chat on an oval, there’s nowhere quite like Spa. The first thing you notice is the size of the place – it is vast. Maybe not spread over so many miles as Le Mans, but the track rises and falls so significantly and every corner has so much room to breathe. The topography is breath-taking with the Ardennes forests stretching out around in every direction. When the cars are on track, distinct to Spa, is the noise. The way it swirls around you and the sheer length of the time you can hear the cars for is quite unlike anywhere else I’ve ever spectated. They are on full throttle along the Kemmel Straight for so long and it’s there, as well as the run for Stavelot through Blanchimont and on to the Bus Stop where the haunting sound of the cars hammering the way towards the limiter is most noticeable. Everywhere they travel throughout the lap treats you to a different sonic experience. It adds immeasurably to the spectacle.

Our little piece of banking was as uncomfortable a perch as one might possibly imagine. A steep, muddy, rocky bank is not conducive to a comfortable stint, but at least there was no danger of falling asleep in the afternoon sun.

The drama of the opening corner took place a mile away from us at La Source and we could only watch the big screen with disappointment as clumsiness from Grosjean decimated the field. That all emerged unscathed was some consolation. The race itself was intriguing rather than thrilling, with different fuel strategies harder to call from the trackside than when Martin Brundle is calling it for you on the telly. What we could see was how beautifully Button drove. Virtually every driver had a twitch or ran wide or made some form of mistake in front of us at some point, but Jenson was fluid and millimetre perfect throughout. Our last Grand Prix as spectators was Canada 2011 which showcased the other end of his talent. Never be in any doubt about the guy’s class – on his day (of which there are plenty) he is very special.

44 laps and it was all over. Behind Button’s imperious march to victory there was plenty of scrapping for the minor placings and Vettel put in a sterling day at the office to take 18 valuable points in the title race. Differing tyre strategies had added to the intrigue of the race but the real prospect of a fight for the win was probably lost with Grosjean’s misjudgement at the start. Queues to emerge from the circuit were bearable and a different route allowed us to explore more of the old circuit, only further increasing our respect for the guys who did battle round there in the circuit’s early days.

Belgium had one final treat in store as our kind host at Chateau Bleu, Nortbert, took dad and me for a ride in his fabulous old MG. I was unable to glean much about it beyond learning that it dates from 1938 and features a buzzy little 1300 supercharged engine. Perched high up without seatbelts and no protection from the elements, it’s a particularly visceral experience. The gearbox whines below you and it was noticeable how Norbert scribed a very broad and clean arc through every corner, presumably in deference to his skinny tyres. I doubt it would trouble an Exige in the twisties but what an elemental way to travel and what a wonderful opportunity to ride in such a glorious machine. It was a great way to say goodbye to Belgium before we headed off on the next leg of the trip and Germany.

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