Life in the Slow Lane

We are big Formula 1 fans. For the unitiated, it is cars, driving around a circuit over and over, for a couple of hours, to see who can finish first! So, yeah, I guess when you put it that way...

But then, it probably makes as least as much sense as very large men trying to move a oddly-shaped ball up and down a field with their hands, but also sometimes by kicking it. So sports... who knows? Life is a mystery that I've stopped trying to solve.

Side note: if you are new to the Formula 1 and want to know what all the fuss is about, check out the new F1 Movie starring me (with Brad Pitt doing my stunt work).*

(*The plot is an altogether new Hollywood concept where an old guy (me), who was a bit of a legend, but also sort of never really reached his full potential is reluctantly pulled back into the game for one final go, and... oh wait, this is starting to sound a little bit familiar actually).

As we were were planning to be in Europe during the F1 season anyway, we thought (well, I thought) "hey, why not actually go see a race?" (ignoring for the moment that F1 has a race in Montreal every year, which is just a couple of hours from our house, and we've never been to that. But whatever). I got on the website, swallowed hard at the small fortune they wanted and bing bang we were off to the races.

For those of you non-fans who are now thinking to yourself "driving a car, that's not a sport, I do that every day..." Well, consider that an F1 driver will experience up to 6Gs (the equivelent of six times the force of gravity) in every single corner over a race that entails over 900 of them.

And it can get pretty hot. George Russell, one of the Mercedes drivers, overheated during the 2024 Singapore Grand Prix to such an extent that he lost 8 pounds. And that was just pulling on his racing suit in the changing room. I mean, this is Singapore we're talking about. Of course, George is British. Famous perspirers. It's unclear how they managed to colonize so much of the Tropics back in the day.

Regardless, a little respect is due for what these drivers have to undergo. But it's nothing in comparison to the suffering the fans have to endure to watch a race.

Why is race car watching so grueling? To start with, it's not one day. It's three. That's because of a little thing I call marketing where basically the only ticket you can buy is for all three days (Practice on Friday, Qualifying on Saturday, Race on Sunday). So, you might as well go, since you've paid mucho dinero already.

Second, race tracks are big. Like really, really big. In order to accomodate cars racing around a track in excess of 200mph, well you need a fair bit of space. So, prepare to walk, and walk and walk, for miles, through dense crowds to reach your grandstand. And somehow, not knowing what I was doing, I managed to purchase the grandstand that was the absolute furthest point possible from the various entrance gates.

Add to that, it's very hot. This is Spain in June after all. Mucho caliente.

And there are a lot of people. So many people. Burlington, VT, the city where we live, has 50,000 souls in it. But we're spread out over 16 square miles. Multiply that population six-fold and funnel all 300,000 of us into grandstands, narrow concourses, and narrower still tunnels and bridges. And here you have, my friends, a world-class clusterfuck. Only, because it's really hot out, it should properly be called a blisterclusterfuck.

So, was it great? Well, yes, it was. I really loved seeing it live and experiencing the rush of those cars going wheel to wheel around the turns from our (and thank the heavens for this) shaded grandstand. A life experience for sure. They also had a Porsche Supercup race of all 911s, so that was super cool for Porsche geeks such as myself.

Turn 5 Circuit de Catalunya

Drive to Not Arrive

But, heres the thing—at some point, you have to leave and go home. Despite having hosted over thirty Spanish Grand Prixs at the Circuit de Catalunya, it appears that they haven't given any real thought yet as to how to get 150,000 cars and buses out of the various parking lots and onto the freeway after a race.

We had originally thought Friday will be our practice day too. We'll get the lay of the land, make the mistakes, and then Saturday and Sunday we'll be seasoned veterans knowing how to efficiently navigate everything. Nope. All three days were brand new adventures in confusion and failure. Mostly, this was because you have no control. Based on when you arrive, you will be directed, then redirected, then sent somewhere else altogether by grouchy policia or indifferent parking attendents to park in some random field not particularly close to the track. For days, I studied the website, fan forums and maps; and I never got any smarter as to how to win the game, or even play it.

Tempting fate, we stayed to the very end of qualifying on Saturday. It took us 45-minutes just to reach the car, having to wade through three separate funnels that preceded narrow tunnels or bridges (imagine being a tiny grain of sand at the very top of a huge hourglass and thinking "I'm never going to reach that neck"). You are meant to park in one of the huge fields surrounding the circuit, which comes with their own massive traffic jam naturally. But on Saturday, I had gone rogue and actually found street parking in an adjacent industrial area. This was undoubtably illegal, but we seemed to get away with it. Or so we thought. Despite the difficulty walking to the car, there was shockingly still light traffic on the little side street where we had parked. We drove off, cautiously optimistic. But within one minute, Google Maps had led us straight to a closed-off road with no escape because now there was gridlock in both directions. Eventually, we were directed by one of the yellow vest guys, to a side road, which led, convenently, directly back to our original parking spot. Only now, traffic was much, much worse. As in, not moving whatsoever, worse. So after 45-more minutes in the car, we were actually still behind our orginal starting point. Negative progress in an hour and a half. I mean you (almost) had to laugh.

A full three hours after leaving our seats, having moved at an average speed of 0 MPH through 300 tortuous merges, pulling negative Gs, we made it to our B&B which was normally just a 20-minute drive without traffic.

And here, I will pause and say thank the heavens for our B&B Masia Can Felip. It is a farm owned by a lovely couple. When we would return from the F1 wars each day, there would be a shady courtyard, ducks, chickens, cats, cervezas and serenity. They would serve us a truly exceptional meal. It helped. By Sunday, we very nearly didn't even return to the track for the actual race. I was still surffering from PTSD and the farm just seemed like the better option. But we went. And went through it all again, only this time we left while the race was still going and missed Max ramming George right in front of our grandstand. Oh well.

Formula 1 (& Music Festivals) - It's a Young Man's Game

So I will say this: If you told me that attending a race in person will cost well over a $1000, whereas to watch it on TV is free... I would say that's backwards. They should charge a $1000 to watch it on TV from the comfort of your living room and they should let you go to the track for free (plus give you a box lunch). I mean that. No one in their right mind would pay actual money to go to a race, because that would be insane. But if you let them go for free (plus lunch) the folks paying to watch on TV will get to see a big crowd there.

But don't take my word for it. I'm very old. And every race track experience is different. We've had lots of friends go to the Canadian Grand Prix in Montreal without complaint. It sounds like you can just take friendly public transportation to the track, drink beer in the stands (not allowed in Spain), and have a grand time.

And for God's sake, if you are invited onto a yacht for the Monaco Grand Prix, please do not say no just because you read my blog.

But my racing days are over. I'll be on the couch. Might go back to that farm though.