FIRST PERSON/OPINION By Joshua Steinberg Our German GP adventure began, as these things often do, at an airport. This time it was the Berlin airport. We landed, grabbed our gear from the Soviet-era baggage claim and headed for the rental car office. In France we had a Renault, in Italy we had a Fiat, and in England we had a, uh, well, it wasn’t English made, but it did have the steering wheel on the wrong side. So here in Germany we were looking forward to picking up a Mercedes, Audi, BMW, or even a Volkswagen. The fine German engineered piece of automotivation waiting for us in the parking garage was (drum roll please) an Opel! A yellow one. That’s like going to a steakhouse and ordering soup. Uh, I think someone made a mistake. This is Germany. You guys sell E-class Mercedes in vending machines. You hand out VWs to beggars on the street. What the heck are we supposed to do with a yellow Opel? To be fair the Opel is a decent economy car, but we had visions of zipping along the Autobahn comfortably, at the speed of sound, while having our buttocks massaged by luxurious leather awesomeness. That was not to be as on the non-speed-limited sections of Autobahn the Opel could barely manage a tad over 160 kph (99 mph) before, well, before it just wouldn’t go any faster. And that was downhill. With a tailwind. Anything over 140 kph (87 mph) produced a sound from the engine similar to the one in my guts after my first encounter with bratwurst and sauerkraut. But the car was rented and this was Das Autobahn so it was full speed ahead and don’t spare the horses. Driving on their no-speed-limit roads reveals why the Germans build cars that are generally pretty fast, stable and over-engineered. It became even more obvious as our paint-shaker-on-wheels reached its top speed. There we were, engine screaming and car shaking thinking that we were really boogying when a black (German made auto) would catch us, pass us, and disappear into the distance. And do it so effortlessly the driver could be holding a schnitzel in one hand and a copy of “Hasselhoff Quarterly” in the other. German people drive very, very fast. Sure, the Italians drive fast, too, but with the Italians they’re doing it not only in defiance of the speed limits, they’re doing it because of the speed limits. They just like to break the rules. If Italy abolished speed limits and told the Italian people to drive as fast as they could, the Italians would respond by removing the engines from their cars and attaching very old donkeys. Germans, on the other hand, like rules. Even though there are no speed limits on some sections of the Autobahn, there are rules. They’re the same rules as everywhere else, but the Germans actually adhere to them. So people drive on the right and only pass on the left. They use turn signals. They do not speed up when someone is overtaking. They may be driving fast, but they are doing it in a very orderly fashion. Very controlled. There is no chaos. This is Germany. After a couple hours we got off the main Autobahn and onto secondary streets. We drove through pastoral scenes of bucolic bliss, gentle rolling hills full of crops, small villages dating back hundreds of years, and thick woods. As the sun was just starting to set over a nearby hillside it was so peaceful, so beautiful, so quiet that I looked at Mixo and said, “where in the hell are we and how much further is the hotel?” Thanks to her navigational skills and the GPS we did finally find our hotel in a tiny, ex-silver-mining village just past the intersection of nothing and nowhere. It’s a pretty neat place and unique compared to a typical hotel. The main house dated back to, um, a really long time ago and was originally a private residence. Now it’s a hotel and restaurant, but still owned by the same family. The main house has a restaurant, two bars, a huge dining room and a massive foyer furnished in dark wood with big chairs and dead animals. There are also rooms for rent obviously, but we had reserved one of the “cabins” elsewhere on the property. By “cabin” I mean a smallish, self-standing structure, made of wood. You know, the type of place most often seen in horror films accompanied by at least one audience member yelling, “don’t go in there!” Fortunately for us, Mixo and I don’t believe in hockey-mask-wearing psychos with machetes. Werewolves on the other hand are totally real and this is probably their favorite buffet spot. Luckily, a beautiful full moon was just cresting a nearby hillside. Early the next morning we were delighted to wake up and find that neither of us had been eaten. So we had a nice German breakfast of eggs, fresh fruit and some kind of sausage-y meat thing and headed for the track. We followed the GPS over rivers and through the woods and arrived at Sachsenring in less than a half hour, completely by back roads and without any traffic. Not that unusual on a Friday and being so early, but when we parked the car and went in we found the track already had a sizable crowd. It wasn’t fat-guy-in-small-lederhosen packed, but it was an impressive number of people for a Friday. Also impressive was the shear number of vendors. Sure, the typical tents were there, hawking MotoGP swag, but there were also dozens of independent stands selling food and drinks. There was so much food available it was like gluttony porn. And by “food and drinks” what I mean is meat and beer. I never before sausage a thing (OK, that was cheap and I apologize). As people wandered the grounds on their way to one of the many perfectly placed grandstands or to a favorite general admission spot they were constantly surrounded by the wafting smoke of fresh meat grilling on an open fire and the sweet smell of good beer. I’m not usually one to go for unspecified meat products being prepared outside by people with unknown hygiene standards, but, well, it smelled really, really good and before I knew it there was a knockwurst-brat-thing in one hand and a hotdog with sauerkraut in the other. This was a problem because I had no more hands to hold a beer. I never ate sauerkraut before because, well, because it’s nasty. This stuff looked and smelled awful, but the taste was sweet and delicious. Unfortunately, about 10 minutes later there was, um, well, let’s just say there was a foul wind blowing. And the windy conditions were forecast to last all day. Possibly late into the evening. We started scoping good places to view the racing action as well as shoot some pictures and while we were standing around I looked over and saw CardionAB Ducati’s Karel Abraham. He was just sitting there so I went over and said hi. These moto-celebrity types are usually pretty skittish so when he didn’t scoot away in a cloud of scooter exhaust I went ahead and asked him about his recent dust-up at Mugello with Repsol Honda rider Casey Stoner. I may have worded the question along the lines of “don’t take any (crap) from that (guy).” Abraham laughed and seemed sincerely sorry that the whole thing had happened. I told him that there were plenty of people in the U.S. who are on his side and rooting for him. He smiled and said, “that’s really good to hear. Thanks.” The dude is just a genuinely nice guy and anyone going to Indy should cheer like mad for him. After the final wheel had been turned for the day we headed to the ausfahrt (exit), but most of the rest of the fans were still hanging out at the beer tents, sausages in hand. They didn’t seem to realize or care that the on-track action was over for the day. For them it was just an all-day, all-night beer and wiener bonanza. I don’t think the track even closes. How cool is that? Fans get to hang out as long as they want with plenty of food and drink available. For those who are camping at the track there is a massive campground just a short stumble from the main entrance. Though it is up a hill. A pretty steep hill, actually. But thankfully the path has lots of conveniently located rest areas (pronounced “beer tents”) should a person find it necessary to stop and rest. We needed bottles of water for the next day so we stopped at a grocery store near the track. The entrance was obscured slightly by a group of largish German biker types who apparently had never even made it to the track. They were singing, laughing, and talking really loud in German. As we went into the store one of them said, um, well I don’t know what he said because I don’t speak German. Mixo on the other hand, does speak Swedish, which is very close to German, and she took German for three years in school. She also had no idea what they said. We picked up three gigantic bottles of water, some fresh fruit, two six packs of German beer, and some other stuff. Our bill at checkout was just over 10 Euros. We looked at each other, then at the cashier and asked if she had scanned everything. She assured us that she had. Wow, Germany is cheap. In Finland that same list of items would have required a loan and possibly a body part. What else can we buy here? Back at the hotel we settled in to the over-sized dining-room chairs and feasted on some seemingly home-cooked food. It was, of course, German food so after years of making fun of the word, I finally ate an actual schnitzel. Not only was it delicious, but consumed with beer it had a beneficial side effect. It helped ward off the werewolves for another night. It was almost as if our cabin had been enveloped in a protective cloud. All night. Saturday morning the track was even more packed with race fans. The excitement in the air had also ratcheted up a notch. Sure the beer and hotdog stands were still packed, but so were the grandstands, hillsides, and parking lots. One of the really nice things about the Sachsenring circuit is the layout. There are huge elevation changes including a long, steep drop on the back section and an uphill front straight that requires riders to get the last turn just right or they’ll be left for dead going up the hill to the finish line. Turn One is a slow, downhill right-hander that caught a lot of guys out on Friday. After that the track reaches a low spot called the “Omega” because it looks like, you guessed it, a horseshoe. Then it’s uphill to what is possibly the longest turn on any track anywhere. It’s actually numbered as Turns Five and Six, but guys go through there in one fluid motion. The bikes are on the side of the tire for an impossibly long time. The lean angles produced by the slight banking here seem to defy several laws of physics. At the exit the track flattens out and most guys get the rear wheel sliding as they pour on the gas for a good drive down a hill. This whole section offers fans great viewing from either grandstand seats or grassy hills, but they do fill up pretty quickly. Next comes a very high-speed left, cleverly named “7” and another left “8” before heading back uphill to yet another pair of left turns. Finally they get to turn right just as the track drops down a three-story hill. There are no viewing sections here and that’s a real shame because it is a pretty cool place to watch the action. There are three grandstands at the bottom of the hill, however, where fans who don’t mind a lot of walking can go to watch the riders climb the hill to the last corner. No matter where a race fan wants to spend their time at Sachsenring it’s a good bet that they’ll have a decent view of an exciting part of the track. And be in close proximity to a beer tent. And knockwurst. And schnitzel. And…you get the point. Fortunately, toilets are also generously scattered throughout the facility and are pretty easy to find with large white flags that read, cleverly, “toiletten.” As for the German race fans, they were generally a pretty loud, drunk, and extremely friendly group of people. It’s actually hard to accurately describe this crowd without resorting to stereotypes that may seem unflattering. So I’m not going to try. Let’s just say the Shultz was pretty thick at Sachsenring. It was like hanging out with Lenny from “Of Mice and Men” only translated into German. That’s not a put-down. This was one of the most excited and friendly crowd of fans we’ve come across on our adventures. And they were kooky, too. I mean, what possesses a grown man to build a hobbyhorse contraption, take it to the racetrack, and sit on it reading “Der Spiegel” while dressed as a Viking and drinking beer with his friends? Who are also all dressed as Vikings. Except for one guy. Who was dressed as a monk. Then there was the caveman with football helmet hanging out with “poor-choice-of-headgear-guy.” The two men dressed as doctors carrying around a, well it was a, we’re not really sure what it was, but they were either rooting for Valentino Rossi. Or not. Not only are the Germans a little quirky, but they are also die-hard race fans. At every other track we’ve been to the crowd thins immediately following the MotoGP qualifying, which means most people miss out on things like the Redbull Rookies Cup races. In Germany the kids got to do their thing in front of packed stands and cheering fans. And they put on a great show. An Italian kid, Valtulini, won and Germany’s own Alt took second, much to the delight of the fans. Another Italian, Argino, was third and Finland’s Joakim Niemi put in an outstanding performance to finish in ninth. There was still a ton of people watching when the ADAC Junior Cup riders had their 15 laps of fame. Even by 6:15 in the evening when the WC Sidecars went out for their second qualifying practice there were still people all around the circuit watching. The vendors were still vending their meat and beer goodness. And nobody seemed anxious to be anywhere else. This is what they had come for, this is what we had come for, this is why people get off the couch and go to the track. To enjoy a three-day orgy of food, beer, motorsport, and to do it with several hundred-thousand like-minded motorheads. OK, some of them may have just wanted to wear funny hats. Meanwhile, the hillside camping area looked as though it was approaching critical mass. There were events planned for Friday and Saturday that included live bands, dance parties, and at least one Fahrerpräsentation. Sadly, there would not be an appearance by the Hasselhoff. That was just the official program of planned events. And from the looks of some of the noise-making contraptions on display some people had their own agenda of fun. Later that night, in our cabin, we could hear the explosions coming from the track. Yes, I’m sure that’s what those noises were. They had nothing to do with my dubious dinner choice that evening. Nothing, I tell you. Sunday morning, race day, dawned and once again, werewolves had not eaten us so we headed out. On the drive we found out a few interesting things: One, that German police are useless at directing traffic and two, if we thought Saturday was crowded we hadn’t seen anything yet. Our previously clear back-road route was now clogged with traffic as we approached the track. Par for the course, really. We’ve been stuck in traffic at every track so far. It’s to be expected on race day, but ordinarily the police sit at intersections and direct the traffic so things flow smoothly. We figured that the German police would be typically efficient and organized so it was a surprise when the cause of the backup turned out to be a simple intersection. Usually, not a big deal, especially since there were two uniformed officers directing traffic, well not exactly directing traffic so much as standing on the sidewalk and watching traffic. They were probably just waiting for a higher-up to tell them what to do. Either way, we missed the 125cc GP warm-up session. By the time we did finally park and get into the track we found it had been overrun by the Germans. The place was packed. Stuffed to the rafters. It was like the world’s biggest bratwurst. It was crowded and smelled funny, just like my guts. All the other GP’s we’ve been to have had huge crowds as well, but unlike the Spanish, Italians, English, or even the French, the Germans do not have a single countryman to cheer for in MotoGP. Not one. They do have Stefan Bradl who is leading the championship on the Viessmann Kiefer Racing Moto2 bike and is the first Moto2 rider featured on the official program’s cover, but the premier class remains as German free as non-alcoholic beer night at a comedy club. Yet, there is not an empty seat in Sachsenring. I bring this up because there are exactly three Americans currently earning a living in MotoGP. Three. And the U.S. MotoGP round in Indianapolis featuring all the classes including Redbull Rookies is August 28th. Get off the couch and go to the track. It’s fun. Or have you not been paying attention? Every motorcycle race fan needs to go to a GP this season because of the 125s and because of history. And because after this season the 125s will be history. This is the very last season of two-stroke Grand Prix motorcycle racing. Ever. The 125cc GP race at Sachsenring was, like so many this season, great racing and a ton of fun to watch. At a track like this one, with so many elevation changes, it’s critical on a 125cc racebike to get every corner exactly right because the bikes don’t have enough horsepower to make up for rider mistakes. The Moto3 bikes will certainly be cool, and the racing great, but I will miss the sight, sound and smell of real two-stroke race machines. See them while you can. Mixo and I were extra excited for the Moto2 race because Finnish rider Mika Kallio had qualified on the third row. For the first time this season he had a bike that was working and a good grid position so an excellent result was almost certain. Almost. We stood at a fence where we had a view of the starting grid and put up Mixo’s Finnish flag. The bikes went out for the sighting lap, came around, and lined up in their starting positions. We could see Mika’s team on the grid. But no Mika. The clock was ticking down to the warm-up lap and still no Mika. Oh, come on! This cannot be happening. He’s on the third row, for crying out loud. Through our telephoto lens we could see Mika on the other side of the pit wall and the mechanics frantically working on his bike. The clock was ticking away and the bike was in pieces. Mixo and I were beside ourselves. The track went green for the warm-up lap and the rest of the 40 some-odd bikes that all managed to make the grid left. It was a deflating moment to say the least. Then there was a glimmer of hope as Mika was back on his bike and heading down pit lane for the track. It looked as though he would make the start after all, but when the red lights went out and the entire Moto2 class roared into the first turn, Mika Kallio was not among them. His team had failed to fix the problem. One of the best and worst things in motorsports is that it is a team effort. If the team is motivated, dedicated and good at what they do, then there is no limit to what a rider can achieve. That’s why many successful racers keep the same crew for many years even when switching manufacturers. Or even racing series. By the same token, if a crew is unorganized and incompetent there is very little a rider can do on his own to overcome the team’s weakness. It does not take the best mechanic in the world to know that if a bike works one day then a change is made and the bike does not work, the smart thing to do is change it back. Yet, when Mika came in from morning warm-up session and told his Marc VDS mechanics that the bike wasn’t working anymore did they undo the changes made after qualifying? No, they did not. What they did do was change a bunch more stuff and turned a bike able to qualify on the third row into a bike that could not finish a single lap. Bravo, Marc VDS! Bravo! Now go get some decent mechanics. We ran into Mika after the race and he looked like a kid whose ice cream had just fallen on the ground. He told us what had happened, but not once did he lay even a hint of blame anyone. Our blood was boiling, but Kallio simply said, “that’s racing.” He’s a class act and deserves to be on a class team. Bradl fought an extremely hard battle the entire Moto2 race with Marc Marquez, but at the checkered flag it was the young Spaniard on top and Bradl second. On the cool-down lap every German in the place was on their feet and enthusiastically cheering Bradl’s effort. The MotoGP race was one of the best and most interesting races so far this season. It was as if there were three different races in one and none of the winners were determined until the checkered flag. In the end Spaniard Dani Pedrosa on the Repsol Honda took top honors while Yamaha’s Jorge Lorenzo edged out the fading Honda of Casey Stoner for second. The top-finishing American was Ben Spies who steadily reeled in the, now conservative, Marco Simoncelli the whole race and finally overtook him in the last corner on the last lap to take over fifth position. Another disappointing weekend for Ducati, but the Rossi faithful where undeterred. One of them even hopped the fence on the cool-down lap to give Rossi an Italian flag. The ninth-place, nine-time World Champion, declined. Again, as with Saturday, some people left after the MotoGP race, but there were still plenty of people on hand for the second Red Bull Rookies Cup race. They even stuck around for the sidecar race. As did the vendors. Heck, there were probably people there who had no idea a motorcycle race had even taken place. They just came for the beer and stayed for the schnitzel, but at least they bought a ticket and showed up. They were also treated to some great motorcycle racing in the process. We didn’t know what to expect from Germany or the fans, but we found them to be some of the friendliest and most enthusiastic in Europe. Of all the races in all the countries that we’ve been to so far The Motorrad Grand Prix Deutschland has been a definite favorite. Like that last sauerkraut-topped bratwurst I ate as we headed for the ausfarht, the German GP will be with me for a while.