We only went and got the bloody dates wrong. On the day we arrived at the Nürburgring, we expected to see a fat cat supercar day in full swing. That would mean lots of Ferraris, mostly, being driven slowly, universally. Ferraris tend to be driven by hapless showboating bunnies, especially around the Nürburgring’s Nordschleife, so picking off a million quid in a day would be easy. In fact, there was a chance we could do it in a single lap.
But no. The supercar day had happened the week before. Er, s***. So I was faced with a bunch of hard nut Germans and Brits wearing expensive open face helmets, driving gloves and boots and grim facial expressions. That’d be fine and dandy if they were piloting clapped-out MkII Golfs. No, again. I’d never seen so many Porsche 911 GT3s and Turbos and BMW M3s in one place, some fitted with near-slick tyres. These boys will be quick and will know this place.
Words: Bill Thomas
This article was originally published in 2010 in Top Gear magazine