This year was the first where circumstances have allowed us a pilgrimage to hallowed grounds. The Car Enthusiast and friends managed to get cars, bikes, people, food and tents to the same patch of dusty ground in France, via land, sea and tunnel, without hitch, and speeding fine (in itself an achievement!): Le Mans 2004; more specifically, La Sarthe racetrack on the outskirts of the otherwise anonymous French town of Le Mans.
Following some logistical planning worthy of a military commander we find ourselves nestled in the middle of the terracing on the start finish straight by 1pm on the Saturday. The heat is intense as we settle down for two hours slow cooking, watching the pre-race warm up as drivers are introduced to the crowd and listening to the national anthem of every country being represented in the race. By 2.30 I'm done, stick a fork in me! The still air and lack of breathing space is becoming uncomfortable. Then the sound of the first engine firing up is enough distraction to make me forget about the heat.
2.50pm: "Drivers start your engines": 45 racers obey the command and no more than 10 metres away the dormant beasts are fired into life. Unsilenced race engines cause tremors in isolation; in this quantity the needle on the Richter scale is flickering excitedly. The cars move away on their formation lap. The air of anticipation in the crowd is tangible. Five minutes later they're back to form the grid, and then, all in place, they move away again, but this time with more intent. The body language is altogether more serious. The crowd's excitement builds. As soon as the last car is out of view all eyes in the grandstand move back to the right, necks craning to catch a glimpse of the safety car leading them back around. Minutes pass and an eerie silence falls over the crowd. It's a collective intake of breath for the moments to follow. Headlights. The pace car followed by a gaggle of R8s. The clock reads 2.59pm. The frenzy begins to build as the pace car pulls into the pits and the Audis enter the final chicane. Green flags, the clock ticks 3pm and 45 throttles are buried into bulkheads as nose to tail and side-by-side, the cars enter the straight.
Awesome. Heartstoppingly amazing. Easily the most incredible spectating experience of my life as the engine notes from the variety of highly tuned racing motors combine to form a glorious wall of music. The wave of sound energy, in a space hemmed in by grandstands, is sufficient to physically rock you back on your heels. The Dutch go mental; the French whoop and holler; the Brits politely applaud. It's an amazing contrast of cultures, different people combined by a common love for motorsport and cars. Once the field is through the only evidence of their passing is the smell of fuel and rubber. The first few laps are a tantalising delight of absorbing noise, excitement and then long, relatively silent minutes waiting for the cars to circulate again. After a few laps the noise becomes more broken as the cars begin to get strung out and it is easy to differentiate the songs the cars are singing. Restrained baritone from the Audis, deep bass from the big pushrod V8s in the Corvettes but our favourite is the shriek from the F1 derived Judd V10 in the Domes.
After an hour or so the crowd thins and the race settles into a rhythm. We wonder why the majority of people are heading back to the campsite; this becomes clear later. A few hours on, back at the campsite the only noise is the constant background soundtrack of the cars. You camp within half a mile of the track and it makes the experience all the better. As dusk draws near the campsite begins to come alive, it begins to dawn on us why everyone left earlier: sleep. They are all waking up now. A heavy beat starts to emanate from the camper van parked next to us before the sliding door bursts open and a multitude of men in various states of undress burst onto the scene: Dutch we presume. An assumption confirmed by the fondness for lager and exotic herbs. An impromptu stunt show by one of our neighbours ensues. His chosen steed being a deliberately overpowered electric scooter, the highlight is him wheelying through his own tent. Magic! Such antics are all part of the fun of the event.
At 9pm, along with thousands of others, we make our way back to the track as the light fades and the atmosphere changes. The cars seem quicker in the dark. As your body begins to redeploy resources to senses other than your eyes the sounds and smells become more vivid. This is what Le Mans is about. The place comes alive at night; by midnight the place is packed again as the fans prop themselves up against the fences and marvel at bright red brake discs, flames spitting from exhausts and the smell of fuel and rubber. Although partially floodlit, this is now essentially a night race. Camera flashes are constant and one wonders how the drivers thread their machines through the challenging 8-mile course without being distracted. Incredibly it's during the night that JJ Lehto set the fastest lap of the race. More incredible still is that the lap was almost at qualifying pace.
A few hours spent wandering around the track at nightime instils a real sense of occasion. The race is always the main focus but it's the fun fair, bars, music and general celebration of the event that come into their own. It is then that the significance of what is unfolding in front of you begins to sink in. This is a one-off. History is being written. No one would suggest such a race nowadays: 24 hours, flat out. Over 3,000 miles of all out effort. Preserving the cars is a factor, but such is the excellence of the Audis that it is the racing that is the focus.
And it is racing. At 3pm on Sunday the crowd, most of who are exhausted, watch as the two lead Audis cross the line separated by only 30 seconds, after 24hours of racing. Remarkable. Everyone celebrates the finish. Just to make it is an achievement worthy of great pride. A full-scale track invasion follows the chequered flag as the crowd clamour to get near the podium to worship their heroes. An overly excited master of ceremonies makes sure each star gets the maximum adoration. Crowd favourites are "Je-onny Air-bair", "Coh-lin Mc-Ray" and "Tom Kerrrrrr-isssst-ian-suuuuuuuuun". The champagne sprays, trophies are held aloft, flags waved and hands shook and then its over. The crowd disperses and the sprint back to Calais begins.
Everything about Le Mans is nirvana for car fans. The car park is like a Who's Who of super cars and rarities. If you've never seen a certain type of car, a few hours in the car parks here is most likely to uncover one: Murcielago, F40, Viper GTS etc. Cars that normally turn heads, like Porsche 911s, are commonplace. On some occasions the 10-minute walk from tent to track was taking an hour. The drive to and from the track has overtones of the Gumball rally as the exotica streams back to the ferry port and Chunnel terminal.
If you've never been to Le Mans, you really should go. It really is something very special. Muslims go to Mecca; if you're a Catholic the Vatican is your holy place. If you're a member of the deity that is the internal combustion engine, then bow down and worship at La Sarthe. It is a truly spiritual experience.
Dave Jenkins - 16 Jul 2004
