Today is the big day.
Well, technically tomorrow is the big day – but today is a big day too. One year ago, he’d booked his first day of Formula 3 race training - which would take place tomorrow - at one of the world’s most legendary tracks. The Nürburgring in Germany: A 3.6-kilometer loop of blistering tarmac. It's one of hottest circuits in Europe. Three times World Driver Championship winner Sir Jackie Stewart described the demanding ring as “Green Hell”; and the track’s location in the Eifel region made it subject to highly unpredictable weather, with the possibility of rain showers, fog, and low temperatures.
His eyes blazed with excitement. He loved a good challenge.
But between him today and the Nürburgring tomorrow lay 527 kilometers of smooth, highway asphalt, and he was about to fly over it on his shiny new Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R – a racing bike that's been imported straight from the cyberpunk future. And so, today was also the big day.
This sexy black and green casing will look just fine in Green Hell, he thinks standing over the bike in admiration. This. Is. Love.
It’s a sunny day in mid-July. The perfect day for a ride. He dons his Shark helmet, sets the route on his phone – Zurich – Basel – Colmar – Strasbourg – Saarbrücken – Nürburgring – slips on his gloves, kicks the bike into gear and sets off. The trip should take about five hours.
He notices the first clouds on the horizon as he exits Basel – and they look dauntingly beautiful. Green fields and forestry to the left and right of him, concrete one could fry an egg on below him, the sun shining on his back, the bike roaring with delight as he speeds along at 120 kilometres per hour – and to his front, looming through the visor, glittering showers of rain and dark shadows colliding angrily. He's heading straight for them. He opens the throttle and eagerly powers ahead to the French border.
He leaves the sunlight and catches up with the downpour just before reaching Colmar. It’s not just rain – he’s charged straight into a torrential waterfall. Thunder rumbles and lightning streaks across the sky, flashing furiously before his eyes. The rain smacks against his helmet violently and his visor is a reduced to a wet blur. The best gear in the world couldn’t withstand these elements and within seconds he’s drenched to the bone. He leans forward, grips the handlebar tighter, renews his focus and pushes the two wheels ahead as if the Devil himself were on his tail. Come and get me.
By the time he reaches Strasbourg he’s frozen to the bone. His muscles hurt and his hands are stiff. Icy water has seeped through his gloves a long time ago – but there’s a mystic immunity that takes over when you're on the road, burning to reach your destination. With an iron grip he pushes forward. The bike would need refuelling before he would.
He passes Staarbrücken. He’s almost at the finish line. The weather didn’t break a single time. Rain, rain, rain, darkness, clouds, and more rain. He stuck to the left lane, speeding past cars and trucks, the water splashing around the wheels. His boots are soaked. The mystical immunity was leaving him, fast – but no faster than the breakneck speed German highways allowed him to ride on.
He arrives at the Airbnb and dismounts his bike.
Everything hurts. He strips down and leaves his clothes to dry. He looks at his hands. Wet blisters run along his palms and fingers where the cold water wrinkled the skin soggy. He takes a hot shower and gets into bed. He’s exhausted. But it was worth it.
Today is the big day.
He’s sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee, and his cell phone rings. Unknown number. He picks up. It’s the Nürburgring's Formula 3 Administration Office:
“Good morning, sir.
Yes, you have a booking for the track this afternoon. We’re so sorry sir – due to the heavy rains and floods we’ve had to close the track.
Yes sir.
Yes sir.
We understand sir.
Our deepest apologies – we wish there were something we could do, but the floods are unprecedented all across Germany. We’ve had to loan out our personal ambulances for support. Yes sir, it’s a state of emergency.
I'm sorry sir.”
He puts down the phone, disappointed. The fire in his eyes has gone out. For a while he just sits there, staring into space, picking at his blisters. The coffee has gone cold.
There is nothing he could do.
He looks out the window and notices that it's started to rain again. Heavily. Thick droplets slap against the glass, wet leaves whirl in the air, and the arms of the trees wave in the air, bidding him to come out to play. The fire in his eyes reignites.
He grabs his keys, puts on his gear, and gets on the bike. He sets the route on his phone and smiles to himself cheekily – almost mischievously.
There’s a devilish glint in his eye.
The bike roars to life.
The journey home awaits.
THE END
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