- 23
There I was at the table, trying not to give away any visual clues as to what I was holding. The room was relatively quiet, except for the sound of the chips, shuffling in my opponents hand. This was the moment of truth. I didnt have to look back at my hole cards, the queen and jack of hearts certainly hadnt changed since they appeared at the start of the hand. I about fell over when ace, king, ten all hearts came on the flop. Too bad I hadnt raised earlier, but I knew I had a slightly weak hand. Sure I was suited, but it wasnt big slick, right? What are the chances of ever getting a royal straight flush? I knew I had the old guy, but I played it cool.
With a sour look on my face, I checked the flop, in position. I could sense he had something by the way he reached for his chips, and I resisted the check-raise when I only called before the turn. I saw the corner of his mouth curl when the king of clubs fell on the table. I was sure he was holding ace, king when he came back with twice the previous raise after my second check. I took it slow and thought about it for a while. This was going to be classic, the trap of a lifetime. He was right where I wanted him, so I just called. He leaned back in his chair like the king of the world. He definitely thought his full house was ahead since I surely would have raised with a flush or a straight.
I put out a small stack of chips after the river to let him think I picked up my draw when the ten of clubs came on the river. He thought for sure his kings full beat my two pair so he came over the top with a pot sized raise. I resisted a smile once again, and counted to ten to let him think I was considering the odds. He looked dumbfounded when I went all in. I wanted him to think I was trying to buy the pot, but I knew he was too committed to back off now. I just sat there and stared at the table continuing to give nothing away.
As I pulled back the rest of his chips, the aging German gentleman smiled and pushed back from the table. Well you got all my chips, how about a nice Cuban cigar? he asked. We walked through the door and down the hall into what seemed like a warehouse. He flipped on the lights as we went through the door and at least three hundred cars were illuminated, as I was now facing an incredibly impressive collection of sports cars from around the world. He opened a humidor mounted on the wall and offered what must have been the sweetest smelling cigar I had ever held. I couldnt help but think that he was definitely the best loser Ive beaten in a long time.
We got to talking as the cigars were lit. I told him that I might be lucky at cards, but he was the one with millions of dollars worth of sports cars and only miles away from the legendary Nurburgring. A lifetime of wise investing and fortunate business deals had left him with the means to do as he wished. He was living out the rest of his life with a sports car collection fit for a king, in a garage that seemed to go on forever with the greatest and most challenging racing circuit practically in his back yard. I caught the sparkle in his eye as he turned to me with an ever widening grin appearing on his face.
Slowly he put his hand on my shoulder and began to walk me over to two pristine examples of the finest German engineering from two radically different eras. The first was a new AMG-Mercedes SLR in silver, still with the factory invoice on the window. Parked right next to this shining metallic supercar was another Mercedes, a true sportscar in its own right. Facing the AMG, nose to nose was a gullwing 300SL, also in silver, that looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor. There was no mistaking the classic German car aroma which emanated from the rich leather seats of this fifty year old beauty. We walked over to the twenty-first century road rocket and he asked me to sit back in the drivers seat.
He told me that the gullwing was his favorite car in the collection and even though it appeared to have been preserved as if in a museum, he had logged a tremendous number of laps around the Ring, and could probably drive it with his eyes closed. He went on to explain that he had recently acquired the SLR directly from the factory, but hadnt put more than a dozen miles on the car. The factory rep told him that the car should be able to put down a low seven second lap in the right hands. Unfortunately, the ride home from the delivery had practically scared him to death. With over six hundred horsepower on factory radial tires, this car was a challenge to pilot. It was then the wager came out.
The details were vague, but fifty thousand in local currency was placed against the AMG beating the 300SL once around the Ring with a two-minute, three second head start. He would pilot the classic and I would drive the silver arrow. Who ever crossed the finish line first took home the purse. I immediately felt the confidence, I had earlier enjoyed, swing away like a pendulum. I stuttered in disbelief for a minute or two, unable to comprehend the offer I had just been given.
I started to protest, as if the challenge were downright impossible, but when my manhood came into question, I picked up the gauntlet that had figuratively been thrown at my feet. I could feel the dread beginning to well up in my stomach as I glanced around the rest of the impressive collection. Off in the distance, I couldnt help but focus on a group of class-C racers which must have been hand picked from the garages at Le Mans. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, I thought, this guy must be extremely joyful.
The next morning, I found myself walking out of the pits to meet my gracious host from the previous evening. He was standing next to the Mercedes 300SL, which was poised like a sprinter at the start-finish line. I could see the SLR a hundred feet away, but there were now four other vehicles from Mercedes, staged between the two cars. I looked at my opponent curiously as if wondering what had happened to our simple wager. He smiled, as coyly as ever and introduced me to his four daughters, Eva, Inga, Greta and Britta. They were all tall, blonde and gorgeous with racing helmets under their arms, and Nomex shoes on their feet.
I was told that to make the wager that much more interesting, his daughters would be driving their favorite cars around the track as well. They would start at intervals between the 300SL and the SLR, according to how well they had lapped in the past. To win the challenge, I would have to pass each of the four cars and finish the lap ahead of the gullwing. To keep the racing clean, an electronic governor would impose a five second penalty on my car if even the slightest impact was made with his daughters or the retaining walls of the track.
No wonder he had been so vague with the details the night before. I almost told him to get lost, before he upped the ante. To make it worth my while, not only would the agreed upon purse meet the winner, but I could take my pick of any car from his collection if I emerged victorious. I smiled as I thought back to the red, white and blue Nissan I envied so shamelessly, just the night before. Against my better judgment, I agreed.
The clock started as the 300SL charged away from the line. I sat back in the plush leather seat of the SLR, listening to the annoyingly constant revving of the four other cars ahead of me. As I clenched the thick rimmed steering wheel, I figured that I might as well adjust the radio and climate controls while I waited. There remained an overwhelming sense of deja vu as I sat in that beautiful car. It was like I had lived through this very same sequence of events hundreds of times before. I passed it off as nervous energy as I waited for the next car to depart.
Ten seconds later, Eva pulled away in a cute, silver 98 SLK 230 Kompressor hard-top convertible. Twenty seconds after that, Inga departed in a black 91 190 Evo coupe. A full minute into the race, Greta began her lap in a silver 02 SL 500. I was all alone on the grid after Britta tore off in her silver 04 SL65 AMG, exactly one and a half minutes behind her Dad. The peaceful silence was refreshing, even though I could faintly hear my opponents accelerating away.
I expected that the old man was chuckling to himself, approaching Adenauer Forst by the time I was signaled to leave. It seemed oddly appropriate when Wagners Ride of the Valkries came on the radio at almost the same time as I buried the throttle. The two minute, three second wait had seemed like an eternity, but I could feel the adrenaline surge as I took the first turn. Little did my worthy opponent know that this was not my first lap around this track, I had been here once or twice, before.
The SLR possessed tremendous acceleration, but the limited grip of the street tires could easily result in excessive understeer, if too much speed was carried into any of the corners. Early braking and smooth, gentle management of weight transfer would be the key to taming this massive beast of a car. Good exit speed would maximize terminal velocity through the straighter sections, patience and confidence would help in the twisty bits. It was also beneficial that I had recently completed a grueling twenty-four hour endurance competition at this enormous circuit. Nearly two hundred laps will teach you some of the subtleties of the course, but not nearly everything. It would take a lifetime to accrue that knowledge.
I had cut my deficit to 149.567 before I reached the stomach-in-your-throat rise preceding the entrance to Flugplatz. A gentle touch of the brakes and a firm right flick of the wheel and I was through the double apex right leading to the first good straightaway. I could hear the brief rumble of the mid-corner cobblestones, indicating my proximity to the outside of the curve. Just a bit wider would have put me off into the grass and eventually the wall, but not this time. I brought the speed down to the top of third gear once the car settled on all four tires to make the bend at Schwedenkreuz, heading for Aremberg. The satellite telemetry on the heads up display revealed that I was now only 140.729 behind the lead as I drove under the bridge on my way to Adenauer Forst.
While racing towards Metzgesfeld, I briefly saw +131.120 display on the HUD. The gap was gradually closing between crushing defeat and certain victory. Only 118.106 separated my SLR from the 300SL after sliding sideways through Wehrsiefen on the way to Breidscheid. The AMGs tremendous brakes were called upon once again to find the proper entry speed to make the corner at Bergwerk. The lead had been cut to 105.816 as my chariot clawed its way to top speed beneath the canopy of trees heading towards Kesselchen.
As I rounded Angstkurve, holding on for dear life, I caught my first glimpse of Brittas rear end. I chased the SL 65 through Klostertal as +054.641 flashed across my field of view. At the entry to the Karussell, I was close enough to pass. I moved to the outside and slipped past the other AMG under braking. Leaving the banking at full throttle, I quickly waved thanks out the window as I moved closer towards my next target.
While approaching Wippermann, I first saw +038.565 on the HUD and then the SL500. Ever nearer through Eschbach, alternating throttle and brake with all too familiar choreography, the SLR closed the gap. On the downhill, approaching the exit of Brunnchen, I moved to the inside, again under braking, and passed Greta to move into fourth place overall. I looked over and flashed the old pearly whites as I streaked past. I could only briefly catch her response, but from what little I know of sign language, it wasnt very pleasant.
I knew the sphincter clenching drop and hard right at Pflantzgarten was approaching, but my determination was bolstered when I saw +30.136 illuminate upon the windshield. Avoiding the left hand sandtrap with late braking and smooth right input, I was quickly down the hill towards the other Pflantzgarten. A brief loss of concentration put me into the right hand wall during the full throttle right, left, right. Remarkably, it was not enough to either set off the electronic nanny, or detract from my forward progress. I was now only 23.525 seconds back. Entering Schwalbenschwanz, I could see the Evo approaching Kleine Karussell. I was in good position, but I would have to stay clean for just a bit longer.
I touched the left hand red and white curbing and moved hard right at the entry to Galgenkopf, making sure not to venture too far right which could leave the car airborne at just the wrong time. I was immediately behind Inga as we negotiated our way through the decreasing radius approach to Dottinger Hohe. In perhaps the most foolhardy move of the entire race, I quickly decided to make a pass on the left before the road opened to the long back straightaway. Giving up any speed through this critical curve would reap severe dividends later. Too much speed would push the car into the grass, with just as dismal results. Thankfully, the tires held and I was on my way to the other side of 190mph. The gap was only 13.376 seconds as I passed under the timing marker above.
Off in the distance, I could see the second place SLK and my ultimate quarry, the 300SL. My only hope was that the SLR was much better suited for top speed running with its sleek and aerodynamic silhouette. The V12 screamed as I moved ever closer to the finish. Approaching Eva in the SLK 230, I had to touch the brakes slightly so as to make my move at just the right point. The Antoniusbusche bend came up in a flash and I moved to the inside to take second place. Just as quickly as the dust exploded from my pass-in-the-grass, I was back on firm pavement, and had survived to chase after the gullwing. I was a mere 5.281 seconds back and couldnt help but imagine the keys to that Nissan in my front pocket.
I threw out the anchor to lose most of the tremendous speed which had built up over the last thousand meters. The tires screeched as I managed to keep the nose in line and the rear end behind. The silver AMG moved right-left past the pit entrance and I was up on the rear bumper of the 300SL before rounding the last corner. It was at this point when I thought back to the night before. Once again, I was holding the winning hand against a most worthy adversary and a monumental victory was inevitable.
The two rivals took the corner nose-to-tail. As the classic coupe rolled toward the finish, the modern marvel charged to pass on the inside. The overpowering acceleration which had at one time thoroughly frightened the old man would now become his downfall. The AMG SLR cleanly pulled past the 300SL and crossed the finish line 0.765 seconds ahead.
The official clocks were stopped at 912.460.
We circled back to the paddock and the old man met me at the gate. He could hardly believe what had just happened, and could only smile at his over-apologetic daughters. I thanked him for the opportunity to drive such a fantastic vehicle and told him that I had never been through such a difficult challenge before. I pocketed the fifty grand as quickly as it was presented and I told him that he could deliver the 89 Nissan Group-C racer at his leisure. Much to my surprise, I was also greeted by a new black Formula GT, on my return to the States, a final reward for the completion of a hard fought racing career. Less than a week later, I was out running my new car at top speed on the Test Course.
With a sour look on my face, I checked the flop, in position. I could sense he had something by the way he reached for his chips, and I resisted the check-raise when I only called before the turn. I saw the corner of his mouth curl when the king of clubs fell on the table. I was sure he was holding ace, king when he came back with twice the previous raise after my second check. I took it slow and thought about it for a while. This was going to be classic, the trap of a lifetime. He was right where I wanted him, so I just called. He leaned back in his chair like the king of the world. He definitely thought his full house was ahead since I surely would have raised with a flush or a straight.
I put out a small stack of chips after the river to let him think I picked up my draw when the ten of clubs came on the river. He thought for sure his kings full beat my two pair so he came over the top with a pot sized raise. I resisted a smile once again, and counted to ten to let him think I was considering the odds. He looked dumbfounded when I went all in. I wanted him to think I was trying to buy the pot, but I knew he was too committed to back off now. I just sat there and stared at the table continuing to give nothing away.
As I pulled back the rest of his chips, the aging German gentleman smiled and pushed back from the table. Well you got all my chips, how about a nice Cuban cigar? he asked. We walked through the door and down the hall into what seemed like a warehouse. He flipped on the lights as we went through the door and at least three hundred cars were illuminated, as I was now facing an incredibly impressive collection of sports cars from around the world. He opened a humidor mounted on the wall and offered what must have been the sweetest smelling cigar I had ever held. I couldnt help but think that he was definitely the best loser Ive beaten in a long time.
We got to talking as the cigars were lit. I told him that I might be lucky at cards, but he was the one with millions of dollars worth of sports cars and only miles away from the legendary Nurburgring. A lifetime of wise investing and fortunate business deals had left him with the means to do as he wished. He was living out the rest of his life with a sports car collection fit for a king, in a garage that seemed to go on forever with the greatest and most challenging racing circuit practically in his back yard. I caught the sparkle in his eye as he turned to me with an ever widening grin appearing on his face.
Slowly he put his hand on my shoulder and began to walk me over to two pristine examples of the finest German engineering from two radically different eras. The first was a new AMG-Mercedes SLR in silver, still with the factory invoice on the window. Parked right next to this shining metallic supercar was another Mercedes, a true sportscar in its own right. Facing the AMG, nose to nose was a gullwing 300SL, also in silver, that looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor. There was no mistaking the classic German car aroma which emanated from the rich leather seats of this fifty year old beauty. We walked over to the twenty-first century road rocket and he asked me to sit back in the drivers seat.
He told me that the gullwing was his favorite car in the collection and even though it appeared to have been preserved as if in a museum, he had logged a tremendous number of laps around the Ring, and could probably drive it with his eyes closed. He went on to explain that he had recently acquired the SLR directly from the factory, but hadnt put more than a dozen miles on the car. The factory rep told him that the car should be able to put down a low seven second lap in the right hands. Unfortunately, the ride home from the delivery had practically scared him to death. With over six hundred horsepower on factory radial tires, this car was a challenge to pilot. It was then the wager came out.
The details were vague, but fifty thousand in local currency was placed against the AMG beating the 300SL once around the Ring with a two-minute, three second head start. He would pilot the classic and I would drive the silver arrow. Who ever crossed the finish line first took home the purse. I immediately felt the confidence, I had earlier enjoyed, swing away like a pendulum. I stuttered in disbelief for a minute or two, unable to comprehend the offer I had just been given.
I started to protest, as if the challenge were downright impossible, but when my manhood came into question, I picked up the gauntlet that had figuratively been thrown at my feet. I could feel the dread beginning to well up in my stomach as I glanced around the rest of the impressive collection. Off in the distance, I couldnt help but focus on a group of class-C racers which must have been hand picked from the garages at Le Mans. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, I thought, this guy must be extremely joyful.
The next morning, I found myself walking out of the pits to meet my gracious host from the previous evening. He was standing next to the Mercedes 300SL, which was poised like a sprinter at the start-finish line. I could see the SLR a hundred feet away, but there were now four other vehicles from Mercedes, staged between the two cars. I looked at my opponent curiously as if wondering what had happened to our simple wager. He smiled, as coyly as ever and introduced me to his four daughters, Eva, Inga, Greta and Britta. They were all tall, blonde and gorgeous with racing helmets under their arms, and Nomex shoes on their feet.
I was told that to make the wager that much more interesting, his daughters would be driving their favorite cars around the track as well. They would start at intervals between the 300SL and the SLR, according to how well they had lapped in the past. To win the challenge, I would have to pass each of the four cars and finish the lap ahead of the gullwing. To keep the racing clean, an electronic governor would impose a five second penalty on my car if even the slightest impact was made with his daughters or the retaining walls of the track.
No wonder he had been so vague with the details the night before. I almost told him to get lost, before he upped the ante. To make it worth my while, not only would the agreed upon purse meet the winner, but I could take my pick of any car from his collection if I emerged victorious. I smiled as I thought back to the red, white and blue Nissan I envied so shamelessly, just the night before. Against my better judgment, I agreed.
The clock started as the 300SL charged away from the line. I sat back in the plush leather seat of the SLR, listening to the annoyingly constant revving of the four other cars ahead of me. As I clenched the thick rimmed steering wheel, I figured that I might as well adjust the radio and climate controls while I waited. There remained an overwhelming sense of deja vu as I sat in that beautiful car. It was like I had lived through this very same sequence of events hundreds of times before. I passed it off as nervous energy as I waited for the next car to depart.
Ten seconds later, Eva pulled away in a cute, silver 98 SLK 230 Kompressor hard-top convertible. Twenty seconds after that, Inga departed in a black 91 190 Evo coupe. A full minute into the race, Greta began her lap in a silver 02 SL 500. I was all alone on the grid after Britta tore off in her silver 04 SL65 AMG, exactly one and a half minutes behind her Dad. The peaceful silence was refreshing, even though I could faintly hear my opponents accelerating away.
I expected that the old man was chuckling to himself, approaching Adenauer Forst by the time I was signaled to leave. It seemed oddly appropriate when Wagners Ride of the Valkries came on the radio at almost the same time as I buried the throttle. The two minute, three second wait had seemed like an eternity, but I could feel the adrenaline surge as I took the first turn. Little did my worthy opponent know that this was not my first lap around this track, I had been here once or twice, before.
The SLR possessed tremendous acceleration, but the limited grip of the street tires could easily result in excessive understeer, if too much speed was carried into any of the corners. Early braking and smooth, gentle management of weight transfer would be the key to taming this massive beast of a car. Good exit speed would maximize terminal velocity through the straighter sections, patience and confidence would help in the twisty bits. It was also beneficial that I had recently completed a grueling twenty-four hour endurance competition at this enormous circuit. Nearly two hundred laps will teach you some of the subtleties of the course, but not nearly everything. It would take a lifetime to accrue that knowledge.
I had cut my deficit to 149.567 before I reached the stomach-in-your-throat rise preceding the entrance to Flugplatz. A gentle touch of the brakes and a firm right flick of the wheel and I was through the double apex right leading to the first good straightaway. I could hear the brief rumble of the mid-corner cobblestones, indicating my proximity to the outside of the curve. Just a bit wider would have put me off into the grass and eventually the wall, but not this time. I brought the speed down to the top of third gear once the car settled on all four tires to make the bend at Schwedenkreuz, heading for Aremberg. The satellite telemetry on the heads up display revealed that I was now only 140.729 behind the lead as I drove under the bridge on my way to Adenauer Forst.
While racing towards Metzgesfeld, I briefly saw +131.120 display on the HUD. The gap was gradually closing between crushing defeat and certain victory. Only 118.106 separated my SLR from the 300SL after sliding sideways through Wehrsiefen on the way to Breidscheid. The AMGs tremendous brakes were called upon once again to find the proper entry speed to make the corner at Bergwerk. The lead had been cut to 105.816 as my chariot clawed its way to top speed beneath the canopy of trees heading towards Kesselchen.
As I rounded Angstkurve, holding on for dear life, I caught my first glimpse of Brittas rear end. I chased the SL 65 through Klostertal as +054.641 flashed across my field of view. At the entry to the Karussell, I was close enough to pass. I moved to the outside and slipped past the other AMG under braking. Leaving the banking at full throttle, I quickly waved thanks out the window as I moved closer towards my next target.
While approaching Wippermann, I first saw +038.565 on the HUD and then the SL500. Ever nearer through Eschbach, alternating throttle and brake with all too familiar choreography, the SLR closed the gap. On the downhill, approaching the exit of Brunnchen, I moved to the inside, again under braking, and passed Greta to move into fourth place overall. I looked over and flashed the old pearly whites as I streaked past. I could only briefly catch her response, but from what little I know of sign language, it wasnt very pleasant.
I knew the sphincter clenching drop and hard right at Pflantzgarten was approaching, but my determination was bolstered when I saw +30.136 illuminate upon the windshield. Avoiding the left hand sandtrap with late braking and smooth right input, I was quickly down the hill towards the other Pflantzgarten. A brief loss of concentration put me into the right hand wall during the full throttle right, left, right. Remarkably, it was not enough to either set off the electronic nanny, or detract from my forward progress. I was now only 23.525 seconds back. Entering Schwalbenschwanz, I could see the Evo approaching Kleine Karussell. I was in good position, but I would have to stay clean for just a bit longer.
I touched the left hand red and white curbing and moved hard right at the entry to Galgenkopf, making sure not to venture too far right which could leave the car airborne at just the wrong time. I was immediately behind Inga as we negotiated our way through the decreasing radius approach to Dottinger Hohe. In perhaps the most foolhardy move of the entire race, I quickly decided to make a pass on the left before the road opened to the long back straightaway. Giving up any speed through this critical curve would reap severe dividends later. Too much speed would push the car into the grass, with just as dismal results. Thankfully, the tires held and I was on my way to the other side of 190mph. The gap was only 13.376 seconds as I passed under the timing marker above.
Off in the distance, I could see the second place SLK and my ultimate quarry, the 300SL. My only hope was that the SLR was much better suited for top speed running with its sleek and aerodynamic silhouette. The V12 screamed as I moved ever closer to the finish. Approaching Eva in the SLK 230, I had to touch the brakes slightly so as to make my move at just the right point. The Antoniusbusche bend came up in a flash and I moved to the inside to take second place. Just as quickly as the dust exploded from my pass-in-the-grass, I was back on firm pavement, and had survived to chase after the gullwing. I was a mere 5.281 seconds back and couldnt help but imagine the keys to that Nissan in my front pocket.
I threw out the anchor to lose most of the tremendous speed which had built up over the last thousand meters. The tires screeched as I managed to keep the nose in line and the rear end behind. The silver AMG moved right-left past the pit entrance and I was up on the rear bumper of the 300SL before rounding the last corner. It was at this point when I thought back to the night before. Once again, I was holding the winning hand against a most worthy adversary and a monumental victory was inevitable.
The two rivals took the corner nose-to-tail. As the classic coupe rolled toward the finish, the modern marvel charged to pass on the inside. The overpowering acceleration which had at one time thoroughly frightened the old man would now become his downfall. The AMG SLR cleanly pulled past the 300SL and crossed the finish line 0.765 seconds ahead.
The official clocks were stopped at 912.460.
We circled back to the paddock and the old man met me at the gate. He could hardly believe what had just happened, and could only smile at his over-apologetic daughters. I thanked him for the opportunity to drive such a fantastic vehicle and told him that I had never been through such a difficult challenge before. I pocketed the fifty grand as quickly as it was presented and I told him that he could deliver the 89 Nissan Group-C racer at his leisure. Much to my surprise, I was also greeted by a new black Formula GT, on my return to the States, a final reward for the completion of a hard fought racing career. Less than a week later, I was out running my new car at top speed on the Test Course.
, final 10 missions and a few more endurances to do. In a way I am looking forward to this mission despite it's difficulty, hopefully all those Nurburgring laps I've done will pay off 
) 👍
, I only have my own screen for reference. 
