When the marathon becomes a sprint

Last week at the greatest of all sports car races, the 24 Hours of Le Mans, Audi celebrated its triumph with a dramatic release of raw emotion, not just at winning the race, but rather surviving, literally, an unforgiving day and night of racing that saw two of its three entries disintegrate in spectacular crashes. The celebration of the win was sweet, but not so much as knowing that their two drivers and teammates emerged essentially unscathed from horrific accidents.


First up, in the fist hour of the race, former F1 pilot Allan McNish, while battling for the lead, tangled with a slower car and careened into the barriers, going airborne, and somehow, someway not plowing into the photographers pit or the grandstands. That no one, no one, was injured is almost unbelievable when watching the replay.

As night fell on the race and the teams, announcers, and spectators settled in for the long haul of a cold, dark French night, the second Audi driven by Mike Rockenfeller was clipped by a slower car when overtaking on one of the speediest approaches on the circuit. While the dark night negates the video, the pictures of the aftermath show the effects of a cataclysmic impact with the Armco barriers. Perhaps both shaken and stirred, Rockenfeller escaped the crash without serious injuries.

Both accidents involved slower traffic, the root of many bent and twisted race cars in sports car races around the globe. It’s dangerous, but it’s an unavoidable, albeit risky, necessity inherent with multiple classes of entries all competing on one circuit and the same time.

Governing bodies should continue to monitor and impress upon the slower classes – watch your mirrors and keep to your lines. Ultimately though, it’s the responsibility of the drivers of the faster cars, the prototypes, and those doing the overtaking. Learned from motorcycle racing, let it known – if you’re passing on the high side, know that all bets are off. Hold your breath and hang on.

One topic missing from the conversation of the accidents last weekend is the aggressive, no-time-for-patience moves taken by both McNish and Rockenfeller. Of course, hindsight is 20-20, but a little lift here and there, a little more caution, and both incidents might have been avoided. So, why not lift?

Sports car racing has become incredibly competitive in the past decade. It wasn’t that long ago that 24-hour titles were won through reliability and durability, with attrition taking down one top contender after another until only a few were left. There would be ample time to pop into the pits and clean up the car, scrubbing the bugs, oil, rubber, and grime of 24 hours off so the victory lane photograph would shine with a well-deserved brilliance. In fact, teams could take the luxury of gathering its cars together for the final laps, driving in parade formation, nose-to-tail, capturing the perfect photo opp to appear in marketing materials for the next year.

Those days are gone. This winter at Daytona, the top four cars, from three different teams, finished on the same lap, within seconds of each other. At LeMans last week, the top six cars were separated by half a second in qualifying. Yes, no big surprise at a NASCAR event on a 1.5 mile oval or even the IndyCars at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. But, remember, the LeMans circuit is over 8 miles long! A half a second over eight miles is as close to even as it gets.

24-hour races aren’t really approached as endurance events anymore, not by the top teams. They are year-around efforts and are approached as the longest sprint races on the schedule. To compete and win, drivers have to go 10/10ths the entire time.

There’s no time in a 24-hour race to wait, to be patient. A driver has to seize the opportunity at the moment it’s presented, for there’s the likelihood it won’t come around again. So, seize they do, consequences be damned.

We can all be grateful that the consequences last weekend weren’t more severe.

Hot lap on Twitter @RayHartjen