Four days at the Nurburgring, two of which would be on bikes, two days at Spa, an incredible cross country drive demonstrating some of the most verdant, beautiful coniferous green lands between Germany and Belgium and a solid helping of 30 deg heat throughout is surely a recipe for any petrol head.

Include the tools of surgery, them being two green GT3 RS’s and two Nissan GTR’s, and we’re either going to get into a massive fight or gain divine insight into the makings of automotive heaven.

The bravado had started months before, of course. Depending on which car you owned, the GTR was either an extraordinarily advanced automotive equivalent of HAL, leaving very little for the driver to do, or a revolutionary step in motoring, raising the bars of expectation. Similarly, the GT3 was either a prehistoric remnant of a romantic ideal no longer suitable for today’s audience, or it was a precision, scalpel like device that rewarded it’s drivers as much as it demanded from them. Either way, hearts would be broken, egos bruised and lap times championed.

It still surprises me just how much attention the green RS gets both on the road and in the paddocks. Put two of these cars together and the effect is amplified further. On motorways, other enthusiasts jostle, sometimes dangerously, as they undertake, overtake and pull over, with cameras in hand, just to be part of the convoy. The two GTR’s equally attractive, doing their bit for the decepticons, resplendent in their high tech paint work echoing shadows of Transformers-like aggression.

The three evening sessions Thursday to Saturday at the Nurburgring are to be the most sane of the whole week. As the weather showed signs of glory, every car club in northern Europe descended upon the place creating both a Mecca for car fans, but also frustration for those wanting to do some laps. Most people choose to use the ring carpark for posing, with many others having to queue for up to an hour just to get into the car park. Saturday we couldn’t even get on to the track as some banzai driver binned his car on his first out lap, causing the circuit to close for the whole day.

That’s the risk out there. I must have counted at least 15 trashed cars in 4 days and countless ambulances ferrying drivers to the nearest hospital. Its both a problem and, perversely, part of the attraction as adrenaline addicts flock to do the (£15!!) laps, oblivious to the threat of death. With tyres squealing at 165MPH, there simply is no time to contemplate mortality.

Sunday, being the only true all-day tourist day, open from 8am until 7pm, was a true comedy day. To think that our actions were completely legal must have been a sick joke upon the Germans. As a group of four, we bullied our way across the ring as we raced, raved and raped the german track and its inhabitants. Back into the ring car park, I removed my sweat drenched helmet and felt with guilty pleasure the buzz of having enjoyed yet another eight minutes of knife edge recreation unavailable anywhere else in the world.

So which car is the ring daddy? No doubt about it, the GTR is simply unbeatable. It quite literally has been built with a single purpose in mind, to dominate the ring and it does with aplomb. The GT3’s are out powered, out handled and out techno’d by a car fit for the 21st century. Not only does it have enough power to rotate the ring around the car itself, but its clever 4WD system makes the deploying of that power so damn efficient, it does not waste a single BHP in transition. The ring has many uphill sections which makes mince meat out of the normally aspirated GT3’s, without the torque, they just cannot compete.

Still, there’s no doubt that the Nissans are one track wonders. With soaring transmission and engine oil temps, the cars are unable to do more than one lap effectively. Add to that a 4 lap fuel tank, melting tyres and overheating brakes and the allure starts to diminish.

If lap times are your ultimate goal, then the GTR is unbeatable, but there are huge compromises as mentioned. The RS’s in contrast are bulletproof in comparison. Respectively, the Porsches are back-to-basics cars with little technology aside from chassis and handling expertise.

Incidentally, we did two laps of the ring on our mountain bikes. If you have a cycling interest then you MUST attempt this opportunity. We did the bike ride during an endurance race at the ring. It really was a spectacular, challenging and unique ride that had you following the 24km circuit around the outside.

Spa was a totally different story and all were amazed at the stark differences in car performance between the Nissans and the Porsches. To put it bluntly, the GT3’s were right at home as the cars were surgically woven from one bend to another in the fast, rapid switchbacks offered at Spa. The 1800kg weight on the GTRs could offer no comfort to any amount of technology as the GT3’s danced from one section to the next, deftly balancing braking, power and chassis dynamics.

Finished off a wonderful day at Spa by destroying a set of rears with some synchronised drifting with Richard Meaden. He was at Spa with a Porsche GB Gen 2 GT3 press car, Dickie can peddle and made for many awesome laps. When my fuel trip computer showed “– miles” in range, I then stayed out for another 5 laps, thats how much I was enjoying myself at risk of coasting the starved engine to a standstill. Got some nice drift footage which I’ll put up as soon as I get the DVD.
Edit: here it is

But the most memorable snapshot I brought back with me is an insanely beautiful drive across Europe as we took a scenic route between Germany and Belgium. Suddenly, lap times don’t matter and all we’re interested in is the noise of each others’ downshifts and throttle blips, no matter the car of choice. As we briskly accelerate between narrow tree lined roads, the sound of our exhausts reverb off the low walls bouncing back into our open windows hand in hand with the glorious sunshine of middle Europe.

It really is a defining experience of what makes the perfect motoring moment. The unnecessary heel and toeing, the intentional aggressive throttle between 3k-4k rpm, forcing the butterfly valves on the exhaust silencers to open and close at will and the physical leaning into each and every bend making the travel across this time locked land a magical experience as we chased the sun into the west.

I am naturally biased but with £100k in the bank, would I choose a GT3 again, or buy a GTR and put £40k away? Let me just say I have no regrets.

Edit: First video posted. Host car is Glenn’s, chasing mine.

For those who’ve never been, you’d think it was driving nirvana. And you’d be somewhat right. Germany has some of the most breathtaking roads in the world, combining fast autobahns with awesome mountain passes.

The reality of it does include the fantasy’s above, but there are setbacks. Traffic being the main problem, but 2 lane motorways and zero night-lighting means you have to be at the right place at the right time to put your car in its paces. The steep mountain roads can be deadly if not treated with a modicum of respect and driving through them in the rain at night can be treacherous, but insanely rewarding. The Evo 8 in our party was in its element on these roads and comfortably left everyone behind. Having a 400bhp lightweight car, powering the rear wheels with it’s engine behind the rear axle makes for potential entries to the yearly Darwin awards ‘ the GT3RS doesn’t suffer fools gladly and will consistently remind you that it IS better than you will ever be.

Most of the time, you’re looking a kilometre ahead, noting all the bunched up cars and waiting for them to pull out with no warning whatsoever. It really is an exercise of study, requiring a pre-emptive examination of the behaviour of all cars ahead of you. When you’re doing 150MPH +, you approach the rears of cars quicker than your brain tells you.
But the flip side is that any resident traffic quickly vacates the fast lane immediately after, making progress swift and painless. Still, opportunities to max out your car are frequent, but almost impossible to plan.

But this is a story of the Tortoise and the Hareâ?¦

We’ve been doing the Ring24Hr race for a number of years now and despite the great attraction of the race itself, the drive up there and back is the highlight for me. Happy to see the start of the race for a few hours and some nighttime racing, give me then a number of de-restricted roads and I’m in my own heaven.

My love of driving cars fast in Germany (I’m terrified of doing it in the UK with the fear of losing my licence being clear and concise enough motivation to keep things real) often means that our small convoy is often split up. With varying degrees of comfort and vehicle practicality, it regularly means that distances between convoy cars can sometimes span miles, requiring frequent stops and 30MPH autobahn cruises.

Thus did the conversation start after a bleary eyed dinner at the hotel with a magnificent Chateau Briand followed by a number of the local Pills beer. Opinions expressed and experiences relayed, we came to the rather obvious conclusion that our levels of performance on the road are vastly dissimilar, leading to the many convoy separations touched upon above. Where I was claiming that the party was moving too slow in the fast sections with no efforts to maintain high convoy speeds, I was backhand volleyed with comments that a healthy cruise at approximately 100MPH was more than enough to ensure good progress and fun driving. I wasn’t convinced.
Considering the next day marked our departure from fine Koblenz, plans were now afoot in organizing the ‘Whacky Racers-esque’ trip back to Calais. Convinced that I was more comfortable piling on the miles in a Gumball Rally style fashion, I exclaimed rather proudly that I’d be setting off first thing in the morning and would see everyone back in England. Auf Wiedersehen mon petit enfants.

‘I’ll be leaving at 9am sharp folks, lovely seeing you all!’

10:30am, Q strolls out of bed claiming that he’d be man enough to follow me at my pace. ‘Fine, stick with me’, I says to him ‘You’ll go far’

Oh how the young are easily fooled.

By the time everyone is fuelled up, there are 3 different parties on the road. Ian in his GT3 had petrol enough in his tank so didn’t need the fuel stop. Alex in his R33GTR was first to fill up and first to leave the forecourt, which meant I was the one waiting for the fine German specimen of a man (approximately 20 stone) to ease his un-waif like physique into his driving seat ‘ an incredible show of dexterity as it took no less than 20 minutes, by which time everyone else had at least a 20 mile head start. Not a fine way to prove a point. Doesn’t matter, I’m in a GT3RS, I’ll make up the time.

Heading out of Koblenz on the autobahn, I’m on a mission. I’ve got a point to prove and now’s not a time to be eating humble pie. I pile on the revs and aim for the horizon. 3rd, 4th, 5th and finally 6th ‘ I’m cruising at speeds of 120-150mph, Q in tow in his Evo8. The car’s proving to be more than capable at these kind of speeds, but the GT3RS is incredible. Simon and I are sitting at 150mph and I’m tuning into a radio station during a conversation. The flat 6 singing to me time after time, driving this car at anything less than 7/10’s is an exercise in reservation. But I’m unable to keep this desire to go fast in check, so I go another 20mph. I’m now sitting at between 150 and 170mph. The following Evo8, impressive looking with its xenons, is now losing breath and I see it slipping into the distance.

But, I’m now part of a team, leaving the soldiers behind is not acceptable behaviour. Oh and Q doesn’t have a map. So I’m on the slow lane at about 80 and the now familiar xenon headlamps have appeared over the brow of the hill. From 6th into 3rd I go and I bury the throttle ‘ I love this sequence, going from gear to gear full throttle, the engine sounds fab with a hot engine and exhaust ‘ the wail going operatic from 6000rpm to the 8200 redline and coupled with a final breath shove in the back. Each up shift is met with a ‘blip blip’, and then all over again.

Just as Q is catching up, a BMW 5 series cuts in behind me, blocking any line of sight I had with Q behind. Another exec saloon on a German autobahn. I’m sitting at a steady 120mph so he’s dropping back and I’m getting annoyed at the fact that I’m going to have to pull in again to wait for him to catch up [EDIT 1 - See below]. But I’m mistaken. The 5 series BMW is game for some action and he’s fast closing in on me. What the hell, let’s have some fun. I drop it into 4th gear for some singsong. Haha, that’ll teach him to mess with Stuttgart’s finest. I’m now pulling away quite confidently but I’m amused at his tenacity. That’s what I love about German drivers, they play a good game and don’t give in easily.

Then his blue lights come on.

There’s always a feeling of utter dread when faced with this situation. A million excuses start to run through your mind and you’re totally prepared to lie, cheat and steal to secure any chance of walking away scott free. ‘The dog ate my speedo’ comes immediately to mind, but the warped sense of British humour would be lost on my German hosts I feel.
Pulling over, Q drives up beside me and attempts to stop too. Discretely, I usher him to ’sod off’ and get away whilst he can, saving him from whatever outcome I’m about to face.

Stepping out of the car, I know straight away that stepping out of a GT3RS, white with bright red stickers and wheels, just aint gonna pull his sympathy strings much. No amount of butt smooching is going to work here, so out comes the Amex and I’m 365 Euros lighter of pocket. Shockingly, I was only caught at 150kph in a 100kph limit, despite the slightly more aggressive reality. Still, I was surprised at how polite and professional the officers were and in no way did I feel threatened or intimidated. I was also privy to a 10-minute lesson in German road signs.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but I’m positive about the whole affair. We’re not angels on European roads and I’ve been over at least 10-15 times now with no police problems. So I’m happy that we’ve had a good spell and I guess I had it coming.

My passenger and I are now miles behind everyone else and despite our earlier enthusiasm, we’re now pretty keen to just cruise at a sensible speed and get home without any further Euro casualties. A quick phone call to Q confirms he is at the next service station, so, with a look of doom and gloom, we casually roll into the service station. Q has a map, which is good ‘ or is that bad? Now that we’re no longer responsible for the navigation, is the temptation too great for us to speed off again? Who knows! Stay tuned!

We pull out of the service station and start an easy cruise at 100mph towards the new motorway, E48. With zero speed restrictions. And it’s barren. And brand new. Oh dearâ?¦

RS goes into serious mode again and we’re sat at 150MPH the whole way. It really is a joy, with that lovely dual tone engine note ‘baaaaaaaaarp’ and a feeling of solidity through the steering wheel, the very design of the autobahn eradicating any potential tramlining. The road is practically empty and it’s only the odd occasion when we come up to traffic that we slow down to 120mph. Ahem. The scenery is magic too, with massive banks of coniferous trees and beautiful, gargantuan bridges that go up hundreds of feet. Typical German engineering. Its pure function makes it beautiful.

Coming over a fast sweeping bend, I’m faced with an even better sight. The longest, straightest bit of autobahn you’ve ever seen. I can’t help myself but drop a gear and nail the throttle. 5th gear goes on forever, I slick it into 6th gear at 160 and nail it again. My previous record is 185mph indicated on the Nur speedo (183 in this car) so I’m keen to hit 190mph for a new personal best.
160mph comes and goes and I look into the mirror, Q is slipping slowly away and I’m reaching for 170. 180. Q is now nowhere to be seen in my ‘Days of Thunder’ mirror, complete with shaky-cam effect. Bingo! I’ve hit 190MPH. But I’m not satisfied, plenty of room still left and I’m gunning for the big one. For a moment, I felt like Marty McFly at 88.5mph, I don’t remember anything between 190 and 200 apart from sweaty palms, millennium falcon style blurring stars and the baboon like shouting from my passenger after every incremental digit on the speedo. And then bang, it hits me ‘ 200mph on the digital read out. My heart cries out as I’ve just realised I haven’t been breathing for 60 seconds. Approaching traffic means I have to start slowing down and I’m reluctant to use the brakes, as I don’t want to turn the wheels into 4 blazing fireballs. Eventually, the wind resistance does a good job of slowing me down to 120mph, at which point it feels like we’ve stopped. Incredible. What a feeling.

After I allow some time for Q to catch up, we set out on a easy pace at 120 for a couple of hours. We make fantastic progress and despite me leaving last from the petrol station back in Koblenz, I’m convinced I’ll be first onto the channel train. A quick phone call to Alex in his 33GTR confirms that we’ve somehow managed to get 40km ahead of him. Super. But that pesky Ian in his GT3 managed to keep ahead at his almost dangerous 100mph cruising speed. I’ll get him.

Eventually, we arrive in Calais. Ian is in the vicinity and I’m keen to catch up with him. I’ve been driving with god as a passenger for 400 miles and I’m keen to get over to the UK now. But it wasn’t to be. Queuing up at the Eurotunnel booths, I’m asked for a paltry £30.00 fee to pay to get on to an earlier train. I’m trying to explain how I’ve already paid a fee on my outbound journey, which should have made it a flexible ticket, but she’s not listening and is keen to remind me of her working policy. Stubborn Cem steps into place and I refuse to pay the fee. Cue her manager.

I’m trying to be reasonable now, and I’m asking him questions as to why they change times when they see fit and when it benefits them, but when it suits me I’m charged £30 for the privilege, despite my insistence that I’ve paid the extra fee from before. I may as well be talking to a door that’s just been slammed in my face. The rear of the lane is now blocked off and Q and I are trapped in the booth entry. I’m being asked to now leave the premises. Incredible. My passenger is now trying to convince me that paying the £30 fine is probably a better bet, and curse me for being this way, as a man of principle I’m being stubborn as hell. Throughout all this, an SMS from Ian tells me he’s on a train and he hopes I have a good journey home. Hmmâ?¦

Then the police arrive. Not sure, but has anyone ever had to deal with French police? Deal being the wrong word, my passport is snatched from me and I’m ordered in no uncertain terms to move my vehicle to the side of the police control centre. Great. The weather is now scorching and we’re in full view of the entire Le Mans fraternity now. I step out of the car as I now realise we may be in a spot of bother. The policeman was a fully clothed and armed officer who made absolutely no eye contact. I was after this point in, as good as a murderer and treated as a criminal. Foolishly, I assumed that if the Police arrived, I’d be able to conduct a civil conversation based on the civility demonstrated by not only the fab British Police, but also the German counterparts who pulled me over for speeding only a few hours earlier. Meanwhile, Q drives past, shouts that he’s boarding the train and says he’ll see me later. Bye Bye Q.

20 minutes pass and I’m now getting a little worried. My passenger has been pacing the road up and down and generally curses at me for not curbing my ‘fantasy-land’ iron principles. I’m slowly starting to agree with him. With thoughts of dark dungeons and anal probes, I quickly pick up the mobile and start to dial the wife back home ‘If you don’t hear from me in 2 hours, call the consulate’ I say. ‘Oh and don’t panic’ I lieâ?¦

Just then, he walks out of the office, Robocop style ‘Monsieur, Prennez votre voiture et partez d’ici maintenant’. He’s not in the mood for a laugh. His sidekick manager friend walks over, like the monkey he is, and tells me my ticket is no longer valid on the Eurotunnel as he doesn’t want me on the train in fear of me causing more disruption. Of course, based on my violent background and string of criminal records 3 books thick, he made the kind of decision I would expect from someone who shared a brain cell with a biro.

So, we’re now kicked off the terminal, no tickets, it’s Le Mans weekend in Calais, we have a 365 euro speeding fine, I’ve got a certain amount of humble pie to eat back home and I’ve some explaining to do to the wife who probably thinks I tried to smuggle 4 kilos of pure white into the country. Certainly sounds more dramatic than ‘I didn’t want to pay the extension fee’. All in all, it’s been a bloody good day.

Just had a phone call from Alex in the GTR, he’s also just boarded the train and is about to drive off, despite some heavy handling of his car by the authorities there.

A short drive over to the Ferry port confirms a space for us in 90 mins, the same amount of time it takes the ferry to cross. So we’re now 3 hours behind schedule. The sour experience I gain from the tunnel means I savour the moments on the ferry. A superb meal and some nice coffee on the outside deck later, I’m ready to get in my car and kiss planet England.

My journey back from Dover is conducted at 80mph and I enjoy it like I’ve never driven before. It’s a beautiful day, my company was superb and I get back home for 7pm, hours after everyone else.
There’s a bleedin obvious moral to this story, but I’m too tired to come up with something witty.

This is as literal an adaptation of the tale, Tortoise and the Hare, as you can get. It was an adventure, some good, some bad, but an adventure none the less.

Some of you are saying “But you had great fun!” and yes, indeed I did. But when you’re promised a reimbursement of over £2500 of expenses and you get £200, you kinda feel a little fucked. I could go on, suffice to say that our relationship is severed thanks to the almost comical professionalism employed by Traffic. Screw you and I hope you’ll be in need of help soon as I’m keen to deny.

Not all memories are made of instances like this, but it’s close. I have experienced the best roads of my life in Germany. Mountain passes, roads embedded into timeless valleys, tree lined lanes amongst vineyards and most memorably, the autobahn. Speed cameras aren’t rare, but they reside in areas that deserve them, such as schools, busy intersections etc. The freedom to drive is ever passionate and the roads welcoming. Germany is bred on limitless motorways, it’s inevitable that their population lunch at over 100mph and this liberation shines in the people. A proud nation, rightly so too. Responsible for one of the strongest economies in the world, Germany has amassed a brilliance of engineering excellence, from it’s automotive institutions to it’s world class architecture. Wind generators of titanic scale decorate the landscape in a demonstration of technical know-how amongst a backdrop of beauty that would rival a Canadian forest. Over the crest, though, one is staggered to see a castle built into the side of a mountain.

But the main reason for our visit was the 24h Nurburgring race featuring the last ever attempt of glory of the Falken Racing Team Nissan Skyline. Arriving en masse to the ‘Ring on a commercial day like this in 6 Skylines is an experience to behold. With only 3 Skylines in Germany, the GTR is a truly rare sight. When 6 of them arrive in a gleaming array of Bayside Blue and HKS Hypers, then the Germans do nothing but drop their frankfurters and wail ‘oh mein gut!’. The messiahs had arrived.

After finding a nice parking area in the press car park (courtesy of some blagging by yours truly), we eventually realise that we aren’t the only special cars in town. A vast array of cars both litter the car park and also please the crowds by performing drive by’s. Dodge Vipers, Ferraris, 996 Turbos, etc. etc. I was even privileged to see a new Audi RS6, a new addition to my wish list.

The Falken team were only able to place one car out of the three on the grid, reason unknown. It was very impressive watching the cars at the end of the pitstraight brake from 180mph to 20 into the hairpin. But as exciting as the daytime racing was, it paled into insignificance when we returned late at 2.00am to watch the night driving. With only their headlights and memory to guide them, the skills that were being demonstrated by the drivers were staggering. If you’ve never watched a night race then I recommend you do so immediately, it was one of the highlights of the weekend for me. A very respectable 5th place earned and a higher position lost out basically due to a 30 minute pitstop with brake problems.

After a photoshoot with GTR magazine of Japan, we were witness to a certain Midnight Purple R34 development car with 600bhp. Me thinks a little company is out there to break the ring record.

Verdict: Motoring Nirvana.