At last it is over. Today is Tuesday in Paris and I am only now, at 3 in the afternoon feeling human again. Now to retrace time. I recall my last writing at some time in the early hours of Sunday. After that posting, I found an empty corner in the trailer and crashed hard only to be woken an hour later by Don coming in from his early morning stint. I think it was 4 when he came in which meant that he had been driving since 2 AM. And with a fierce cold no less. With camera on shoulder I headed to the garage to find who would be awake and in what condition. On walking through the pits, dawn bringing its first rays of soft golden light, there was a peaceful quality that I had not yet seen through all the running and urgency of the days previous. Peaceful, yet still charged with the intensity of 45 full blown race cars screaming full throttle around the oldest endurance track in the world. Exhausted drivers racing their guts out while their mechanics and crew stole whatever bits of sleep they could before the next pit stop. And the peace is short lived. At some point, I forget when, there is a bad crash. I am in the garage at the time and we are, all of us, horrified. The more experienced among us, silent in knowing concern. Crashes happen. They are a part of racing, but the bad ones shake even the hardest and callused of veterans. This was the #17 Pescarolo Peugeot, destroyed while holding 4th place in the P1 Class. Thankfully the driver is relatively unhurt, a miracle when one sees what is left of the car.
As I walk the dawn circuit I am taken by the sheer volume of garbage, mostly beer bottles I see strewn where fans once stood. And I am quietly amazed that with so many nationalities, testosterone and alcohol that there was no violence. They came to watch their teams try their hardest and meant to have a good time in the process. Our team director tells me the 24 Hours of Le Mans is an English race held on French soil and it is not until I walk to the opposite end of the track that I realize what he’s talking about. English and Scottish flags flying from 20 foot poles above encampments like I have never seen. Brand new Ferrari’s, Astons, Porsches & Bentley’s parked on the dirt or grass next to their tents and tables. They have crossed the channel with everything they will need for the week ahead. Food, drink and lodging such that once set up, they will not have to leave the track for the time they are there. Clearly they have done this before as nothing is left behind. They are completely set up, with make shift kitchens, dining rooms and of course bars with kegs and taps all under protection from either sun or rain. (At 24 Hours of Le Mans you are almost guaranteed to get both) And what struck me as so strange was the inclusion of these multiple $100,000 dollar + cars in these infield encampments. Incongruent with my life’s observations up to now. And isn’t that what is so good about experiencing new things, shaking up what I thought I knew with hard evidence directly to the contrary.
Back at the pits and Patrick Dempsy is in the car for the last 2 hours of the race. Without his financial help none of us would be here so it is deemed, (appropriately in my opinion) that he will race the last stint and drive the Ferrari under the checkered flag of Le Mans 2009. And he has driven extremely well. Carried his weight and some. Be clear that as an American celebrity movie star he was not welcomed warmly by all. Professional drivers demand you prove your mettle and Patrick was not about to be spared this task. Nudged, pushed and outright bumped on the track at over 150 mph, he stood his ground. Make no mistake about it, Patrick Dempsy can drive a race car, and he proved it to everyone.
Finally at the Ferrari tent we are all able to let down our guard. It is an emotional and exhausted group. For some there are tears, others smiles and warm embraces. The Italians have been incredible and we Americans are grateful beyond words. The entire team now realizing just what an incredible feet it was to finish this race without incident. One of Patrick’s sponsors are a new premium tequila brand and for the occasion they have brought a sampling of their wares. Thank you is all I can muster, and even then, only to myself. Tequila, as anyone who knows me, is my elixir. My after hours drink of choice. So in a small plastic espresso cup I am handed a celebratory shot. I see others drain theirs with a single motion but I, as I am want to do with the finer things in life, prolong mine, letting its subtle nuances linger. And before I know it we are all dispersed and making our various exits. The job done, each off to the next chapter of our respective lives. So in closing this chapter of mine, I say thanks for reading along, it’s been a hell of a ride and having you out there checking in has helped me live it all the more richly.
