Formula 1: The GOAT

“Is this your first time in these kinds of meetings?” Enaam, who was sitting beside Fatih, asked, while looking at the back of the tent where Ricky Flynn and a few people from their and other teams were standing. The drivers had taken their seats, talking among themselves, waiting for the organizers to come and start the meeting.

“I have been in them, but they were small in size compared to this,” Fatih said, following Enaam’s eyes. But instead of focusing on the people at the back, he focused on the young drivers who looked to be the same height as him, despite knowing that he was the youngest of them all by at least two years.

To him, it was no different than a dream, as he now realized that he was seeing future drivers when they were at their youngest and with the least amount of hype. But he felt a bit sad, realizing that he was not going to see any of those in the upper categories during this meeting, as they were segregated depending on the categories they were in.

The team managers and mechanics were already conversing among themselves, as they knew each other from different competitions they had partaken in throughout the year, occasionally pointing a finger at some young drivers.

But the conversational atmosphere didn’t last long, as two people, a man with a few folded large pieces of paper under his arm and a woman, entered the tent, standing in front of the large, clean whiteboard. Everyone in the room stopped talking and focused on them, at least the adults did, with a few kids still talking to themselves as if they didn’t care.

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please? Otherwise, this meeting will be useless if some of you are not going to focus on its contents,” the man said in an Italian-accented English, but despite that, it carried an authoritative voice, causing everyone who hadn’t stopped talking to do so, as some of the kids wondered who that person was.

With everyone now focusing on him, he spoke once again. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the 42nd Trofeo delle Industrie.” He paused for a moment as everyone in the room clapped, with the adults starting it and the children following like parrots.

“My name is Stefano Bianchi, this competition’s race director, and this here is Alessandra Conti, the stewardess.”

Immediately after the introduction, he removed the folded chart from under his arm, pinning it on the whiteboard with magnets while saying, “I’m sure many of you already know what these are, but rules dictate that I repeat them so that none of you will argue that you didn’t know these things,” as the chart revealed different colored flags and a few other race-related images.

“Yellow means caution, as there is a problem ahead of you, and as a result, you should be vigilant and ready to avoid any problem. At the same time, no overtaking. Red flag means stop immediately, as there is something hazardous on the track or a race-stopping incident, so anyone who doesn’t heed any other flag, especially this one, will be punished heavily.” Using an extended stick, he moved from one flag to another on the chart. “Blue flag means you are being lapped, and you are to let the driver behind you through within three marshal posts. Failure to do that will result in penalties as well. A black flag means you are out. If you see it, it means you will have to return to the pit lanes and end the race immediately.”

Using an extended stick, Mr. Bianchi tapped the next flag on the laminated chart, a white rectangle with a bold black cross.

“This,” he said, “is the mechanical failure flag. If you see this waved at you, it means your kart is visibly damaged or leaking fluids. You must return to the pits immediately. Do not continue, as you’re a danger to others.”

He moved the stick again, this time to a diagonally striped yellow-and-red flag.

“This is the slippery surface flag. It means there’s oil, water, or debris on the track. It will be shown at the marshal post nearest the hazard. You must reduce speed and avoid sudden maneuvers. If you ignore it and cause an incident, the stewards will not be lenient.”

A few drivers exchanged glances. Fatih leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on the chart.

Mr. Bianchi paused, then pointed to the final flag, a plain green one.

“A green flag means the track is clear. Racing resumes. It may follow a yellow or red flag situation. When you see green, you’re free to push again, but remember, the race isn’t won in one corner, so drive with that in mind.”

He lowered the stick and looked around the tent.

“Flags are not suggestions. They are commands. If you fail to respect them, you don’t just risk penalties; you risk your safety and the safety of everyone around you. I don’t want an incident to occur just as a result of someone’s ignorance of the flags.”

A moment of silence followed. The hum of generators outside filled the air.

“Any questions?” he asked, scanning the room.

No one raised their hands, as it was practically basic knowledge for all racers, with some even feeling bored as they listened to him.

“Good. Now, Miss Conti, you can go ahead,” he said, moving aside and leaving the stage to her.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the center stage.

“When in parc fermé conditions, I expect none of you to touch your karts after qualifying unless you are authorized. Tire markings will be checked, and your transponder must be mounted correctly because if your kart fails to be timed due to a mis-mounting of the transponders, that will be on you, and we will not do anything about it,” she said, immediately getting to the point, not wasting time with an introduction since the race director had already done that for her.

“During formation laps, keep it tight and don’t deliberately open large gaps. During rolling starts, I don’t want to see anyone weaving or brake-checking someone else. If you jump the start, we will know, and if you cause chaos, you will be penalized for the next heat, so keep all of those in mind during the start.”

She continued on a few additional things before she said, “Finally, respect. I expect you to respect the officials, your competitors, and the sport. You are here to race and compete, not to argue, so if you have a protest, file it properly. I don’t want to be informed of shouting in the paddock. Any questions?” she asked once she too was done.

“No? Good. And good luck with your races. Drive fast and drive clean,” the race director said before looking at his watch and adding, “You’ll be called for your first free practice in one hour, so you have half an hour of free track time to get used to the track before the official sessions start. Dismissed.”

It took less than five minutes for the tent to empty as drivers and mechanics rushed back to their tents in order to have the karts ready as fast as possible to send them out for the final free-for-everyone session before the official time started and the timed and controlled free practices began. This time also acted as an opportunity for those who didn’t have the financial means to come here days before the weekend and spend time getting to know the track in order to join the official free practice with all drivers, at least knowing the track to some level of familiarity.

Within ten minutes, the track was filled with karts, with very few drivers choosing not to join as it was getting very crowded.

But two of the five RFM drivers opted not to join the track, citing those reasons.

…….

“Looks more like a demolition derby than practice,” Lando, who was watching from the pit lane, said as he watched the drivers who were experiencing the track for the first time go through turn one, fail, and get sent spinning or off the track.

“Yeah, for some of them, it’s their first time on the track, and some are trying to prove something before the weekend starts,” Fatih said with a half-smile on his face as he turned to look at Lando, who was watching the track standing beside him with his arms folded, squirming every time someone on the track slid or went out of bounds.

“That’s the trap. You don’t win anything on Friday. You just show off and risk bending your chassis,” Lando said as a kart locked up and nearly collected two others as they both pulled back, imagining the sort of damage had it actually happened.

“Looks like someone is trying tomorrow’s wet setup on a bone-dry track,” Fatih said as he pointed at someone who had a soft axle and a twitchy rear while driving.

“You ever get nervous watching them? Like… wondering if you’re doing enough?” Lando asked as he looked at Fatih, who seemed to be moving from one kart to another, observing them while remaining extremely calm.

“Always, but having nerves means you care. All you have to do is not let them drive the kart for you, or you will find yourself bottling a position at the start,” Fatih said while holding himself back from laughing out loud when he realized what and who he was saying it to.

For Lando, who would show in his Formula 1 career that people’s words to him affected his mentality, those words were things he needed to start taking seriously at this young age. Fatih wondered why such a thing wasn’t done for Lando; was it because he was ahead of everyone in the later parts of his karting career that it was not a problem? But now that he had a close look, he planned to see if he could pinpoint the reason.

They watched the practice sessions while continuing their small talk before Lando returned to the tent with ten minutes on the clock before Group A’s free practice started. He wanted to finish his preparations, and he was ready in his kart with two minutes on the clock, waiting for the pit lane exit to be opened so that he could enter the track and start his practice.