This was my 8th Grand Prix . . . actually 7th, but I'm including one day of qualifying in the wet at Monza in '08.
As I've purposely chosen to expend creative energy photographing Grands Prix, I've discovered that although distant, the camera somehow more closely engages me to the sport. Every Grand Prix weekend has supercharged my mind, body, and spirit into overdrive. Rarely have I felt alive as I do hoofing briskly around a Grand Prix circuit with a heavy bag full of camera gear, and Montreal proved no exception.
On several points, Montreal gets very high marks. The atmosphere was palpable. The Grand Prix drew significant numbers of seasoned hard core fans whose passion for F1 felt light years from casual. The anticipation was contagious, and that energy made this spectacle equal to all of my Grands Prix prior.
It is fair to suggest, however, that attending the Canadian Grand Prix does not quite compare to the overall experience of attending Spa, Monza, Imola . . . all Grands Prix that I've been fortunate to witness live. For all of the wonderful things about Montreal and the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, the highs of my personal experience at the 2011 GP are mapped against unexpected snags and frustrations like the throttle/brake map from Vettel's pole position lap.
I've never been to a Grand Prix where my swings from awe to struggle occurred so abruptly. Although I'd give the Grand Prix du Canada my stamp of approval, I would caution that it isn't quite as easy on the heart rate and wallet as other Grands Prix I've attended. I'm not saying that we did not have a wonderful time, only that it came with a healthy dose of patience and determination on our behalf.
Specific to my photographic endeavors on Friday, I'd been well advised to pack a lunch for an all day ass whoopin'.
Of all the Grand Prix circuits and road courses I've been to, the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve must rank as the least accessible. The general admission areas are incredibly limited and offer a poor vantage on the circuit. The double layer of fencing doesn't help matters. A slow shutter may defeat one layer of fencing, two is another matter.
From a purely spectator point of view, the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve offers a lack of elevation change, significant closed infield areas, almost non-existent accessible perimeter vantage points. They've done a great job with the grandstand seating to combat that problem, but as the course runs like a flattened football, it can be hard to find seating that offers perspective on both speed and change of direction at the same time.
Although we fared very well at Stand 33, one basically has to drive a few slow laps on PS3 to make an intelligent choice of seating. I would highly recommend that should you find the GP looming in your future, get online and buy tickets months in advance, because the best stands fill up fast.
Fortunately, the drama which soon unfolded during this year's Grand Prix ran a gamut of emotion which could have been appreciated from sitting in a tree.
Who would've guessed that what initially appeared to be one of Jenson Button's sloppiest efforts in recent memory . . . including two accidents, a drive through, and general lack of pace . . . would transform into the sort of late race charge that legends are made of?
At the time, I could not tell whether Jenson had a purposed hand in the Hamilton affair, but I was dead certain that he'd done Alonso wrong.
With the benefit of DVR replay, I now feel pretty strongly that he was innocent in regard to Hamilton's contact, and that in coming together with Fred, blame could be assessed equally . . . purely a racing incident.
That said, Button's performance over the weekend had been far from exemplary. Having been called off my photographic battle by Montreal's strangely zealous security, I was more than surprised upon returning to my seat to realize that he was staging a DRS enabled comeback through the field that will be remembered for years to come.
With our fantastic vantage on the high speed sweep from turn 5 into braking for turn 6 and the rotation through the chicane into turn 7, I'd noticed that Vettel was fighting his Red Bull Renault under braking. His tires were knackered and the back end was trying to break away. It was clear that whatever happened, he could not stray off the dry line.
Final lap. Vettel and Button sweep hard and fast through turn 5 into our field of view, on the limit. Vettel brakes and again the Red Bull steps out. He immediately leaves his braking to arrest the car's wary state, but this leaves him carrying too much speed into the corner and he runs wide . . . wide enough to push his outside wheels off the dry line.
At that point I'm not certain what happened next, but Seb blipped the throttle to either push his nose toward 7 or to arrest a sacrificial slide he already felt coming.
Right before our very eyes, Vettel's certain victory slung off his rear wing like so many tiny droplets of St Lawrence rain, and Button powered through into the lead.
That single moment, merely yards beneath our seats, instantly erased the sore muscles I'd developed schlepping my camera gear around for four days. It made the fiasco with our hotel (another long story) trivial. It gave me peace to accept that perhaps in this one instance, it was OK to simply enjoy being there.
Despite Button's amazing surge to the top step in this out board motoring affair, it reinforces my question as to whether DRS has ultimately changed F1 for the better. Having followed the sport as passionately as I have for so long, I think I'd prefer it shelved as a great idea that went a touch too far.
No comments:
Post a Comment