The joy of being a spectator at Le Mans is a combination of shared love, zen and throaty roars, writes NEIL BROSCOE
WITH ALL the tents, the mud when it rains and sunburn when it doesn’t, the funfair, food and shopping, Le Mans is often called the Glastonbury of motor racing – but, seeing as the first 24hrs was held in 1923, it should be the other way around.
Like Glasto, though, what really makes a difference is the noise: screams, yelps, deep growls and high staccato bangs and pops. After a few hours, you can tell which car is approaching simply by the sound. Or, in the case of the victorious Peugeots and vanquished Audis, with their high-tech diesel engines, the lack of noise.
While the Corvettes, Lolas, Aston Martins and Porsches all arrive in a barrage of sound (the Corvettes’ V8s actually make the ground shake if you’re close enough to the track), the Audis and Peugeots are astonishingly quiet, arriving like stealth bombers in front of you with a low rumble and a gentle whoosh, before departing again at barely credible speed with only a fading whistle in their wake.
The Le Mans 24hrs has long been regarded as the ultimate test of both team and machine, with a full day and night of non-stop action pushing components, nerves and skills to the limit and beyond. For the drivers, winning is testament to a combination of raw speed, tactical nous and mechanical sympathy. For the team, it’s a valediction of technical prowess.
But unlike other forms of motorsport, where you, the spectator, either watch at home on the box or arrive, see and depart from the track in mere hours, Le Mans is a collective experience. The trials and glories on the track are reflected in the sea of fans, numbering more than a quarter of a million, all of whom are making their own massive efforts of sleeplessness to experience the unfolding drama.
To be in the crowd at Le Mans is to put yourself to almost as stern a test as the teams on the track. The challenges of getting there, locating accommodation (or, more likely, bringing it yourself in the form of a tent), finding your bearings in the expanses of the 14km circuit and then seeing just how long you can go without sleep give the experience a raw edge that the sanitised viewing facilities at most major sporting events simply cannot compete with.
But boy is it worth it – there is a camaraderie among fans that that has long since disappeared from the likes of soccer and, increasingly, rugby and GAA. Venture into the campsites and you’ll see the denizens of clapped-out Transits next to people who’ve just driven down in a brand new Bentley. By the third lap they’ll be sharing barbecue coals and beer.
Without wanting to get all Glastonbury-hippy about it, one of the joys of Le Mans is that shared experience. Even those who cheer on different teams or drivers are united in exhaustion, elation or just amusement at the often hilarious commentary on Radio Le Mans.
At about midnight it really comes together. Now is the time to find a comfy perch away from the main grandstands, food stalls and T-shirt shops. Head out into the dark distances of the track, down towards the Porsche Curves, Arnage or Mulsanne. There you will see sights unique in motorsport. Through the darkness and occasional smoky fug from campfires or barbecues, the piercing lights come at you, supported by a wall of noise and the deep, glowing orange of hot carbon brake discs. You can admire the sound and fury of the cars as they pass, then take a moment to enjoy the majesty of a starlit June sky over northern France before returning to the track for the next sensory assault. Le Mans is the only form of motor racing that provides this sort of zen.
Then it’s time to snatch a few brief hours or minutes of sleep, in varying levels of comfort, depending on your preparedness – or access to VIP facilities – before it’s time to get up, bleary and exhausted. As the sun rises over the circuit you realise that, after the opening hours, the brilliant night-time battles and sleep, there are still eight hours of racing to go – mindboggling.
That this year was Peugeot’s year is in no doubt, finishing in formation with their three dramatic diesel-engined 908 V12 racers, having finally ended Audi’s domination at Le Mans. A victory as assured as it was deserved.
And as the champagne is sprayed (a tradition that started at Le Mans) and La Marseillaise lustily sung in honour of a great French victory at a great French race, it’s time to pack the tent, damp down the barbecue, find some after-sun lotion and begin your own odyssey home.
Back again next year? Oh yes, even if for the noise alone.