When he finished sixth in Canada, there were already whispers of–What the hell’s going on? What’s changed?–and so many of those questions were being thrown at me. There’d been no significant changes to the car, so that meant it had something to do with the driver. That meant it could be something to do with me. At first, I convinced myself it was one sub-par performance, only bad in relation to the incredibly high standards Johannes had started setting himself last season. Then he qualified eighth at Silverstone yesterday, and the headlines about him overtook those about Harper cruising home in pole position.
His last two years with Racing Borough Force (RBF) were pretty great, especially last year when he finished third overall and hardly ever left the podium. Although he’s actually still sitting in third overall, the gap between him and the top two is gradually increasing. Yesterday’s eighth place qualification isn’t going to help that at all.
I’m sure Nathan, the RBF team principal, must be thinking that the only thing that’s changed is his race engineer. I see it in the way he glares at me when Johannes doesn’t make it anywhere near the front row, yet again, and in the way he stormed off before Harper even had a chance to sign his pole-position tire.
It is, of course, possible to turn it all around here at Silverstone. There’s room for him to work his way up the pointsifhe puts in the effort,ifhe finds his way back to the Johannes who isn’t afraid to put it all on the line. But he has to be prepared to take risks. And right now, Johannes doesn’t seem prepared to do anything.
He’s sluggish as he gets into his suit; vacant as he stands with the others for the British national anthem. And it takes me two attempts to get him to do a radio check before the formation lap.
‘Johannes, you okay?’ I ask in a whisper, because if he’s not, we really shouldn’t be letting the other teams know, but I can’t stop myself. He looks like he hasn’t slept and that’s really not good. I didn’t sleep either because I stayed up half the night analysing his race from Silverstone last year, but that doesn’t matter because he’s the driver and I’m not.
He was magic out there last year. Finished top of the podium, pissing off his best friend and closest rival on the track by preventing him winning his home race. But this year, there’s none of that fire. I don’t get it. It’s like he’s just going through the motions. It’s almost like he… doesn’t care.
It’s hard to watch.
He grunts out a ‘yes’ in reply and it tells me everything I need to know. He doesn’t want to talk. Did my predecessor Gary ever have this problem with him? I’d have to ask Ian, Nils’s race engineer, if Gary had ever talked to him about Johannes’s quirks. I need more insight, more understanding– because despite being part of this team (albeit in the garage) for the last few years, I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me.
He needs to get in the zone so he can fight to climb back up that grid to where he actually belongs. He has it in him, I know he does, but I’m not sureheknows. Not right now, anyway. To be honest, I have no idea what’s going on in his head.
That’s the problem. In our first set of races together, he was on the radio a lot. Both he and his teammate are talkers. Nils doesn’t stop running his mouth throughout his whole drive, filling the line with things he doesn’t need to air on the radio. It annoys Ian to no end– he’s someone who enjoys a bit of peace and quiet. But whilst Johannes is active on the radio, it’s always with helpful insight and commentary about the car and how it’s moving on the track. It made settling into my role easy, but just when I thought we might be starting to form a good partnership, he completely shut down on me in Montreal.
He didn’t get the best result, which is definitely not what he wanted on his birthday, but he had mentally checked out before the race even started. He had nothing to say all weekend, just a few grunts punctuated by German swear words.
When I finally got back to my room, after multiple meetings and crisis talks about Johannes’s starting position, my family group chat was full of concerned messages from my parents and three older brothers checking that I was okay after such an awful race.
Despite them being much older than me, we’re still close. When I was offered the promotion to race engineer, I went to each of them for advice about whether I should take it. At thirty-two, I’m reasonably young for this position, and so much weighs on your shoulders when the driver is out on the track. I know there was some worry, especially from my oldest brother, Gregg, who has almost two decades on me, that I was taking on too much, especially alongside the PhD I’m also working on.
I was so proud to have proved myself to them when the first ten races went so well, watching Jackson win and take podiums at every track, only for it to crumble away last week. And now it’s like the first ten races didn’t matter, because Johannes has had a bad one. I know they’re worrying about me, but I’m only thinking of Johannes.
It feels like an age that they sit on the grid, waiting for lights out. I can only imagine what it’s like for him in that cockpit, in the downward spiralling headspace he seems to be in. It’s like he’s lost confidence in his ability, like he doesn’t trust himself out there anymore. It’s so hard to watch.
When the lights finally go out, I send up a silent prayer that Johannes makes a good move into turn one…
It’s almost a miracle when straight away he pushes into sixth before everyone is even off their mark. I knew he could do it!
I cheer, only for Johannes’s move to be rendered completely redundant seconds later when Kinsley goes straight into the back of Hunter before turn one. Hunter’s car rolls across thegravel, leaving him upside down. Immediate red flag.
A whole heap of groans ring out up and down the paddock, because the red flag means a complete restart. Any gains made are therefore void. Damn it.
Of course, my focus goes straight back to making sure Hunter’s okay and not injured, but his team and the safety crew will be all over that. My priority has to be letting Johannes know what’s happening and preparing him for the restart. Hunter upside down in the gravel. Red flag. Restart looking lightly.
‘Scheiße! Scheiße!’ Johannes screams, before turning his radio off.
He needed that start– and the element of surprise is now lost as the two cars he jumped ahead of will be aware of his tactic. It’s unlikely he will be able to pull off the same move again.
Everyone files slowly into the pit as we wait for the driver extraction. There’s a buzz as we plan our restart strategies, but there’s also a heightened awareness of how risky this sport is, and how the drivers put their bodies– and their lives– on the line. There is palpable relief when we hear that Hunter is breathing and alert and on his way to hospital.
When the drivers come in, they end up in a messy queue in the pit lane. There’s still no word on when we’re going to restart. Some get out of their cars and chat with mechanics and teammates in the paddock. Nils is at the pit wall, talking Ian’s ear off about what he thinks he can do better in this restart, and Ian’s nodding along and making suggestions. It’s nice. They’re an odd pairing, but while Ian sometimes seems to just be tolerating Nils’s chattiness, he has huge respect for the young driver, too.
My driver remains in his car. Silent. The mechanics have put the tyre warmers on and his engine is off, but he makes no effort to move. I’m almost tempted to go over there and see if he’ll speak to me, face-to-face, but I don’t want to annoy or unsettle him when he’s obviously already struggling. I don’t want him to get an even worse result because of something I’ve done. If I can’t even get him to talk to me on the radio, why would he want to do it face-to-face?
I watch him sit there, resolutely facing forwards, as still as a statue. His gaze seems locked on something– or perhaps on nothing– ahead of him.
What’s he thinking? I wish I knew. I wish I could get through to him. I wish I could help him. I wish I knew what he needs to hear from me right now.
I feel like I’m watching his confidence drain away with every second that passes. I feel completely useless.
They finally announce a time to restart. Nils gets himself ready and gets back in his car, and I’m left with Ian’s questioning stare.
