Why the ‘Ring?

These, then, are the words to the official Nürburgring 'hymn', and really I ought to stop writing straight away. You will know instinctively upon reading them, and especially if you log on and listen to it, that the Nürburgring is a dangerous cult that will spread mullets throughout decent society.

What is the Nürburgring? It's an old race track, the longest in the world, and it's open to anyone. It's pleasantly informal for something German and even rather scenic in places. driving around the 'Ring for a laugh – and I have done this a few times – is harmless, unless you collide with the Armco, the trees, that big fence or any of the other obstacles that prompted motorsport's governing bodies to declare it unfit for Formula one racing.

What the Nürburgring isn't, in my view, is an arena of serious scientific enquiry. The 'Ring, like the blower on WO's 4.5-liter Bentley, corrupts performance when it's used by car makers to develop new models. Testing prototype cars on a circuit is nothing new, obviously: it's probably been going on since someone drove a horseless carriage onto a disused donkey derby track. But the 'Ring, through being communal and open to all, encourages a pointless scrabble for comparative lap times that isn't helping you or me.

I may be alone in this, but I reckon that a lot of performance cars I drive lack proper feel. I blame the Nürburgring. Being able to claim that your daily driver holds a production car lap record somewhere in Germany is a good boast down the pub for the feeble minded, and the map of the place that Aston Martin embroidered on the center console of the N400 might make its owners feel superior, but it's all nonsense.

In what way is the Nürburgring like the roads we drive on? There is nothing coming the other way, no pedestrians, no traffic lights, no tractors coming out of fields driven by cider-addled bucolics, no average-speed cameras; nothing, in fact, that makes real driving a sort of feel-as-you-go activity.

In the real world, I reckon handling is more important than grip; in fact I would go so far as to say that cars with genuinely pleasing and intuitive feel are generally a bit short on absolute roadholding – the original Mini, the MX-5, the Perodua Kelisa (no, honest) and even my Panda. These cars, through the offices of that occult and incompletely understood thing we call the man/machine interface, send us messages about what the wheels are doing and what we should do about it.

But when it comes to putting in a good time on a track, grip is paramount. It's why racing teams expend so much effort on producing downforce. The faster you can go through a bend, the sooner you will arrive back at the beginning. I'm simplifying things greatly here – obviously brakes are important, because if you can brake later you can go faster for longer, and power is useful because you can reach a higher speed sooner. But Colin Chapman was spot on when he observed that races are always won in the corners.

So I would contend that cars with a good 'Ring pedigree are generally, and not unlike your correspondent, over-tired. Fat tires kill steering feel, for a start. They also generate bogus inputs through the phenomenon of 'tramlining', and because fat tires need to be low in profile to stop them deforming, the ride goes to the dogs. The ride then loses a fortune at the dogs because the suspension is set up to withstand cornering forces that can't be achieved on the B1108.

None of this bothers your Ringmaster. He can attack corners with impunity, for the reasons outlined above, and because he's already been round a million times he knows exactly what to expect. Speaking personally, however, I tend to drive all over the place, and not just round and round the same road. I never know what's coming next.

I reckon that driving quickly on a road you've never even seen before demands more input than driving around a track that's locked in your brain like the knowledge of how to tie a shoelace. Your understanding will only extend as far as you can see, which means you will have to go slower for most of the time and exploit opportunities for hanging your arse out over the ragged edge only when they present themselves unequivocally. Of what use, here, is a car that will go round that bend four times faster than you can? It will feel clinical and dull at your speed, and will probably punish you the rest of the time with a rotten ride and contrary steering feel.

This is the problem with road cars developed on a track and on the 'Ring in particular. Their prowess can be expressed as a single figure. Because the Nürburgring is a very long circuit, a tiny improvement in outright cornering speed will yield a bigger difference, in terms of tenths of a second saved, than it would on a big roundabout. Therefore it encourages compromise in the areas that actually make a car pleasant to drive. That N400 is the best V8 Aston around the 'Ring, but the standard car is much more enjoyable on the road. Building a car that yields a winning lap time around the track gives you a car that is brilliant at that but nothing else. It comes with an impressive certificate but no real talent.

In reality, performance is a sensation, not an absolute. It's about feedback, understanding, and the pact you establish with the controls and the car's limitations. Consider, um, Chopin. It won't automatically sound better on the concert Bechstein than it will on the beat-up and beer-sodden Joanna in the corner of the pub. What matters is that the person playing it feels the music.

James May