To Canada and back
Jun. 12th, 2007 04:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonwiseJust back from our yearly trip to Montreal. It wasn't a good year for Ferrari, but we did see the new British wunderkind Lewis Hamilton win his maiden GP. We also saw a horrific crash (search "Robert Kubica crash" on youtube; the videos have been getting TOSed) that miraculously resulted in nothing more than a mild concussion and a sprained ankle for the driver.
It occurs to me that I've been going to Montreal for four years, and I've never really told all you guys out in LJ-land what we do there.
We always start out at about 2 AM on Thursday morning so we can get to the Bridgestone-sponsored pit walkthrough. Husband's car buddy Jason usually joins us, though he couldn't come this year. The pit lane is open to the public, and you can look into the pits, albeit from a safely cordoned-off distance. The teams bustle about through the spectators getting ready for race day. If you are lucky, you might see one of the F1 drivers out walking the track (I saw Jenson Button) or one of the cars might be wheeled through the crowd to tech inspection. I can't say I find this walkthrough to be terribly interesting - after four years, it's gotten old - but husband really likes it, so we keep going.
You're supposed to need tickets for the event, but they're hardly necessary. In the past, I made a fool out of myself calling around in my crappy French to Quebecois Bridgestone dealers trying to get passes, but they hand out the tickets about ten yards from the entrance. You get your little pass, walk twenty steps, and then show the pass to the usher. The passes litter the ground and are obviously meaningless. So, why bother?
We stay at McGill University, which is hardly luxe accommodations, but it's cheap. The dorm we stay in now is steps from the metro, but we've gotten stuck on the Frat Boy Floor for the past two years. While we do understand that it is their prerogative to drink beer and chainsmoke, pointedly ripping the "Women's Washroom" signs off the bathroom doors and making me uncomfortable about using the toilet is downright rude. This year, I ended up having to go to another floor to pee. It sucked.
Food in Montreal, to borrow![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tiggymalvern's metaphor, is like French wine: either it's awesome or it's terrible. We have our restaurants we go to now, which are off the beaten path and away from the mob scene of Peel and Crescent Streets. It's not very adventurous, but even Fodor's gets it wrong sometimes. They recommended an Italian place we went to, and in Jason's immortal words, "What brand of can opener do you use?" (for tomato sauce.)
The whole city parties all weekend, and the party centers around Peel St. and Crescent St. Thursday night is definitely the best for Ferrari lovers - the Ferrari Club of Quebec lines the street with their prizes, and people gather around to look. Mr. "Pimp My Ferrari" was back this year. It's not enough for him to have a well-bred Italian sports car; no, he has to put an extra wing, more badging, and extra lights on it. The car is yellow, and he has a yellow sport jacket and black shirt to match. Nothing could scream "GINZO" any louder. I showed a picture of Mr. Pimp My Ferrari to the resident tifoso here at work, and I think he was personally offended by the sacrilege. (A tifoso, pl. tifosi, is an Italian sports fan; generally refers to Ferrari fans. It's not a fandom, it's a religion.)
The big party is on Crescent Street. They rope off two blocks, and all weekend there is a big Honda-sponsored event: display cars, driving games, cover bands, vendor stands, lots of people seeing and being seen, lots of noise. They get decent cover bands, too, although one year they were launching Britney Spears' new cologne with a performance by some very bad dancers.
First day at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. Our seats are on the Hairpin (L'Epingle), and they provide a good view and a short walk. The first year, our seats were a two-mile walk from the metro. That was awful. The seats back up onto the St. Lawrence-fed artificial lake that was created for crew events during the Olympics, and that's quite nice when it's hot and you want to go stick your feet in the water. Friday's events are all practice for the F1 race and practice and qualifying for the support races that take place over the weekend. Not the most interesting day, which is why I tend to spend that morning sleeping in, wandering around the Underground City, or walking down Rue St. Catherine (past the classy establishments "Super Sexe" and "Chateau du Sexe.")
We usually have dinner at La Caveau, a nice French restaurant right around the corner. It's never crowded on race weekend, and the food is very very good, as is the wine list. For dessert, the maple tart is a little slice of heaven, and we ask for a piece to be set aside before we order anything else.
Stuff that actually matters happens on Saturday. The F1 cars have their qualifying session, and the support series have some of their races. For sheer entertainment value, nothing beats the support races. The Formula BMW series is junior league for aspiring young drivers, and it is extremely fun to watch. Most of the drivers are teenaged kids, and they drive like maniacs, going three wide into corners and smacking into one another and spinning out in spectacular fashion. Last year, there was a smashup on the last lap, and one of the kids involved decided to finish the race in reverse because he'd lost his forward gears. The crowd went nuts.
There's also the Ferrari Challenge series, which is a testament to money. These owners are not only rich enough to own 360 Modenas and Challenge Stradales, they also are rich enough to race them. Some of these cars are in sorry shape by the end of the race, and it'd cost a years' worth of my salary to get them back into racing order. Unreal. In previous years, there was a Honda Civic race, and that was great fun as well. Imagine a bunch of ricey-looking tuners careening around the track on two wheels in the corners, tires squealing, and you'll be there.
Race day! The stands are packed, the metro is packed, if you have to use the bathroom after about 12:30, you are screwed because you're not going anywhere. Flags are flying, everyone's in team colors, and the atmosphere is electric. People bring lunches and picnic in the shade, and the hills and banks around the track are packed with lawn chairs. Our section had the distinctive honor of getting "The Wave" going this year. After some other support races, the F1 drivers have their little parade around and wave to the crowd, and then they get down to business.
The race itself can be quite boring, honestly. I have dozed off during races. If someone gets out in front with a 30-second interval, there's not a lot to watch. This year was quite exciting, though, with four safety-car periods, pit lane drama, a black flag for my driver Felipe Massa, Kubica's terrible crash that happened right in front of us, and a rookie on the top step. It was also a bad day to be a beaver - one of the Super Aguri cars nailed one.
There was a very exciting moment for good ol' Takuma Sato, who is known more for his tendency to smash into things than for his driving skill. The Super Aguri team is new this year, and they took castoff cars from the Honda team, and no one expected them to do much besides be back-markers. However, Taku had a grand day out, and towards the end of the race, he overtook the faltering World Champion Fernando Alonso for 6th place. The crowd cheered its collective head off.
After the race, we always go out onto the track and walk the track before going home. This is another part I'd rather skip, because it's a freaking long walk, but husband loves it. I usually pick up some marbles (racing slang for worn bits of tire) and this year I took some pebbles from the gravel trap. Husband industriously examines the racing lines and analyzes the wrecks, usually with his car buddy Jason. This year, our walk was shorter (timewise) than normal, because I am not interested in picking over the minutiae of car wrecks and tire marks.
Back in town, it's like Christmas is over. The crowds are going home, the party is packing up, the store windows so gaily decorated with flags and tires are closing down. It's such a letdown. We stay that night because otherwise it's just too much for one day, but we're out bright and early the next morning.
Six and a half hours gets us home, and husband was yesterday bemoaning not having a F1 game so that he could relive his experience by tearing around the track. Now I have lots of laundry to do!
It occurs to me that I've been going to Montreal for four years, and I've never really told all you guys out in LJ-land what we do there.
We always start out at about 2 AM on Thursday morning so we can get to the Bridgestone-sponsored pit walkthrough. Husband's car buddy Jason usually joins us, though he couldn't come this year. The pit lane is open to the public, and you can look into the pits, albeit from a safely cordoned-off distance. The teams bustle about through the spectators getting ready for race day. If you are lucky, you might see one of the F1 drivers out walking the track (I saw Jenson Button) or one of the cars might be wheeled through the crowd to tech inspection. I can't say I find this walkthrough to be terribly interesting - after four years, it's gotten old - but husband really likes it, so we keep going.
You're supposed to need tickets for the event, but they're hardly necessary. In the past, I made a fool out of myself calling around in my crappy French to Quebecois Bridgestone dealers trying to get passes, but they hand out the tickets about ten yards from the entrance. You get your little pass, walk twenty steps, and then show the pass to the usher. The passes litter the ground and are obviously meaningless. So, why bother?
We stay at McGill University, which is hardly luxe accommodations, but it's cheap. The dorm we stay in now is steps from the metro, but we've gotten stuck on the Frat Boy Floor for the past two years. While we do understand that it is their prerogative to drink beer and chainsmoke, pointedly ripping the "Women's Washroom" signs off the bathroom doors and making me uncomfortable about using the toilet is downright rude. This year, I ended up having to go to another floor to pee. It sucked.
Food in Montreal, to borrow
tiggymalvern's metaphor, is like French wine: either it's awesome or it's terrible. We have our restaurants we go to now, which are off the beaten path and away from the mob scene of Peel and Crescent Streets. It's not very adventurous, but even Fodor's gets it wrong sometimes. They recommended an Italian place we went to, and in Jason's immortal words, "What brand of can opener do you use?" (for tomato sauce.) The whole city parties all weekend, and the party centers around Peel St. and Crescent St. Thursday night is definitely the best for Ferrari lovers - the Ferrari Club of Quebec lines the street with their prizes, and people gather around to look. Mr. "Pimp My Ferrari" was back this year. It's not enough for him to have a well-bred Italian sports car; no, he has to put an extra wing, more badging, and extra lights on it. The car is yellow, and he has a yellow sport jacket and black shirt to match. Nothing could scream "GINZO" any louder. I showed a picture of Mr. Pimp My Ferrari to the resident tifoso here at work, and I think he was personally offended by the sacrilege. (A tifoso, pl. tifosi, is an Italian sports fan; generally refers to Ferrari fans. It's not a fandom, it's a religion.)
The big party is on Crescent Street. They rope off two blocks, and all weekend there is a big Honda-sponsored event: display cars, driving games, cover bands, vendor stands, lots of people seeing and being seen, lots of noise. They get decent cover bands, too, although one year they were launching Britney Spears' new cologne with a performance by some very bad dancers.
First day at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. Our seats are on the Hairpin (L'Epingle), and they provide a good view and a short walk. The first year, our seats were a two-mile walk from the metro. That was awful. The seats back up onto the St. Lawrence-fed artificial lake that was created for crew events during the Olympics, and that's quite nice when it's hot and you want to go stick your feet in the water. Friday's events are all practice for the F1 race and practice and qualifying for the support races that take place over the weekend. Not the most interesting day, which is why I tend to spend that morning sleeping in, wandering around the Underground City, or walking down Rue St. Catherine (past the classy establishments "Super Sexe" and "Chateau du Sexe.")
We usually have dinner at La Caveau, a nice French restaurant right around the corner. It's never crowded on race weekend, and the food is very very good, as is the wine list. For dessert, the maple tart is a little slice of heaven, and we ask for a piece to be set aside before we order anything else.
Stuff that actually matters happens on Saturday. The F1 cars have their qualifying session, and the support series have some of their races. For sheer entertainment value, nothing beats the support races. The Formula BMW series is junior league for aspiring young drivers, and it is extremely fun to watch. Most of the drivers are teenaged kids, and they drive like maniacs, going three wide into corners and smacking into one another and spinning out in spectacular fashion. Last year, there was a smashup on the last lap, and one of the kids involved decided to finish the race in reverse because he'd lost his forward gears. The crowd went nuts.
There's also the Ferrari Challenge series, which is a testament to money. These owners are not only rich enough to own 360 Modenas and Challenge Stradales, they also are rich enough to race them. Some of these cars are in sorry shape by the end of the race, and it'd cost a years' worth of my salary to get them back into racing order. Unreal. In previous years, there was a Honda Civic race, and that was great fun as well. Imagine a bunch of ricey-looking tuners careening around the track on two wheels in the corners, tires squealing, and you'll be there.
Race day! The stands are packed, the metro is packed, if you have to use the bathroom after about 12:30, you are screwed because you're not going anywhere. Flags are flying, everyone's in team colors, and the atmosphere is electric. People bring lunches and picnic in the shade, and the hills and banks around the track are packed with lawn chairs. Our section had the distinctive honor of getting "The Wave" going this year. After some other support races, the F1 drivers have their little parade around and wave to the crowd, and then they get down to business.
The race itself can be quite boring, honestly. I have dozed off during races. If someone gets out in front with a 30-second interval, there's not a lot to watch. This year was quite exciting, though, with four safety-car periods, pit lane drama, a black flag for my driver Felipe Massa, Kubica's terrible crash that happened right in front of us, and a rookie on the top step. It was also a bad day to be a beaver - one of the Super Aguri cars nailed one.
There was a very exciting moment for good ol' Takuma Sato, who is known more for his tendency to smash into things than for his driving skill. The Super Aguri team is new this year, and they took castoff cars from the Honda team, and no one expected them to do much besides be back-markers. However, Taku had a grand day out, and towards the end of the race, he overtook the faltering World Champion Fernando Alonso for 6th place. The crowd cheered its collective head off.
After the race, we always go out onto the track and walk the track before going home. This is another part I'd rather skip, because it's a freaking long walk, but husband loves it. I usually pick up some marbles (racing slang for worn bits of tire) and this year I took some pebbles from the gravel trap. Husband industriously examines the racing lines and analyzes the wrecks, usually with his car buddy Jason. This year, our walk was shorter (timewise) than normal, because I am not interested in picking over the minutiae of car wrecks and tire marks.
Back in town, it's like Christmas is over. The crowds are going home, the party is packing up, the store windows so gaily decorated with flags and tires are closing down. It's such a letdown. We stay that night because otherwise it's just too much for one day, but we're out bright and early the next morning.
Six and a half hours gets us home, and husband was yesterday bemoaning not having a F1 game so that he could relive his experience by tearing around the track. Now I have lots of laundry to do!
