***

This is a story about a cooler.

A well-prepared journey can be better than its end. As someone who cannot be without music, my iPhone is jacked into the cigarette lighter to keep charged, the radio transmitter on standby for those barren wastelands of endless old country stations, talk radio, and Jesus. When we cross into Texas, we’ll stop to pick up a map from the state tourism bureau. There’s something cool about being able to study a map and plan a route, exploring different ways to get from Point A to Point B. I also slightly mistrust Apple Maps, honestly.

For us the drive is over twice as long as the Indianapolis adventure. For a trip like this we’ll stash a cooler with ice and drinks in the back seat. This cooler is an important part of the adventure — unassuming, nondescript, yet essential to overall road trip success. I’ll also make sure we’re stocked with snacks — salty, delicious pioneer food. The emergency battery charger/starter goes in the trunk, next to the toolkit and suitcases. Oil’s changed; tires look excellent. . . well, good enough to get through 1,200 miles.

Ensuring access to power for your various electronic devices is essential. Earlier this year, when Chris and I crashed Indianapolis 500 Pole Day, I destroyed my iPhone’s battery in four hours. Until tracks and sponsors figure out how to incorporate charging stations into their displays (captive audiences, HELLO) you will need to prepare. Armed with a battery extender and a small portable charger, the phone should be able to make it through massive amounts of on-track tweets and pictures.

Four hours, for the record, is not even a half-day on track. . . and you need to plan on being on-track all day. Every day.

I recognize many choose to attend on race day only, or cannot get away from work or obligations to attend a full three-day race weekend. With that said, I strongly encourage everyone to try to attend a full race weekend at least once in their life. (Yes, everyone — even non-Formula 1 fans.) There’s something magical about being on track, something I’ve not witnessed at other events.

I have several logical reasons for asking you to drag your tired bones out of bed at ohgodthirty to open the gates. The most obvious reason concerns crowds. There are generally fewer people on the Friday and Saturday of a race weekend. This is often the best time to get pictures, particularly of the cars in the pits.

At least, this used to be the case: I am not sure if fans will be able to move around to different seats during Friday and Saturday sessions in Austin. At the Indianapolis track, you purchased a general admission ticket for Friday and Saturday — seats were only assigned for Sunday, and only if you didn’t purchase general admission. You could also move to other seats once the race started, provided you weren’t displacing others. I am not sure if this will hold true in Texas.

Traffic will also be an issue at this race. This is not Indianapolis; the road system around the Austin track is not prepared for an onslaught of vehicles. It’s going to be an unholy mess. Accept this and prepare accordingly. Leave early. Anticipate delays. Remember that cooler, in this column about a cooler? It gets filled with beer and water and left in the car. After a long day on track, spend a little time rehydrating in the parking lot (responsibly, of course) and chatting with fellow race fans. It’s much more pleasant than fuming in a gridlocked vehicle.

If you think your phone camera will suffice, I have bad news for you. It won’t. I hope you can get your hands on a cheap SLR, unless you’re in an area of the track where the cars will be particularly slow. You’ll get a lot of beautiful pictures of the tarmac, and maybe a blurred rear wing. Bring the point-and-shoot — and extra memory cards, just in case — but don’t rely on it as your primary camera if you’re looking to get good shots of the car on track.

Another option? Forget about taking pictures. Scrape the Internet after the event and see what others post instead. Laugh at those of us with a heavy camera around our neck, too busy hunting for the next shot to appreciate the enormity of the event. Either way, you’re guaranteed to have a good time.

Bring sunscreen. I don’t care if the race is in June or November. You. Will. Need. It. Spending all day on track will mean your face is exposed, continuously, to the unforgiving Texan sun. Unless you are ensconced in one of the luxurious private boxes or, even better, in the Paddock Club, you’re not going to find overhead protection from the sun. Formula 1 is cool, but it’s not worth skin cancer and scars.

Grab a lanyard for your tickets as soon as you can. I’ve always used this as an excuse to purchase a track lanyard; sometimes sponsors hand out free lanyards at the gate.

Another track essential is cold, hard cash. While the circuit promises ATMs, fees and lines could make that a miserable experience. Chris and I keep a change bag from year to year, cashing out the change immediately before heading to the race. This is our track money — the cash we spend on food and drinks, or on souvenirs. Cash is king on track. Generally, I don’t bring anything on track other than my driver’s license and cash — no credit cards or ATM cards if I can help it. I’m hauling enough as it is; the more I leave behind the better.

More essentials to litter your bag: earplugs.  Spring for the ones that have the plastic cord between them — you can knot them to a hat or your ticket lanyard (or loop them around your neck), instead of coating them with a thin film of pocket lint. You’ll also want to bring a cheap, disposable rain poncho. Unless you’re slogging through a rainy session at Spa, chances are the flimsy clear plastic ponchos you can pick up for a dollar or two at your local mega-market will more than meet your wet-weather needs.  Throw a pack of gum in your bag, a Sharpie, too: you never know if you’ll meet someone noteworthy on track or on the way to the paddock in the morning. Make sure there’s at least one bottle of water. Keep hydrated; alcoholic beverages don’t count. Wear the most comfortable pair of shoes you own. This is not the time to break in your new cowboy boots (though I am sure they are very cute, best save them for the F1Blog party). You will walk for miles over the course of a race weekend. I’m not exaggerating.

If you’re really into the spirit of things, you might want to bring a flagpole and/or flag to the event. Just remember to be kind — don’t obstruct views; if someone tells you to lower your flag, listen. If you do carry a flag or wear team gear, prepare yourself for a lot of interactions with other fans — the opportunity for Formula 1 fans throughout the US to come together and celebrate a race on home soil creates an indescribable atmosphere.

Finally, airhorns are also (for some, at least, including me) a vital part of on-track action. How else can you provide encouragement to the stragglers during the support races, or the lone car on track during the early stages of Free Practice One? (Fingers crossed they won’t be confiscated by track workers.)

This article really isn’t about a cooler at all. It’s about the community built by and for Formula 1 fans, gathered around a small blue cooler, reliving the day’s adventures with like-minded souls with a beer and a salty snack. Be prepared to experience the unexpected, the sublime and the insane. This is a race weekend. Soak it up. Listen to the engines, to the cacophony of the fans. Feel the sun on your face. Smell the gas and oil and chemicals and beer and sausage and who knows what else as you amble around trackside. Know that, no matter what else happens in your lifetime, that you can say you were part of the 2012 United States Grand Prix.

See you in Turn 12. Find me. I’ll be the one with the blonde hair, purple glasses, black knapsack, large white-and-blue Finnish flag and even larger grin.

—

Doctor Erin Hansman (not that kind of doctor) is an avid enthusiast of Formula 1 motor sport. When not following “the pinnacle of international motor racing” she works for a small, private university in the middle of Missouri wrangling databases, preparing reports, and developing new ways to do things. She can also be found on Twitter via @DrHansman and at her often-neglected personal blog drhansman.com.

I spend a lot of time on Twitter. A LOT. For Formula 1 fans in the United States, it’s another way to band together around our shared love of the sport, 140 characters at a time. I wanted to see how others would respond to a fundamental question in Formula 1. This question defines one in the eyes of others within the realm of Formula 1 — are you the sexy, finely tuned distillation of pure power and raw adrenaline, or are you the sleek embodiment of technical purity?

These questions haunt the minds of Formula 1 fans, and I needed a response to put my mind at ease. To Twitter!

McLaren vs. Ferrari isn’t the only battle on pit lane; however, their rivalry is both longstanding and scandalous. In 2007, McLaren managed to set the dubious record of Highest Fine Ever Levied in the History of Everything — $100,000,000 — when the team was found guilty of breaching Article 151(c) of the International Sporting Code by possessing confidential information concerning systems on another team’s car.

Yes, you read that correctly. One. Hundred. Million. Dollars.

The events of 2007 — colloquially known as Spygate or Stepneygate — are comprehensively documented online and not the primary focus of this article. The short version: Nigel Stepney, ostensibly angry over Ross Brawn’s departure, lashed out against Ferrari by providing engineers from other teams with confidential technical data on various systems used by the Ferrari team on their cars. After a series of investigations, extraordinary meetings (yes, that’s what they are called), testimony from McLaren drivers and team personnel, motions, and other various and sundry gatherings, McLaren (among other teams) was found guilty of “any fraudulent conduct or any act prejudicial to the interests of any competition or to the interests of motor sport generally” (FIA International Sporting Code, p. 58).

Regardless of the other questions raised as part of this entire fiasco, one question begs answering: why would McLaren, a venerable name in its own right, obtain confidential information on another team’s car?

This is Scuderia Ferrari’s F2007, winding through the turns at the 2007 United States Grand Prix. Imagine this beast screaming past you at over 185 miles per hour.

Stare at that picture for a minute, please. Let your eye trace the curve of the nose into the cockpit, winnowing around the engine and skimming over the low rear wing. Can you blame McLaren (or any team) from wanting to know how that machine worked? Sensuous curves of carbon fiber composites wrapped tightly around a core of pure power: a championship-winning combination that dominated the sport for several years.

Ferrari spends a lot of money — we’re talking “you could run a small country on that kind of budget” money — in making their cars perform without sacrificing aesthetics. I’ve never really counted myself among the ranks of Ferrari fans — not even when Raikkonen drove for Ferrari — but even I have to admit the F2007 was a beautiful car.

We’ve all identified a dream company that, if they called tomorrow, we’d leap. The same can be said for Formula 1 employees, and the company in this context is almost always Ferrari. As the oldest team on the modern Formula 1 grid, Scuderia Ferrari represents tenacity, technical brilliance, and an unflagging work ethic. To work for Ferrari is to continue a tradition of greatness. To work for Ferrari is to work for what Enzo Ferrari built, many years ago. To bring victory to Maranello elevates a driver to the highest levels of adoration.

When Chris (my husband) started watching Formula 1, he decided to primarily cheer for Michael Schumacher. Schumacher and Ferrari have always worked incredibly well together. I’m not sure what pacts were made or magic was cast when Ross Brawn, Nigel Stepney, Michael Schumacher, and Jean Todt joined forces at Ferrari, but the results were nothing short of astonishing. Relentlessly pursuing technical perfection, Ferrari dominated the sport for several years and (directly or indirectly) brought about several changes in the regulations. While Schumacher’s last season was not his best, Ferrari still held a dominant position at the front of the field.

Schumacher understood his role within the team — he was there to win each race, to continue the traditions ensconced by Enzo Ferrari several years prior. He developed a strong bond with the team — fans could sense the genuine affection between Schumacher and his engineers. The tifosi adored Schumacher, he gave them what they craved: victory on Sunday afternoon. Schumacher returned the sparkle to Ferrari’s name; he made Ferrari the place where drivers wanted to end their careers, world championship title in hand. In response, Ferrari provided Schumacher with a car that represented art in vehicular form.

I keep mentioning the tifosi, loosely defined as enthusiastic Ferrari fans. This definition is a bit misleading. Substitute “balls-out crazy” for enthusiastic and you may be getting slightly closer to the true definition of the term. Tifosi are the northern lights of Formula 1 racing: impossible to explain; breathtaking in their splendor.

Imagine sitting trackside with thousands of other fans; most wearing at least one piece of team-branded attire. Some fans spend extraordinary wads of cash on team-approved kit: others spend hours designing and applying handcrafted logos to t-shirts. There’s a lot of red. Red tends to dominate the color palette of any given race weekend. Races in the United States are no exception.

It’s roughly six hundred degrees outside. You’ve found a sliver of shade, tucked in under the skyboxes in the main grandstand. You’ve got a good view of the pit lane, and you’ve managed to find yourself situated almost directly across from the Ferrari pits.

Thump. Thump. Thump. THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Are those. . . drums?

Welcome to the wonder and whimsy known as the tifosi. Suddenly, your hand-transferred logo looks shoddy; your team colors pale in comparison to the gloriousness that is the tifosi in their full, slightly inebriated glory.

Drums. Whistles. Singing. Joy.

I snapped this picture on Saturday qualifying during the 2007 United States Grand Prix. Massa’s pit was almost directly across where we were sitting, and this small group of Brazilian tifosi (who technically represent their own subset of tifosi; don’t make me break out the Venn diagram for this one) made sure everyone in the stands knew they were there for Ferrari and Massa. This group sang, banged on a drum, chanted, and cheered. Massa came out of his garage to wave. He had to.

How can you deny the tifosi?

David Baxendale, who provided this image via Creative Commons, better captured the sheer size of tifosi crowds at many venues. It doesn’t hurt this image is from Monza, home of the tifosi:

Imagine standing on that elevated platform in the upper half of the image, wearing Ferrari red. The familiar strains of Italy’s national anthem blare from enormous speakers. Look at those people wearing red. They are all singing along, singing to you, singing because of you. The track becomes the sanctuary; the anthem the tifosi’s hymn. You are the physical embodiment of a nation’s pride.

Call it a religion. Call it a cult. Not everyone’s a member, that’s certain.

This was my first response, and I understand this sentiment completely. I was raised with a bias against Ferrari and a strong love for teams like McLaren and Williams. It’s kind of like raising your kid to like the Cubs or the White Sox. You can’t cheer for both teams, and your choice will shape your destiny for generations. Some families raise their kids to cheer for Ferrari; Dad raised me to cheer for McLaren. When Raikkonen went to Ferrari, I felt betrayed, for I’d have to cheer Ferrari on.

It’s what you do.

I cut my racing teeth following drivers like Mika Hakkinen and David Coulthard, then Raikkonen and Juan Pablo Montoya. I still believe the MP4-20 is one of the most beautiful cars to grace a starting grid. Watching Jenson Button put the MP4-27 through its paces this year makes me wish for a Raikkonen-Button McLaren future pairing.

I’ll be honest: I don’t understand the love for Ferrari, but I accept it. To love Formula 1 is to accept the role of tradition and history in the sport. Ferrari has earned a certain level of respect by virtue of their tenure and role in the sport. McLaren’s sleek, calculating, refined image balances Ferrari’s tempestuous, bold, lavish countenance. Each highlights the strengths and weaknesses of one another; demonstrates the allure and mystery of Formula 1.

NOTE: Lest you think McLaren’s been ignored, I beseech you to wait two weeks before making that determination. I need a Part Two for this.

—

Doctor Erin Hansman (not that kind of doctor) is an avid enthusiast of Formula 1 motor sport. When not following “the pinnacle of international motor racing” she works for a small, private university in the middle of Missouri wrangling databases, preparing reports, and developing new ways to do things. She can also be found on Twitter via @DrHansman and at her often-neglected personal blog drhansman.com.

November 11, 2011

I’m sitting in a small barbecue restaurant over 800 miles from home, having a spirited conversation with a couple of friends about Kimi Raikkonen and his chances of coming back to Formula 1 for the 2012 season after his abrupt 2009 departure. Raikkonen’s been linked throughout the season to several teams, including a couple generally regarded as relative underdogs. One of these teams is Lotus Renault.

The Iceman, as he’s known in the paddock, earned his reputation as a man who cares solely about driving. Rumor has it he sleeps until right before he’s required to be on track for the drivers’ parade. He notoriously hates giving interviews before races. I always thought it was funny when Peter Windsor, former grid commentator for SPEED’s Formula 1 coverage, would never ask him questions before a race, instead proffering a heartfelt “good luck” before slipping away.

Racing reigns supreme for Raikkonen. Give him a car that won’t break, and he’ll do his best to finish first. It’s that simple. Driving (briefly) for Sauber in 2001 before Ron Dennis and McLaren snapped him up for 2002, Raikkonen then captured the seat vacated by seven-time World Champion Michael Schumacher at the close of the 2006 season, spending three years in Ferrari’s employ.

Drivers dream of finishing their racing careers cloaked in that distinctive shade of scarlet, hearing the cheers of rabid Italian fans (commonly referred to as the tifosi) as they cross the finish line. I challenge you to find a driver on the current Formula 1 grid that would not want to hear the church bells ring in Maranello on Sunday afternoon, commemorating another Ferrari victory. Ferrari exemplifies the history and tradition of the sport. It’s just the way of things in Formula 1.

After his 2009 departure, speculation abounded on whether he’d ever return. Schumacher did it. Could Raikkonen? It appeared, based on various media reports, we’d soon see.

Frank, an incredibly astute and generally awesome guy who’s produced and followed Formula 1 for decades, started laughing at one point. “We came up with a solution for this a long time ago. Lock him in his motorhome before races; let him leave as soon as he’s done on track. Have the team pay the fines. No interviews, no sponsor meetings. Nothing. Kimi does best when he can just shut up and drive.”

—

Recent coverage of Formula 1 echoes one basic sentiment: The teams receive funds directly proportionate to their finish in the constructors’ championship, not the individual results represented in drivers’ championship. There is no direct financial incentive for teams to focus on the results of the drivers’ championship. With that said, Formula 1 cars can’t drive themselves — the driver is the organic extension of the physical vehicle. Teams aggressively court drivers who show they’re able to block out the myriad distractions of the circus and focus on the task at hand.

It also doesn’t hurt if drivers bring sponsors to the team — while the monies won as part of the constructors’ championship are essential to continued team success, sponsors keep the bills paid. It’s fairly easy to see which teams struggle — cars without logos are cars without cash. It’s also easy to see why Frank’s solution simply would not work in a modern Formula 1 team: Sponsors expect drivers to attend various promotional events, smile, shake hands, and sign autographs for fans. In some cases, sponsors can influence driver choices for teams. It’s essential to know how to play the game if you want to do well in Formula 1, but charm doesn’t replace skill. It’s all about finding the right balance.

The month of August is a bit of a respite for teams and journalists covering Formula 1, as they are required to shut down operations for two consecutive weeks during the month of August. While somewhat frustrating for teams looking to continue developing their cars, the break provides teams the opportunity to relax and breathe, if only for a moment. Factory shutdowns mean little transpires during the summer holiday. Idle tracks do not translate into idle minds, however. In the absence of new information, speculation runs amok. In short, this is the start of the “silly season,” where drivers nearing the end of their contract engage in a delicate, intricate dance. Step on too many toes and you’ll find yourself standing next to the wall, watching the others sway and dip to the music while you yearn for what could have been.

The overall structure and insular nature of Formula 1 makes it difficult to break into the sport — but if you play by the rules and excel at your job, you’re in for the ride of your life. The question seems obvious: What are the rules?

While I’ve never managed to find an official list, the following three rules appear to reign supreme, particularly for drivers during the silly season:

• Don’t trash-talk your team, including your teammate. Ever.

This first rule has been recently tested by some of the bigger drivers in the sport, particularly Lewis Hamilton. World Champion in 2008, Hamilton currently finds himself mired in contract negotiations with McLaren-Mercedes, the team he’s been linked to from the time he was a little boy. Signed at 13, Hamilton previously expressed his desire to spend his entire career there. Over the past year, however, he’s made comments insinuating this may no longer be the case. In fact, as I write this, Hamilton is currently mired in a bit of Twitter controversy over remarks he’s made about his place within the team. Teams work diligently to preserve a calm, unified front to the media; rogue comments by disgruntled drivers can destroy this work in seconds. Bruised egos, a tight championship, and rumor-mill machinations make these trying times for teams.

Raikkonen generally excels at following this rule. His responses to the press are legendary, and generally contain some variation of, “The car is good. I am happy with the car. For sure we have a good package and the team has been working very hard, but it is the same for everyone and we will just need to wait and see what happens during the race.”

True driver skill does not exist solely on track. In Formula 1, as in countless other organizations, knowing your message as well as your audience is essential for continued success.

• There’s a difference between on-track competition and off-track rivalry. Burn too many bridges in Formula 1 and you may find yourself on the outside looking in.

If you’ve followed the sport for a while, you’re acutely aware of this second rule. The longer you’re in the sport, the more likely you are to jump between teams. This applies to all team personnel — drivers, engineers, mechanics, everyone. If you watch the teams talk about one another, you’ll quickly notice they rarely directly slam their competitors. While drivers and team personnel may discuss their team’s improvements, and how they have worked on their package over the season, there’s a definite lack of malice between teams.

Personally and professionally, this makes for a more harmonious paddock. It also provides the teams with the ability to band together when necessary to push for more driver/team representation in the sport. It’s also hard to be mean to those you’re surrounded by daily, and even harder to denigrate those who may be working with you next year.

• Dog brain reigns supreme. You’re only as good as your last race. Keep consistently performing (preferably at the front of the grid) and you’re set.

“Dog brain” was a phrase coined by my husband to explain the behavior of non-playable characters (NPCs) in games like Oblivion and Skyrim. Dog brain, as defined by Chris, is when your character receives a new quest or challenge from the NPC as part of the ongoing game. Upon exiting the menu and leaving the interaction, the NPC asks if you’ve completed that task yet: dog brain. This can be applied, to a certain extent, in Formula 1.

Recent history is much more important than what happened in the past. Successful teams continuously improve. The past provides a reference plane; it does not dictate the future. Perform your best, every race.

Learn these rules, or leave the sport. Shut up and drive.

—

Doctor Erin Hansman (not that kind of doctor) is an avid enthusiast of Formula 1 motor sport. When not following “the pinnacle of international motor racing” she works for a small, private university in the middle of Missouri wrangling databases, preparing reports, and developing new ways to do things. She can also be found on Twitter via @DrHansman and at her often-neglected personal blog drhansman.com.

Many people believe geekdom is defined by a love of a thing, but I think […] that the true sign of a geek is a delight in sharing a thing. […] When a geek sees someone else grooving on the thing they love, their reaction is to say “ZOMG YOU LOVE WHAT I LOVE COME WITH ME AND LET US LOVE IT TOGETHER.”

— John Scalzi, “Who Gets To Be a Geek? Anyone Who Wants to Be”

February 1, 2012

I’m in my office, reading through various tweets and articles. Formula 1 season is over a month away, and news revolves around car launches and testing dates.

Luke spies a flash of silver and peers over my shoulder.

“That car looks like sex on wheels.”

“That car” is the McLaren MP4-27. Shrouded in liquid silver, a slender nose melds seamlessly with the safety cell comprising the majority of the car, enveloping the driver in a protective cocoon of carbon fiber. Sleek sidepods channel air around the car, providing a cooling breeze for the 2.4L V8 Mercedes housed immediately behind the driver. The rear wing, jutting from the car’s rear, helps these incredibly lightweight cars stick to the track — and also provides sponsors a handy platform to tout their brand to millions of potential customers. When you’re talking about a car costing anywhere between $300-500 million to create, survival relies on sponsorship.

Sex on wheels is only part of the story.

—

Formula 1: Fast cars, laboriously preened and groomed by teams of talented engineers and mechanics into a pure distillation of performance. Twelve teams compete for the coveted constructors’ championship, prize money for the series goes to the winning team. Instead of one or two companies building chassis for the different teams, as you may see in NASCAR or IndyCar, each team is responsible for designing, manufacturing, testing, and developing their cars. Following a set of technical regulations created and issued by the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), each team spends countless hours testing and refining each component on the car to wring out every last drop of speed. Parts are continuously refined, tested, used; lather, rinse, repeat. Teams who stop developing their cars — either by choice or by circumstance — plummet through the ranks as rivals scramble to find that extra tenth in the corner. Why? That extra tenth can mean millions for a team.

These twenty-four cars house twenty-four drivers, culled from every racing series imaginable, campaigning not only for their constructors but also for the drivers’ championship. These drivers spend untold hours physically and mentally conditioning their bodies to become an extension of the car; one cannot exist without the other. They race for money, fame, and glory; they also race for the ability to carry the number one on the nose of their car the following year, forever afforded the title World Champion.

It’s a grueling schedule, honestly. In 2012, drivers and teams compete at twenty circuits scattered throughout the world. Historic tracks, like Monaco and Spa, mingle with purpose-built circuits, freshly paved and ready for the upcoming challenge. As the sport evolves, the tracks evolve as well. Newer tracks, like those in Shanghai and Dubai, often see top speeds of 190 mph, but top speed is but one aspect of the total package. Cars make anywhere between 14 and 25 turns on each track, with most tracks running clockwise. Some of these turns can be taken at high speed, but most are best navigated at around 45 mph. This rapid acceleration and deceleration, over and over for anywhere between 57 and 70 laps, takes its toll on man and machine. It’s a beautiful, graceful, exhausting dance.

Tracks pass a stringent series of checks before they can be approved for a race event, and the sport’s regulators emphasize safety. Modern tracks provide drivers with vast expanses of asphalt outside the official track limits (typically marked by brightly-painted curbs), so cars running off-track have room to safely rejoin. Older tracks use gravel instead of asphalt; historic tracks like Monaco rely on safety barriers and tire walls. Fleets of medical personnel hover around the track, ready to spring into action if needed. Armies of marshals and track personnel communicate to drivers throughout the course of the race, using a series of colored flags to designate different warnings or messages.

As fans, we cannot confuse safety with a lack of danger. This sport is dangerous. Drivers make their money pushing the limits of the car, every corner of every lap. Engineers and mechanics make their money ensuing the car is as light and aerodynamically efficient as possible, but continuous development coupled with a relative lack of on-track testing means no assurances of reliability. Drivers must be able to pressure one another without using their car as a wedge — to touch is to risk everything.

Every race weekend brings a mix of intrigue, talent, politics, wealth, technology, gossip, and speculation. As a student of organizational theory fascinated with figuring out how people work within organizations — and how organizations work within larger systems — it’s fascinating to watch interplay between teams. There’s something for everyone in Formula 1.

—

June 17, 2005

We’re standing on the infield at Turn 11, perched atop one of the grassy swells dotting the track’s edge. We left at 2:30 in the morning to ensure we’d be on track in time for the weekend’s first practice session. For my birthday, my mom and dad bought me a pair of tickets (and a coveted parking pass) to the USGP. It’s my first on-track experience; the smile on my face from sheer joy would shame the Cheshire cat.

I’m alternately waving and holding a large Finnish flag. My husband (new to Formula 1), stands next to me, clutching an air-horn and staring intently at the track. Our ears fill with the sound of V10s as the cars fire-up in the pits and find their way to the slick, clean track. Initial laps deposit fresh rubber on track, providing cars with increased grip as time ticks away. Tentative installation laps soon shift to full-fledged madness. Cars dash through the corner, dancing on the edge of breaking contact, but always managing to skitter through. I’m taking hundreds of pictures, trying to capture everything.

“Ah! I see we’ve found some fellow Raikkonen fans! Mind if we join you?”

I turn and see two friendly gentlemen, one with a shock of brilliantly white hair and a matching handlebar(!) moustache. His eyes smile at us. “I’m Scott. Nice to meet you.”

His friend grins and shakes hands. “I’m John.”

“I’m Erin. This is my husband, Chris. Nice to meet you, too.”

—

Formula 1 fans in the United States — usually spotted roaming in packs at the wee hours of the morning on Twitter — face a maddening, uphill battle. NASCAR reigns supreme, particularly in the Midwest and South. If, like me, you live twenty-five miles from Carl Edwards’ hometown, you can’t escape. Co-workers stop me in the hallway to tell me they watched “some of that racing you like,” then proceed to describe Sunday’s IndyCar race. (I always mentally give bonus points if said race was held on an oval track.) I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve explained Danica Patrick’s non-role in Formula 1. There are worse things in life than having to explain this, I suppose.

I completely understand why people confuse IndyCar with Formula 1 in the United States. At first glance, both types of cars look similar: they are both open-wheeled cars with large front and rear wings. The driver sits in the center of the car; there’s an engine behind the driver. It doesn’t help that many of the names cross over between the two series, and have for several decades, including Villeneuve, Bourdais, Barrichello, and Montoya. The United States also has a less-than-stellar track record at keeping a Formula 1 race — it’s been five years since Formula 1 cars raced in the States. Race organizers must be willing to pony up large sums of cash for the honor of holding a Formula 1 race at their track; refuse to pay and Mr. Ecclestone will sell your slot to any number of other tracks openly salivating at the prospect of holding a race. The upcoming inaugural Austin race at the Circuit of the Americas holds great promise for the future of Formula 1 in the United States. I hope it works. This sport is awesome. I want others to share in its awesomeness.

My name is Erin Hansman. I’ve followed Formula 1 for a long time, but more closely since 2001. I live-tweet every session of every race, but I never spoil delayed broadcasts. I cheer unabashedly for Kimi Raikkonen. I’m an F1 geek, and an advocate for the fan. Join me.

—

Doctor Erin Hansman (not that kind of doctor) is an avid enthusiast of Formula 1 motor sport. When not following “the pinnacle of international motor racing” she works for a small, private university in the middle of Missouri wrangling databases, preparing reports, and developing new ways to do things. She can also be found on Twitter via @DrHansman and at her often-neglected personal blog drhansman.com.