When I enter the small, cluttered box at the Dijon-Prenois circuit, a car stripped, made of carbon and steel, clears the voice of its little V6 with blue cylinder heads. The thin fiberglass skin, in one piece, of the Renault RE40 rests in the immediate vicinity on two trestles.
Besides the yellow, white and black war paint, one detail captures my attention: a discreet “ Cheers » flanked by a tricolor flag. The exhaust fumes catch my throat, sting my eyes, my fingers buried in my ears are not enough to alleviate the pain in my eardrums and, yet, my mind is hypnotized by this decal of five letters.
The scene probably wouldn't be so fiercely ingrained in the retinas of my eyes if I wasn't in a suit and expected to pilot this same car for the next five minutes. There are experiences that shake you up, turn you upside down and mark your life with a hot iron. Take command of a Formula 1, for the first time, does not leave intact. Besides the existential questioning which consists of wondering how I could have found myself in such a situation, I doubt my abilities to tame such a machine.
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