"...Live from Yas Marina Circuit! It's the final showdown of the season...!"
The voice of the live broadcast broke with exuberance, the comntator's tone vibrant but also solemn as his words spilled across the green globe called Earth, like thunder in a calm desert.
The UAE Grand Prix, the 20th and final scheduled race of the Formula 1 calendar this season, had arrived at last. What a stretch it had been, and it was all going to end in the presence of the glowing steel structures that the marvelous Abu Dhabi's Yas Marina Circuit featured elegantly. Stunning neon reflections and pure white floodlights saturated the track in different color streaks, as the world turned its eyes once more to the final battle of machines and man.
"...We welco you to Yas Island, under the lights. This is the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, and while the skies are clear over the Arabian Gulf tonight, the air is thick with mory, tension, and unanswered questions…."
Yas Marina Circuit was one of those strangely aesthetically appealing venues with unreasonable and sophisticated architecture. Since the circuit was located on a billion-dollar island, everything on that island was bound to be immaculate: 5.3 km of fresh, polished tarmac that weaved through glimring marinas and ultramodern grandstands.
Just the evening before, the sa circuit had hosted the crowning of a new but still familiar Formula 2 World Champion, since the previous one wasn't in the sa competition to defend his title. Max Addams clinched the trophy with authority, his na etched into the goldware for the third ti in his career, and he was already getting tired of it and itching for the higher title.
"...Before anything else, we honor the na that's still on every driver's visor, every team's paddock badge, and every heart in this paddock—Ansel Hahn. Gone too soon, never forgotten. His tribute banner remains stretched across Turn 3, glowing faintly against the darkening sky…."
This had been no ordinary season that the motorsport community had coordinated and witnessed. This was a season full of attrition, twists, and reversals. The wet chaos, both literally and figuratively, scorched rubbers and relationships that were already thin. The season had taken so much—way too much that could not be calculated—and given little in return.
Truthfully, this was no ga Prix worth hyping for; even the UAE felt like they had invested unfortunately. The attendance at Yas Marina was 25% less than the attendance at Serpeggiare last year, aning the Italian ga Prix last season was a bigger hit than the UAE ga Prix.
This was difficult to believe because this season had the highest total global participation, TV viewership, and worldwide adoration, surpassing last season's by 55%.
So for the ga Prix to be abruptly poorer than the expectations and investnts funded, it could only an there was a drastic pull away from the Spanish Grand Prix where calamity befell.
It was no surprise that there would be a tiny attendance of German fans. As for English fans, it would be split between Jackson and Haddock. As for Jackson fans, they had no intention of watching another race of Di Renzo and Hardy bopping around while their rivals, Squadra and Luigi, lift the goldware.
"...Twenty races. Hundreds of pit stops. Countless overtakes. And now—the curtain falls here. This is the last dance..."
"...a sad dance, actually. A few of our most iconic drivers will not be participating in this UAE ga Prix. A na off the grid tonight is Rennick—confird weeks ago, the driver will not take the championship title this season. What a bitter pill for a man who gave it everything this year. We wish him a quick recovery from his heroic acts and would love to see him back in action by next season…"
"...And it's hard not to ntion what this race might have looked like had Marcellus Rodnick not been handed that devastating "suspension." A driver of his caliber, the reigning F1 champion… stripped out of the fight just as things were turning. The fans haven't forgotten, even if the scoreboard has..."
****
Back in Saanen, Switzerland, a few hours before lights out in Abu Dhabi, snow had started falling again. Since it was already November, the intensity was greater now.
The main living room was warm and cozy as everyone got ready to watch the race. They were joined by a certain family of four with the last na Rosenfield.
They were a very wealthy family that had co on a premature Christmas holiday in Switzerland. Their building in Saanen was on a ridge overlooking the nearest valley to Luca's chalet. So, when their second child, the boy, had been at the local indoor climbing center earlier in the week when Vance and Luca were passing by, the boy recognized Luca's gait even before the young man took off his parka.
The family ca to learn that Luca Rennick had been recovering in their very backyard this whole ti. And since then, they hadn't let him and the gang rest.Of course, this evening, they'd join in to watch the race; that was why they were present: Andreas, Petra, and their two children, Florian and Anika.
All eyes were on the screen that displayed the Yas Marina Circuit, its neon-lit curves and glowing grandstands casting a srizing spectacle, except for two people: Luca and Andreas Rosenfield.
Luca had ntioned to Mallow that he was embarking on an evening nine-kiloter trek, a late Daily Quest commissioned by the system as if it deliberately intended he miss the race.
But as Luca stepped outside, pulling his hood tight and starting down the trail lit dimly by post-lanterns and the moon above, he heard soone call out after him.
It was Andreas, and the family man was already dressed for what seed to be a hike too.
'I can rewatch this ga Prix. But I've never walked a snowy pass with Luca Rennick. I can't miss this chance,' the man thought deeply and requested to join Luca.
Luca pondered briefly before he agreed, and they set off into the stillness of the countryside. He expected so good tales, dad jokes, and fatherly advice from Andreas, and he got just that.
Reviews
All reviews (0)