Image

German Whip: Alpine A110

Seen on Gustav-Meyer-Allee while biking back from rehearsals. Pretty much my dream modern blue hoonage. And for real, the Alpine A110 looks mad tight in real life. The photos I’d seen do not do justice. And how extra sikk against the ’80s German modernist gold window architecture? Very.

Pretty sure I saw an original A110 (the 1961–77 model) at Autoworld Brussels and it’s a strong fave for that generation of non-German Euro-hoonage what gets me right in the butt. And off- but actually on-topic, why the fuck does Berlin not have a car museum? Seriously, this city hates life itself. No idea who drives this, 10/10 still would bone. “Keep it moving earphones in.”

Gallery

Give Me Rafaela Moreno’s Race Suit

Yeah, I binged Fast & Furious Spy Racers: Rio. Of course I did. And fuck me if Rafaela Moreno’s race suit isn’t the motorsport I live for. Very much want. Very much wish I could serve Femme Hoonage Realness like that and very much love her thrashing Group C cars around Rio. And Avrielle Corti voicing her? 👩🏼‍🍳😙👌🏼💯

Image

Maximum Hoonage Nürburgring

Still a better German Ring story than Wagner’s Ring Cycle.

Yes, I did buy a Nürburgring t-shirt and hoodie. Yes, the hoodie Ring is reflective. Yes, there is a future where I will spend silly money to do laps on the Nordschleife. Preferably at night in the rain.

Image

24 Hour Nürburgring COVID-19 2020 Finish

24 hours with no racing from before midnight till eight in the morning. So much rain. 15.452 seconds between the 1st place Bimmer and the 2nd place Audi.

Charlie Martin coming in 57th and 4th in class, and racing first and last sessions.

And how diligent and unremarkable was all the mask wearing? Maybe it’s because drivers and crews are used to wearing things over their faces, but doing a transmission replacement in the wet at midnight and keeping those noses and mouths covered shows how basic and possible it is to Wear a Fucking Mask. And as soon as the winning driver was out of his car, there was someone there with a mask.

It’s so much easier and less bullshit if the rule is you have to wear a mask at all times, no exceptions. Everyone did it, very few noses exposed, everyone did it and not just for the cameras. Maybe it took the race organisers setting the rules and consequences which achieved this level of getting it right. Drivers and teams have a very strict set of non-negotiable race rules to adhere to, making this just one more rule to either follow or not race at all. Very comfortable with doing it like this.

I truly love this race, love the Nürburgring and love that in the middle of a pandemic they did the work to create this gorgeous bit of hoonage art.

Image

Charlie Martin 24 Hour Nürburgring 2020

Seven hours in. Night and rain and hydroplaning and attrition. Giti ladies women Girls Only team shredding a sikk as VW Golf VI GTI. Bad weather Red Flag, all the cars garaged and crews stripping and cleaning.

And the two old Brit geezer commentators shoutout to Charlie Martin. I have never heard motorsport commentators saying, “trans woman.” Ever. Barely ever are there cis women drivers, and from Bubba Wallace in NASCAR to Lewis Hamilton in F1 barely ever seen Black drivers. They got her pronouns right, they used her middle name, Christina, also, just in case Charlie was too unisex for us hoons, they got the terminology and context down too.

Any dickhead saying this isn’t relevant / leave politics out of sport / something something meritocracy / what’s that got to do with racing, on God I will call them a waahmbulance once I’ve sorted their ‘opinions’ with my mechanic baba’s Snap-On tools.

I’ve always been a hoon and loved motorsport. I’m already old cunt auntie and Charlie racing at Nürburgring 24h, being respectfully spoken about by the commentators, all that, is so fucking important.

Image

24 Hour Nürburgring Safe Space

“… hollow-eyed victims of some sort of weird abuse”

My absolute favourite race. It could only be better if Le Mans Prototype cars were also racing. I genuinely, completely love this.

This year, thanks to the pandemic and Europe’s meh response, the race is in autumn, a couple of weeks after Le Mans 24h, and in heaps of rain. Heaps of rain. It’s going to be messy, dirty attrition.

And! Charlie Martin is racing! No. 242 BMW M240i. Yup, there’s a trans woman exactly right now shredding the ’Ring.

Image

German Whip: Toyota Land Cruiser J76 Hardtop

Seen off Sonnenallee, desert sand immaculate and shiny with tires looking like they haven’t rolled further than showroom to transporter, a 2018 or later (I think) Toyota Land Cruiser J76 Hardtop absolutely stunting. The thing that got me is the Tunisian temporary registration / foreign residents license plate. Yes, Wikipedia has a truly work-of-art beautiful per-country documentation of license plates, and yes, I went through every Arabic or adjacent or possibly country looking at the plates as soon as I worked out ن ت was not a country abbreviation, and yes, I was dead pleased and relieved when I finally saw those two letters. “20 Pound of Diesel mate”

Image

German Whip: Buick Park Avenue Ultra

Seen on Uferstraße, Berlin-Wedding parked outside Uferhallen while Dasniya and I were doing veeery slow blockies on foot post-gigantic steamed fish lunch and coma-ed out. A 2003–2005 Buick Park Avenue Ultra, yeah fukken Ultraaaa says so on above the back bumper and triple vents above the front wheel arch and Supercharged! Not a turbo but Americans love their whirring superchargers bolted to V8s — or V6 in this case. Here for the burgundy with a hint of purple deep paint job, wads of chrome especially on the b-pillar, and Those Rims! True early-’00s tuner style and I’m generally not into American cars but shit looks low-key tight. “If I fill up my tank it’ll make me late.”

“I fell in love with you, watching you cycle.”

Off for my afternoon training ride, picking through traffic on Reuterstraße, crossing Sonnenallee and there’s a big unit of 4WD behind me. I was feeling sharp after my last ride, first proper interval sprint training since before Ramadan, using the traffic lights turning green as out-of-saddle starts, keeping the pace tight. Heading up towards Flughafenstraße, that turbo diesel behind me, I’m indicating as I pull around double-parked cars, two-finger pointing flicks of my wrists, and just past the pedestrian crossing at Erlanger Str. I hear it gun and pull along side me. I’m thinking, “A’right, here we go, bruv in his whip is flexing ’cos he thinks I’m in his lane.” It’s a pristine glossy white bimmer, X5 kinda thing, and he’s got his passenger window down. I’m all about to pull screwface but he doesn’t give me a chance, looks across at me, beautiful black guy with the biggest smile like he’s experienced the most joyful thing, and shouts over.

“I fell in love with you, watching you cycle!”

True, I look hectic sikk, I know.

Of course I smiled back, smiled with, of course, y’know, sometimes this stuff is just real. Sometimes it’s like my serious nah not really but nah kinda yeah fantasy actually pulls up next to me in his whip and gives me a look and compliment that is so completely honest and committed, and truth, I am holding everyone else to his high standards, and my heart filled up like the entire theatre, stalls, balconies and all, went off when Kano joined Giggs at the Roundhouse. Real truth, that.

And as I was doing laps of Tempelhofer Feld in the afternoon sun, thinking of all that, thinking, “Yeah perhaps he read me as a bro?” ’cos I’m tall and kinda slender, and people make a habit of reading taller and more physical as ‘male’, and I have this constant questioning around physicality and masculinity, like all women do, but then I thought, “Okay, if he did, then I’m still taking the compliment,” I’m taking it even if — especially if — he read me as trans, ’cos being able to genuinely express joy and emotion and attraction the way he did, flexing his queer self loudly reading me as masc or straight self into trans chicks, fuck yes, I am here for that. I want and need much more of that unequivocal desire and speaking that desire. And I’ve been talking a lot with my grans lately, Aisha and Iwa, and felt very much this was Allah and the universe reading me, seeing me, seeing me.

I know also some of you reading this, some of you cis women and afab people are gonna wanna tell me how this is objectifying and tell me shit like I don’t already know this, like I haven’t lived this since my early teens, like I would only think and write this if what? I’m seeking validation in misogyny? ’Cos I’m trans? And you think you need to educate me? What can you tell me about anything of what this means, in itself or to me?

A compliment. A compliment is sometimes just a compliment, just reciprocating the joy someone else causes in you, and when I’m receiving it from a source way too an accurate read of what I vibe strongly with, yeah, that’s part of it. Maybe I was that for him too, lighting up the streets of Neukölln, deep in my physicality, and we both looked at each other and laughed in recognising that too perfect moment. Remember that. Remember that beauty. Remember that truth in all what he said.

“I fell in love with you, watching you cycle!”

Image

Hermannplatz Bike Lane Planning

Shortly after I took this photo, a cyclist, in that very Berlin, not really paying attention “I’m just riding, me,” way, rode up the grot covering the bike path, realised they had to jank hard right around the perversely located orange rubbish bin, then then hard left down the temporary construction ‘alternate route’, wobbled precariously as they saw the old Muslim woman they were about to run into who’d paused where footpath and bike lane merged and vanished into a cattle-race, wobbled right, found some dickhead had left a shitty ride-share e-bike in the lane, wove drunkenly to an almost halt wondering where exactly the town planners had intended them to ride, before continuing on in that also very Berlin, “Passive acceptance of basic shit this city can’t even manage to do right”. The old woman cut across the street, thus avoiding the endless wait at the pedestrian crossing.