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German Whip: Audi TT RS Mk2 (Type 8J) Coupé

Seen on Urbanstr. as the first snow started to fall, proper German hoonage of an Audi TT RS Mk2 Coupé in winter camouflage white riding slammed on black RoadForce centerlock rims (or at least pretending to be centerlock). “Guys better show respect / If they see man pullin’ up in a TT”

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German Whip: Audi R8 Type 4S Coupé

Seen on Weser Straße up Kottbusser Damm end, looking well stunting in Vegas Yellow, old habibis giving me the suss eye from Köşgeroğlu restaurant. I’m not really a huge fan of contemporary German hoonage, but the Audi R8 is a tasty slab of a whip, and that yellow is the brightest colour in X-Kölln. “Guys better show respect / If they see man pullin’ up in a TT”.

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German Whip: Mercedes-Benz W123 500CE AMG Coupé

Seen outside Café Fairouz on the corner of Reuter Str. and Sonnenallee. Tight as slammed frontend looking gangster on period-incorrect 500SL AMG Rims, 1984-ish silver Mercedes-Benz W123 500CE AMG Coupé. It’s been six months since I last saw any true German hoonage and I did a double U-turn stopping in the middle of the road just to admire this. Also pause to admire the habibis with their fades enjoying a Thursday evening shisha. Pure Neukölln this. “See man driving a German Whip.”

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German Whip: Oettinger Volkswagen Golf Mk4 GTI

Seen on Böttgerstraße up Gesundbrunnen Wedding way. Might be an R32, might be a 1.8T, might be a 2001. Definitely maximum Deutsch hoonage. It was dusk, so the flat light blue isn’t as improbably bright as it was when I stood on the cobbles and stopped cars to take the photo. White! White 5-spoke rims with just the right amount of tuck, and the whole Oettinger performance kit, misbahah hanging off the rearview mirror the finishing touch. Tight as fuck. The last of boxy small German hatchbacks before they went blobby. “See man driving a German Whip.”

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German Whip: Opel Astra G Cabriolet

Seen on Columbiadamm yesterday on the way for my daily-ish stroll around Tempelhofer Feld. Madness. Iridescent ultramarine with airbrush ghost flames spewing off the front wheel arches all the way to that tight spoiler! Those chrome rims! That body kit referencing the 2001 Opel Astra OPC X-Treme prototype! (Shoulda been xXx-Treme. also Vin Diesel approves.) It’s got Color Concept and Nightmare Custom decals on the back wheel arch, who might be responsible for this absolute delight of an early-’00s import tuner scene whip, but no real trace of either in the internet. Possibly my fave piece of hoonage in Berlin? I’d steal it. “See man driving a German Whip.”

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German Whip: Audi RS3 Sportback 8V Goodwood Green

Seen on Framstraße, Neukölln. Entirely for the green. Truth I am not much into German autos post the boxy tight era, buuuut … that green. In the pushing-30° of a warm and grotty Berlin summer … ok if it was mine, I’d swap out those rims, but that green? I’d have the brake rotors painted the same colour. “Guys better show respect if they see man pullin up in a TT”

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German Whip: Volkswagen Golf Mk7 R

Seen off Sonnenallee, repping late–’90s / early–‘00s JDM import culture with those decals on the C-pillar and that very German tuner hoonage paint job. Especially love the Autobahn + Sound System sticker on the window and the acid green disc brakes behind the TEC GT6 Evo rims. “See man driving a German Whip.”

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24 Hour Nürburgring

The best sound is after the sharp right at Aremberg, under the bridge at the start of Fuchsröhre and all the way down to the bottom of the Nordschleife at Breidscheid, engines and turbos spooled up and redlining. Better than the long straight of Döttinger-Höhe. That corner is where the Nürburgring starts for me, into the forest and a tight, narrow winding road with no runoff that goes on and on. I feel the velocity and get buffeted by braking and acceleration just watching laps. And the racing. All that plus terrifying high-speed passes, weather that changes in five minutes and across the 24 kilometre track. My safe space is 250 km/h down the fox hole at 24 Hour Nürburgring.

I would have watched it all night, but like last year it got red-flagged. Fog and rain and not the kind of visibility for maximum hoonage. 24 hours turned into a 3–hour sprint. And the two commentators living their best bogan uncle selves. Something about Scandinavian Flick, keto diet, taking the apex with the shopping trolley, beer bottles at the back balancing out the weight, I don’t believe you were going to the fruit and veggies, it’s beer and chips for you, broken struts, broken steering racks, making the straight race line between spun–out Audi and Armco on slippery wet grass, cutting and shaving tread into slicks to make one last set of tires.

I love the sound and noise and velocity and can smell the engines and brake pads and metal and fluids and hear the ratchets and air guns and feel the crew lying on their backs contorting themselves into the machinery and the whole process of attrition, people and engineering being worn down over those long high-speed hours, this is art.