Formula 1 Has a Speed Problem, and the Nürburgring Accidentally Exposed It

May 21st, 2026

Now, I know this sounds ridiculous. Formula 1 cars are supposed to be the fastest circuit-racing machines on Earth. But sometimes, when I watch modern F1, it almost looks... too smooth. Like someone put racing on 'Do Not Disturb.'

Why Does F1 Look So Slow?

Not slow.

Never slow.

Just strangely composed.

Cars are traveling at 340 km/h, but they look like they're gliding through a luxury condo ad. The drivers? They're pulling G-forces that should qualify them for NASA, but the onboard footage makes it seem like they're complaining about WiFi on a business-class train.

Then I switch over to the Nürburgring and watch a GT3 car disappear into fog between two guardrails, the suspension visibly rethinking all its life choices, and somehow that feels faster. Like, 'Should I call my mom?' levels of fast.

I do not think this is because Formula 1 lacks intensity.

I think it is because humans do not actually perceive speed numerically.

We perceive speed through fear.

A car only feels fast when it looks like it’s about to get a sternly worded letter from its surroundings.

The Nürburgring: Danger You Can See

The Nordschleife understands this instinctively.

Trees stand too close.

The barriers feel personal.

The road surface appears to have been designed by geological activity rather than software.

Cars bounce, twitch, compress, vanish over blind crests, and return covered in dirt and regret.

When I watch Nürburgring footage, my brain constantly receives visual references:

• nearby objects,

• instability,

• steering correction,

• suspension movement,

• changing elevation,

• weather,

• danger.

So my nervous system immediately concludes:

“this is an appalling amount of speed.”

Engineering Away the Dram

Modern Formula 1 circuits often produce the opposite sensation.

The runoff areas are enormous.

The surfaces are immaculate.

The camera stabilization is so smooth that it occasionally resembles footage from a military drone.

The cars themselves are so advanced that they make a struggle look like a software bug.

That is the paradox:

Modern F1 has engineered away many of the visual cues humans instinctively associate with speed. At the Nürburgring, every onboard looks like a negotiation with physics. In Formula 1, the cars frequently appear magnetized to reality itself.

Modern F1 has engineered away many of the visual cues humans instinctively associate with speed. At the Nürburgring, every onboard looks like a negotiation with physics. In Formula 1, the cars frequently appear magnetized to reality itself.

Why Verstappen Gets It

Recently, there’s been a debate about whether Verstappen pushed too hard at the Nürburgring, causing his car to fail. As Dutch Chinese De Boordradio podcast co-host and pro-racing driver Ho-Pin Tung put it: "Dikke vette onzin! (Ducth). “Big fat nonsense, or, i.e., total BS!”

Ho-Pin Tung: "Dikke vette onzin! (Dutch). “Big Fat nonsense, i.e., total BS!”

When podcaster host Joost Nederpelt (NU.nl F1 Journalist/Reporter) asked, "Do you need a different driving style for a 24-hour race than for a race lasting an hour and a half? Tung answers, “Not with these cars. Today’s endurance racers are engineered so thoroughly that, before a 24-hour event, teams run a ‘30-hour test’—literally driving the car non-stop for 30 hours. The car is built to go flat out that entire time and usually gets through just fine.”

While some nostalgically recall the days of gentle gearbox and brake management, that’s no longer necessary. Drivers still need some mechanical sympathy, avoiding excessive overlap between braking and throttle, or steering clear of certain curbs if the team asks, but fundamentally, a modern 24-hour race is basically a sprint race. There's little difference now between sprint and endurance racing. So the suggestion that Verstappen doesn’t know how to drive a 24-hour race, or that this contributed to any failure, is complete nonsense.

And I think this is partly why drivers like Max Verstappen resonate with fans right now.

Verstappen talks about racing the way many fans still emotionally imagine racing:

as something difficult, uncomfortable, and slightly insane.

He praises old-school circuits.

He openly enjoys sim endurance racing.

He likes wet conditions, high-commitment corners, and tracks with personality.

From my perspective, Verstappen treats Formula 1 like a day at the office—punching in for the world’s most stressful business trip—while GT3 racing is his after-hours fun, like bowling night with friends, just at 200 mph.

And every time he talks enthusiastically about places like Spa or the Nürburgring, I think fans are reminded that racing once looked less like optimization and more like survival. In fact, from my perspective, when Verstappen discusses his racing priorities, it almost sounds as if he sees Formula 1 as his day job, punching in at the office, while GT3 racing is his idea of after-hours fun. For Verstappen, F1 is the Monday morning meeting, and GT3 is bowling night with friends, just at 200 km/h.

Now, to be fair, I also think fans romanticize this too much sometimes.

Why F1 Can't Be the Nürburgring

Formula 1 cannot simply become “the Nürburgring but everywhere.”

That would be financially, logistically, and medically catastrophic.

F1 is no longer merely about organizing races.

It transports a technologically advanced traveling civilization around the world each week.

Entire temporary cities appear and disappear:

• engineering labs,

• broadcast compounds,

• hospitality suites,

• data infrastructure,

• freight systems,

• sponsor activations,

• FIA operation

  
  

The sport has to function flawlessly across multiple continents while millions of people watch in real time.

You can’t run all that on ‘someone brought charcoal and optimism’—unless you’re hosting Thanksgiving at my uncle’s house.

And honestly, I do not think Formula 1 should try to become the Nürburgring anyway.

The comparison itself is misguided.

What I See in Formula 1

When I watch Formula 1, I am watching precision at the absolute edge of physics.

I am watching:

• impossible braking performance,

• aerodynamic mastery,

• strategic warfare,

• and engineering teams spending millions to gain three tenths of a second.

It is extraordinary precisely because almost nothing appears accidental.

What I See at the Nürburgring

But when I watch the 24 Hours Nürburgring, I am watching something entirely different.

I am watching a giant mechanical folk festival held in a forest.

People arrive with:

• beer crates,

• folding chairs,

• tarps,

• grills,

• and camping setups that would get you flagged on a NATO watchlist.

By Saturday night, someone is cooking bratwurst beside a flare while a GT3 car screams through darkness hard enough to shake nearby tents.

Nobody around me seems particularly concerned about sector times.

Everyone is there for the vibes.

For texture.

For noise.

For mud.

For the sense that motorsport briefly escaped corporate containment and returned to nature.

Why Both Worlds Matter

And honestly, as a bit of a fan, I think motorsport is healthier when both worlds exist.

I do not want Formula 1 to be(come) chaos.

And I do not want the Nürburgring sanitized into premium hospitality content.

One is a cathedral of precision.

The other is a bonfire.

I watch Formula 1 to admire perfection.

I watch the Nürburgring to feel alive.

* Editorial Contributor: Trudy Giordano. Image generated with Kling AI.