Albi - Emotional Return

The Albi Historic Grand Prix is the last round of the 2022 Historic Tour. But it's also the circuit where I saw my very first car race. I was 12 years old. It's also on the karting track within it that I drove one of these machines for the very first time. At the time, I had rushed to immediately lap my father, who was a driver in his day.

So it's with real emotion that I find myself back here, especially knowing the circuit is under threat, given the anger of local residents. This Albi Historic Grand Prix almost got canceled.

Apprehension

Since it's also the closest circuit to home, I had originally planned to rally family, friends, colleagues, and the wider network so we could wrap up this final round with a huge party. But between running out of time, a touch of laziness, and a good dose of nerves, I barely invited anyone. I let just a handful of people know the night before the races.

Seven races. Seven DNFs out of ten. Seven out of twelve if you include the Grand Prix de France Historique, without seeing the flag. Of the five I did finish, sure, there are three podiums, but that’s still far too few for my liking.

I’ve kept improving all season, building confidence in the various Classic Racing School cars, from the Lotus 69 to the Crosslé 16F.

I know I’m not far off Eric’s performance anymore, but I have no way to show it. I don’t get the opportunity, and that’s precisely where Eric shines: he looks after his car far better than I do.

This time, I don’t want to head home without seeing the finish. But I also don’t want to put on a dismal show for anyone who might come watch me.

So I’ve only got one objective for this Albi Historic Grand Prix.

Finish.

First Laps

I won’t lie, this isn’t the most difficult circuit. A few chicanes you can take flat out, broken up by straights that favor cars with a strong engine. All in all, the Lotus 69, with Théo’s hand-built engine, is perfect here. The engine runs great and, above all, the car is incredibly stable in the corners.

I had never driven here before, but it really doesn’t have any major difficulties beyond being very fast. And fast means you have to be razor-sharp on the brakes and with your steering angles. Luckily, karting teaches you that quickly. So the track plays to my strengths.

Last year, Eric’s best lap was a 1:35.7 and Stéphane, one of the Classic Racing School coaches, managed a 1:34.0. I didn’t tell anyone when I arrived, but I definitely wanted to beat Stéphane’s time, at least in qualifying. Even though my goal is simply to bring the car home, a perfect lap in practice or qualifying would be a real bonus for me.

Practice goes well; I set my best time at 1:35.5 and I’m right in the mix with Eric.

Only hiccup: the Lotus is being temperamental. The exhaust headers have cracked.

I’m worried the car won’t hold together.

Qualified on the Final Lap

Qualifying time arrives. Théo has re-welded the exhaust header and reassured me: “If it happens again you’ll hear the car sound like a kart, don’t worry. As long as the water temperature and oil pressure are good, keep going—it’s no big deal. Worst case it’s just noise and a tiny bit of performance loss.”

Perfect. I head out confident. No risk for the car.

On my first laps I keep finding traffic, held up by other competitors—ones in the higher category, no less. That’s actually a good sign; it means my lap times aren’t bad.

For a moment I even surprise myself by hanging with the leading quartet in category B. I’m having to think about passing them! They eventually become too disruptive, so I let them go, sacrificing a lap to do it.

My best time is again a 1:35.5, just like in the morning. Good, but I know I can do much better if I’m not held up and if I string together a perfect lap. Finding someone slightly quicker to grab a tow from would be the dream.

Suddenly I see Eric in the gravel at the second-to-last corner. His session is over. What time did he set? The day before he ran something similar to mine. That means I have to do better.

No choice—it’s the last lap.

I throw the car into Turn 1 like my life depends on it, hop over every curb, yet stay on the right line. I can feel it—I’m quicker, shifting earlier.

My dash says I’m on for a 1:34 lap… I keep pushing.

Last heavy brake marker at 100 meters. Nailed it. Now the final corner—no sliding on exit, feed the throttle in gently.

Catapulted down the main straight, I stop the clock at 1:34.6.

I don’t yet know where that puts me, but I spot Coraline and Pierre at pit in, nodding and giving me thumbs up.

Théo breaks the news:

- “So, want me to tell you where you qualified?”

- “Well yeah, of course!”

- “You’re on pole, my man! You even put a full second on Eric!”

Whaaat ??

Amazing! What a relief! A whole second??

The euphoria fades when Alain Girardet (third in the B category standings) walks over to congratulate me.

“Man, you drove really well! But next time, when the top four are right ahead of you, just follow them—don’t try to pass! I couldn’t stop laughing in my helmet earlier.”

He’s super friendly, and I don’t doubt for a second he actually found it funny. But I still got the message loud and clear—I seriously hampered his qualifying. I feel bad about it. That said, part of me wanted to answer that he wasn’t exactly quick himself, and if he took certain corners better we wouldn’t have been in each other’s way.

I hold back—that’s not the spirit. His comment really was full of kindness. In a sense, he’s right.

Race 1

Pole position—it’s something exceptional. I never felt that in karting. It almost gives me a sense of accomplishment. In a way, my Albi Historic Grand Prix is already a success.

On the starting grid I line up seventh overall. Eric is 11th. Five B-category cars separate us (I’m first in category A—the pre-’74 cars—but only seventh overall. Category B, with cars built before ’90, is usually quicker). That should be enough to stop him from shooting straight up to me. The last thing I want is to scrap with him on track and risk a spin or, worse, a crash.

My goal stays the same: finish the race. On the pre-grid I’m relieved to tell myself that my lap times are strong enough to avoid stressing about the result. Worst-case scenario, Eric overtakes me. So what? It would still be a solid second place.

So all that’s left is to… drive. Just drive. Smoothly. And bring the car back.

On Eric’s side, the instructions are clear if he wants the Historic Tour title: he has to finish both races and avoid giving up more than 50 points to Michel Dupont. Michel’s lap times are higher, so the risk for Eric is low. If he stays calm and finishes second, he can lock down the championship.

I take my spot on the grid after a solid warm-up lap.

I wait patiently for a marshal to wave the green flag in my mirrors, the sign the start is imminent and the lights are about to come on.

While I scan the back of the grid, I see Eric in my mirrors. Visor up. I can’t tell exactly what he’s looking at, but it’s definitely my way. I can’t help thinking (with all due respect), “Damn it, he’s going to come for me.”

Green flag, lights on.

Then off.

I get an excellent launch but brake early to avoid contact. Maximum caution.

From lap one I feel I’m quicker than the cars ahead, but not enough to pass in the corners where they’re slower. On the straights the B-class cars are brutally effective, and I can’t help losing a few spots lap after lap.

Mid-race I spot Eric in my mirror. A white car splits us, trying to get by.

It gets past me.

No—I need to use it. Grab the slipstream, stay in touch, and pass it back without blocking.

If I manage that, the other driver can draft me in return and we can drop Eric, who’s inching closer.

My plan doesn’t work. I stay ahead, but Eric keeps reeling us in.

Then the white car falls back after missing a corner and ends up fighting with Eric. This is my chance. If I string together some strong laps, I can break free and stay out of slipstream range.

A few laps later they’re a long way back.

The checkered flag falls. I’m five seconds clear of Eric.

As I cross it, I let out a scream in my helmet. I didn’t see it coming, but it hits me that I’d been wound as tight as a spring the whole time.

I realize…

I just won the race…

Rest Up, Soldier

That’s it. I hit my goal. I brought the car back. The exhaust headers cracked again, but just as Théo warned me, it’s nothing serious. A few quick welds and we’ll be ready for race two.

And I’ve delivered a win to Classic Racing School at the Albi Historic Grand Prix.

Honestly, my weekend is already a success. I have nothing left to prove.

After a well-earned nap, it’s time for Julien Chaffard’s debrief.

Watching the race back, two things are obvious: I have the speed to pass where I didn’t dare in race one, and my line through the final corner is wrong.

If I fix that, I won’t have to juggle the B cars as much and I could even clock better lap times in the end!

The catch is, to pass, you have to dare to get close.

Race 2

I’m relaxed as I take the start of this second race at the Albi Historic Grand Prix. I’ve taken pole, I’ve won the first race. Whatever happens, the weekend is already exceptional.

I start in tenth. This time Eric is right behind me, with Crosslé managing director Paul McMorran just behind him.

There’s nothing to stress about. Worst case, I just get another race under my belt. The weekend is already won from my perspective, and as far as goals go, I still need to bring the car home.

But when the lights go out, I can’t help myself.

I dive to the inside at Turn 1 and stay glued to try a pass into Turn 4.

The line Julien and I found for that corner is wicked. I’m really faster than everyone else. Trouble is… I’m actually too fast.

The nose of my single-seater gets lifted and twisted by Jean-Michel Ogier’s rear wheel.

Any other race weekend I’d have been scared, gutted, worried.

Not this time. All I want is to devour the guys ahead. Eric? He’s there in my mirrors, yet he’s no concern anymore.

I keep pushing and lock into a vicious fight with two B-class drivers, Jean-Michel Ogier and Bernard Richard. Let me warn you: as much as I’ve had epic duels with my Belgian friends, this is pure brutality. I’ve never seen madmen like these. Even I’m astonished at the completely insane overtakes I’m trying. The three of us are clearly not ourselves anymore—nothing else exists on Earth.

A few laps tick by, Eric disappears from my mirrors, and the lead pack is long gone. The three of us stay locked in combat.

After a few laps I try another move on Jean-Michel. He chops across, and in the slowest corner his right-rear rips the nose off my car. It drops in front of my radiator. I nudge it aside, fling it into the grass, and carry on like nothing happened.

At Turn 10, Jean-Michel squeezes me again, forcing me off the track to avoid him. I get a warning! The next excursion means a five-second penalty.

Those two moments act as a slap in the face. No, I’m not here to wreck the car! I have to bring it back! What am I doing?? Fighting for the lead? I already have it! Nico, get a grip!

So I let Jean-Michel and Bernard go. It’s not worth it. Besides, I can see my radiator is bent! I glance at the water temperature—still sitting at 70°. Everything’s fine, but I need to stop the nonsense.

Less than a lap later I’m back on their gearboxes. I can’t help it. I’m not myself and I have to pass them. I’m absolutely ravenous—as if I’m unleashing seven races’ worth of frustration and DNFs.

We keep passing and repassing. The intensity—and the stupidity—of our moves never drops.

On the final lap I slip ahead of Jean-Michel, who’s clearly backed off. I try to reel in Bernard, but I’m a second short at the line.

Eric finishes third, nine hundredths behind Paul McMorran. It’s strangely reminiscent of the infamous nine hundredths at theGrand Prix de France Historique. The pair of them are almost 18 seconds down on me…

Back in the paddock after the podium, Bernard comes running over to congratulate me. He’s all smiles. We laugh about how completely stupid we both were—and how much fun we had.

It was a completely crazy Albi Historic Grand Prix.

Probably the best race of my life.

And without meaning to, I’ve just delivered the best-ever result for Classic Racing School at the Albi Historic Grand Prix:

• Pole position
• Race 1 win
• Race 1 fastest lap
• Race 2 win
• Race 2 fastest lap

Race control can hardly believe it either—they ask Théo to strip the engine to verify it’s legal.

Still, credit to them for retrieving the Lotus nose that was lying in the grass. It let me go through weighing with it and stay above the 500 kg minimum.

Once all the technical checks are complete, I keep my results.

I finish fourth in the championship.

Maybe disappointing for Michel Vaillant… but honestly, not bad for a rookie, right?

Hey Julien… the Lotus isn’t for sale by any chance, is it?