He pounds around the circuit, round and round, time and again. He does it because he's a driver and it's what they do. He does it because he loves it, and he doesn't know of anything else to do. He does it because he can. Nick Heidfeld is testing components at Monza, and he is the only driver there. He has the track to himself and is in his element. The Autodromo di Monza is a beautiful place, a tree-lined track in the middle of a former royal park, but he doesn't see it - all he sees is the grey stretch of road in front of him and the next bend. He drops down a gear and powers into the corner, the gravel trap around it disappearing in his peripheral vision, while I drive along a service road listening to the howl of the engine and smiling; the sound of a Formula One engine driven in anger filtered through the trees of Monza is like nothing else I know.
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