Formula BMW offers serious fun, if at a serious price, writes Justin Hynes
Tuning into a grand prix on Sunday afternoon, most people rarely give a moment's thought to where Formula One drivers come from. Each year they seem to spring unbidden from some netherworld of overly serious Playstation abusers, some nebulous engineering centre where they are implanted with a chipset that robs them of a keen sense of mortality and allows them to fly into corners at gravity defying speeds.
The truth is the Kimi Raikkonens, Jenson Buttons, Felipe Massa's all come from somewhere, junior formulae of varying degrees of competitiveness, expense, seriousness. Raikkonen came direct from Formula Renault, Button and Takuma Sato from British F3, Massa, in all likelihood came from a demolition derby somewhere in the depths of Sao Paulo.
By and large though, most modern F1 drivers started in karting. The ultimate kindergarten, it teaches kids a huge proportion of what they need to know to driver racing cars. The first stages of how a car moves and behaves under power and braking, the rudiments of set-up, how to use a tow, how to get a little race-craft.
The huge choice thereafter, is where to go next. It used to be Formula Ford, but that series is on the wane, and in this country is moribund. Formula Renault has lost some of its lustre. British F3? For a kid coming out of karts it's just too much, too powerful, too difficult to come to terms with and crucially too damned expensive at close on half a million euro for a season of racing.
Which is where Formula BMW comes in.
Take the engine from the BMW K1200 RS motorcycle, bang it, along with a six-speed sequential gearbox, in the back of a carefully designed chassis with a carbon fibre monocoque and wrap it all up with fully adjustable, dampers, gear ratios, front and rear wings, and voila you've got yourself the perfect 140bhp, 220km/h classroom.
The series has been a huge success in Europe over the past two years, success enjoyed by two Irish drivers, Michael Devaney, who this year finished fourth in the championship, and rookie Robbie Coleman whose performances outstripped the ability of the team he was racing for.
Now BMW is launching two more series - one in Britain and one in the US - with a round of the British championship due to come to Ireland and Mondello Park, next June.
So, naturally, in a bid to test the merits of the series, I went to Spain drive one. Horrible job, right? The first thing you notice about the little BMW FB2 is how cool it looks, a real slicks and wings racing car. It's like a mini-F1 car, right down to the square steering wheel. It's tempting to get in straight away.
But no, first there's class to attend and the teacher is ex-BMW works driver Mike Strotman. Over the course of the next few hours, he'll attempt to teach some surly, know-it-all old dogs some new tricks.
This mostly extends to my complete inability to heel and toe correctly. A useful technique that involves clutching with your left foot, and simultaneously braking and blipping the accelerator with your right to ensure a smooth, efficient downchange, I manage to cock it up with astonishing regularity. "You're thinking about it too much," sighs my instructor. "Just clutch, brake, blip, clutch."
Easier said than done, as you attempt to ease the little BMW down from 160km/h in fifth gear to about 30 in second to negotiate the bollards they've set up on the Valencia circuit's pit straight. Clunk, bang, a vague howl of protest from the engine and I sort of get it.
So now, next stage, get out there and set some monster lap times, right? Wrong, it's back to the classroom. and another stint of slides and Q&As to gauge our understanding of car behaviour.
And then finally, the monster lap times. Or not. In the car I forget it all and on lap two manage to spin at the second corner, a reasonably tight left-hander.
In my own defence I was attempting to brake as late as possible - like sometime in the middle of the following week - and the tyres were cold and it was a damp track and...yes, I'm just rubbish at this.
But a couple more laps and you start to settle into it. The heeling and toeing becomes natural, you begin to feel the boundaries of the car's responsiveness and you start pushing, exiting the final turn in third, ramming the accelerator to the floor, braking 200 odd km/h in sixth as you flash past the pit wall, waiting, waiting for the 50-metre board and jumping on the breaks, dropping a gear, whipping the wheel left into the apex and barrelling up the hill towards turn two.
In short, it's a hoot. And it must be so in competition too. Fun but serious fun. This year at the Formula BMW event at the Nurburgring, the first 20 cars were separated by less then a second.
The only downside? It ain't cheap. At almost $60,000 for a car, plus £10,500 registration fee, it's a lot more expensive than, say, Formula Ireland. A season is likely to cost in the region of €120-130,000, although there are five £35,000 scholarships to be awarded before the start of the season at Thruxton next April.
BMW, however, would argue that the benefits are manifold. And it has proved to be so for both Michael Devaney and Robbie Coleman. Both have been noticed by team owners from multiple series, have had access to new avenues.
Formula BMW is a big cost for any 15 to 19 year-old driver. But the rewards could be huge.