One set of red lights lit up. He watched with disinterest as the other nineteen drivers slowly lined up beside him on the grid. Two. He glanced at his nearest rival, a rookie almost twenty years his junior in a shining white Haas. Three. He wondered whether his unreliable car was going to fail him yet again. Four. He inhaled, heart pumping in anticipation, and adrenaline rushing through his veins. Five. He lowered his visor, knowing that everyone would be watching him today for his last ever Formula One race.
To the outside world, he was Otto Virtanen, a Finnish-born veteran racer who won his only championship fourteen years ago. But here at the heart of the F1 paddock, he was simply known as “the Iceman” for his cool demeanor and no-nonsense personality. He had been around the grid for nearly two decades, earning a reputation for his longevity and as a driver who never let his emotions get in the way of his performance. As typical of Finns, he always spoke his mind, holding back nothing, even controversial criticisms of his own team. Nevertheless, everyone loved the Iceman and were saddened by his imminent retirement from the sport.
The lights went out.
He pressed hard on the accelerator and his car rocketed forward. Starting 12th was not ideal for the Iceman, but given how unstable his Alfa Romeo was, it was quite amazing that somehow he managed to qualify on the sixth row of the grid a day earlier. Nevertheless, he was in a prime position to finish in the top ten and score points for his team. However, he was almost immediately side by side with a shining black Mercedes going into the third chicane. The Iceman immediately recognised it to be the car of Rusell Hamilton, who took grid penalties in order to change his engines. A car of the top three teams should not be this low down the pecking order, and Virtanen defended his position in vain. The Brit’s new engine was simply too powerful, though, and the Iceman was forced to yield. Hamilton’s Mercedes roared past him, and he was back to exactly where he started.
Despite the less-than-ideal start, he persevered. It was a sport of endurance afterall. He maintained his position, steering his car around the circuit at an incredible 236 kilometers per hour. The track here at Zandvoort, Netherlands was notoriously difficult, with extremely fast straights and banked corners reaching elevation differences as high as four meters. He was sweating all over his racing suit, fighting off both the heat of the pulsing engine and the scorch of the hot summer sun.
He felt more machine than man, zooming around the circuit lap after lap. He knew the circuit well, having raced here every season, and even scoring a win a couple years back. His motions within the car were almost automatic, applying the brakes here and rotating the wheel this way and that. “Keep pushing, Otto,” his race engineers reassured him over the radio, “we’re still on track with Plan A.” Sometimes he wished they would just shut up and leave him alone.
He passed the start-finish line again, and saw his team holding a pit board sign for him on the fence: “VIR – 12th, Lap 14; ALO, -3.0; TSU, +4.2.” He cursed in irritation, finding it difficult to believe that he was still three seconds behind the car in front of him after all that hard work. He was already getting tired of driving through this limbo with virtually no racing against other drivers. If only there was an accident ahead that he could benefit from!
His wish came true sooner than expected.
He saw the aftermath before he saw the actual incident. A loose wheel flying past him as he swerved to avoid the strew of incoming debris. Pieces of metal sprayed all across the track and it was almost impossible to steer clear of the broken pieces of someone’s car. “Yellow flag,” exclaimed his race engineer over the radio, “collision at Turn 9.” “Yeah, my car is full of that shit,” he swore in frustration, “that’s definitely gonna be a Safety Car.”
Driving past the last corner, he finally caught a glimpse of the carnage. Hamilton’s Mercedes lay smoking on the grass while a red Ferrari was lodged uncomfortably between the barriers. Another blue car, probably an Alpine, got caught up in the chaos and was now desperately trying to limp back onto the track. However, it was literally missing a front wing. The significant damage done on these cars meant they would definitely retire from the race, and the dejected Ferrari driver had already climbed out of the cockpit.
Whether it was a racing accident or aggressive driving, the Iceman cared not. He was now in 9th place, and soon caught up to the other cars in front. Everyone had been bunched up behind the safety car, a green Aston Martin Vantage nicknamed “the Turtle” for its relatively slow speed. Cars weaved in a zig-zag fashion to keep their tires warm, getting ready to pounce when the safety car period was over. The Iceman was one of those drivers, simply waiting for the opportunity to overtake whoever was in front.
That chance never came. A marshall waved a red flag at the procession at the end of the lap to signify the race had been suspended – there was too much debris on track and they must clean up the obstructions for safety reasons. Grunting, he pulled into the pit lane to park his car in his team’s garage. A crew member rushed to help him out of the car, but the Iceman pushed him away. He did not even bother leaving the vehicle, knowing that they would be racing soon anyway. He closed his eyes, silently contemplating.
It had been a pretty tough season for the Iceman. Given a mediocre car, he was barely able to score any points. Although he was able to convincingly outqualify his much younger teammate on most weekends, he had less points than him because of numerous forced retirements. He was unlucky and the unreliable machinery beneath him cost him on multiple occasions while he was in good positions. Rumors floated around the paddock that his teammate was given better equipment to race with, but he dismissed the notion that the team would dare treat the legendary Iceman like a number two driver. A few pundits even proclaimed that his retirement would be good for the sport. Well, he was certainly going to prove them wrong. He always loved the sport and there were still a few years left in him. But he had wanted to finally go home and be with his family.
His team principal walked over to him, said a few words of encouragement, and complimented on how he was able to stay out of the incident. Again, he barely listened and was lost with his own thoughts. The mechanics came to check the car, removed a few pieces of debris and replaced his tires with new ones. He heeded them no attention either, instead concentrated on watching the clouds meander across the sky. There seemed to be a few extra gray clouds, he observed…
Suddenly, his car was being pushed into motion. The clean-up on track was done, and apparently it was safe to race again. The same monotonous procedure of lining up the grid, except this time he was slightly further up on the fourth row on the grid. Another driver had retired from an electrical failure in the car’s turbocharger. He prayed that his team would not let him down in this critical part of the race. The last thing he wanted was to have DNF written next to his last race in the record books.
To his surprise, he was the fastest to get off the line when the lights went out for the second time. It was as if everything was in slow motion, as the Iceman easily blitzed past three cars going around the inside of Turn 1. He aggressively shut the door, giving the others no space at all and even forcing one driver off the track completely. He could not believe it, but somehow he was up in fifth place, the highest he had been all season. With a potential haul of ten points on the table, this would propel him to finish above his teammate in the Drivers’ Championship and even help Alfa Romeo claim seventh place in the Constructors’ Championship. It would be such a poetic finish to his career.
Formula One legend Aryton Senna once said, “If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you're no longer a racing driver.” That was the exact quote he thought of when he saw the driver in front braking too late into the third corner and locking up the car’s tires in the process. This was a chance the Iceman could never throw away. So he went for the move, steering around the outside of Turn 5 to make an overtake. He could feel the engines growling stronger as he applied more pressure on the accelerator. His hand reached for the brakes and felt how hot they were.
He never made it past the corner.
He pushed too hard on the throttle, and inadvertently overwhelmed the tires’ grip on track. As such, his car was forced into a spin. Facing the wrong side of the track, he watched helplessly as car after car passed him until he finally had a chance to rejoin the pack. All his hard work had been undone in less than a minute.
The last time he experienced such devastation was five years ago, while he was still driving for a top team like Ferrari. It was one of the best seasons of his career, and he was in contention for the championship all the way until the last race that year. He was on pole position, but was jumped by another driver right at the start. He panicked then, and aggressively tried to retake his position. Instead, he made contact with the rear wheels of the other car, which sent him into a spin. He never recovered from that, because his title rival benefitted from his blunder by cruising to a comfortable win and clinched the championship by five points.
Five years later, on a different track, the Iceman made the same mistake trying to pass the same driver. Sometimes destiny was just cruel like that, throwing sand in people’s eyes when they were down. But not today. Otto Virtanen had learnt his lesson, and he was not going to give up here on his last race.
As he finished his first lap after the restart, he glanced up and saw a darkening sky. The clouds seemed to reflect his disappointment, making the afternoon look more gloomy and ominous. He knew exactly what was coming though. This was not the first time he saw such clouds in his twenty years as an F1 driver.
Rain was coming to Zandvoort.
“Box! Box for wet tires,” he screamed over the radio, knowing it would be a risk.
“Are you sure? Rain is only projected in fifteen minutes,” his race engineer informed him.
“Just do it,” the Iceman growled, “I know what I’m doing.”
He was still in the points, but barely hanging on to 10th place. But he had literally nothing to lose by pitting before everyone else. He smoothly steered the car through the pitlane, and parked right in front of the team garage. The pit crew came rushing with new tires marked by a blue rim and they were slotted on in just over two seconds. He pulled away from the pit and rejoined the racing track in last place. He really hoped that this gambit would pay off. He could already hear the pundits rambling on about how this would be a “strange strategy.”
Just then, he felt something on his racing gloves. He couldn’t see much through the visors of his helmet, but noticed that there was something else blocking his vision.
It was a raindrop.
Like a gift from heaven, the rain came to the Iceman’s rescue. First it was just drops splashing against the surface of the track, but then grew to torrents of water hurtling down the circuit. Drivers in front of him simply could not keep their balance in such slippery conditions. They swerved around unintentionally, a few spun out, and the rest were forced to pit. In just a few laps, the Iceman recovered from seventeenth to third. He could not believe his luck, or rather experience, but he was going to score his last ever podium. This was something he never even dreamed about.
Two more laps left. He held a comfortable lead over the car behind him. He could already feel the emotions stirring like a pot within him. He tried to hold back those tears of joy, and was choking to get the words out to his team. He wanted to talk about how he loved driving for Alfa Romeo, how supportive his crew was, and how he would miss everyone of them so much. But he was also the Iceman, and being emotional was not his speciality.
Then he saw something red in his rear-view mirror. Not red, maroon actually. The same color as his own car. His heart skipped a beat. Surely it could not be…
It was his teammate.
A young driver in his second season, Mick Schreiner had given everything in his ability to represent his family name, which produced two generations of F1 world champions. However, given uncompetitive cars, he failed to live up to expectations. The Iceman pitied him; the kid definitely had talent, but the media gave him too much attention and Schreiner was simply drowning in pressure for him to perform like his father.
And now he was probably preparing to launch a desperate maneuver against his retiring teammate and try score his first career podium in the final lap of the race. The Iceman knew the overtake could very possibly happen, since Schreiner had much newer tires. However, in this rain, they could also make contact and take each other out of the race. And Otto Virtanen had no intentions of recreating the disastrous 2016 Hamilton-Rosberg Crash on the last lap of his career.
“Hold positions,” the team principal ordered them over radio, “no racing between you two. Understand?” But the Iceman knew there was no way Schreiner would obey team orders, because he would always go for that one moment of glory when he was at that age.
There was only one thing left to do.
Around the final corner of the 2023 Dutch Grand Prix, Otto Virtanen braked early to let his teammate through for his first ever podium. In doing so, he cemented his legacy as a legend of Formula One forever.
“This song is ending, but the story never ends.”
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