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thepotentialof2007 · 2 months

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Quick reference for the LH excerpts from Kate Wagner's behind the scenes at COTA article.

All sports are powered by the personalities of their practitioners, and Formula 1 has those in spades—the chipper, effusive Daniel Ricciardo; Mr. Suave, Carlos Sainz; plucky George Russell; the deep-feeling Charles Leclerc; and, perhaps above all, the sport's longtime great champion, a man from some of the humblest beginnings in motorsport, the regal and soft-spoken Lewis Hamilton, who just announced an absolutely shocking move to Ferrari after an illustrious 11 years and six championships behind the wheel of a Mercedes (and six seasons and one championship with Mercedes-powered McLarens).

. . . .

The day's activities commenced with a tour of the garage. In the garage, there are many mysteries one is not allowed to know or see. The use of phones is forbidden lest one incur accusations of espionage. When we got into the garage, Lewis's car was naked, its insides visible for all to see. I think this was the moment where my respect for the sport as it exists really made itself clear. It is hard to describe what I felt looking at that car. The closest phrase I have at my disposal is the technological sublime. I pictured a living, breathing animal of extraterrestrial origin, hooked up to a thousand arcane sensors that delivered messages in little pulses. All the tubes and sculpted carbon-fiber parts and the endless net of wires all working in service to the godhead engine, formed something totally incomprehensible to me, a feat of engineering so vast it breached the realm of magic. Hamilton himself walked through in his helmet, unexpectedly on an errand. After being in the presence of the car, I perceived him differently than before, when he was just a guy driving in circles on TV. The scope of his capabilities became more directly known to me in the face of that which I believed to be unknowable. All of that was built in service of him. He stopped and looked into the open maw of the car. The tour guide led us hurriedly into the back room where the coffee and tire bags were stored so that no one could listen to what Lewis said.

About half an hour later, they brought him up to the paddock to talk to us. It wasn't a press conference, but rather a kind of a TED Talk. The questions were rote and a guy with a microphone asked them as though they were being broadcast on television. Hamilton talked rotely about how much he loved America and the fans here, talked—to the people who needed reassurance—about how the car was "getting there" but made it pointedly certain that they knew it still needed some work, which surprised me, making me realize this was still a private setting. I come from a sport where chivalry never died and no one is allowed to say anything negative because it is "unsportsmanlike" and every cyclist has to play his part in the farcical pageant of being a dull, humble farmer's son. It is a pretty open secret that a lot of cyclists don't like their bike sponsors but they would never, ever, ever say it. It's somewhat contradictory, but the sheer financial calculus of F1 is what makes it possible for Hamilton to be critical. This is a multibillion-dollar industry putting its full heft behind him doing well. It's reminiscent of the patronage system of precapitalist times, when rulers and nobles with endless riches paid musicians and composers to live in the palace with them.

. . . .

Frustrated, I returned to watching the cars as they started up again, knowing that the drivers were pushing them to their limits, engrossed in their personal kaleidoscope of motion and color. Hamilton was in one of them. In the last shootout, he drove differently than before. A great verve frayed the lines he was making, something we can only call effort, push. Watching him, I understood what was so interesting about this sport, even though I was watching it in its most bare-bones form—cars going around in circles. The driver is the apotheosis of quick-moving prowess, total focus and control. The car is both the most studied piece of human engineering, tuned and devised in lab-like environments and at the same time a variable entity, something that must be wrestled with and pushed. The numbers are crunched, the forms wind-tunneled. And yet some spirit escapes their control, and that spirit is known only by the driver. Yes, we watch this perfect blend of man and machine, but we speak of the machine as though it were not of human origin, as though the machine, being born from science could—eventually, through its iterative processes—sublimate human flaws. The driver, being human, knows this is false. His intimacy with the machine is the necessary missing connection, and even if the machine were perfect, it was made for imperfect hands. But it is never perfect. The gaps in its perfection are where disasters transpire, but also miracles. As we waited for the van to take us where we were parked, a part of the track was still visible to us. Hamilton distinguished himself by the lines he cut along the corner and the loudness of his engine, that pushing. We heard over a loudspeaker that he had finished third, a remarkable improvement above the last two sprints, where he lagged behind in the midfield. This made everyone in our camp happy. They always called him by his first name. It reminded me of how I used to talk about cyclists after I started interviewing them, with the swagger of knowing them.

. . . .

When Hamilton came into the room he was wearing a cool pair of pants with shimmery colored mesh sewed in and had an exhausted appearance, having come just from the track. We were allowed to talk to him but were told not to make any recordings or transcriptions. When he spoke, it was notable how often he mentioned his father and how deeply-felt his political convictions were. Some people are totally different off the record, but Lewis was simply a more lively version of himself. I find him a fascinating figure. A lot of fans either love or hate him, see him, paradoxically, as both humble and arrogant. The word quiet is better. Not reserved, not shy, just quiet. He belongs to a special group of people. The ones I've met in life include the violinist Hilary Hahn and Pogačar, the Tour de France winner—human beings who walk the earth differently, with an aura that transcends it. He appeared perpetually relaxed, controlled and refined, both present with us in the room but on a higher plane within. We used to call this magnificence when we believed in kings. I don't know what we call it now. Excellence, maybe. The irony of parading someone incredible like that around in the backrooms of petrochemical executives is not lost on me. I was grateful that I got the opportunity to speak to Lewis Hamilton, someone I am not ashamed to say I admire. I would have preferred it if they let him go home and rest instead.

#lewis hamilton #present but on a higher plane #character study #kate wagner #cota #2023 #mercedes amg f1 #ineos #press event #motorsport journalism

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paddockbunny · 2 years

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Hi! 20 and 52 with Danny Ric. Him coming in your mouth calling you a good daddy’s girl 🥵 Im already drooling

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Summary : Daniel LOVES Austin. And he's going to love it a whole lot more once you take the cowboy thing into the bedroom. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : 1,527 Warnings : NSFW, adult material, 18+, language, oral male receiving (+ swallowing), dirty talk, pet names, idk if there's anymore but its smutty so you've been warned. Gif Credit : @iguessricciardo

Austin, 2021

It was Daniel’s favourite race and for the whole two weeks before it he kept annoying you with his fake Texan accent and calling you ma’am all the time but his excitement was kind of cute. So, with a few days to spare till the GP circus started, Daniel requested you go with him to his favourite western outfitters to pick this year’s outfit with him. You warned him you wouldn’t be joining in. You had already picked out a nice little paddock outfit and sure you could be convinced to add a little Stetson but if he thought he could get you all dressed up like Doris Day in Calamity Jane, he was mistaken.

You trailed through the rail of almost comically cheesy shirts and joked that perhaps he should make his own and he looked like he genuinely mentally noted that suggestion. It was enough to make you roll your eyes amusingly. His obsession with the whole culture was interesting to say the least, but he was overjoyed and happy while he was immersed in it so that was all that mattered. Daniel pulled out some cream number with rhinestones and you could practically hear his thoughts. He wanted to know if there were matching pants to go with it and you burst out laughing. “Ok, Lone Ranger. Just calm down a bit.” He pouted and side eyed you but kept the shirt in his hand anyway and giggled like a naughty child. You pulled out a much more subdued black number and held it up to him. He observed it and nodded and you went round to his side of the rail and handed the shirt over to him. “I like it.” He stated but a few minutes later you noticed him putting it back on a different rail. He wanted the Rhinestone Cowboy look, evidently.

Race Day

Austin was such a great atmosphere and the crowd seemed to love Daniel in all his cowboy glory. The vibe alone carried your rootin’ tootin’ boyfriend into finishing P5 and so he was in a very, very good mood after the race ended and you guys headed back to the hotel. Still wearing his western, Stetson styled hat and snakeskin boots, you couldn’t wait to celebrate with him in private because, ok, you had to admit it, Daniel pulled off the look he had gone for the other day while shopping. He pulled it off very, very well. And even now, clad all in black with the hat and the boots there was something deep inside you that made your panties dampen at the sight of him.

Chucking his bag away from him on the floor, the noise signalled to you that thankfully you now had him all to yourself. He had done well today – ok it wasn’t a win or a podium but still did well all things considered – and you knew how horny he got when he done well. So when you pulled off your jacket and tossed it on the floor, he was practically on you instantly.

“Howdy Ma’am.” His voice deepened and he pressed against your back. His hands snaked around your waist and with a very quick jolt he pulled your butt back at the same time he bucked his hips forward and you could already feel his instant erection. “Well, Howdy Cowboy.” You finally joined in like he had been so desperate for you to do. Daniel ground his hips against you, clearly desperate for some friction, and you let out a soft moan. Just as Daniel’s hands went to reach for the hem of your little sundress you swiftly and abruptly turned around to face him. He drunk you in like you were a tall drink of water and he had just made it through the desert. Those fucking eyes that always made you melt were full of lust and passion but he wasn’t going to have full control tonight.

A shaky, amused breath left Daniel when your hands trailed down his chest and you made the teasingly slow decent on to your knees. You kept eye contact with him and observed him as he let out a deep moan before his teeth sunk into his lower lip when you went for the large buckle on the belt (one that he had also purchased a few days ago in that western store) that strained to contain his rock hard cock. Your mouth watered as your hands confidently finished your task and you roughly yanked at his jeans to pull them down. Daniel let a confident laugh roar from him.

“So eager…” his words flowed with such pride that you were so desperate to taste him and were so hungry for his cock. And seconds later you got exactly what you wanted. You knew the first bold stripe you licked up the underside of his thick, lengthy cock always gave him Goosebumps but tonight the Goosebumps were joined back a thigh shake and his hand already gripping the back of your head.

“Fuck…baby…” Drool and precum mixed together and dribbled down your chin as you continued sucking on Daniel’s throbbing length, pausing every now and then to pay attention to his sensitive, purple tip with the underside of your tongue. The veins that ran up and down his wide shaft looked fit for bursting but you didn’t want to stop unless he begged you too. Blowing him was truly one of your most favourite things to do. No guy had ever made you feel this wet while you gave him a blowjob but the constant praise and vocal admiration Daniel lavished on you was enough to have you touching yourself to have your own pleasure from the moment. As his hand – with your hair wrapped around it – helped keep you moving at a steady pace you moaned as his cock slipped effortlessly down the back of your throat. You breathed out through your nose and let him stay there for a few moments because you could feel how he was starting to loose it. He was right on the edge of control. Then he let his grip loosen and you eased him back out before you looked up at him with wet eyes and your cheeks hollowed out while you returned to sucking.

“Keep going…fuck…y/n.” He was right on the brink. His orgasm was so close you would win a bet on it. He jolted forward a little and you noticed the way his thighs tensed and then with a large groan, Daniel finally came in your mouth. The salty taste of Daniel’s cum was all you could think about. You had desired it all day and in some weird way you always desired it all the damn time, you rather liked the taste and knowing it was you that got him off made your pussy tingle. Your eyes had remained on him the whole time so you got to watch as his face changed. His brow furrowed, his mouth fell open and he was overcome with pleasure from your mouth.

When you were sure that he was completely finished, totally spent, you pulled back and observed him now lazily smiling down at you. You knew what he wanted. He wanted to see it, see his cum – the product of all your work – on your tongue. You learned very quickly how much it turned him on and how it was one of his kinks. He tilted his head backward a fraction and it was like a silent signal for you to open up. So you did. Teasingly slowly you let your jaw fall open and carefully you stuck your tongue out. You didn’t want to spill a drop. Once you were satisfied he had his fill of the scene before him, you tilted your own head back, receded your tongue, closed your mouth and swallowed dramatically.

“You’re Daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?” Daniel purred and you felt the aching for him between your legs intensify. You were now desperate for him to return the favour – because no one could EVER give head like Daniel could – so nodded enthusiastically. Without skipping a beat, Daniel grabbed your arms and pulled you to your feet. His large, veiny hand went to your cheek and you stared straight back into his eyes hoping he would pick up on how desperate you were for him. And in a millisecond you remembered the hat that was on top of his head and that silly little saying printed on one of the t-shirts in that store he took you too a few days ago popped into your mind. Somewhat arrogantly (and cock drunk from the blowjob you had just given him) you smirked before saying boldly; “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” With a wink and Daniel’s loud laughter filled the room. “At your service, Ma’am.” And without skipping a beat, Daniel swooped you up clean off your feet and carried you over to the bed.

Safe to say, after that night in Austin, it would be your favourite race too.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo prompt #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfiction #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #us gp 2022 #cota

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