Track Racing (a story that was omitted from the book)
At Rémi Samuel's house, the phone rang, and from the other side a voice with a French accent was heard.
Track Racing (a story that was omitted from the book)
At Rémi Samuel’s home, the phone rang, and a voice with a French accent came through. “Rémi Samuel?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Rémi replied. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Iluz, and I want to form a unique racing team with an Israeli driver and a Moroccan driver. Shalom Racing Team. Are you interested?”
Ohad Maoz with Rémi Samuel
Rémi was intrigued. “Where’s the race? What car?”
Iluz explained that Lamborghini had announced a “Lamborghini Trophy” competition. All cars would be Lamborghini Diablos, upgraded and tailored for racing.
Rémi had never driven a Lamborghini. He began fantasizing about stepping into the dream car, sitting behind the wheel, hitting the gas, and crossing the finish line first.
Reality was different—Rémi did drive a Lamborghini, but victory eluded him.
1994 was the peak of his career. He won the French Rally Championship, feeling immense satisfaction, but his bank account told a worrying story. The costs of competing in the rally circuit were enormous, and Rémi struggled to sustain them long-term. After five years as a rally driver, he had no clear plan for the next season. Yet, his passion for racing burned strong, and Iluz’s call came at the perfect moment.
A Lamborghini Diablo SV-R with a 5.7-liter engine and 540 horsepower—for most, it sounds like an Italian math puzzle. For Rémi , merging with this luxury car was a childhood dream.
“How do we finance it?” he asked Iluz.
“I’m securing sponsors,” Iluz replied. “Until the funds come through, you cover the entry fees.”
Iluz, a French Jew, had purchased a Lamborghini for $350,000. He offered to lease it to Rémi for $10,000 per race. For Rémi, who spent about $35,000 per rally, this was a reasonable price to fulfill a lifelong dream.
At 31, Rémi dove into a new adventure: out with rally racing, in with track racing. Track racing was entirely different from what he’d experienced. In rallies, cars started a minute apart, with races spanning multiple segments over days, and a navigator sat beside the driver. On the track, all cars started together, racing simultaneously on a circuit they lapped dozens of times. The driver, alone in the car, reached staggering speeds and had to maneuver carefully to avoid colliding with others.
Excitement gripped Rémi when he arrived for a test day in central France, where he first met the coveted Lamborghini. “The cars were lined up,” he recalled fondly, “beautiful, new, gleaming. They were just waiting for me to get in and drive.”
The Lamborghini races took place on renowned circuits that hosted Formula 1 or other elite races. Each event featured 28 cars. The Lamborghini Trophy was a preliminary race, followed by the main event on the same track.
The Lamborghini races were held at familiar tracks, which hosted Formula One races or other elite models. There were 28 cars in each race. The Lamborghini competition was a pre-race race, followed by the same main event track/
Rémi's first track race was in 1996 at Le Mans, a prelude to the famous 24-hour race. Tens of thousands of enthusiastic spectators filled the stands, creating a Formula 1-like atmosphere. I sat beside Rémi in the car during a warm-up lap as he got a feel for the Lamborghini. We hit 300 km/h in front of packed grandstands, sharing an exhilarating moment.
Later that year, we competed in England, Germany, and Sweden. Rémi struggled to express himself as he’d hoped. The gap in driving style and required skills compared to rally was too wide. In Belgium, on the famous Spa circuit, he managed a podium finish in the first race, but a technical issue forced him to retire in the second.
For me, the most fascinating part was learning a new field and observing Rémi’s competitors sociologically. Of the 28 drivers, only a few, like Rémi, leased their Lamborghinis. The rest were millionaires on a level I’d never encountered, and the race conditions reflected that. For us, the luxuries were extravagant—impeccable organization, premium catering, and each driver renting a suite in a luxury hotel. Rémi and I, as usual, shared a room in a budget hotel nearby.
The most surreal moment came the evening before the second race, held at Germany’s Nürburgring. Lamborghini’s senior sales manager invited all drivers to a gathering at a luxurious hotel. Rémi and I wore the best clothes we could find in our suitcases and stepped into a lavish lobby, unsure what to expect.
The sales manager, who also hosted the event, called the drivers to the stage one by one, asking them to share why they joined the race.
It was an absurd parade, a spectacle I’ll never forget. The first driver, a 35-year-old Frenchman, was introduced with the note that just the day before, he’d bought a $1 million McLaren road car. The next driver had purchased a $350,000 Lamborghini and, within two weeks, bought two more for his family. Then came Ferdinand Lesseps, whose great-great-grandfather built the Suez Canal and held its concession for years. After the event, I looked it up—the canal’s annual revenue was estimated at $9 billion. When Lesseps Jr. decided to become a race car driver, he didn’t need to dig a canal to fund it—just walk into a Lamborghini dealership and add another luxury car to his collection.
More drivers followed, exposing us to their ostentatious lifestyles. Then came the drivers who, like Rémi, didn’t own their cars. Like economy-class passengers following first-class travelers, they humbly shared how they’d earned the rare chance to drive a Lamborghini. Rémi and I left that evening utterly stunned.
In Germany, a tall, broad, dark-skinned driver competed but didn’t take the stage that night. He finished most races last. In Sweden, he crashed into a wall and retired early. As he moved from the track to the stands, he sat beside me, and we started talking. I wondered if he was in a situation like Rémi's or another tycoon.
He was a young, friendly guy who took his recent crash lightly. He turned out to be from Nigeria’s wealthiest family, which controlled the country’s oil concessions. Living in London, he had a Lamborghini SUV and two other Lamborghinis in his garage.
On the starting line, Rémi raced alongside drivers with vastly different backgrounds. Professionally, he lagged behind but found satisfaction in competing for another season. In 1997, he returned to rally racing.
The experiences around Rémi’s track racing were mostly social. I encountered people from around the world and unimaginable wealth. Professionally, Rémi wasn’t the only one who struggled. I quickly realized my impact in track racing was limited—I couldn’t truly help him. In rallies, with 30 segments and time between them to analyze, adjust, and fix mistakes, I could make a difference. Track races were short and ended quickly. Though still fast-paced, it felt like a different sport—like the difference between a tennis match, with hours and breaks, and a sprint.
The mental preparation was entirely different, and since neither Rémi nor I knew track racing deeply, his task was far more challenging. This experience sharpened a realization I’d been mulling over: each sport has unique mental variables, and only a professional immersed in the field can truly help the athlete they support.
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The Intro not printed
I wrote this preface at the beginning of the book's writing days, when I met Yoav Zeevi