Twenty-four hours before my first official ACC race, I still had no idea how to enter the pitlane without getting a penalty. I had a setup made by ChatGPT — and surprisingly, it actually worked. The car felt stable, smooth, and even the tire wear looked reasonable. Still, curiosity got the better of me, and I asked in the ALR chatroom if someone had a reference setup I could compare it with.

A few minutes later, racer in ALR sent me a YouTube link — a Nürburgring GP lap with a 1:53.310. My best time at that point? 2:00.6. After copying that setup, I managed to gain about a second. I was now doing stable 2:00.5 laps, which meant ChatGPT’s setup wasn’t that bad after all. Some ALR guys told me I should use GPT more like a mechanic — tell it what feels wrong and let it fix it. That was great advice… except I had no clue what was actually wrong yet.

Then came the racing brief. I read it carefully — or so I thought. The start time was 20:30 British time, but the brief said 30 minutes earlier. I somehow missed that. Thinking I had plenty of time, I went for a walk to clear my head. When I came back, the qualification had already been running for ten minutes.

Panic. Absolute panic.
I jumped into the game, picked one of the four setups, and somehow squeezed in a single lap. I was so stressed I didn’t even see what time I drove. Out of 32 cars, I qualified P30. The fastest guy? Only seven seconds quicker — not bad for total chaos.

Then it hit me — time to race. I opened the setup again, added the YouTube tweaks, and switched to TC3 and ABS1 like a proper pro. But the feeling? Completely foreign. Like showing up at a summer camp where everyone already knows each other, and you’re just figuring out where to put your sleeping bag.

Two minutes to go.
Thirty seconds.
The big Drive button flashes on screen.
I click it.
Nothing happens.

I click again.

And suddenly — I’m in the pitlane.
Did the race just end before it even began? 😅

Turns out, nothing was actually wrong — someone else was stuck in the pitlane too. Then another one. And another.
Relief. I wasn’t alone.
It’s that comforting moment when you realize your roommate in summer camp is just as new and confused as you are.

Apparently, this was normal in ACC — the server had to be restarted. So, we lined up again. Same setup, same nerves.
This time, the Drive button worked.

I was in the car.
The view in front of me: Nürburgring GP, a row of GT3 cars, headlights glowing, exhausts rumbling.
And if I’m brutally honest — GT7 looked way better. That was my first thought.
But there was no turning back now.

Formation lap.
A full lap.
“Single file,” they said.

So there I was, sitting perfectly still in my little green box, being the model student. Meanwhile, everyone else was weaving across the track like a swarm of caffeinated bees.

Cars ghosted through each other. No one seemed to care.
I just sat there, trying to look composed — the only nerd in class still listening to the teacher while everyone else threw paper planes and yelled.

Then — the green box disappears, double file, and the race director shouts: “Green, green, green!”

Absolute chaos.
Turn one looked like a demolition derby waiting to happen. I somehow squeezed through — pure survival instincts. Then turn two — another mess. One car dove from the right, another slid across from the left. I didn’t even have time to think; I was just reacting.

But the M4 felt alive. Precise. Predictable. I wasn’t chasing lap times anymore — I was just dodging trouble, dancing between cars and hoping to stay clean.

Halfway through the first lap, I realized I wasn’t doing that bad.
P23. Then P22.
The game flashed a message: Drive Through Penalty – Car #14.
Interesting. Someone else’s chaos. For once, not mine. 😅

The first half of the race was surprisingly calm.
I found my rhythm, kept my lines tidy, and even started to trust the car. The laps went by in a quiet, almost meditative flow — just me, the engine, and the hum of tires against asphalt.

And then… bang.
A “friendly” push from behind.

The kind of nudge that starts polite and ends with you watching grass fly past the windshield.
Before I knew it, I was off the track, sliding helplessly into the sand.

From P23 to somewhere in the void.
Welcome to ACC.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t even angry.
The hit wasn’t brutal, and honestly — my pace wasn’t exactly terrifying anyone anyway. I was still finding my groove while others were flying.

Then something strange happened.

The car suddenly came alive.
I didn’t change anything — no setup tweaks, no driving line adjustment, nothing. Yet out of nowhere, it just clicked. The steering felt lighter, the grip stronger, the corners smoother.

Two laps in a row — 1:58.3.
I stared at the timing board in disbelief.

What just happened?

From there, it became almost effortless. My average lap time settled around 1:59.2, and for the first time that night, I actually felt like I was driving — not surviving.

Lap after lap, the rhythm returned.
I was calm, focused, and quietly proud. This was starting to feel like racing.

Then came the pit stop.
Alright — watch the pro at work.

Third gear… down to second… then first, just like the YouTube tutorial said.
Hit the braking line, sharp deceleration, speed just under 50 km/h, limiter on — perfect.

I release the brakes, roll in…
and wait for the animation.

Except — surprise — I am the animation. 😅

The car crawled into the box, and for a moment I just sat there thinking, “Okay… what now?”
No tire change needed, all fine. Maybe I should’ve adjusted the preset, though.

Pit stop: 40 seconds.
Back on track: P28, full tank.

Then I noticed something strange — my fuel use was around 3 liters per lap, yet I had refueled almost a third more than necessary. A mental note for next time:
👉 Don’t copy the setup from the guy who drives 1:53s — his fuel burn is a different universe.

Back on track, the road ahead was finally clear.
No cars in sight — just me and the rhythm. I only saw other drivers when a fast car behind message popped up, and someone blasted past to lap me. Two more cars were still behind, but far enough not to matter.

With space to breathe, I started experimenting.
TC4 felt better — the car didn’t dive too hard into corners.
ABS2 helped on braking — less time lost, more control.

And slowly, something clicked.
I began to understand my driving style. The laps became smoother, the speed more natural. Each corner felt like a quiet conversation between me and the car — and for once, I wasn’t just reacting. I was driving.

Lap after lap, I improved.

When I crossed the line, it wasn’t victory — it was something better.
Understanding.

What a ride. What a lesson.