F1: The Speed Legend

In F2 and GP3, there was already a shared habit.

Track walks.

Drivers would step onto the circuit themselves, using their feet to feel every rise and dip of the asphalt. Not just the surface itself, but also the sunlight, the wind direction, even subtle changes in elevation.

A simulator could only do so much. Watching onboard footage or studying a flat circuit map a hundred times would never compare to walking the track once with your own body.

Veteran drivers were no exception. Circuits changed every year. Weather was never the same twice. Even the same corner could behave differently depending on temperature and grip. Before a race weekend, the track had to be relearned.

In Formula One, this mattered even more.

Of course, it was not mandatory. Not everyone did it. Max Verstappen, for instance, found track walks boring and unnecessary. He preferred using Google Maps Street View to preview circuits, finding it quicker and more efficient.

But for drivers who wanted to walk the track, Thursday’s media day offered the opportunity. Once official obligations were done, groups would form naturally and head out together.

Sometimes engineers joined as well. Reading data on a screen was one thing. Understanding the track in real life was another.

Walking, jogging, cycling. The method did not matter. Riding a skateboard, like Kai Zhizhou, was just as acceptable.

Media day did not allow full training anyway. A track walk doubled as light cardio, helping drivers maintain their daily baseline workload.

Albert Park was a street circuit.

Beautiful, flowing, and open to regular traffic outside race weekends. Because of that, it lacked the constant resurfacing of permanent circuits. Uneven patches, hidden bumps, and surface inconsistencies were inevitable.

To prevent teams from pushing chassis design too aggressively and risking dangerous bottoming, FIA regulations required a plank to be mounted at the lowest point of the floor.

Commonly known as the tea tray.

Made from resin and glass fiber, the plank wore down whenever the car scraped the ground.

That was why sparks often flew beneath F1 cars at speed. It was not fireworks. It was the plank grinding against the asphalt.

If the floor was set too low and plank wear exceeded the legal limit, the car would be disqualified from that session or race.

It became a cat-and-mouse game.

Teams wanted the car as low as possible for speed. Drivers had to avoid bumps and curbs precisely to prevent excessive wear.

One mistake could mean an entire weekend wasted.

These details came only from experience. Simulators could not fully reproduce them, especially on a street circuit like Albert Park, where imperfections changed year by year.

Even Alonso and Hamilton rechecked the surface every season.

Especially the bumps along the racing line.

GP3 raced exclusively on permanent circuits. City tracks were part of F2. Jumping straight from GP3 to F1 meant Kai had homework to do.

This was where the skateboard helped.

Every vibration, every uneven patch transmitted directly through his feet.

”Hey, baby. How does it feel?”

The voice floated over on the breeze, playful and unmistakable. Kai did not need to turn around. He could already picture that wide, unapologetic grin.

Sure enough, Daniel Ricciardo was jogging up beside him.

Kai smiled. ”Not great. Someone needs to make Pierre shut up before my ears start bleeding.”

”Hey!” Pierre Gasly protested. ”I did not expect betrayal like this.”

Charles Leclerc burst out laughing. ”Pierre, you still cannot pronounce Zhizhou’s name properly, can you?”

Gasly looked utterly defeated. ”Charles, do not expose me like that.”

Ricciardo laughed so hard his breathing fell apart, clutching his side until his face turned red.

Gasly stared at him. Ricciardo stared back. The two lost it again.

Kai quietly picked up speed.

He needed distance from this group of lunatics.

Ricciardo jogged after him. ”Hey, mate. Seriously though. How’s it feeling? Need a hand?”

Kai raised an eyebrow. Since when did Formula One become this warm and cooperative, especially coming from a Red Bull driver?

”Of course,” Kai replied. ”I’d appreciate it.”

Ricciardo ran ahead, turned around, and started jogging backward. ”Rhythm. Braking. That’s Albert Park’s secret.”

”Short straights linking medium-speed corners. Jones, Whiteford, Clark. Rhythm changes are the real test here.”

Albert Park had sixteen corners, many named after legendary drivers. Jones was Turn One. Whiteford was Turn Three. Clark was Turn Nine.

”There are heavy braking zones everywhere,” Ricciardo continued. ”Brake points and entry angles matter a lot. Lock up once and you’re gone.”

”You don’t want to picnic on the grass.”

That grin gleamed under the sun.

Kai knew Ricciardo was right. None of it was secret knowledge, but for newcomers, this kind of clarity saved time.

That was why teams paired veterans with rookies.

But here, things were different. Vettel was not sharing tips. Räikkönen barely spoke. Gasly was fighting for survival inside Red Bull’s system.

So why was Ricciardo helping?

Kai asked it outright. ”Why help us?”

Ricciardo clutched his chest dramatically. ”I’m just being friendly. Can’t kindness exist without ulterior motives?”

He peeked through one eye. ”Was it unconvincing?”

Kai nodded seriously. ”Too soap-opera.”

Ricciardo slapped his thigh. ”Damn it.”

Then he sobered, just for a moment.

”When I entered F1, no one helped me. I remember feeling lost, wondering if I’d done something wrong.”

”I just want you to know. You didn’t.”

Three seconds of sincerity. Then the grin returned. ”Pretty heroic, right?”

Kai smiled. ”It is. But Daniel, why didn’t you mention tyre degradation?”

Ricciardo froze. ”Ah. Caught.”

He pretended to tap an imaginary earpiece. ”Mission failed. Abort. Abort.”

He sprinted away, leaving Gasly and Leclerc staring in confusion.

A few meters later, Ricciardo turned back, cupped his hands, and shouted theatrically, ”Hey, Kai. Ignore the crowd and media nonsense. Aussies are friendly. They just love me too much.”

”And watch the tyres. Seriously.”

Then he vanished, making engine noises as he ran.

The three rookies looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

Leclerc asked, ”So what’s with the tyres?”

Kai balanced on one foot. ”The asphalt here is different. More like public road surface. Less grip than Barcelona.”

”There’s dust. Leaves. I even saw a groundhog. Lots of variables.”

”Tyre wear will be high. Tyre management will be hard.”

GP3 habits would not work. In F1, uncontrolled push meant burning tyres long before the race ended.

Pace had to be layered. Push. Hold. Defend. All coordinated with strategy.

Kai paused, then added, ”Also, the lake affects humidity and temperature locally. Melbourne weather changes fast. Track conditions might vary corner to corner.”

Gasly studied him more closely.

Some things he already knew. Others, not quite.

Rhythm. Braking. Surface. Weather.

No wonder Albert Park punished rookies.

Leclerc followed Kai forward. ”Pierre, hurry up.”

Gasly sighed and chased them. ”By the way, why number twenty-two? Is it because of ZZ?”

Kai laughed. ”That’s a new one. Maybe I should sign with lightning bolts.”

Leclerc made a face.

Kai explained. ”I wanted seven, but Charles had it. Then eleven, my birthday. Perez got there first. So I doubled it.”

”Upgrade from GP3’s number two.”

Friday morning arrived under golden sunlight.

Kai thought he would feel nervous. Or excited. Or restless.

Instead, there was only calm.

Focus.

Sitting in the cockpit, waiting for FP1, the track replayed in his mind in three dimensions.

When Greenwood’s voice came over the radio, the SF71H fired up.

The engine roared awake.

Kai rolled out of the garage as sunlight danced over Ferrari red.

The 2018 season had begun.

FP1 commentary flooded the airwaves. Sky Sports. CCTV5. Five Star Sports.

Crowds cheered. Booed. Then exploded when Ricciardo rolled out.

Kai shut it all out.

Full throttle into Turn One.

Sixth gear, 286 kilometers per hour, down to third at 123.

Jones. Brabham. Whiteford.

The lake blurred past. Trees streaked overhead.

He did not chase lap time.

This was groundwork.

The track felt slick. Unforgiving.

Grip came and went like ice.

Every input had to be precise.

Greenwood spoke. Wrong channel. Then corrected.

Kai fed back calmly. Front wing stable. Brakes hot. Rear stepping out at Turn Three.

Lap after lap passed.

Others flashed pace. Mercedes. Red Bull.

Kai hovered outside the top ten.

To outsiders, it looked dull.

In living rooms across China, people grew restless.

Only professionals understood.

By the time FP1 ended, Kai had not chased a flying lap.

Some would be disappointed.

But the work was done.

And the real weekend had only just begun.