He had been preparing for his second IDM “ Supersport ” season, but Troy Beinlich lost his life after a crash during the traditional season opener, the “1,000 Kilometers of Hockenheim.” On Saturday, April 27, 2024, his urn will be interred at the Upper Cemetery in Pößneck.
Dear Troy, hi there, little one,
That’s what I usually called you. I didn’t want to believe that you were dead. But then I checked at least five different sources, and they all told me the same thing. Even though I love to talk—and do so a lot—I’m speechless about this. Yes, we all know that our sport carries inherent risks, but we constantly push that thought aside. We’re world champions at that. Every single one of us thinks, “Nothing will happen to me.” And then, all of a sudden, everything changes. Just like it did for you. And yet we keep riding on and on. Because we live for this sport. It meant everything to you, too, and there was nothing you would have rather done. It’s a comfort to know that you were happy at the moment you died. Without motorcycling, you would have withered away like a primrose. I know that, because I knew you back when you were still in diapers instead of a leather suit.
You were almost born in Hockenheim. Your father, Knut, was on the starting grid for the “ Supersport ” race, and your mother, Mandy—heavily pregnant—was holding his umbrella as a grid girl. No sooner had your father completed the first lap than your mother went into labor. She was actually supposed to have three more weeks until your birth, but you decided you had to come out of her belly right then and there. A friend was about to call an ambulance, but your mother was determined to get home. And she actually made it. Knut drove like a maniac. On October 1, nothing could stop you anymore, and you came into the world. By the way, you owe your name, Troy, to three-time Superbike World Champion Troy Bayliss. You even shook his hand once later on.
There was no way you could avoid a career in motorcycle racing. Mandy dragged you to soccer practice three times. All the other boys ran after the coach, but you sat on the grass picking flowers, thinking: “They’ll just come right back this way anyway.” It was completely pointless to try to steer you toward any other sport. Your parents even tried motocross, but that was just as futile. You wanted to be a road racer. Just like your older brother Chris.
Chris sometimes helped you out of a tight spot. You might have thought that you were the lively one in the family and Chris the calmer, more level-headed one, but that wasn’t the case at all. When it came to official matters, you always managed to wriggle your way out of them and sent Chris in your place. You weren’t exactly brimming with confidence, but anyone who didn’t know you well wouldn’t have noticed.
In the evenings after work, you and your brother liked to hop on your bikes to recharge. The two of you were a great team. We’re so lucky that things worked out so well with your parents, Grandpa, your brother and his girlfriend, and your Sarah in the apartments above the workshop. And, of course, with Lou, your dog. Sometimes, when you were relaxing, you’d rest your head on her belly. You were able to be carefree, happy, and have fun.
To be honest, when I think of you, I also think of your colorful panties. When you slipped out of your jumpsuit in front of me during the interview, I couldn’t help but look. Those panties were the absolute highlight. You had a real thing for that sort of thing. And for colorful socks. I know you also had black ones for special occasions, but I never saw those.
Hey, kid, you’d be surprised how many people are thinking of you right now. There are tons of flowers, candles, and pictures in front of the door at home. People all over the world are showing immense sympathy for what you’re going through. Lots of pictures of you are circulating online, and you can’t even count all the likes anymore.
On Saturday, your urn will be interred in Pößneck, and a final gathering will be held in your honor. We don’t know where you are now, but our thoughts are with you, and you live on in our memories. And you can be sure of this: we won’t just raise a glass to you and eat a bratwurst on Saturday.
Goodbye.
Anke Wieczorek
on behalf of the entire IDM team
(Bert, Normann, Yannic, Nadine, Angelina, Rowena, Dino, Stefan, Karsten, Lenka, Axel, Tobi, Matthias, Antonia, Michael, Björn)
